#ticci toby fanfiction
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Ticci Toby Headcanons
PT.02
Toby Rogers proxy headcanons. See pre-proxy headcanons here ⬇️
CW: Descriptions of gore, violence, dark themes, abuse.
<NOTE> Once again this is very long cuz I have a lot of thoughts about Tobys character + story. I didn’t go as in depth with his story cuz I dont know if you guys are interested in that. I have his entire life start to finish planned out in my head so just let me know if anyones interested
TICCI TOBY .
For the first four months after the fire, Toby was completely under the influence of The Slenderman.
He was completely dissociated from the world around him. Toby would get an urge, an intrusion, and he would act on it and thats about the amount of control he had
The boy didn’t initially want to kill. He didn’t know what was happening and he felt like he was losing his mind. It was genuinely terrifying not knowing what was real or fake, not knowing why he coughed up blood or felt static in his head
Or why he felt like something was watching him wherever he went
Toby would find shelter in abandoned cabins littered around the forest he frequently ‘came to’ in, crashing at random junkies places, or even sleeping in trees
Slowly over those four months, he found himself losing track of time. He would wake up and days had passed, not knowing where he was or what he did
Sometimes he’d ‘come to’ with blood on his hands. Toby never knew if it was his or not.
He eventually began forgetting many things of his past. They would simply slip his mind. It started with his childhood, then the faces of his family, then the things they did, their voices, his sister, his mother, his father, his actions. It all became a big blur that eventually faded into nothing
Toby was too separated from reality to care or notice. He could barely process the present moment, he was working completely on autopilot almost as if someone or something else was in control. It’s not like He would let Toby dig into his past anyways
This was Tobys life for the first start. But then it got progressively worse as so did his mental state
He was already a sadistic fuck who secretly took pleasure in hurting others (but god knows he wouldn’t have ever admitted that in the past), so when he had his first target, it wasn’t difficult to push him over the edge
It wasn’t as if he hadn’t killed someone before, he knows by the places he had woken up in and the blood on his hands that he’d done some awful things when he wasn’t quite “awake”
He should’ve been freaked out, but Toby knew what he was capable of. And a part of him liked knowing he had that capability to take another persons life without hesitation
UNDERGROUND .
But despite this power, he was sick. He was plagued with Slender Sickness. The parasite burrowed in his mind and his body and now he was a conduit for The Slenderman
The forest Toby usually hid out in was typically called “Slender Forest”, or sometimes just “The Forest”. It was Slender himself. The forest was apart of Slenderman. The roots were his tendrils, the trees were his eyes, the ground was his skin.
The forest existed outside of the bounds of reality and could only be accessed if you were connected to Slender in some way. If you had access to The Slenderman, you had access to the forest
And most people who were like Toby would seek shelter there as it was the best place to hide from civilization and the authorities
The edge of the forest was connected directly to the real world. It was your typical woods with hiking trails, open areas for campers, and was right on the edge of a highway near a lake
The more you go into that forest (if you have initial access to it) the more you’d be entering Slender Forest. It gets darker, colder, the terrain is flat and repetitive
Deeper you go, darker it gets. Toby always felt like he was in a liminal space when he was in that forest, but in the way it feels like being carried to bed from a car ride by your father when you were 4 years old
Eerily familiar and nostalgic, even though there was no way in hell Toby had ever been there before becoming ‘sick’
Over the months Toby would find himself meeting more and more people like himself. Some by chance, some by the metaphorical hands of The Slenderman
This kid was a freak, a weird guy who was just generally uncomfortable to be around. He was unsocialized and an antisocial prick and you could easily tell that there was something fundamentally wrong with him
So no matter who he met, and even if they were just like him, Toby would never really get along with anyone
Toby had bad anger issues and would always pick fights with the others. When he met Hoodie and Masky, two men who were supposedly the same as him, he lost his shit
It caused a lot of problems at the beginning. But it hurt when he went against Slenders orders. It hurt. And to someone not used to feeling pain, it felt like eternal hell when he defied orders
Job after job, murder after murder, all the time lost. They spread the sickness, tied up loose ends, fell victim to the eldritch parasite. The group got to know each other in the most twisted circumstances
PROXY .
There are two types of relationship you could have with The Slenderman
You could be a proxy, a direct pawn for him, a spreader of the sickness, a vessel to allow Slender to interact with reality outside of his forest
Or you could be a Creep, a killer, entity, or person with connections to Slender or proxies but not useful/of interest enough to use as a vessel or pawn
Toby was a proxy. One of the top, the closest to Slender, one of the most used by him. And he was as obedient as he could be
The boy was lazy, but dedicated. He got the job done but he got it done messily and carelessly. Starting forest fires, leaving bodies to be found, letting victims go just for the thrill of chasing them, starting fights with connections, mouthing off, etc
This would piss his ‘coworkers’ right the fuck off because now they’re left to clean up his messes
He didn’t care though. He was hyper, reckless, and he always wanted more. Anything to keep him busy
More murder, more drama, more fights, more jobs, more sickness, more connections. More more more more
As time passed, Masky and Hoodie would beat the boy into shape and he would bite back like a bad dog. But he learnt how to survive the world, and he was crafty
Sometimes they'd go weeks and maybe a month without getting any direction from Slenderman. They were all horribly bored
It was so fucking boring
But after everything he's done, all the shit he's seen, all the people he's killed and convinced to start killing, after everyone hes led into Slendermans trap
There was no way in hell this boy could ever find redemption
This was what he was built for. Toby Rogers burned to ash in that fire, and like a phoenix Slenderman pulled him out and crafted him like clay
Just like he molded Masky and Hoodie
This group was in it together whether they liked it or not
BAD DOG .
Now this kid was a menace. He was a fucked up kid who never really grew out of his conduct issues, he grew into them
A spitting image of his father. Bitter, mean, and alone.
He wasn’t friendly. He was a loud-mouthed, arrogant asshole who said and did whatever he wanted to. He would mercilessly tease and put people down just to be on top, and god forbid anybody hurt his fragile ego
Masky and Hoodie would often beat the shit out of him if he caused problems, even if he couldnt feel it. They knew he hated feeling small, and so when he stepped out of line or did something risky they would do just that
Everybody always made him feel small, and he'd do anything in his power to fight back
He spent so many years of his life not being able to do anything in his childhood. He spent so many years being a victim to those who were bigger than him when he was supposed to be nurtured and cared for
And he was so fucking angry. Toby would take these feelings out on his victims. The sense of power over them was exhilarating. It made him feel alive. For once in his life he made sure that no one would ever fuck with him again, he was finally capable of standing up for himself
Their life was in his hands. He loved chasing them through the forest or hearing them beg for his mercy. He loved the feeling of having the capability to beat someone into submission
He would target people who rejected him or made him feel like a freak just for that powertrip. So his victims were primarily girls at bars who treated him like he was a creep, or people who insulted him on the streets
Toby was a stalker. He would hunt them down and wait for the moment they forgot to lock their door at night or made the mistake of taking a shortcut through an alleyway
The boy wouldn’t let anybody fuck with him like that. He was a bully who pushed people around and hurt them if they went against him
But that was just his victims, he was always just the runt of the group back in his world. He wasn’t smart or mature or wise as those other guys were. He was a reckless idiot who never thought twice and would lose himself to dramatics
And so Toby couldn’t ever really escape the bullying and abuse. He was forever stuck being powerless
This reflected back badly onto his behaviour where he would get more and more reckless and do more risky things just to do more. He needed more. He craved stimulation and was a bit of an adrenaline junkie to a fault
Toby never considered consequences. He was an asshole who said and did whatever he wanted. He didnt give a fuck about boundaries or others feelings, and god knows he never once felt bad for the things he did or said
But while he was just like his father, he had his mothers heart. In another world where he was properly nurtured as a child Toby would’ve been a sweetheart who did good in the world
On the rare occasions where he shut his mouth, you could see this in him. He would sometimes awkwardly sit by people who were having a tough time, not really saying anything but just being there. Or he would give advice in the most annoying, intrusive ways. He always meant well though
But he never let this side show. He was far too paranoid and far too angry to ever be that vulnerable with someone
Toby had a good sense of acting though. He had a knack for theatrics and was very good at putting on a show. He could play a troubled teen, a victim of circumstance. Or he could play a stupid naive idiot who was more like a hyper child than anything.
Sometimes he played into the act so well people would completely forget what he was capable of, and what he’s done, until he got pissed off and starting threatening to hurt them
It was eerie at how well the boy could manipulate people
DIRTY WORK .
At the start, Toby glamorized and idealized his situation and The Slenderman. The strange creature was like a god to him, and Toby wouldn’t ever fight against His commands
But as more time passed and more atrocities were committed, after all the pain and suffering, he began to absolutely hate the life he was given
He began understand all of Brians resentment, all of Tims anger
No matter what he felt about it, there was no getting out. Toby couldn’t die, he couldn’t run, he couldn’t hide. There was absolutely no escaping the sickness
He was always watching
Toby did what he did, and he would forever be a puppet to this thing.
Sometimes he would sit alone in the pews of a Church, not to pray or seek forgiveness, but because in a house of worship and holiness the sickness subdued for a short while
The boy wasn’t built for hope and forgiveness anyways. He couldn’t imagine any sort of future for himself and just took everything day by day, moment by moment
So the next few years of his life was spent crashing in abandoned cabins or Tims apartment, ruining every good thing in his life, patrolling the forest, washing blood off of his hands and losing so much time to Him
And for those next few years, Toby would spend every waking moment wishing he was never saved in that fire
#creepypasta#ticci toby#horror#creepypasta fandom#ticci toby creepypasta#creepypasta writing#creepypasta ticci toby#creepypasta headcanon#ticci toby fanfiction#ticci toby headcanon#ticci toby headcanons#toby rogers#pyrocrpz
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i'm over sleeping like a dog on the floor
relationship: ticci toby x reader
word count: 7.6k
links: available to read on ao3
warnings: canon-typical violence, character dies by decapitation (off-screen death but on-screen head), toby is psychotic/has tics/is disabled
Working the graveyard shift as a middle-of-nowhere gas station has its perks; you get paid to do nothing but mop and organize shelves. Most nights you spend alone (or with your only coworker), until you get a regular customer for the first time since this place opened.
(like/reblogs are greatly appreciated, requests are open ✷)
As autumn passes away and winter begins to take hold of the climate, the manor becomes a hellish place to live. Plenty of well-developed people struggle with the seasonal changes—the colder air, longer nights, and dead-looking forests make seasonal depression hit hard. In Toby’s experience, however, these symptoms hit harder for the people in the mansion. The temperature drops make Jeff irritable, his decade-old burns aching as fresh nerve endings attempt to make connections to his old skin. EJ always found a way to hide in their room for months, only coming out if forced by Slenderman’s jobs or a need for food. Anyone with chronic pain had more intense symptoms, and anyone prone to stress snapped under the pressure. Tim and Brian always left before winter hit (only because they looked non-disabled from the outside and could mask until they found a place to hunker down).
Toby is no exception to this rule. The stress of incoming frost and shorter days makes him quick to anger, his tics become more frequent and intense, and he becomes more prone to biting his fingers until he bleeds. Joining Tim and Brian would be a dream, but that is all it would remain (being visibly disabled, paranoid, and psychotic beyond belief—and the hole Toby carved out in his cheek—made masking almost impossible). If he were to try and follow them to a hotel room, Toby would get strapped down and sedated in a stark-white hospital with buzzing overhead fluorescents.
The last time he went to the hospital was because he stepped on a rusty nail six months back, and Tim and Brian almost thought about tracking down EJ because hospitals and Toby do not mix. Thinking about those fluorescents makes him sick. The droning electrical hum makes his skin crawl.
Maybe tonight is the night—though the idea crawls with stressed-induced impulsivity and panic like centipedes under his skull—Toby needs to mull over this thought with a cigarette.
Jeff is arguing with nobody again and slamming his head against a wall. Sally’s running around upstairs. EJ hasn’t been home in months. Tim and Brian are who knows where, not that Toby cares, and the other people crowding this place are too quiet for Toby to care about right now. He rocks in his bed (a moldy mattress with loose sheets piled atop it, a thin, ratty blanket being all he can use to hide from the cold)
(Hush). The quiet is safe, and breathing softly and stepping carefully is safe. It’s good practice to keep his head down when there’s incoherent screaming in the room down the hall. The clatter of overturned furniture and scratching on the walls are commonplace sounds, whether rooted in reality or psychosis.
Toby tries to control his volume by breathing through his mouth, sniffling now replaced with hollow gasps. He’s so careful not to let any loudness escape him (not an easy feat). His diaphragm stutters, his shoulders heave in an involuntary twitch, his ribs push inward, and his spine curls sharply down.
Do it. Deep breath in, hold for four, out for four. Grab a cigarette and a lighter, and try to take your mind off things. Toby rocks on the floor and nurses a cigarette between his teeth, letting the smoke simmer in his lungs before exhaling low. He quits rocking on the floor, rising to his feet and beginning a careful hunt, opening every drawer, opening the creaky closet door, checking the big hole in the wall, checking the drawers once more, then out the window (pulling the half-hanging curtain over to give him some sense of privacy). Finally satisfied, Toby tugs the sheet on his mattress until it slips from the corner, exposing a large hole carved into the side, its guts twinkling with bits of fiberglass.
Toby sticks his hand in, numb to the prickling sensation scraping across his skin, and pulls out a large, empty duffel bag. He crawls towards his drawers and tosses his extra clothes into a small heap atop the bag, stuffing it until it’s bloated like a three-day-old carcass. With only a few possessions to his name—his hatchets, a hunting knife, a hammer (which he puts into his pocket instead, worried about scratching his things), his CD player plus headphones, a sentimental bag of teeth, and a dented thermos—Toby is ready and packed, letting out a shaky breath as he zips up his bag. Checking around all the hiding spots again (his searching based on psychotic delusions), Toby finally pulls the moldy curtain back and opens the window, which squeals in protest. He freezes, checking his surroundings and listening for even the softest sounds of disturbance in the creaky manor.
The mansion’s natural groans and hums make the house feel alive. It’s watching him—and watching him think of a plan to get out of this hell. The radiators creak, and the walls ache like the house is breathing around him. The walls are moving, Toby thinks. He is inside a living thing. He pries open the window, and the house cries out in protest. The chains supporting the windowpane squeal like birds, and Toby scrambles out of the window and onto the once-shingled roof in a panic, nearly slipping from the second story in a thoughtless terror. He digs into his pocket and pulls out his beat-up box of Marlboro Reds, curling up into a ball on the roof, shaky hands searching for his lighter. Toby can’t stop shaking. His neck pops in two places. He should climb back inside—crawl back into that living, breathing beast—and pretend this idea of freedom never crossed his mind.
Toby sticks a cigarette between his teeth, digging around his many pockets for his lighter. He’s so nervous, whole-body tremors as the agonizing howls of the mansion’s other tenants remind Toby of his options: keep living within Slenderman’s walls, dirt-poor and sickly, but safe from the cruelties of the outside world, or risk contact with the outside, possibly getting strapped down to a hospital bed and drip-fed a cocktail of medications, sedated and alone. Toby’s grip is loose, and his lighter slips from his hand as it twitches involuntarily. Toby watches it slide down the roof and hop over the broken gutter, landing in a puddle beneath the house.
Toby peers over the roof—making the quick choice to abandon his duffel bag inside his room —and swings his legs over the edge, dropping down. He sticks his hand into an ice-cold puddle and pulls the cobalt-blue plastic body from the water. He rolls his thumb over the striker, shaking the lighter and trying again (flick, flick, flick, Toby can hear the fuel when he shakes it vigorously), holding the dead thing to his dry cigarette, cupping his hand to protect any weak flame it may produce.
Nothing.
Toby throws the lighter as hard as he can into a tree, hands trembling uncontrollably, wrists flinching, fingers curling in distress. He pulls on his hair—tugs and tugs, grabbing at the curly strands at the nape of his neck and tugging upwards like he’s pulling a shirt off over his head—trying not to scream and cry about his two-dollar lighter being a shitty, two-dollar lighter. He pulls one axe from its holster and the hammer from his pocket; the next smoker he spots won’t make it home (and Toby can add some teeth to his plastic-baggie collection, whichever ones he can salvage from the destruction of a stranger’s dental record). His cigarette (with a sharp angle in the filter from an angry bite) gets stuffed back into its cardboard container, then the box, and into his pocket.
Toby picks a direction and walks, one hand tugging at his hair and the other’s knuckles white around a hatchet handle. Each tired step squelches under him. Slick leaves and muddy earth force walking to be a conscious thought; Toby, already nauseous with stress, stumbles forward, using the tall trees for support (and to ground himself on the textures of moss and lichen under his fingertips).
Keep breathing.
In for one, two, three, four; Hold for one, two, three, four; Out for one, two, three, four.
Keep walking, don’t stop, don’t turn back, don’t even look back. One shaky mile becomes two, then three, then four. Each threshold crossed brings Toby further from the manor and closer to freedom.
One time, Toby had to visit a mortician’s office to take care of a sloppy kill months ago. The doctor was working late, and Toby came across the current project: some forty-something man with silver hair and scratchy stubble. The mortician had already slipped the eye caps under the man’s eyelids, and the little barbs gripped the backside, holding the shape of the lid to make it look like the man’s eyes hadn’t sunk back into his skull. Toby peeled back the man’s lips, admiring his yellowed, crooked teeth and dry gums. There were wires connecting the upper and lower jaw, keeping the man’s mouth shut with needles nailed into his bone.
The process was fascinating and morbid, and the wires and nails made Toby queasy because the man’s body was so cold. Sometimes, Toby felt like that—or that he felt trapped in that state—the stiffness, the cold, the wires and nails keeping his jaw wired shut no matter how much he wanted to scream.
Sometimes, it was him laying on the cold, metal table stinking of formaldehyde, stiff with rigor mortis with sunken eyes and guts in the viscera bag. He found the body shortly after and beat its face in with his axe until they were unrecognizable. He took three teeth (one of their wisdom teeth and two molars), the only intact thing left of them, and fled through a broken window.
Toby, rubbing his eyes, pushes them into the sockets as he stumbles past the tree line and down a crag. When he makes contact with the ground and stumbles forward in his dreary state, Toby is startled when a car blares its horn at him. The driver shouts at him, swerving over the double-yellow to avoid hitting him.
Toby stands in the road like a deer, heart pounding against his ribs. He watches the car swerve back over the double-yellow and around a wavy bend, eventually concealed by a shelf of carved rock. Turning to look across the empty highway, he spots a gas station bathed in red neons with an inviting golden light warming the interior.
An older man with a blue face mask is walking behind the gas station for the restroom, and Toby stalks behind him, axe in hand.
✸𓆟✸
“It’s getting windy now. Are you sure your bus is coming after your shift?”
“Probably,” You say, “they’d only stop if there was some looming total disaster. They operate like a Waffle House.” Walking into the custodial closet (slash break room), you grab a bucket and mop and move out to a monstrous soda spill left by a group of teenage boys (where one of them just got their learner’s permit, you’re sure of it).
Something collides with the dumpster outside.
You think it’s someone dumpster diving again.
Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.
“Quit being so paranoid.” Your coworker says.
You turn to Sandy, and she shrugs, straightening the 5-Hour Energies by the register. She’s pretty dressed up for a graveyard shift at a gas station, with her hair done up and pink tinsel weaved into her box braids. She’s wearing a concert tee with a little stone fairy printed on the front and leg warmers with these tall boots. Her makeup is shimmery and loud; she belongs at a club covered in confetti and glitter like it’s 2009.
“No need to be scared of the boogeyman, or… whatever they call that guy.”
“Slenderman?”
“Mhm, that. I’m sure it’s just good Photoshop, just an art project people are writing scary stories about, and parents think it’s real, and now the news is involved. It happens all the time!”
“Yeah, but…” Your words die in your mouth.
You saw him, you swear, between the trees or houses on your walk back to your dorm. Impossibly tall, with no features, stalking you from a distance like an animal. Maybe Sandy’s right. The stress of academics and work is probably just driving you crazy, making you see things that aren’t there. The town newspapers haven’t helped your theory of delusion, as people won’t stop going missing in this area. You’re tempted to grab a flashlight and check the perimeter, just in case. You reach for one on the shelf nearby, but Sandy gives you this disappointed look.
“I’m not letting you go ghost hunting. Not good for you,” Sandy’s gaze softens, “Now I feel like a dick for buying these tickets.”
You quit mopping. Tickets?
“Ugh, don’t look at me like that! When I bought them, there wasn’t this Skinnyman stuff—”
“Slenderman.” You say.
“Slenderman stuff,” Sandy corrects, “I didn’t buy them when this Slenderman stuff was going on.”
“...Again? You went to a concert two weeks ago.” You say, focusing on pushing the mop over the soda spill until it makes the water a murky brown.
“That was nothing. It was a house concert, this one is real and at a big venue and everything! I’m taking my girlfriend for her birthday. Please, come on! I’m sure nothing crazy is going to happen tonight. Nothing ever happens here, anyhow. We work at a nowhere gas station in the middle of nowhere—I’ll even pay you, please.”
You may be terrified of these recent missing persons cases, but Sandy does pay you handsomely when she pulls stunts like this.
“Mundy doesn’t have to know about our little arrangement. It can be off the books.”
Mundy’s your manager, but not actually in your opinion. He never shows up, carries a ‘my way or the highway‘ view of things, and rules over this run-down Shell gas station with an iron fist. You missed your cousin’s birthday because he needed you to watch over this place. He’s the worst.
“You know what? Sure.” You say.
Sandy whoops and tosses you more money than you’ve ever seen in a paycheck. She squeezes you tight and says thank you about a million times.
“You’re the best, and I owe you one—or three—I don’t care, whatever you want! Take it easy.”
Her girlfriend pulls up, tucking her stout blue car parallel to two rusty shells. “I mean it! No ghost hunting.”
She dashes out of the gas station before you can speak. According to her orders, It’s a free, lazy night for you, and your first order is doing your legitimately obtained puzzles. You grab a magazine you ‘borrowed’ from last month’s shipment. You pull out a Sharpie and fill out some blank spaces. You chew on the cap, filling in NAP for twenty-eight across. Fifty-five across is FRIDGEMAGNET. Fifty-two down is IGLOO. Eleven down is easy as you fill out the top corner of the board without much trouble—TENDER, UMAMI, MEAT, SKEIN… It’s almost too easy, or you should seriously consider the big leagues. You finish just above half the crossword only half an hour into your shift, tossing the magazine aside and switching to swiping through your phone to keep the crossword-world-record holders off your tail, as they can’t know about your prowess yet.
That girl who captained cheerleading is having a baby, and there’s also a picture of her wearing a wedding veil (not that you care, considering she stuck gum in your hair during your math final). Some Robotics club girl got into one of those Ivy leagues and is having the time of her life, and a ton of videos of your past friends drunk at a club, confetti all over their everything. You turn off your phone with a heavy sigh and set it on the far side of the counter next to the cigarette shelf, returning to your only company for the night.
You finish the crossword after nearly an hour (it technically only took you thirty-five minutes, but you wouldn’t stop getting up to try and do something productive to keep your mind off your downward spiral), and you sneak the magazine back into the pile with all the other ones that look just like it.
The door slides open, and a man who looks your age stumbles inside, brown hair dripping wet. You switch into professional mode and get your feet off the counter. You give him your standard welcome, but he ignores it and ducks into the aisle closest to the wall.
Maybe he’s just cold and drunk, but he looks rough. His sickly gray skin—with eyebags dark enough to be mistaken for under-eyeshadow—gives him an almost zombie-esque look (like a trad-goth, but gray). He peeks over the top of the aisle and locks eyes with you, lurching back as if it burns to hold your gaze. He reaches the far corner of the store, opens one of the fridges, and pulls out a can. You watch this man pace the back perimeter and grab a few things, still meandering.
“Can I help you find anything you need?” You ask, but he doesn’t seem to hear you as he stuffs a fistful of Slim Jims in his pocket.
Whatever, he’ll eventually find what he’s looking for if the poor guy searches long enough, or maybe not, considering his apprehension about approaching the front half of the store where your register is. You feel like a cat watching a bird from the window as you watch this strange person pace around the back of the store for nearly twenty minutes. Maybe you have a staring problem, but this guy is too eccentric to look away from. He knocks into the slushie machine and hisses to himself, speaking under his breath.
He creeps forward to the counter like a deer, a few loose bills and coins tightly held in his bandaged palm. There’s not one bit of eye contact, but his gaze is piercing as his eyes remain locked on the linoleum floors. You grab the soda can he slides onto the countertop, then nod to the Slim Jims sticking out of his pocket.
His shaky palm opens, fingers twitching as five or six individually wrapped Slim Jims spill onto the counter. You count them up and add them to the total. Then he grabs a lighter and tosses it into the pile, the lime-green case clattering amongst his other purchases.
“That’ll be $12.56.”
He hands you $9.27. It’s all he has, and his sudden nervous energy confirms that.
He seems paranoid, and maybe getting a fistful of Slim Jims in him will do him good. You look at the camera and take the money he gave you, bagging everything he piled onto the counter.
“Oh—” He coughs into his fist, his neck creaks, “You don’t have to do that.”
You reassure him, “It’s nothing.” crosses your lips as you pass him the plastic bag.
He steps back, shies away, and then flees out the door like a feral cat. You hear another car horn as this strange guy disappears from view beyond the tree line.
Another weird stranger, you think. He’s just another passerby you’ll never see again.
✸𓆟✸
That’s what you think until he shows up again two weeks later. He’s dirtier than last time, his fingernails caked with dirt as he bumps into Sandy. He grabs a soda from the back and shuffles to the front, eyeing your name tag. He says your name as if he’s kneading the word between his teeth and under his tongue like a lozenge.
You take the Pepsi from him and scan it. He coughs up enough money to pay for it—and a little more, four dirty singles more than he needs to pay for the soda.
“From last time—I know it wasn’t enough, I remembered.” He says, wiping his hand on his jacket. He looks proud of himself.
You thank him, and he looks like he’s about to burst, squirming at the compliment like a prodded insect, shakily taking the can from you and cracking it open.
“I’m Toby,” He tips the sugary drink back, then swallows hard, “Well, my name’s Tobias, but Toby sounds better. Toby Rogers sounds better than Tobias Rogers.”
Sandy eyes you, gesturing to Toby with a long acrylic, who’s now rocking back and forth on his feet and rambling. You shrug. He’s probably not a threat.
He seems chill, you mouth to her.
He grabs a map and turns it over in his hand. He sets down his drink and skims over the large map of the state. You take his moment of focus to take in his features, dull, brown eyes that skirt around the paper. His hair is greasy and messy, probably knotted beyond care. His clothes—beat-up hiker’s trousers, a heavy jacket over a ratty black tank top, and goggles with bright orange lenses, the right one cracked. He twitches, then turns the map to you.
“Are there any ways to go here?”
You snap from your observation, blinking as your vision is filled with the veins and artery-looking highways across this middle-of-nowhere part of the state. Toby points to some empty spot on the map, some national park (you think).
“Well, you could take the interstate highway.” You suggest, dragging your finger along the thickest vein on the map.
“Well, I’d need a car for that, right? I don’t have one of those.”
Oh. That’s the problem with this part of the country. No car, no luck. If Toby wants to leave, he would need a car—whether that be from a friend or a stranger. You tell him so: that there aren’t many options to leave if you don’t have the money to do it, which feels especially cruel considering you essentially spotted him for Slim Jims the other week. He folds the map politely and then slips it back into its container.
“That sucks, I guess,” He says, continuing to nurse his drink. Sandy makes a phone-shape gesture with a frantic expression on her face.
Toby’s a little eccentric, but he’s not 9-1-1 call-worthy. You shoo her away to reorganize the shelves. He keeps talking at you about a variety of things. He sounds like a camper, talking about how living in the woods is better than where he’s living now, how his roommates are very noisy, and he’d rather be cold and wet and living in a tent than be in his current situation.
“Off-campus housing must be tough. Are you in a fraternity?”
“Fraternity? No, not uni,” he says, shuffling on his feet as he pulls the soda tab off the can and rolls it between his fingers, “Not uni. Not smart enough for it. I didn’t even finish high school.”
“Oh.”
Now it’s your turn to shuffle awkwardly.
Sandy slips into the break room and shuts the door behind her, leaving you, Toby, and the blinking security camera. Toby finishes his beverage and looks for a bin to toss it (and to look polite and well-mannered). You lift the garbage bin from behind the counter (also to look polite and well-mannered).
You both talk about a variety of things. Toby seems to relax once it’s just the two of you. He asks you about working here. He asks if you like it.
“Kind of. Pay is pretty bad, but the graveyard shift means I get paid to do nothing,”
He nods, then runs his fingers over the ridge of paper maps again. His hand snaps sharply downward to grip the counter, his free hand tugging up his sleeve so he can scratch his arm.
“Is there not any other way out of here?” Toby abruptly pulls his hand from the counter and strikes his temple with the heel of his hand, “W-Why won’t anybody let me leave?” Toby’s voice is cold and jagged like glass with corrosive terror. You recoil, instinctively covering your precious internal organs with a defensive lurch. Toby does the same, pulling his hood over his matted hair and bumping into the flat shelf behind him. Besides the hum-buzz of yellowed fluorescent lamps, the store is silent. He tugs the goggles over his eyes in a rough motion, too, mumbling and rocking to soothe himself.
After what feels like an eternity, Toby finally speaks at a volume you can hear.
“Do you ever feel like you’re being watched?” He weeps, “Like, even if you sleep on the second floor, it can still see you—even if you’re hiding—and it knows exactly where you are, and you can’t do anything?”
Sleepless nights, icy chills that leave the hairs on your neck standing on end, that prey-animal feeling where you know you’re being followed and observed (but your eyes can’t catch that distant figure, tall enough to blend in amongst the trees). People stopped believing you after you cried wolf a few too many times. Calling friends in the dead of night on the side of the road did not earn you a good favor, which explains why so many people stopped talking to you after high school. You look down at your near-dozen crossword puzzles filled out on lonely graveyard shifts, down at your hands, and then you meet Toby’s frightened gaze.
“I guess, yeah.” You reply.
Toby blinks, tugging his blue surgical mask to rest comfortably on his nose.
“Really?” He creeps back towards the counter, shuffling forward to speak quietly, “I like coming here because I feel like I’m finally alone; It feels like I’m safe here—like nothing can hurt me.”
You nod. Working here gives you plenty of quiet, something most people can not get enough of. This place can be nice as long as Mundy leaves you and Sandy.
“My house isn’t a great place to be right now. That’s why I come here a lot. Nice and quiet, no screaming.”
“I get that, too,” You say quietly, speaking as if you’re trying not to frighten a wild animal, “Sometimes everything is just… too much, yeah?”
“...Yeah,” Toby whispers, “Yeah.”
He relaxes, taking a few deep breaths before pulling back his hood and goggles. Toby then hooks a finger around the elastic band on his surgical mask and pulls it off of his face, revealing a gaping scar on the side of his cheek that looks like it was chewed through. His teeth are visible, fairly yellow (but otherwise fine-looking), and slightly crooked. Seeing Toby’s face in its entirety takes you a moment to become accustomed to, his crooked smile and slightly-bent nose are not what fills your mind. His jaw is soft and rounded, and his gray-ish skin is smattered with lighter marks of old wounds.
Toby scratches at the healed-over gash, picking at some calloused skin while his other fingers curl involuntarily.
“I don’t go out much at all—” He starts, wiping his hand on his coat, “It’s been nice, even if I’ve had to sneak out to come here, I don’t want any other guys knowing I’ve been out here to see you—” Toby scrunches up, fingers curling as he watches you process his words.
Toby has the nervous energy of a dog retired from blood sports and brought into a quiet home, always biting the hand that feeds because it’s all he’s ever known, kicking and screaming in terror at any gentle caress, howling like you’ve flayed his skin, separating sinew and flesh. He has matted fur and mangled teeth; he limps from years of brutality, eyes darting around the peaceful setting expecting to be bitten; to be scratched; to bleed with no future of quiet.
You walk out from behind the counter and sit beside him, bumping knees. You both sit in silence, surrounded by the warm hum-buzz of fluorescent lights. Toby’s shoulders heave with a tic as he knocks his knee against yours. The small noises of the creaky building and its humming electronics (which would normally send Toby into a tizzy) didn’t make his skin crawl. He feels his chest fill with air then feels the air leave out of his nose as he takes in your features, following the slope of your forehead down to your nose and mouth, then your chin and your neck. If you were to meet his gaze now he would die, so he enjoys this moment next to you for as long as he can.
Your time together is cut short when Sandy exits the break room.
Toby’s face warms as he scrambles to his feet and scurries out the door with a quick goodbye and thank you shouted in your direction.
You feel a hot blush creep up your face from your neck, Sandy finally speaks once it creeps to the tips of your ears.
“Did I…interrupt something?” She asks, holding back a snicker.
“A little bit,” You say, stuffing your hands into your pockets, “I keep your things from Mundy, you keep mine.”
✸𓆟✸
There are three things that, when they come together, become the ingredients for the worst shift of your life.
First: Sandy doesn’t clock in, any shift without Sandy is like a peanut butter and jelly sandwich without the jelly.
Second, and this one’s new, Toby doesn’t visit. He makes the grueling night shift a little less boring and gives you someone new to chat with and learn things.
Third, Mandy does one of his surprise visits, especially when he remembers the security cameras he installed.
He stormed in only a few minutes after you clocked in, stomping about the store and trying to find something to interrogate you so he could open the door to harsher criticisms. He finds a few misorganized cans and grills you.
“You’re supposed to put the tall cans in the second fridge, don’t mix them.”
“My bad, Mundy. Won’t happen again.” You say, holding your hands up.
Most of the time he finds minute things, but because there are hardly any customers, there’s hardly anyone to mess anything up, which means there’s not much you can do to fill out a shift. This time, however, he pulls out a little card, holding it out as if you are supposed to know what that means. He drags you into the break room and pushes the little SD card into his dingy laptop. He clicks on one of the few dozen files stuffed in the folder.
You watch a VOD of the security footage from a few weeks ago when you spotted Toby for those three extra Slim Jims. Mundy looks like he’s about to explode, pausing the video when all of Toby’s items are dumped out on the counter.
“You rang up only three Slim Jims that night. Why do I see six going into that bag?”
You freeze up, half because that’s such a stupid thing to pull you aside for, but also because Mundy is that crazy.
“I—”
“And then here,” He scrubs the video forward, showing the following interaction the following night, “Loitering? You’re letting people run amok in here when I’m not here? To think I trusted you and Sandy to care for things on your own.”
“Toby wasn’t doing anything—”
“No, don’t give me that done,” He snaps, ”Do you have any idea, any clue, what you’re doing to this place by letting people like that loiter around my store?” Mundy shouts, “Letting—You’re letting total thugs and drug addicts hang out in here. Do you ever think about what that may do for the reputation of this place?”
You sink back into your chair, which squeals as you curl like a sun-dried bug.
“You’re lucky I’m not going to fire you, do you understand? You’re lucky. That’s all you are. If that guy didn’t pay you back, you would be handing in your uniform.”
“But he’s not—”
“Not what?!” Mundy throws his hands up in exasperation, “Do you think normal people want to shop when you let crazy people bounce off the walls? You let this guy in—dirty and probably drugged out of his mind—and you make conversation with him? Let him loiter?”
“Mundy—”
“No, I’m not even going to bother with this,” He shoves the sopping-wet mop into your hands, “If I see any more shenanigans after this—you’re done. Get mopping. I have a headache from dealing with you, especially since I’m always trying to keep Sandy under control.”
Mundy massages his temples, walking into the break room while mumbling, “Now I’ve got to replace that piece-of-shit camera, too. Always on the fritz...”
You get to mopping, and Sandy passes through the automatic doors, a tense expression on her face.
“You know, I could hear him from the break room,” She mouths, “I think I would be the same if I were the manager of a dead-end gas station, especially if it were the only thing I had done with my life.”
Sandy pulls her purse over her shoulder, “Be careful not to unscrew your arms from mopping so much.”
She leaves, climbing into her girlfriend’s passenger side and pulling out of the dirt lot even faster. Mundy exits the break room and watches you like a hawk, and you spend three hours doing purposeless chores to keep him happy; you mop the floors, reorganize shelves, and restock the fridges (which were full) until you can barely hold yourself upright.
“See? I hired you to do your job, not just loaf around all night behind the counter.”
Ugh.
✸𓆟✸
Toby comes in again a few days after Mundy’s new ordinance began, and you can tell that all of this recent surveillance is getting to your head because you immediately look up at the camera that watches the both of you as if it’s going to snap at you like a dog. He says hello, waving with his eyes squint-y from a smile.
“You look like you’re about to puke.” Toby chuckles, leaving a few bills on the counter while he heads to the back to grab a drink, “Something wrong? Is it Sandy?”
“No, just… work.” You grab Toby's drink, eyes flicking to the camera as you take the money, count it up, and give him a few coins in change.
“Is it Mundy?”
You hush him, eyes flicking up to the camera. He nods, taking his drink and starting his familiar pacing around the main body of the store. You grab the mop from the break room, though you’ve already mopped this entire place three times, and begin your familiar dance to follow Toby around the store.
“He won’t let you stay. If I let you loiter, Mundy will fire me,” You meet his gaze, and he looks like a kicked dog, “I’m so sorry.”
Toby peeks at the camera, then looks back at you, “Is he here?” He asks.
“Break room, most likely watching the footage from my last shift. Mundy’s waiting for me to slip up, so it’s been stressful.”
Toby pats your shoulder, then takes his can and finishes the rest of his drink quickly, “... I’m sorry. I can go home if being here is a bad thing.”
“I don’t want you to go, though—” You say, your voice is a little too heavy for talking to a regular—”...You know, you’re one of three customers we’ve had for weeks. Isn’t that funny? This place is a dump. I would quit, but I need the money.”
Toby watches you push the mop in a fit, pushing and pulling water across the clean linoleum tiles.
“...I have to go now. Thanks for everything.” Toby says quietly with a new coldness to his soft tone.
His sudden shift in demeanor makes you a bit nervous as he exits the store, waving sweetly at you. You wave back. Hopefully, he didn’t say thanks for everything because he was leaving forever. You watch him disappear along the edge of the highway, and you are left alone to mop the floors for the rest of the night, eventually leaving because Mundy doesn’t trust you to handle closings anymore.
Toby scales the crag outside the gas station, slipping back into the woods with new feelings bubbling under the surface of his skin. He races past familiar trees, spotting the mansion on the horizon. He scales the wall using the only standing gutter left, and then he slips into his room through the window, angry enough to chew on his hand until he bleeds. He pulls off his shoes and flings them into his dresser. The quickest, easiest answer would be to run back there, hatchets in hand, and dismember this guy that’s been bothering you. The other part of Toby, the one he kept hold of after everything that happened to him (the part of him that’s still seventeen years old and terrified), wants to just curl up on his dingy mattress and give up. He grabs a hatchet and curls up with it in his arms, running his hand along the handle’s grain.
Maybe in a few days, he doesn’t want to scare you, maybe he can make it look like a bad accident.
There’s the clatter of furniture, the familiar sounds of home, and Toby drifts off to sleep, planning out the next few nights to prepare even if it means he won’t be able to see you. Spending the next few days in the manor is rough because everybody won’t stop asking questions. Toby hardly imagined anyone in the manor enough to notice he was still there (it took everyone nearly three weeks to notice EJ’s absence when it was too late to catch them), and it was even stranger for others to be concerned about Toby’s whereabouts.
He wishes EJ was still here, they hardly cared about unimportant things and cared even less about stupid things like visiting someone behind Slenderman’s back. They would have helped him plan, listened to Toby go through a few plans, giving a thumbs up when good and a thumbs down when bad. He instead spends the few days pacing around his room as ideas swarm his brain like locusts, biting off chunks until Toby needs to sleep and quit thinking.
✸𓆟✸
Mundy grumbles, stepping outside and lighting a cigarette as he stands next to the dumpster, eyeing the few gutted shells of cars abandoned on the lot. He twirls the keys around his finger, more stressed about adding two sudden openings online. He always hated computers.
Toby peeks around from behind the dumpster, eyes trailing down Mundy’s back, eyes boring into his spine and shoulder blades beneath his shirt. He unhooks one of his hatchets from its holster on his hip, creeping along the edge of the gas station’s wall as Mundy shuffles on his feet.
You already settled into your shift hours ago, Toby memorized your schedule so he could always bump into you. Mundy was so wound up from Sandy organizing the magazines her way that he nearly snapped and fired her on the spot.
Any reprieve from Mundy’s surveillance would not be taken for granted. You start counting the ceiling tiles, wishing you could do a crossword right about now.
“You think Mundy’s… Okay?” Sandy pipes up, restocking the beef jerky bags on a distant shelf.
“No.”
“I mean—yeah, he’s not generally okay, but… he’s been outside for half an hour…” Sandy stands, abandoning her work, ”I don’t smoke, but that seems like a long time to be out there in… that.”
Rain beats against the windows so intensely it’s hard to see the highway that runs parallel to the station, the only indicator that the highway still exists is the occasional flash of high beams as someone drives by. You can understand the need for a break (whether with a cigarette or a puzzle) but this torrential downpour would dampen anyone’s smoke break, at least he should be standing under the concrete awning. Lightning lights the night sky, highlighting the dark forests that swallow this little establishment. Thunder growls overhead, rolling over your mind like a cold chill.
“Something’s wrong.”
“Oh my god, please don’t go off on one of your tangents about Slenderman, I do not need that right now, especially since this is the first time we’ve had a moment without Mundy breathing down our necks. Besides, give me some reprieve since I’m handling garbage on such a stormy night.”
“I wasn’t going to!” You throw up your hands dramatically, “You’re the one that brought it up!”
Sandy looks outside and shudders, “Slenderman isn’t real, I’m not going to let your little internet ghost stories scare me.” She swallows, slipping outside and pulling the garbage bag from its canister, “You’re so paranoid.”
You watch her disappear into the darkness, the automatic doors sliding shut as she rounds the corner to toss the bag into the dumpster. You suck in a breath and push it out shakily. You hear muffled shouting, Sandy calling out for Mundy, but there’s no response.
The store feels too big all of a sudden, you feel too exposed with the large glass sliding doors, but Sandy’s jeers about your paranoia push that nervous energy down into the pit of your stomach.
Sandy heaves the bag up above her torso, but her shaky grip (and her laziness about tying the top of the bag) causes a plethora of things to spill from the bag. Sandy huffs, dropping the half-full bag on the ground and groping for trash in the dark.
She groped around in the dark, mind swimming with frustration and confusion. The rain soaks through her coat, and her well-kept nails are caked with mud as she picks up garbage. She feels the usual things—crumpled-up cans, napkins, and old fast food bags.
But the sudden, leathery texture that she brushes her fingertips against, a coppery tinge to the air. It’s warm, warm like a person.
A blood-curdling scream rings out after a flash of lightning turns night to day (followed by the loudest clap of thunder you’ve heard—the kind that makes the earth shake). You chuckle to yourself, but you shut yourself up when you hear her hysteric sobs mixed in with Sandy’s horrified screams.
Everything goes quiet.
“Sandy?”
Her sobs continue, you can hear her crying.
“Sandy—” You step out into the rainy darkness, “—Hey, are you there? Is everything okay? Was it a raccoon or something?”
She shouts your name with the desperation of a wild animal with an arrow through its leg, scrambling to her feet, she’s soaked and cold.
She grabs the collar of your shirt, drags you back towards the light, then locks the doors behind the two of you, and knocks a shelf over to block the door.
“Sandy, what the hell? I just—”
“M-Mundy’s dead—he’s fucking dead,” She gasps, sobbing harder than before, ”We’re next—Oh god, oh god, oh god—”
Sandy lurches and vomits, dark bile streaking across the linoleum tiles. You’re at her side in a second pulling her dark, curly hair away from her face. You guide her to sit down in the break room, kneeling in front of her as she nearly shakes herself to pieces.
“He’s dead? You’re serious?”
“His head was in a garbage bag—” A dry sob rattles her frame, ”—He’s dead. Dead, dead, dead.”
You pull out your phone and dial the emergency number, gently soothing Sandy as she tries to hush up when the line connects. You give the operator the address and hold the phone for Sandy. She sputters, trying to spit out her words. The operator asks her questions, trying to get her to relax.
She described Mundy’s still-warm head rolling out of the bag, Sandy’s skin void of its typical warmth and vibrancy. Sandy emphasizes how warm it was when she touched it, like feeling a leather bag sitting in the sun.
The operator soothes both of you, help is on the way.
After thirty minutes of agonizing silence, The approaching ambulance’s siren wailed like an angel, and the paramedics that arrived on the scene ushered you and Sandy out and swaddled you both in blankets. Tape cinched the gas station, and officers secured the perimeter, marching like ants. The rain was still heavy, and large droplets beat against the ambulance. Detectives sat across from you trying to get Sandy (in her nearly catatonic state) to recite the scene.
“I don’t know,” Sandy said, “I don’t know.”
I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know… She’s rocking herself, shivering either from terror or the cold—perhaps both—as you rub her back and try to help her calm down.
“Rich,” a paramedic shouts, which drags the detective's attention from Sandy, “Call up Morgan—We’ve got another.”
He sighs and hops out of the ambulance, beating a phone number into the small buttons and walking off into the rain.
Sandy turns to you, she’s ice cold, “...What are we gonna do now?”
Your mind can’t help but wander, the rational half of you wants to believe that this was some kind of freak accident, that Mundy just…
Well, you aren’t sure how someone could be accidentally decapitated, but maybe there is a logical explanation for Mundy’s death. He is just another number in a vast list of victims of these unexplainable attacks. Some believe in a Jack the Ripper scenario, while others lean towards the supernatural. You’ve fallen down the rabbit hole before, and with each passing moment, the idea of your past delusions being real sounds less and less insane. Sandy nudges you, interrupting your slip into panic.
“What are we going to do now?”
“I…I don’t know.” You whisper, curling up under your blanket.
You swear you see someone moving amongst the trees, and dread washes over you like an icy bath.
What are you going to do now?
✸𓆟✸
#mewrites#mecreepy#creepypasta#crp#creepypasta fandom#creepypasta art#ticci toby#creepy pasta#creepypasta fanfic#ticci toby creepypasta#creepypasta ticci toby#tobias erin rogers#tobias erin rogers x reader#ticci toby x reader#ticci toby x you#ticci toby x y/n#ticci toby fanfic#toby creepypasta#ticci toby headcanons#new record for longest fic#crp fandom#crp fanfiction#ticci toby fanfiction#creepypasta fanart
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🧺 — Laundry And Taxes
chapter 16. // (masterlist)
The loud blaring scream from the old TV danced throughout the small living room of Nina’s apartment as the screen played a classic slasher film. Junk food and nail polish sprawled out on the hardwood floor beside the two girls as Natalie firmly gripped Nina’s hand in hers, applying another steady stroke of pink paint onto her nails. Only the glow from the TV screen, and the dim light from the lamp standing tall next to the couch, illuminated the dark apartment which had long been overtaken by the midnight hour.
Perching the brush in between her fingers, Natalie carefully ran the paint over Nina’s nail one last time, before leaning back and examining her handiwork. She watched as the girl blew over her freshly polished nails, as she beamed with excitement as she spread out her hands.
Natalie fought back a smile at the enthusiasm, and brought herself to her feet, stretching the late-night tiredness out of her overworked limbs.
“Gonna go out for a smoke. You coming?”
As her nails finished drying, Nina nodded, and jumped to her feet as well, and followed the tall girl over to the front door, grabbing her leather jacket as Natalie grabbed her coat.
The springtime weather outside had been warmer than other nights, with only the occasional chilly breeze rushing past the two girls standing on the front step of Nina’s apartment building. The downtown streets were consumed by the darkness, only the orange overhead glow of the flickering street lights reflected off of the wet roads, glistening in the little remaining snow that hid in the shadowy cracks and crevices between buildings. Natalie held her cigarette between her fingers, with her jacket draped over her pajama top. She stared out at the world around her, watching cars drive past, splashing the dirty water of the melting ice, the sound of the engine roaring. Taking a deep inhale of smoke, pressing her lips onto her cigarette as she thought to herself for a moment, she thought the busy nightlife of the moment was almost peaceful.
Nina sat herself down onto the cement step, arms crossed over her knees, and took a deep breath in. It was a quiet night, only the occasional car or pedestrian passed by. The stars were brighter than usual, mingling around the waning moon in the abyss skies.
Natalie glanced down at the girl, and took a seat next to her. The two girls sat in silence for a moment, letting the world move past them.
“So what's going on with you and Toby?” Nina asked, turning her head to look at Natalie, who looked back at her.
“What about us?”
“Like are you two a thing or…?”
“We’re just friends,” Natalie said, tapping the building ash off of her cigarette.
“Whaat! You two are so cute together though,” Nina continued to tease as the other rolled her eyes.
“I don’t think he even knows what he wants.”
“Well what do you want?”
Natalie took another long drag from her smoke as a drunken group stumbled down the sidewalk, past the pair, and down the street, laughing and chatting amongst themselves. Another car drove past, the headlights reflecting off of the water collecting on the roads.
“I don’t know, just a quiet life I guess. I know Toby wants to go back to how everything was, but I don’t,” she sighed as she stared down at her burning cigarette, “I’d rather have a good life than have him.”
Nina stayed quiet for a moment, looking at the girl who looked down at her feet, with time and tiredness tracing her freckled face, her messy unwashed hair tangling itself over her shoulders. She was strong, made to be tougher than most girls her age. She was tall, she took up space without restraint. She was bold. Nina eyed the way Natalie’s brow furrowed, with disgust, or frustration, or shame. She watched as Natalie took her last deep breath in of smoke, and flicked the finished cigarette to the ground, inhaling life into her dazed body as she shook herself out of her own thoughts and back into the moment.
“But whatever, that doesn’t matter.”
“That’s like, really similar to how I felt with Jeff,” Nina said, “All I really want is to have a good life but how can I even achieve that if I’m just like, all alone, you know?”
“It’s better to be alone than with someone who makes you feel like shit, Nina.”
“I guess so. But I don’t want to live my life alone like there’s got to be something about me he can love, right? It doesn’t even matter anymore though, it’s not like he’s here,” She ran her hands over her ponytail, laughing sadly at herself.
“You don’t need to waste your time on someone who doesn’t appreciate you. Jeff was a dickhead to you anyways.”
“I know, I know. It’s just that even if he was a dickhead, I wish things were different.”
“Yeah, I know that feeling,” Natalie muttered, groaning softly as she stood up, tailbone sore from the hard cement, “This conversation is getting too deep, let’s go inside.”
Natalie sat down on the couch beside Nina who buried herself under the covers and stretched out her legs. She laid back into the seat and placed her arms over Nina’s legs, watching the rest of the film playing out on the old TV, reaching for the remote to turn the volume down. When Natalie glanced over to the younger girl, she noticed Nina had fallen fast asleep, breathing softly as her chest gently raised and fell. She looked peaceful.
Natalie turned back over to watch the movie, the ambience of the world around her harmonizing with the suspense of the final scare before the credits rolled. She loved horror movies, how they never really had a happy ending. She thought it was most realistic how the main character fought so hard to survive, maybe even killed the killer, but could never truly be free from everything that had happened. The violence, the blood, being stripped from everything. Natalie thought that was what made horror movies so realistically gruesome. That she had a morbid understanding that no one else seemed to have. The only thing they didn’t get right, she thought, was that when the main character was the last one standing, there was never an annoying idiot in their life to insist he wanted to stand with them. Natalie had survived her own slasher film, the final girl, and the final asshole who didn’t understand personal space. When you survive a horror movie, she thought to herself again, you spend the rest of your life trying to make sure a sequel doesn’t happen. And Natalie’s mistake was befriending a serial killer.
As she watched the credit scene play alongside some suspenseful music, the girl turned the TV off with the remote. For a moment, she stared at her reflection bouncing off of the black screen, as if she was trapped in a void. She saw the kitchen lights from behind her shine over her in the reflection as well, and when the girl leaned her body away, it seemed the light seemed to follow. Natalie sighed and leaned back into the couch, staring up at the ceiling, the world quiet around her, the weight of Nina’s legs remaining still on her lap. She thought about the most dreadful things; she thought about Toby, the boy she considered her best friend.
She had never met anyone who had so closely resembled the sun. If she looked at him for too long, her eyes would burn. He was Icarus, and scorched wings. Teeth bared to the world as he fell. She thought back to a newspaper article she read about how when the sun dies, humans wouldn't know until eight minutes later. Natalie made it a point to stay eight minutes longer with him at any chance she could. She wanted to be there when his light went out.
The girl shook off her thoughts, and readjusted herself into a more comfortable position, before closing her eyes. She listened to the softly breathing girl draped across the couch, the occasional car passing, the creaking of the old apartment settling. . She listened to the sound of the clock on the wall ticking. Natalie listened to the world live on beyond her, and wondered how quiet it would be when the sun died. Her body fell heavy, breathing shallow, before the girl finally drifted off to sleep.
The next morning, Natalie stretched the tiredness out from her slender limbs as she walked through the crisp warm countryside. The snow had begun to melt, dead grass from under the white blankets peaked out. Birds had begun to sing again, the subtle heat spread over her body as the girl made her way down the gravel roads. She dragged herself up the front porch steps, and into the house. Natalie listened as she heard the muffled TV playing from the livingroom, which meant Toby must have been home. Last time they talked, they had another argument over her unfavorable customers at the bar.
She shuffled past the living room, and into the kitchen, where the early morning sun shined past the windowsill, the white paint chipping. The old floorboards creaked under her sluggish steps as she turned on the coffee machine and went to grab her mug from the cupboard.
“Hey, how was the sleepover?” Toby asked from behind the girl, standing idly in the doorway.
“Where’s my mug?”
“What?”
“My coffee mug. Where is it?” Natalie closed the cupboard, and turned to face the boy, who always looked a little bit guilty of something.
“I accidentally dropped it last night, and-and it broke.”
“Are you kidding me?”
Toby stood silently for a minute, feeling the rage seeping from the girl across the kitchen.
“It’s just a fucking cup Nat, why are you mad?”
“‘Cause I told you to not touch my shit, Toby. You just don’t fuckin’ listen,” Natalie said, raising her voice as she pressed her hands together, trying to put a leash on her temper.
“Why the fuck do I gotta listen to you? You bitch me out over a fucking cup, I said it was an accident,” Toby raised his voice back, not quite willing to put his own leash on.
“Maybe have some respect for me and my things and we wouldn’t have this problem.”
“Well maybe I just don’t respect stupid bitches, hows that sound?”
“Don’t call me a bitch, Toby, I swear to God.”
“Don’t act like a bitch then.”
“You’re fuckin’ unbelieveable” Natalie shouted, slamming her hands on the countertop before pushing past Toby, and out onto the front porch, closing the door hard behind her.
She dug a cigarette out of her pack, quickly lighting it, and closing her eyes as she inhaled. She felt the smoke go to her head, drowning out her racing thoughts, taking her teeth off of her tongue. Natalie let out a deep breath as she pressed her back to the wall, and squinted her eyes at the bright blue skies that draped over the rolling green fields.
The front door slowly creaked open, and Toby stepped out onto the porch beside the girl who refused to look at him.
“You should learn how to leave people alone,” she muttered as she continued to look off at the farmland ahead. Anywhere but him.
“You should learn to be less of a bitch.”
Natalie scoffed as she raised the cigarette to her lips once again, her free arm draped around her side, squeezing herself. Toby quietly stood by her, tapping his thumb onto his other hand and tried not to bite the inside of his cheek too hard.
“You know, I-I can just buy you a new mug,” he said softly, tripping over the words he forced out past his gnashing tongue, “I didn’t know you’d get so mad about it. I swear it was just an accident.”
“Don’t worry about it, it doesn’t matter.”
The two stood in silence under the sun, listening to the passing breeze, and occasional birdsong. Natalie sighed to herself as she put out her cigarette, and nudged the boy’s arm with her own.
“Nina was telling me about this dumb frat party or something. She invited us, but I don’t know if you want to go.”
“Sure why not, better than being trapped in this place.”
The music blared loudly throughout the house, the bass of the song nearly causing the floor to shake. Toby groaned to himself as he noticed all of the people talking, drinking, laughing. Some dancing, some flirting. He couldn’t even hear himself think. He glanced over towards Natalie, who looked equally as uncomfortable, maybe even more than he was. The two pushed through the crowd of drunk strangers chatting amongst themselves, and into the kitchen where they saw Nina talking to a guy neither of them recognized. When she noticed them, Nina excitedly waved them over. Toby made his way towards the eccentric girl, and Natalie followed closely behind, pushing off a guy who accidentally knocked into her.
Nina poured four shots of vodka, and handed a glass to each of them. She plugged her nose while it went down, Toby shook off the taste, and Natalie swallowed the liquor down like she swallowed her pride.
“This is Joshua, he’s a friend of mine,” Nina shouted out, barely being able to speak over the stereo blasting dance and pop music. Toby scanned the older boy up and down, before easing his hostile expression, and giving a nod. He glanced over his shoulder at the girl behind him, watching as Natalie hugged herself with her arms, and glared around the room. The boy nudged her with his arm, gaining him a scowl before she realized it was him.
“Lighten up Nat, have another shot,” he shouted, leaning over to her so she could hear better.
“I’m going to take it slow, but you go wild.”
“Suit yourself,” Toby exclaimed before turning back over to Nina and the other boy introduced as Joshua, preparing himself to do another shot with the group.
Natalie took a step back as she made her way over to the chips, grabbing a paper plate as she piled some on, and sneaking herself a beer from the cooler. She pressed herself against the wall behind her as a couple of girls rushed past, giggling amongst themselves. Tossing a chip into her mouth, the girl watched quietly as Toby shotgunned a cooler with a few other boys. She watched as he brushed off the twitches and jerks in his fingers and arms. She couldn’t understand how it was so easy for him to talk to people. It was as if he had a special talent of making friends, while she couldn’t connect with people even if she wanted to. As she leaned her sore back against the wall, feeling the soft vibrations of the bass as the beat dropped, looking out over the sea of people in front of her, she couldn’t help but feel as though she only existed in the shadow of the boy she called her best friend.
Natalie pressed her bottle to her lips as she choked down the last drop of beer, tossing the empty drink into the garbage can next to her, and pushing past people to make her way out into the backyard. The chill of the night brushed against her face as Natalie inhaled the fresh air, feeling the weight that suffocated her in that house fall off of her chest. Her hand dug into her jacket pocket as she pulled out a cigarette, replacing the cool, fresh air in her lungs with a burning smoke as she lit it, and inhaled. Natalie closed her eyes, sitting herself down on the hard cement step, the music barely muffled by the walls separating her from the party indoors. A few groups of people mingled outside alongside her, most of which held red solo cups in their hands, or joints, or cigarettes, chatting with people they’ve probably known their whole lives. The girl rested her arms over her knees as she stared down at the ground, listening to the world around her. She tried not to think about how slow, or fast, time was passing her by. She tried not to think much at all.
The girl sat on the step for a moment, finishing up her cigarette before flicking it to the ground. One song done, a couple seconds of silence, another one starts. Cheering, talking, yelling. Arguing, and yelling. One song ends, another one starts. Natalie groaned as she pulled herself up to her feet, making her way back into the party. As soon as she entered the house, back into the kitchen, she saw Nina quickly approach her, she stumbled a bit as she walked, anxiety painted her face alongside her flashy makeup.
“Oh my god there you are, I was looking all over for you,” Nina said as she grabbed Natalie’s hand, “I think Toby had too much to drink.”
The girls made their way into the living room, where they watched as Toby argued loudly with another unfamiliar boy.
“Toby I found Nat,” Nina shouted out, but he ignored her, or couldn’t hear.
Natalie watched on the sidelines as Toby drunkenly bickered back and forth with the college kid who was bigger, and taller than him. She watched as he insulted the other boy, put him down, clawed and bit his way to the top. It was a mortifying act, as if he had something to prove. As if he was lost in his own self-deception and lies. When the older boy called Toby a freak, Natalie watched as Toby tackled him to the ground, a hunger for revenge in his dark eyes. She watched as everyone crowded around, watching the younger boy take the bigger one to the floor, and beat him senseless. Even the pop songs blaring in their ears couldn’t muffle out the sounds of shouting, and yelling, and Toby threatening the other.
“Say that shit again,” he screamed louder than any bass the stereo could produce, “you think it’s fucking funny now, huh?”
Natalie's first pet was an elderly herding dog. As it aged with her, she watched as her companion succumbed to old age when she was only a child. She watched as Nina yelled for them to stop, other men pulling Toby off. When he looked at her, she saw a familiar look in his eyes. She knew better than anyone how to let a dying dog die. The sun was burning out, the girl thought. Natalie stayed for an extra seven minutes before storming out that night. She changed her mind before the eighth. She decided that she was better off not witnessing the light die too. That girl never really liked the dark.
As she pushed past the crowd of people, some shouting, most watching, and out through the front door, she tried to ignore the wasted boy who followed out after her. Natalie made her way down the road, pretending like she couldn’t hear Toby calling her name.
“Nat for fucks sake slow down,” he yelled out, running up to the girls side. She bared her teeth and quickened her pace, rejecting the orders of the boy. As he grabbed her hand, and stumbled over himself, Natalie had then noticed how bloody he was. He didn’t seem to notice, or care.
“Where are you going?”
“I’m going home,” she replied as she yanked her hand away from his grasp.
“What, why?”
“Because you’re acting like a lunatic!”
“So what? You think that makes you better than me?” Toby slurred his words as he raised his voice, unable to stand still as he tripped over himself.
“I didn’t say that,” Natalie spoke back.
“Well you sure fucking act like it.”
“What’s your problem?”
“There’s no problem, I’m having the time of my fucking life,” he shouted out, pushing past her and walking himself back home. He wiped the blood from his nose as he walked ahead of her.
Natalie stood for a moment, letting distance grow between them as the boy continued down the street, and shook her head in disbelief.
Toby burst through the front door of the quiet little farmhouse draped in the darkness of the midnight hour. Sobriety began to wash over him as he collapsed onto the couch that night. His finger ran over his lip as he noticed blood pouring from his busted mouth. He didn’t remember being hit, but was sure the other boy must’ve gotten a few good punches in. Toby turned himself over onto his back as he looked up into the dark livingroom, he couldn’t even remember why he started the fight in the first place. All he knew was that he would do it again. That he would spend his life fighting, and sleeping on the couch. It was him against the world, and he did what he had to do to survive. As he closed his heavy eyes, the buzz still warming his body, he made sure he heard Natalie come into the house before he let himself fall asleep.
#tombfic#finally got this done#life has been busy#enjoy the angst#creepypasta#creepypasta fandom#ticci toby#creepypasta headcanon#ticciwork#clockwork#ticci toby headcanons#toby rogers#creepypasta ticci toby#ticci toby fanfiction#ticci toby fanfic#ticci toby creepypasta#ticci toby headcanon#natalie ouellette#nina the killer
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Hi I was wondering if you could do yandere Toby with an s/o who follows him around like everywhere he goes there behind him :>
This ask is amazing. I love writing for (especially yandere) Toby, thank you anon <3
He’s suspicious at first, not trusting that you wont try to escape. But after a while, he’ll start trusting you more. Letting you follow him everywhere, even being happy with it. He’ll hold your hand so you don’t fall behind, or just to hold you. He loves being around you, and if you want to be closer to him? That’s even better. He’ll hold you closer and closer as time passes, putting a hand on your waist to guide you. He might start taking walks in the woods with you at this point, he trusts you so much. Try to escape on these walks? Distract him then run? Oh, that’s laughable, really! Even with a few minutes head start, Toby is a master tracker, with great hearing. Then it can go one if two ways. He’ll either simply leisurely walk towards you, letting you see him, causing you to try and run faster. But he always catches up in the end. Then he’ll hold a blade to your neck and coldly ask you if you’re really that stupid. Then he’ll drag you home, to where you’ll be treated much worse than before. Or he’ll chase after you, pushing you down and screaming at you, asking why you left him. Better to stick to the rules.
Backtracking a bit. What if you decide he’s getting too close? What if you don’t want him at your shoulder? What if you tell him all of this? He’ll get quiet, looking at the floor. You’ll hear a small, sad voice asking if you hate him. No matter what you say, Toby won’t be convinced that you didn’t mean anything by it. He’ll be certain that he needs to force you to stay with him. Best case scenario, you’re locked up in a room for a week and Toby is colder and more snappy. Worst case scenario? You lose a limb. To keep you from escaping and all that, you know. Toby loves you, loves seeing you happy, but as a yandere, he secretly loves seeing you in pain more. Your pretty tears will make him feel better.
#creepypasta#creepypasta x reader#creepypasta headcanons#creepypasta fanfiction#yandere creepypasta#yandere creepypasta x reader#yandere creepypasta headcanons#yandere creepypasta fanfiction#ticci toby#ticci toby x reader#ticci toby headcanons#ticci Toby fanfiction#yandere ticci toby#tw yandere#yandere ticci toby x reader#yandere ticci Toby headcanons#Yandere ticci Toby fanfiction
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Ticciwork - Meeting Again (Part 1)
Summary: Natalie is walking home from art class and comes across the burning building of Toby’s home.
Natalie whistled to herself as she wandered down the sidewalk, her notebook held closely to her chest. It was late at night and she was walking home, having just finished up art classes with Helen.
It seemed like any other average night. Everything was as it should be.
Until she noticed the faint orange glow coming from the neighborhood she was about to pass, smoke pouring into the sky.
Her heart dropped. That was Toby’s neighborhood.
Natalie broke into a run, bolting into the neighborhood, and froze in shock at the sight in front of her.
Toby’s house was on fire, as was the street surrounding it.
She dropped her notebook and without thinking ran straight through the flames.
“Toby??” She gasped. “TOBY?!”
Adrenaline began to course through her as the flames grew higher into the sky. She didn’t think, just acted. She ran to the front door, desperately trying to open it, but it was stuck.
“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon…” She whispered, voice shaking. When it didn’t budge, Natalie began to slam her body into it, until finally the door flew open, causing Natalie to fall through and hit the floor.
She stood up and looked around frantically.
“TOBY!!” Natalie screamed. The smoke and flames filling the area obscured her vision. On the floor of the kitchen however, a burning lump lay on the floor, blood pooled around it. It was too big to be Toby. And the sound of someone crying out filled her ears
And then, the voice answered from the darkness.
“Natalie??” It was a woman’s voice. Connie’s voice.
“CONNIE??” Natalie darted for the other room, the faint sound of sirens filling the air as the firefighters and police approached.
Connie was laying on the floor, her leg trapped under a burning pile of wood and ceiling tile. Her eyes were wide with pain and shock.
“Natalie what are you DOING HERE-“
Natalie didn’t let her finish.
“Hang on!!” She began attempting to life the burning pile of debris off of Connie, letting out a yelp of pain as the burning hot materials seared her fingers. But Natalie didn’t give up, even as she struggled to lift it up. Letting out a pained cry, she barely managed to lift it off the floor- and Connie immediately scrambled out from under it.
“We- cough we need to get out of here- c’mon!” Natalie helped Connie to stand up by wrapping one of the woman’s arms around her shoulders. The two stumbled through the house just as the firetrucks arrived, both of them coughing and wheezing heavily as a group of firefighters ran towards the two to make sure they were okay.
Natalie didn’t stop there though. She tried to run back inside, but was stopped when one of the firefighters grabbed her arm.
“You can’t go in there!! It’s dangerous.” The man held on tightly as Natalie continued to thrash and try to escape.
“No!! Toby- he- he could still be in there!” She cried, tears welling up in her eyes. “I have to help him!!”
“Then we’ll find him.” The officer replied. His voice was slightly softer now, giving Natalie a sympathetic but firm glance. “But you need to stay back.”
The rest was a blur. Fire dancing into the sky, smoke blocking out the stars, firefighters running about and the bright flashing sirens blaring in her ears.
Natalie was vaguely aware of being loaded into an ambulance, along with Connie who was in a stretcher.
And Toby was never found.
As the days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months, Natalie was filled with an aching numbness. The one person who had ever truly loved her was gone. The only person she could trust was gone.
Even as a news report about him being suspect in a murder came out, she didn’t believe it. Natalie had lost all hope. And she didn’t want to hurt herself further by giving in to that.
She’d had enough.
#ik theres like no toby at all in this one 😭😭 but listen#he’ll be back in part 2 😔#also ignore the shitass name i cant name fics for the life of me#ticciwork#ticciwork creepypasta#ticciwork fanfic#ticciwork angst#ticci toby x clockwork#clockwork x ticci toby#ticci toby#ticci toby fanfic#ticci toby creepypasta#clockwork#clockwork fanfic#clockwork fanfiction#clockwork creepypasta#ticci toby fanfiction#toby rogers#toby rogers creepypasta#toby rogers fanfic#natalie oulette#natalie oulette fanfic#natalie oulette creepypasta#creepypasta#creepypasta fanfiction#creepypasta fanfic
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How would Toby behave with a partner who disassociates? Im part of a system and disassociate a lot obviously lol. If you're not comfy with this, just ignore it!
Thanks for requesting!
In general, Toby doesn’t pay that much attention to what the people around him are doing. He notices your presence, but mostly just goes about his own business unless you make direct contact with him or if he needs something from you.
When you dissociate, Toby simply thinks you’re spacing out. It elicits no reaction from him because he doesn’t think it’s anything abnormal or out of the ordinary. Unless you tell him that it’s more than a typical instance of zoning out, Toby won’t notice anything weird.
That is, even if he can’t get any reaction out of you for a couple of hours, even if you don’t answer him, even if you spend an entire day staring at a wall.
In general, Toby doesn’t categorise or assign value to other people’s behaviour. In his opinion, you can behave in any way you want without it being any of his business – or anyone else’s, for that matter. As long as you don’t annoy him or cause harm to yourself, you do you.
If and when you do tell him that you have a tendency to dissociate, Toby’s reaction comes across as rude. He will unapologetically tell you that he hasn’t noticed. You two might be in a serious relationship, but Toby still doesn’t quite understand why he should become more aware of his surroundings, even when it comes to you.
If there’s something you want from him – for him to behave in a certain manner or to help you in some way when you dissociate – tell him directly. Toby doesn’t bother to read people’s intention between the lines, so you need to communicate your needs unambiguously and be as blunt as possible.
Although Toby can be self-absorbed and doesn’t like to compromise, he will always try to do his best to accommodate you in his life. He knows that if he wants to keep you around, he’ll have to make sacrifices every now and then. In this case it means taking you more into consideration and paying attention to how you’re doing in your day-to-day.
Over time, Toby learns to read the cues that predict a dissociative episode and will try his best to act in whatever way you want him to act when the episodes occur.
#ticci toby x reader#ticci toby headcanons#ticci toby fanfiction#creepypasta x reader#creepypasta headcanons#ticci toby creepypasta
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Ticci Toby small fanfiction "Thank you"
It was another day for Toby, he woke up alone in his apartment to rain falling down at his windows. He kept thinking about everything that was going on at that point, his life, family and future plans.
He knew he was alone at that point, no one to be there for him, if there was someone to be there with him there he thought for himself why did he have to be like this, all alone?
He went closer to the window and kept looking outside at rain falling down and cars passing by, he couldn't belive time has flew by so fast and that he has become like this, from a good child to a grown up man, so many thoughts have been passing by at that time, he thought about everything while looking at rain outside. At that point he sighed and said "Is there anyone who is actually made for me? Someone who is waiting for me to show in their life? Is this really what life really is?" He just wished to have normal life, just like everyone else and not have to kill innocent people he didn't want to. He stopped looking at the rain and went to his kitchen to make himself coffee and something to eat, while turning up his radio a bit he turned on "Thank you" by dido and just felt like he was with his family again. Somewhere where he belonged to. With someone.
Slowly he started singing
"My tea's gone cold
I'm wondering why I got out of bed at all
The morning rain clouds up my window
And I can't see at all
And even if I could, it'd all be grey
But your picture on my wall It reminds me that it's not so bad It's not so bad"
#ticci toby#ticci toby x reader#ticci toby headcanons#ticci toby fanfiction#fanfiction short#something short#creepypasta headcanons#creepypasta#creepypasta x reader#ticci toby hcs#tobias erin rogers#SoundCloud
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The Roommate (Dark!Ticci Toby x F!Reader)
NSFW One-shot
Author's note: This is my first time writing smut, so sorry if this turned out bad. It's also way longer than I thought, hopefully there aren't any spelling errors. Cross posted on my AO3 account.
Warnings: Swearing. Toby being creepy, he hurts the reader, blood kink? unprotected sex, creampie, biting, it's just... a lot. (4,519 words) - Minors DNI!
___________________________________________________________
Your brother hated his new roommate.
From what you gathered from the phone calls you two had, you knew he kept to himself, was kind of creepy and left the occasional mess in the kitchen. Your brother had tried to include him when he went out with his other college friends, but he always refused. The guy was gone at odd hours during the night, and smelled like dirt and pine.
You told him it was his own fault for posting an ad for a roommate on Craigslist.
It wasn’t all bad though. He paid his rent on time, always in cash - which he slipped under your brother's bedroom door at the end of every month. Plus, he had insisted on not signing any formal documentation. The lease they had was just a last minute document drawn up for a short term stay.
Your brother would only have to put up with him for 6 months. Then he’d be gone.
But hey, beggars can’t be choosers. And your brother needed someone to pick up part of the rent last minute.
After a few months it had seemed like he’d grown accustomed to the strange ‘twitchy’ man he lived with, that is, until you told him your plans to visit.
You finally got some time off, and it was the only chance you’d get to see him. So when all the hotels in the area were fully booked you were not about to give up. And….your brother’s place had a perfectly good couch available, right?
He was reluctant at first, but after much pleading, he finally agreed.
On one condition.
Stay away from Toby.
You figured he was just being overprotective. It was kind of sweet, but he’d never been that adamant about you not talking to someone before. There must have been something seriously messed up with the guy. And to be perfectly honest, it made you second guess whether you’d actually go through with the trip out there.
But you already bought the plane ticket, and you couldn’t let that money go to waste.
So now you sat in the passenger seat of your brother's truck, the two of you making idle chit chat as he drove you back to his place from the airport.
He talked about school, the classes he was taking, what parties he’d been going to, and fraternities he’d been considering joining. That last part earned him some of your teasing about becoming a beer pong loving, “Frat Bro”.
Only after a few beats of silence, you decided to ask him something that had been bugging you since your arrival.
“Your roommate knows I’m staying at your place, right?”
It was a simple enough question. The last thing you wanted was to intrude on someone else’s living space after all.
You saw your brother grip the steering wheel harder. “Yeah. Toby should know you’re coming.” His response was curt and lacking his previous joyful tone.
“You two fighting or something?”
Your brother sighed. “No just,” He paused for a moment, and glanced at you. “He’s been acting weirder than usual.”
“Weird how?”
He didn’t say anything for a while, instead mulling over his choice of words. Not wanting to scare you, but still wanting to give you a heads up of the situation. “He’s been talking to himself. A lot.”
“That’s not that bad. Lots of people do that.” You don’t know why you felt the need to defend a person you hadn’t met yet.
Another pause. This one is longer than before.
“You haven’t heard what he’s been saying.”
______________________________________________________________
The road ahead was dark, lit up by the dim headlights of the car. The only thing out here now was trees, broken up by the occasional house. It was definitely far from campus.
The driveway was gravel, the truck rocking back and forth from the potholes and uneven terrain, finally coming to a stop in front of the house. Painted a dull plain white, one story, rather small, but it would do. It’s not like you were expecting a mansion.
After the car came to a stop, you grabbed your luggage from the backseat, following your brother to the front door where he quickly unlocked it.
The living room was sparsely decorated, with an old brown couch in the center, a small television and a coffee table littered with cans and half finished drinks.
It completely lacked a homey vibe. Definitely felt like a typical bachelor pad. You nudged his shoulder. “I love what you’ve done with the place.”
“Hey, I’m not majoring in interior design.” Your brother shot back, beginning to walk away past the kitchen, calling out to you. “I’m gonna go to bed.”
Your eyebrows furrowed with a look of disappointment. “Already? I thought we’d, like…. watch TV or something?”
“Next time don’t get such a late flight.” His face stretched into a yawn. “There’s plenty of blankets in the closet. Try not to make too much noise.” Disappearing behind the door of his bedroom, he left you standing in the room alone with your bags.
Time for bed I guess.
You sprawled yourself out on the couch, placing a pillow on the armrest, and rolled out the fuzzy blanket you’d found over your body. You turned to face the front door. The room was pitch black, with a few beams of moonlight split up by the venetian blinds.
You picked up your phone from the coffee table by your side, figuring you could watch a few videos before you fell asleep.
The screen lit up, temporarily blinding you before your eyes adjusted. Mindlessly, you scrolled through youtube to find a thumbnail that would spark any interest.
You were about to click one, when you heard someone at the front door. Your eyes widened briefly, and you quickly shut your phone off. You don’t know why. It wasn’t like you were a kid and your mom was coming into your room to see if you were actually asleep. But it felt like you needed to shut your eyes.
So you did.
The door opened slowly, whoever it was trying to remain undetected.
However, the scent that followed gave them away immediately. You actually had to stop yourself from reacting. It was a mixture of BO, dirt, and something else. Something dead.
Without even having to look, you knew it was Toby.
Footsteps, careful and calculated. The floorboards creaking.
You waited for him to walk by, expecting him to go to his room so you could continue playing on your phone.
But he didn’t.
The movements stopped halfway through, and you heard him, on the balls of his feet, making his way over to the couch you were on.
The fuck?
You felt your throat dry up. You wanted to swallow down your nerves, but you couldn’t react. You had to continue pretending, right?
You could hear him, his voice low and soft, like velvet. A boyish tone, the occasional word being broken up by some kind of stutter, muttering things you couldn’t make out.
He stopped when he got to your side, standing right in front of your face.
If you opened your eyes right now you’d probably see him peering down. His jeans dirty and torn, honey brown stare filled with curiosity, looking at the glimpses of your curves that peaked through the blanket on top of you.
A hand reached out.
Cold, yet somehow clammy… texture rough and calloused.
He was touching you.
He was touching your face.
Don’t move. Don’t you dare even flinch.
“M-must be the ssss-sister…”
That was the first clear sentence you could understand.
He retracted his hand. But you could still hear him, the heavy breathing.
His whispering.
“Soft”
Then he left.
Only afterwards did you realize you’d been holding your breath.
______________________________________________________________
“You look awful.” Your brother commented when he saw you the next morning.
It was true that you barely slept that night, made obvious by the bags under your eyes, and the change in your complexion. The interaction with the stranger, the one you’d been warned of, had plagued your mind, stirring up thoughts that kept you awake.
You grabbed a coffee mug, pouring yourself a glass, before joining your brother at the kitchen table.
From this angle, you had a clear view of the hallway. There were three doors, one must have led to the bathroom, and the other remaining two were the bedrooms.
You only stared at one of the doors though. The one leading to Toby’s room.
You knew, at some point he’d emerge and you’d finally be able to put a face to the name. A face to the hand that touched you.
For a moment, you wondered if you should tell your brother what happened. He’d probably flip out, maybe even confront the man.
So, despite your better judgment, you decided to keep it to yourself.
He only touched your face. Sure, it was creepy as hell, but you didn’t want to cause a fight during your vacation.
Your brother clapped his hands together, getting your attention.
“So listen!” He grinned widely. “We gotta plan out the strategy for tonight.”
“Strategy?” You asked hesitantly.
“Yeah strategy. There’s a party I want to go to. Kappa Alpha is hosting it.”
You tsked, sipping your coffee. “You realize I don’t know anything about the frats here. Is that like… a popular one or?”
He nodded. “Yeah it is. I’ve been trying to get into this one for a while now, so getting the invite is a big deal.”
You frowned. You were already so tired, and the idea of going to a kegger was not exactly on your ‘to do’ list. But it was important to him. So you complied.
“Okay. What time does it-”
A door opened. You stopped talking.
Your eyes widened to look over towards the sound.
Toby was up.
The first thing you noticed was a mop of dark brown hair, unkempt, with curls that went in every direction. It was slightly greasy too, he clearly hadn’t showered in a while. There was light stubble on his jawline, and his skin was a sickly, almost gray color. A snake bite graced his lower lip, and there were a few more pieces of metal sticking out the cartilage of his ears.
He shuffled forward, looking tired, still in a pair of plaid green pajama bottoms and a t-shirt with little alien faces on them.
Once he made it into the kitchen, Toby finally glanced over. You looked away immediately, embarrassed that you were caught staring.
He was handsome. You hated to admit it. But he was. You pushed the thought out of your head, reminding yourself of who he was.
“Muh-morning….” He croaked out.
Your brother gave a little nod, just enough to acknowledge him, turning back to you while Toby started toasting a poptart.
“It starts at 9, but we should show up at 10 o'clock. I don’t want to look too eager.”
“Whuh-what starts at 9?” Toby interjected.
Both you and your brother looked at him, before nervously meeting each other's gaze.
“Oh uh!” Your brother stammered. “Just another party.” He motioned over to you with his thumb. “This is my sister, (Y/N), by the way.”
Toby’s eyes bore into yours. You swallowed, trying to give him a polite, reassuring smile.
“Nice to meet you…. Toby, right?”
You acted unsure. Like you didn’t know his name by heart. Like you hadn’t had your brother vent to you about him for hours over the phone.
“Yuh-yeah. That’s right.” He looked back at your brother. “Is the puh-party tonight?”
“Yeah it’s at a frat house. Did you…” He hesitated, before finally asking him. “Want to come?”
Toby bit his poptart, shrugging his shoulders. “I've guh-got nothing better tuh-to do.” The twitching man looked back at you, wiping some crumbs from his lip. He didn’t have emotion behind his eyes, just a weird intense focus on your face.
You pretended to be unbothered.
It didn’t work.
He noticed.
And he liked the way you squirmed.
______________________________________________________________
Toby stayed in his room the rest of the day. Occasionally going into the kitchen, grabbing a snack, usually some kind of junk food, before he’d scurry back into his little cave.
You started getting ready as soon as the sun went down. It’d been a while since you’d been to a party and you wanted to look your best. Or look like you got a full 8 hours of sleep at the very least.
Toby said he’d meet you guys there. Saying something about how he needed ‘to take care of something first’. No one questioned him. Both you and your brother glad not to have to share a car ride with him.
Loud bumping music, the kind that shook a house and pounded in your chest, enveloped you when you walked inside the frat house.
Flashing lights, a crowd in the middle of the dancefloor jumping up and down. The air was hot from too many people in a room at once. You could barely move through them all to get to the bar.
God you were going to need a drink to get through this.
Maybe even a couple.
Especially after your brother left you alone to go mingle.
One tequila shot, then two maybe three rum and cokes later. You didn’t even know how long you’d been there. Time seemed to freeze. There was only the music, only the dancing, only the bodies moving against you.
You felt hot. Your cheeks burned, and it wasn’t just from the temperature of the room anymore. The room spinned a little when you walked forward. Not enough to consider yourself completely wasted though. But enough to feel…. Friendlier.
More social.
Less inhibited.
Numb.
After a lot of struggling, you made your way to the back of the room.
You leaned against a wall, catching your breath, holding a red solo cup in your hand. You could hear people trying to hold conversations by shouting over the music.
And there were plenty of people making out. In fact, you’d say the majority of people were just straight up groping each other.
It made you a little jealous if you were being honest with yourself.
You looked around, wondering if maybe you could find someone cute. You didn’t intend on getting lucky or anything, but it would sure beat just standing there like an idiot. When was the last time you even kissed somebody?
Finally, you locked on to someone across the room. Someone with honey brown eyes. Someone familiar.
Toby.
He grinned when your eyes met. It was the first time you’d seen him do that. Large toothy canine’s, that bandage on his cheek shifting slightly.
Oh god you felt your heart flutter.
You shouldn’t. You really shouldn’t. There was something wrong with him. Your brother didn’t like him. Nobody did.
He creeped you out.
He didn’t shower.
He smelled like death.
You listed the reasons out, and damn if there weren’t a lot of them. But in the end it didn’t matter. In the end, it was painfully, woefully, obvious what was going to happen.
And you were already walking over there.
You slithered over to his side, sweating, peering up at him through your eyelashes. Trying to look cute. Desirable.
It was working.
He could’ve eaten you up if you gave him the chance.
But you didn’t know that.
You fiddled with the end of your skirt, the jacket you originally wore tied around your waist. A flush on your cheeks, you let your hand gently touch his shoulder.
“H-hey… glad to see you made it.”
He tilted his head to the side, leaning down to hear you better. It made your stomach stir with excitement, he made you feel small kneeling down like that. But you liked it. Liked that he was paying attention to you, and only you.
“Whuh-what did you say?” His breath was hot on your cheek. Using the loud music as an excuse to get closer, to touch your skin. Making the hair on your neck stick up.
You breathed heavily in his ear on purpose. “I said, I’m glad you made it.”
Toby’s lips parted, not responding at first, but not moving away either. “Oh? Yuh-yeah?” He sounded amused, voice lowering an octave. “Excited to suh-see little ole’ muh-me?”
It was kind of a stupid, cheesy thing to say. Like he didn’t really know how to flirt, but maybe saw a couple movies and memorized the lines. But it somehow worked for him.
“Oh, I’m sure nothing about you is little.”
Why did you say that?
Why?
It just came out naturally. Oh god, now your face felt flushed from embarrassment.
You felt him touch the side of your face. He chuckled, a low rumble in his chest, it sounded heavenly.
“Yuh-you know, I’m having trouble huh-hearing you.” He paused looking around, making sure no one was watching. You wondered why.
“Do you want to go somewhere more private?”
That was enough to make heat travel between your thighs.
Fuck.
One meek nod from you was all he needed, before grabbing your wrist tightly.
Too tight, like he was unaware he could hurt you. Or maybe he liked causing a little pain?
He dragged you upstairs, practically lifting you with one arm, you felt like you were gliding over the steps. The muscles of his arms barely flexing under that hoodie of his, as if you were weightless.
He was strong.
You both traveled through the hallway, careful not to bump into anyone loitering in the hall. Some of the other party goers shooting you looks, but they were mostly directed towards Toby. They weren’t judging you or anything. In fact, they looked worried, maybe even a little scared. You started to wonder more about him. What was his reputation like if this was everyone’s reaction to him? Or perhaps he really just looked that scary.
So why did he turn you on?
He pushed you into an unoccupied room and flicked the light switch on.
You barely registered him locking the door behind him.
With one shove of his palm he pushed you backwards onto the bed. Your arms flailed a bit out of instinct, falling down on the mattress with an ‘oof’.
You swallowed thickly, watching him eye the way your legs had parted slightly. Your skirt hiking up dangerously on your thighs. You had to fight the urge to close them.
“Yuh-you look scared.” That velvet, sweet, voice of his was twisted by something sick.
“Are you?” His head cocked to the side, a wolfish grin on his face.
“Yes.” Was your reply. You didn’t feel like you could lie to him now. Feeling too exposed to even think straight.
He licked his lips, slowly approaching you. His fingers danced across your shoulders, traveling down your arms, sending goosebumps down your spine. They were cold and calloused, just like you remembered from the night before.
“Then whuh-why did you follow me here?” He cupped the side of your face, his thumb grazing across your bottom lip. You were going to respond, but he quickly shoved his finger in your mouth, gagging you. He wanted you to suck on them, but he didn’t communicate that well. “Why duh-did you….approach me?”
You let your tongue glide over his finger. His eyes narrowed, watching your face, before he started talking to himself. “Fuckin’ stuh-stupid.”
You paused. Was he talking about you?
“Should be whuh-working tonight…” He muttered. “Target just downstairs…. Ssss-so easy…this better be worth it…..” Toby chuckled to himself like he just told a joke.
You didn’t understand what was going on. Should you just ignore him and continue?
Toby retracted his hand from your mouth.
“Sss-so pretty….” He pushed your back onto the bed, crawling over you, his broad chest heaving, face pink and eyes lidded. Pupils dilated with lust. “So…. suh-soft….(Y/N)....”
You shivered when he said your name like that, feeling your panties dampen even more than before. Especially when he started running a large hand up your inner thigh.
You let out a shaky breath.
“Yuh-you like it when I touch you…. I know you do…” Your eyes flickered down at him, letting him continue his ramblings, Toby’s face breaking into another evil looking smile. “Luh-letting me touch you last nuh-night…. Pretending to be asleep.”
Your stomach dropped. You couldn’t hide it in your face, he fucking knew.
He fucking knew the whole time.
He burst out laughing at your expression. “Yuh-you’re still not even telling me to stuh-stop now!” Toby gripped your hip with one of his hands, lifting up the hem of your shirt with the other.
Before you knew it, he tossed the fabric over to the corner.
Your bra was next.
In any other circumstances you might’ve found it cute, or funny, when he struggled with the clasp. But something told you pointing it out to him wouldn’t have been a good idea.
He groaned at the sight of your exposed torso, immediately diving into your tits. Your nipples perked at the attention.
He was right. You weren’t stopping him. Your body screamed at you to. The smell of dirt and grime, of all things dead and decaying, it permeated off of him the more he touched you.
Toby’s mouth latched on to your left breast, the other gripped tightly in his hand. You knew you’d have bruises there tomorrow. You didn’t care.
He licked and nipped at the tender flesh, the swell of your tits heaving, your head thrown back and lips parted, letting out soft moans here and there.
A noticeable bulge grinded against your leg, as he huffed, humping himself against you like a dog.
After a while, he finally lifted his head up.
Toby looked you in the eye, grinning, licking your nipple teasingly one last time, before his attention moved to your skirt.
His hands searched your sides for a zipper, he grunted out of irritation when he couldn’t find it immediately.
You took the opportunity to gently put a hand over his, guiding it to where it was. “Here.” You said softly. “Let me help you.”
His eyes snapped up to your face when you touched him.
Immediately, his lips crashed onto yours. Needy, desperate, quickly shoving his tongue down your throat. You kissed back, swirling your tongue around his, ignoring the weird taste of metal coming from his mouth. His breath was hot and heavy, kisses sloppy. You doubted he got much practice, but he seemed to be learning quickly.
He made up for it with enthusiasm.
Finally pulling away, you both unzipped your skirt together. Lifting your hips off the bed, you shimmyed them down your legs, Toby watching in fascination.
“I’m guh-gonna fuck you.” He stated matter of factly. Then he whispered something that made your blood run cold.
“...Fuck you bloody.”
Shit this guy was scary.
In a few seconds, he ripped his hoodie off, along with his shirt. His chest was heavily scarred, a noticeable slash starting from his left side over to his shoulder, and a dark happy trail rising up from the waistband of his jeans.
You didn’t comment on it, but it was worrisome. You could only imagine what would cause someone to get hurt so badly and so often.
That said, Toby was definitely toned. A bit sickly looking, but his muscles had just a hint of a six pack formed. Maybe he did more exercise than you initially thought.
He kicked off his jeans next, unceremoniously pulling his boxers down, revealing himself to you. Lazily, he stroked himself, a thick layer of precum smearing down his shaft. It was long, veiny, but not very girthy. A flushed red tip, looking painfully hard.
You pulled down your panties slowly, already soaked, and ready. The anticipation was killing you, but you wanted to make him wait for it. His Adam's apple bobbed watching you, and you liked reveling in his stares.
“Guh-gonna split you in two…” Toby murmured, to no one in particular.
He hooked his arm under one of your legs, his body shivering with need, pulling your hips against him. He glided his shaft over your cunt, rubbing your clit slowly. He noticed you tense, how you whimpered slightly, and how your slick covered him more at the action. Looking in awe like it was some revelation to him.
Toby licked his lips, before finally enveloping himself in your heat.
It was quick. Like he was slamming a drawer shut, but he immediately bottomed out. You gritted your teeth in pain, before crying out when he started viciously pounding into you.
It fucking hurt. It hurt a lot.
“Shit..! Tuh-tight!”
Obviously, your muscles had tensed around him, feeling overwhelmed by the sudden fullness of his cock stuffing you. Unable to adjust.
You whimpered when he didn’t let up, tears pricking the corner of your eyes. A dull ache between your legs as he continued thrusting. The wet sound of skin slapping together coming from where the two of you were joined, burying his face in your neck, breathing in your scent.
Toby inhaled sharply, before you felt his mouth open wide.
Teeth broke through your skin instantly, a warm liquid dripping down your neck.
You screamed.
You screamed louder than you ever have in your life.
You screamed bloody fucking murder.
“Toby!” Clawing at his back, trying to get him to stop, you started crying. “Toby! Please!”
Luckily for you, he released his jaw to call out “(Y-Y/N)!” Not understanding your cries weren’t from pleasure.
It egged him on, encouraged him. His pelvis slamming into yours, with no let up, your tits bouncing at the force. Itching his fingers to your clit, he rubbed it in harsh circular movements, making you tighten around him.
You babbled nonsense. Finally some of the pain subsiding for pleasure, and maybe it was the lingering effects of alcohol, or the slight blood loss, but you felt a buzzing in your head. Basically incoherent, the faster he went. The brutal, bruising speed.
The way he gripped your breast, the way his hand remained on your pearl, trying his best to get you to finish, but not quite knowing how.
Something started to build.
More and more.
Hearing him growl, pant, like an animal. It was doing something to you.
You moaned loudly, wrapping your legs around him. The coil snapping, muscle spasming, pulling his cock in deeper, triggering his own climax.
His hips stuttered against you, letting out a gasp. A warmth filling you, Toby completely emptying himself inside with a deep groan, eyes rolling back in his head.
He gave a few sloppy, slow thrusts, before finally rolling off, and onto the bed next to you.
His cum leaking out of your cunt and staining the sheets.
Everything went blank for a moment, realization only just settling in. The gravity of the situation, the blood on your neck.
And an arm wrapped around your shoulders, drawing you close.
“I knew you’d be worth the truh-trouble.”
#creepypasta#toby rogers#ticci toby x reader#my writing#ticci toby smut#creepypasta smut#fanfiction#ticci toby x you#ticci toby#creepypasta x reader#ticci toby x reader smut
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— ❝ Enough is Enough.
Sub!Ticci Toby x Fem!Reader
Word Count:
NSFW tags: Rough sex, bondage, begging, degradation, p-I-v sex, riding, overstimulation,
Plot: Toby has been teasing you all day. You finally snap, and take matters into your own hands.
NOTE: This fanfic is a bit shorter than my usuals (2k - 3k+) (creds to divider)
The plush bed and white sheets framed Toby's figure quite nicely as his doe eyes lay into yours. Your hands snake upward on Toby's torso, feeling the tender but scarred skin. He let's out a whine, the pretty brown restraints keeping him from moving too much. You thought he was so beautiful right now, watching his cock twitch and redden from neglect. Watching how his body begged to be touched, begged for more. You hum in amusement, your hands moving downward to his thighs. He writhes under the rope with a whimper, and you can almost tell he was close to angered tears. His hazel eyes were pools of alluring lust with twinges of desperation.
" What's the matter? "
" Mm -- miss please-- "
" Please what? C'mon baby, use your words. "
The way your voice had a hidden malice to it, covered in an innocent honey as you practically torture the poor brunette. He groans, his head hitting the pillows beneath him as he bucks his hips in desperation. You knew how Toby got when he was like this, all needy and teary eyed from the feeling of sexual neglect. You soon take a hand and softly grab the man's shaft, making him gasp from the sudden touch. You keep a hand on his thigh, keeping his hips down as you tease the veins that stuck out among the sensitive flesh. You watch him moan and whimper from the teasing, shaking his head as if he was at a loss for words.
" You're suck a teasing slut, you know that? Taking all the time in the world to tease me like that...
" Mm- m Sorry -- "
" Sorry? Sorry for what? "
You hear him in his slurred speech as he whimpers and whines at your touch. You watch as you stroke your hand all the way to the head of his cock, your thumb swirling softly on it was he spills out more moans. You can physically feel him trembling, shaking desperately with lust. You gulp at such a sight as it hits you to your core, making you ache as you sit between Toby's legs. You take a moment to stop, making Toby lock eye contact with you.
" You want more, huh? "
" Yes! Yes pl- please-- "
" Then be a good whore for me. If I give you want you want, you go by my rules. "
Toby nods vigorously, watching as you escape from his legs and straddle his hips. The way he eyes your slick pussy as it hovers over his dick makes you bite your lip.
" Do not cum until I say so. Understood? "
" Y- Yes ma'am. Please-- "
Toby chokes on his sentence as you lower yourself onto all of his cock in one swift, slick motion. You groan at the stretch, your hand stabilizing itself as you place it next to Toby's head. You feel the brunette arch his back, letting out a shameful moan as he attempts to buck into you. His tears spilled onto his reddened cheeks as you let him buck into you. You moan as Toby hits all your good spots, slamming into your cervix as he tries to please you.
" God -- your a desperate bitch, huh? Shamelessly thrusting into me like this -- "
You degrade Toby, sending him a bit over the edge. You feel his climax coming from the way his dick twitched in you and his sputtering movements, giving you a pleasurable idea. You watch with moans and pants as Toby's moans sang into the humid air. You soon find him whining and babbling as he feels you slide off of him. Your hand soon returns the pleasure, stroking his cock fast as his hips sputter. You feel his back arch yet again, white ropes shooting onto himself as he finally reached his desperate high. Pants fill the air as a sinister grin plants onto your face as you see him drenched in his own fluids.
" Toby, darling~ what did I say about cumming with my permission? "
You coo softly as you continue to stroke him, watching is he moans at the spikes of overstimulation. You watch as his dilated eyes lay onto you with a twinge of fear. You smirk as you slide your thumb across the slit of his cock, making him shiver.
" Well, we have all night to get your act in order, don't you think?.."
#ticci toby#creepypasta#creepypasta smut#not safe for minors#creepypasta x reader#creepypasta x you#mdni#smut#creepypasta x y/n#ticci toby x reader#ticci toby x y/n#ticci toby x you#dom!reader#fem!reader#tobias rogers#fanfic#fanfiction#not proofread
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OLD ART DUMP THAT MAY BELONG TO CLOCKWORK'S CREATOR [3/3]
Yo guys, I found some hella old Ticciwork and Clockwork arts but I need someone to tell me are they belong to Clockkwork's or Toby's creator. Art style seems so much similar to theirs but I can't very good at recognizing styles.
Part 1 and 2;
#creepypasta#clockwork#creepypasta fandom#fanfic#creepypasta headcanon#fanfiction#creepy#creepypasta clockwork#ticci toby
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Can we get some headcanons of Jeff t.K. in a relationship? ^^
Dating Jeff The Killer Would Be Like This:
A/N: Well, this is a long overdue request, hope the wait was worth it 🙃 I’m going to be waiting for you all at least twice a week from now on, and there are a few spaces left for requests if you want to get yours in for Jeff and others now if you're interested 🔪 This is the original creepypasta Jeff, but I could try writing for David Near's version too if anyone's wondering... enjoy.
🔪• Well damn, there's a lot to include for this crazy son of a biatch, so get ready-
🔪• It's an uncomfortable night, the skies outside pitch black, stars clouded over and your curtains ruffling as you glare tiredly at the ceiling, wishing for sleep to overtake you. But there's just something that's keeping you half-aware, something that makes you toss and turn for a while, eyeing the window with a furrow of your brows. It's almost like someone's watching your every move. You just can't see them.
🔪• Until that whispering, hoarse voice pierces through the still silence from behind your curtains, making your eyes widen in horror at the sadistic chuckling that only gets nearer as you will your body to move from its frozen position.
🔪• The tip of his blade skims across the skin off your face before you can make out his own, pale and deathly and twisted with a nasty, deeply cut grin etched up his cheeks. His cold blue eyes linger over your features, and it’s a frustrating and vulnerable feeling knowing that can read you a lot better than you can him. It’s a tense few moments when all you feel is the end of the sharp dagger trace just light enough down a cheek and your lips, resting there for a second, as if he’s thinking.
🔪• Jeff doesn’t keep you alive just because you’re you - he doesn’t know who you are, or why you look, in his eyes, almost as beautiful as he does. But it makes him curious and confused, something he’s not used to and doesn’t particularly like at first. So with a scoff, the knife is suddenly snatched away, replaced with his face right down next to yours, with a “go to sleep~” and sudden darkness.
🔪• It’s a wonder to you when you wake up the next morning unharmed. It’s unheard of for the infamous killer to let his victims go, but after that night, it’s clear to you that what you experienced wasn’t some sort of weird nightmare. You feel eyes on you almost every minute of the day, footsteps that aren’t your own following you when you’re by yourself, shadows in the hall that turned out to be nothing…
🔪• The only times Jeff will make his appearances where you can actually see and talk to him is at night. At first, it's kind of to see how you'll react - scared and screaming panicking like the others, or oddly curious and mildly apprehensive - if you show the latter, he'll definitely be caught if guard, because he's used to the screaming and crying. But even if you do panic and start some weird chase scene around your house, Jeff seems to find it amusing, until he's had enough and corners you, hissing in your ear, "would you calm the hell down doll, you don't wanna wake the whole damn street, now do you?"
🔪• And you're like yes?!?? Because a scarred maniac is in my room and getting blood stains over my non-washable flooring??! Or maybe that's just me
🔪• This boy can be an absolute mystery to anyone who manages to survive him, because they never really figure out the solid reason why, or his whole backstory, his intentions, etc. All they know is that he's a killer who preys on young people at the night and disappears in the morning. Some survive him because they're interesting for a while, and die when they're not anymore. Some remind him of his past self, and on a bad day, he remembers how much he hates that and gets rid of them too. Some are just to play around with. And then there's you.
🔪• Jeff doesn't give you much of a reason either when you question his motives, because at first, he can't even be sure of why he's ket you around. Is it because you're pretty? Somehow different from his other victims? It's not because he's gone soft. The whole thought process ends up frustrating him, so he'll storm out the window to be alone and try taking his mind off it by going after some whiny targets. But still, he keeps thinking about the question, about you, watching him in some kind of awe and confusion. Why do you care? Why does he care?!
🔪• This whole thing is not some fast-paced cliche love story where everything's sappy and sweet and he'll kill everyone but you. He's still the infamous Jeff The Killer. But that doesn't mean he isn't a little soft for you. Just don't point it out, or he gets flustered and defensive.
🔪• At one point, he wanted to just kidnap you and have you with him all the time, but you had to put your foot down and promise to stick around every night for him to come and go as he pleases, which calmed him down. Because, yeah, that's not happening Jeff, calm yourselffff
🔪• It ends up being him popping in almost every night, with you learning to keep your windows open so you don’t have to keep on replacing the forced-in smashed glass. And even when he visits, it takes time for him to reveal himself, little by little, until you can make out all the rough burns and dried blood that blemish practically every inch of his skin. It's not that he's all insecure - he thinks he’s beautiful most days, and he’s not trying to make you feel less scared by his appearance, because him being the jackass that he is, finds jump scaring you funny.
🔪• But he can have bad days, days where he can't stop thinking about his brother and parents and all that made him who he is, and when that happens, he either bearly says anything and sulks with his knives in the corner of your room, and pretty much lets you do anything. Like, you could end up playing and studying his knives - he watches apprehensively at first, all ready for you to try to stab him in the back - but after time goes by and you've given up questioning yourself as to why you're letting a cold-blooded murderer hang out with you almost every night in your room, he sees that you're not trying to defend yourself in those extreme measures, so kind of lets you do your thing.
🔪• It's nice for him to have the company, too, and he enjoys the small conversations he has with you: the nosy, lucky, pretty little survivor who asks too many questions about him and has a smile that's almost as good as his. Him being him offers to carve one in, and still jokingly tries to while you fight him off with a string of curses. He can be really annoying when he wants to, because he finds your reactions cute. If, on the extremely rare occasions, you happen to see him before it goes dark, doing your homework or something, he'll try drawing on the paper or mucking around with your stuff to distract you. If you're watching something, he'll spoil the ending or give a stupid running commentary. If you annoy him back by any means you can, Jeff gets all pouty and frustrated, but it's also sort of endearing to him??
🔪• So he'll be all "are you freaking stupid, or just suicidal, antagonising a serial killer?!" but he can't help scoffing at you in some form of fondness that he hasn't even realised has been growing in him
🔪• When he ultimately realises that hey! you're stalking and killing the bullies of and are increasingly obsessing over this person, it takes him a bit of time to process. He might not show up on that night, wanting to get his thoughts straight, leaving you very confused, but Jeff does show up the next night wanting you to shut up and sit down and listen to him, because he doesn't want to make this any weirder than it feels for him. You'll hardly understand what he's getting at when he spurts out how you're different and he doesn't really believe in fate but something feels right and every Clyde needs his Bonnie and random crap like that 😂
🔪• You'll have to cut him off with a "so are you asking me out?" and he's like "well... yeah, duh. Don't even think about saying no, because you're not getting rid of me, even if you want to, alright?!?" You can tell he's uncharacteristically nervous. So when you've assessed the situation and see that there's no more harm than there already has been to saying yes, there's an unreadable look of shock and something more in his stony eyes. Then his grin is back, and he's annoying you again by whirling you around in the air and stuff, and boom! You're never getting rid of the maniac. He's yours. Congratulations.
🔪• I'm gonna be honest with you; dating Jeff The Killer is definitely not the easiest mountain you chose to climb, but at the end of the day, if all you want is his manic, obsessive love and devotion to you, then it's well worth it. Take the amount of obsessiveness and stalker behaviour he's shown to you as a weird-ass friend and multiply it by a thousand. I'm not kidding.
🔪• Jeff The Killer genuinely cares about those who have somehow made it to that point with him, and as you're at the top of that list, damn, you'll be spoiled. Don't ask him where he gets all the jewels and trinkets and things you've been wanting or that match your hobbies and talents, because they're yours, and they've always been yours. So your welcome, enjoy, he knew you'd like it. That's one way he shows his love. It's kind of like a way of saying that he's always thinking about you, which isn't an exaggeration at all. I can definitely imagine him killing for you with pride and bringing back a heart all casual-like, while you shake your head with an awkward smile.
🔪• "That's, uh, sweet of you, Jeff, but seriously, throw it away now, that's rank."
🔪• No one else catches his eye after you, too. He's never met someone truly beautiful, inside and out, before you, and he's convinced he won't after. So if someone tries to beg for their life or give him compliments he used to like, it's pretty much ineffective now. "You'll ever be as hot as my doll is, you sadass, but here, I'll carve a little something to get you halfway there~"
🔪• He can actually be surprisingly sweet when he wants to. On his bad days, now he'll just lean into you in silence and twirl his blade around, while you play with his hair or put something on TV or somehow end up staring at him. If you look closer and beyond the chalky white shade of his burnt skin and the deep, bloody scars that trace up from his lips, you can notice how he probably was a good-looking boy before the 'accident.' But don't let him catch you looking, because, bad mood or not, he's a cocky bastard, and will end up grinning and saying something like "it's rude to stare, dolly," which ruins the moment lmao
🔪• Jeff can also get clingy when he feels like it too, though he'll never admit it. He likes how your body's always warm when he is somehow always freezing, and being able to have time alone with you, where you're all his, and no one can take it away from him. He'll go freaking rabid if anyone tries, and no one wants that.
🔪• He gets a little awkward when it comes to comfort and opening up, but he'll get there. He learns from you to just give you a silent hug instead of patting you on the back and telling you to chin up or something stupid, or tries to make you laugh, or kills the thing that's getting you down, if you let him. That's your decision 🙃
🔪• He eventually opens up to you about his past, too, which takes him a lot of courage and a lot of patience for you. It's good that you know, though, because it's something to be even closer about, and the more you know about each other, the more you belong together. At least, that's Jeff's logic.
🔪• Jeff can be a bit possessive and sulky when those moments have to end in the mornings, and he's been known to just shove his white hoodie over your head and demand you wear it when he's not with you. Which is fine, Jeff, but seriously, clean that blood of it first.
🔪• But when all is said and done, no matter how heartless and cold and crazy he may seem, and undoubtedly is, he's sane enough to know that he loves you. His love can be ridiculously intense and overwhelming at times, but you can learn to work around or with it. He will do it. Whether anyone believes it or not, him and you knowing your love is enough for Jeff.
#jeff the killer#jeff the killer x reader#jeff the killer imagines#jeff the killer x y/n#jeff the killer fanfic#jeff the killer fluff#jeff the killer x you#creepypasta x reader#yandere x reader#yandere fanfiction#creepypasta#creepy pasta#creepypasta headcanon#creepypasta blog#creepypasta jeff the killer#creepypasta jtk#jtk x reader#jtk headcanons#creeypasta#ticci toby#slenderman#ben drowned#eyeless jack#creepypasta fandom#creepypastas#jeffery woods
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Ticci Toby Headcanons
PT.01
Toby Rogers past, upbringing, pre-proxy headcanons. See proxy era headcanons here ⬇️
CW: Slight mentions of animal abuse, domestic violence, psychosis, bullying, car crash, gore
<NOTE> Im a psychology nerd so I tried to make it as realistic as possible. This is my first time doing anything like this but I have a lot of thoughts about Tobys character. Its not proofread so ignore any typos or grammatical errors. Also… its very long… I have… so many thoughts…
BIOGRAPHY .
PATIENT NAME: Tobias (Toby) Erin Rogers
BIRTHDATE: April 28th, 1994
AGE: Currently 19 years old
HC/EC: Brown hair, brown eyes
ETHNICITY: White American
BIRTHPLACE: Denver, Colorado
FAMILY: Connie Rogers (mother), Dan Rogers (Father), Lyra Rogers (sister)
DIAGNOSIS: Congenital insensitivity to pain with anhidrosis (CIPA), Tourettes Syndrome, Attention-Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD), Bipolar Disorder (Type 1, psychotic)
THE GURNEY .
Toby was in and out of hospitals from a very young age due to his wide range of physical and mental health concerns
His earliest memory was when, at age 4, he hit his head after falling onto cement and didn’t cry, scream, or even really acknowledge that he was hurt
After seeing the bloody mess her young child was in, Connie ran Toby to the hospital where tests were ran to determine what caused his lack of pain response
Finally at age 8, Toby was diagnosed with CIPA. This condition not only prevented his brain from generating a pain response but also responses to extreme temperatures (frostbite, heat burn, etc)
Due to these dangerous health issues, and his neurotic mother, Toby was put in homeschooling from a very early age. Connie was too protective of her son to allow him to go out on his own at his age
His earliest memories revolved around roaming hospital halls, his parents fighting over medical bills, being talked to by social workers and doctors, having tests done, minor surgeries, etc.
DEAR OLD DAD .
Dan Rogers was a difficult man. He never admitted he was wrong, he spent his evenings drinking on the couch, and always had something to complain about. The best words to describe this man was angry, bitter, and reckless
He wasn’t a father by any means. To Toby, the man was more of a nuisance than anything. An alcoholic manchild who stood in his way
The boy never got along with Dan. His father would see him as a burden, bringer of unnecessary medical costs. He severely emotionally and physically neglected his children from their birth. Dan never wanted to be a father.
Due to the costs of Tobys medical problems, Dan would continuously attempt to “prove he was faking” his CIPA, and yell at the boy for his strange twitches due to Tourettes. On one occasion, Dan put his sons hand in a pot of boiling water to try and elicit a pain response that never came.
As Toby got older and more independent from his mother, he would often mouth off to his father, talk back, or straight up ignore him. There was never a moment of peace between those two
Being the money maker in the house, Dan was usually very overworked and stressed. He turned to alcohol to relieve this, and his bad temper got worse when he drank. Often to the point his outbursts would lead to physical violence against his family
It was like walking in a minefield for Toby and his family. And since the supposed “man of the house” was a drunken mean old man, Toby took it upon himself to protect his family from his fathers wrath.
He would purposely act up to direct Dans fist towards him. The boy couldn’t feel it anyways, and being hit, pushed, grabbed, was better than having his sister or mother be hit or yelled at.
The young boy spent his childhood in a rage, he was powerless against his father.
MOTHER DEAREST .
Unlike her husband, Connie was a quiet woman who cared deeply for her children
She was well-mannered, motherly, and kept to herself. And while she was a good woman, she had her fair share of flaws
You would catch her dead before you ever caught her losing control over her emotions. Connie grew up quick and that stuck with her. From a young age she took care of her manchild of a husband
She couldn’t afford to lose herself to silly things like emotions. She had a family to care for, a house to clean, meals to cook. Her priorities lied on appearance over her health
This was one of the many reasons she couldn’t leave her husband despite the years of abuse
Despite all the violence, berating, assault. This life was her own and it was just another thing she had to live with
Toby loved his mother, he really did. He knew she did the best given the circumstances. Connie kept her children fed, clothed and housed. Thats all he could really ask for
But he despised from the depths of his soul how she could just sit by and let the abuse happen. How she never left Dan. How she never cared enough to leave despite not knowing what lied in store for them beyond that house
To her, Dan was a safety net. He provided money, insurance, he paid the bills, put food on the table. Connie quit her job in order to homeschool her son. There was no choice
To Toby, his mother was a coward who never stuck up for herself. And god forbid he ever turn into that
So Toby fought the battles his mother couldn’t. He said the words his mother didn’t dare to speak. He took the beatings and his mother did nothing but ask her husband to stop
SOUL SISTER .
In the chaos of that household, Lyra was something of fresh air for Toby
While the two did fight as any siblings do, they had a mutual care and understanding for each other
Lyra would keep a makeshift first aid kit under her bed for whenever Toby got into minor accidents or if their father went too far some nights
Like her little brother, Lyra had a lot of anger in her. She would always try to stop Dan from going too far and she was good at talking Toby and their father down from ripping each others throats out
She would channel this anger and frustration into sports like boxing, soccer, rugby. It was easier to express her feelings through physical means than ever talking about it. The girl was a perfect mix of her parents
When he was younger, Toby had a very bad and hostile relationship with Lyra. He was young and didn’t have any clue how to handle his emotions and would often threaten or physically hurt his sister
But as he grew up, and they bonded over the related abuse, and they would be there for each other, Toby developed tender care for his older sister. If she got a boyfriend, he would be ready to attack at any sign of disrespect. If she brought over friends, he would stay in his room not to embarrass her.
Just as he was with his mother, he was very protective over Lyra. She did so much for him, and he wanted to keep her safe. It was a tangled, messy relationship but they made it work despite her attitude and his anger
CONDUCT .
Toby grew up completely isolated from other kids, families, etc. The most socialization he got was going to family events or being dragged to the grocery store with his mother.
All he knew growing up was violence. And so when he was around other people, he would project everything he learnt from his father onto other kids
From a very early age he was made to feel small and insignificant in his own home by the people that were supposed to take care of him. And so whenever something challenged him out of the house, he would do whatever he needed to do to put them below him
Sometimes Toby would project this violence onto small animals, occasionally moving onto bigger animals such as cats. The feeling of killing something smaller than himself with his own hands gave him a sense of power and control he never had
Due to his untreated ADHD, the boy would often be loud, hyperactive and intrusive. He would have temper tantrums and outbursts as well, and his mother never knew how to handle it
He was a problem child from birth. Not only causing problems for himself, but for everyone around him
Toby would talk back, curse, say strange and vulgar things, refuse to apologize or admit he was wrong, and would run away from home occasionally.
But despite these behavioural issues, Toby always refused to touch alcohol. Despite all the anger, dread and frustration he felt he swore he’d never become the kind of man his father was
BULLY .
Around 12 years old, Toby’s parents decided it would be best for him to get properly socialized and placed him in a public school
He was now old enough to recognize that bleeding is bad and how to check for injuries despite his CIPA, which allowed Connie to calm down tremendously when it came to her anxiety surrounding her boys health and safety
Despite his mothers insistence that he would love public school, he’d make so many friends there, and that everything would be fine, Toby knew damn well he wouldn’t do well there. He was already bullied by his own father, imagine how other kids would react. He’s seen the movies.
And of course Toby was right. Due to his Tourettes, his tics would often confuse, scare and gross other kids out. They would either straight up treat him like a diseases rat or ruthlessly bully him
The boy was called every name in the book, from “twitchy freak” to “ticci Toby”
Alongside the ostracism and harassment from his peers, his tics and behavioural issues would cause him issues with his teachers. They would often scold him for being a disturbance in class
Making and keeping friends was near impossible for the boy. Talking to a “creepy loser” like him was practically social suicide. He was weird, strange, and given his history of fighting the other kids he was probably dangerous too. No kid wanted to be around that.
On occasion, the other boys would get physical with him and he would always hit back, leading him to get in more trouble with the school staff
Toby would be beat down at school and go home to have it done to him all again by his father
Eventually the school year came to an end and Toby was put back in homeschooling
Even though the torment in middle school came to an end, that didn’t mean the bullying stopped. He was now a known freak and the perfect target for kids who were a bit too much like him. They would harass him online until they got bored, and god forbid he saw any of them in public
It made the angry, powerless boy feel even worse in his own world. There wasn’t a night that went by where he didn’t think of going off and getting his revenge. Make them pay for ever fucking with him.
THE CRASH .
When Toby turned 17, he had finally got himself medicated for his recently diagnosed Bipolar Disorder which caused manic / depressive episodes
He was put on antipsychotics and stimulant medication for his ADHD
While he was being treated, his sister got a job and so did his mother. Outside of all the familiar instability and violence his father caused, life was good
Toby was going to be 18 soon and his sister promised that when he became a legal adult, she would take him to move out with her
He didn’t have any friends, he didn’t really have any plans for his life, but he had a life ahead of him regardless and that was enough
The boy was working through pain too great to imagine, he was carrying 17 years of fear and dread, he was so young holding on to so much
But he had a way out. He was going to get a job and move out with his dear older sister and maybe even go to college. He was going to overcome this
That was his views at least up until the crash
Lyra was driving Toby back home from a doctors appointment when it happened
His tics were acting up, it was rather distracting
He was so caught up in his own little world and trying to get through the frustrating twitches that he didn’t even have a second to process what happened
The next thing Toby knew, the car was swerving right into a lamppost and the air bags were deployed
And the next thing Toby saw was his sisters mangled, bloody body. The force of the steering wheel crushing her bones and shards of glass piercing her skin. The physical trauma near shattered her ribs
And the next thing Toby heard was the pained groans and wheezing from his dying sister
Thats the last thing he remembered before he woke up in a hospital bed with his broken arm being patched up. The doctors wouldn’t even let him see his sister who was under surgery in the emergency room
He didn’t get to be there by her side when she died
He didn’t get a goodbye
And while he was surrounded by family, his aunt Lori was even there to support his mother, Tobys father was nowhere to be seen
Dan was too drunk to drive, and too lazy to call a cab. He didn’t care about Toby and he didn’t care that his daughter just died. One less burden.
In one afternoon Tobys entire life slipped through the cracks of his hands
HIM .
The grief was sickening. It was heavier than the weight of the world. The silence that flooded his once loud house from his sister blaring her Beatles albums was deafening
These were the kinds of things that only happened in movies. People didn’t really lose their family members, and these things didn’t happen to people like him
It wasn’t fair
The one good thing in his miserable life, the moment things were finally getting better. There was no hope anymore, Toby was hopeless
He thought of ending his life every night as he stared at the ceiling, not getting a wink of sleep. But he couldn’t do that to his mom. She never showed it, but it showed clearly from the weight in her steps, the tired look in her eyes. He knew she was carrying a burden too great to bear
He couldn’t take away both of her children
So he would lie there night after night hoping to wake up from the gutwrenching dream just to hear her laugh, sing, blast her shitty music. He never really liked The Beatles, but she did. But she did.
It was all too much for him. From the moment Toby stepped out of the hospital he hadn’t felt real. The boy was living two steps away from reality like there was a sheet of plastic in between him and the world
Days would go by where he would forget to take his medication, or where he would simply just sleep the entire day away
On the days he was awake, Toby would feel like he was going insane. He wouldn’t feel real, he would see things out of the corner of his eye
Sometimes he’d swear he saw something outside his window at night
A strange creature standing under the streetlights
And it only got worse from here. Toby would almost always refuse to leave the house, he stopped sleeping, he felt like something was watching him
The boy would spend hours staring outside his bedroom window. The forest in his backyard had eyes and they were watching him
A wave of sickness overtook Toby. He would wake up with bloody noses sometime and no medicine would get rid of his strange cough. Sometimes he would sleepwalk and end up waking up on the edge of the forest behind his house, cold and alone in the dark of the night
It all added up. It was too much. The anger, the fear, the paranoia. The little voice in the back of his head telling him to just do it. Get revenge. Make him pay.
ABLAZE .
The years and years of abuse. Everything his father had done. He wasn’t there. He was never there.
Why should a man like that deserve to live? 17 fucking years of making Toby feel small and insignificant
Not today. And not anymore. The world was in the boys hands now, and so was a knife. And that night was the night Toby Rogers killed his own father.
No words could describe the feeling of adrenaline and rage that overtook the boy that night. There was no other option, this was the way it was always going to happen
Everything Toby has ever been through has led up to this. It was his own divine prophecy
And God showed no mercy that night
23 stab wounds drilled into his fathers chest, his face bloody, beaten and unrecognizable. Toby smashed his tiny bruised fists ruthlessly into his fathers now deceased body.
The only thing that stopped him was the scream of his mother. It was something primal, something deep from the pain in her gut.
Toby ran into the garage and grabbed two axes that belonged to his father, one old one new. Alongside that he grabbed gasoline and matches. He was going to do what he knew best. He was going to destroy everything.
And so the boy ran down the street of his neighborhood pouring the gasoline along his way and dousing the rest over the trees as he stood at the edge of the forest
Striking a match, the dry grass and trees caught on fire and immediately exploded into flames. The heat and blaze engulfed the boy and soon it began catching onto the rest of the forest
This was the end, he thought. Strangely enough, even though his heart was beating in his throat and his body was shaking, he felt calm. He had no regrets and he was fine with this being his ending.
His mind went blank, everything felt like a static screen, he could feel himself getting dizzy and there was a loud ringing in his ears
The last thing he saw was a tall, faceless creature in the midst of the smoke and fire as he collapsed to the ground.
And that was the death of Tobias Erin Rogers.
#creepypasta#ticci toby#creepypasta ticci toby#creepypasta headcanon#ticci toby headcanons#ticci toby fanart#toby rogers#ticci toby creepypasta#creepypasta writing#ticci toby fanfiction#writing#original writing#ticci toby headcanon#pyrocrpz
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I'll still be reading 'x reader' fanfics no matter if they're cringe or not and enjoying them, idc 😭😭✌️
#creepypasta#mha#fandoms#x reader#Masky#Hoodie#fanfictions#ben drowned#ticci toby#jeff the killer#eyeless jack
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🧺 — LAUNDRY AND TAXES
MASTERLIST
for easier navigation . check it out on AO3
+ all chapters and l&t related posts can be found under the #tombfic tag.
my inbox is open for any questions or comments on l&t as well.
Prologue
HOME ARC.
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
ALABAMA ARC.
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
CABIN ARC.
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
BACK HOME ARC.
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
FARMHOUSE ARC.
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
CHRISTMAS SPECIAL
Chapter 11
WRECKAGE ARC
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
SPRINGTIME ARC
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
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first meeting toby (as another pasta) please :))
Very creative ask! /pos
He’s not immediately trusting of you. He’ll be kinda reserved, looking around a lot, wondering if you’re a threat. But after he’s a little more comfortable with you, usually after about ten minutes, he’ll open up. You’ll be able to tell that he has because he’ll seem a lot happier, more excited, and generally just more inviting to talk to. He always has one thing or another to talk about, whether it be a crazy story about a mission, or his latest interest, you’ll know everything about it by the end of the conversation.
He has habits when he’s talking, like tapping his leg with his hand or snapping. He’s also super excited to learn about you, his new friend!! He wants to know about all your stories and interests too, maybe you even have one in common! And even if you immediately don’t, he’s going to research your interests so you guys can talk about it next time you meet up. If there’s something like sewing or knitting that you like to do, that’s great!! He loves crafts, and he’s be happy to meet up and just have a little crafting hangout with you. He likes to make scarves and sweaters and gloves for his friends, so get ready for lots of gifts.
#creepypasta#Creepypasta headcanons#creepypasta x reader#creepypasta fanfiction#ticci toby#ticci toby x reader#ticci toby headcanons#ticci toby fanfiction
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creepypasta drabble + headcanons
some fanon influenced headcanons for various pastas + Marble Hornets characters. A friend and i have been doing an rp for like 2.5 years at this point and have made quite a few headcanons, feel free to add some
-Tim cannot stand cheesecake, instead his favorite food is pineapple pizza
-Toby desperately wishes he could play guitar but due to his ticks no one trusts him, until his 21st birthday where everyone pitches in and buys him a guitar and amp
-Jeff wears an eye mask to bed because of his eyes being super sensitive
-Smile Dog can and will speak to you and try to manipulate you into giving him food, but otherwise acts like a normal dog just with the ability to speak
-Sally and BEN often play Just Dance and other older games on the Wii and Playstation while the others are out on missions
-Tim and Brian have kissed at least once in the decade they've been in the Slender mansion
-Nina stopped crushing so hard on Jeff at around 18 and instead began to enjoy women (Jeff hates this)
-Brian's favorite movie is Legally Blonde
-Bi weekly adult only sleepovers and weekly movie nights keep morale up across the mansion
-Generally, everyone gets along pretty well, especially since most of the proxies and other people in the mansion have been there for years now
#creepypasta#headcanons#headcanon list#creepypasta fanfiction#creepypasta headcanons#marble hornets#marble hornets fanfiction#tim wright#brian thomas#toby rogers#ticci toby#masky marble hornets#hoodie marble hornets
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