⛤ i am @nyoomstar, generally known as cross, and this is my sideblog for creepypasta fics and headcanons (and/or art? woaw)⛤
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⛤i have seen the og marble hornets. yet also, i have witnessed years upon years of wattpad-style fanfiction being treated as canon. 13 yo me tried every goofy creepypasta summoning ritual available at the time. i have been to the depths of creepypasta quotev quizz hell. i have participated in roleplays, fanfic writing, fanart making and so much more for over a decade at this point. they were all silly and amazing. i have enjoyed and loved all of these, no matter if they were canon or fanon. i wish to continue doing this in a community that feels the same way about all these things.
⛤over time, i've created and adopted many headcanons, and i absolutely adore seeing other people's ideas, so please share them with me! you can send me asks, you can tag me, go wild!!
toby gets left behind for a few weeks and completely loses it due to loneliness. tries to cope, backfires.
murder attempt gone WRONG ?! (NOT gone sexual. yet. ok). toby/oc. pspsps. go on. read it. it's a bit of an impromptu philosophy session; by that i mean that toby just gets tormented by nonsense. but it's fun i prommy.
vent piece mostly, but also i wanted to inflict psychological damage upon this freak. lovingly.
CW: (copied from ao3) Biblical Allusions (Abrahamic Religions), Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Self-Esteem Issues, Self destructive behaviors, Toby is awkward and bloodthirsty beyond reason, Murder attempt, they're both so edgy it's unbelievable, Self-Harm(toby bites his fingers until they bleed), toxic relationship mention, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence
Toby waited, not so patiently, for the sun to go down and take the summer heat with it. He wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans, and continued trudging through the forest.
He should have pushed harder for Masky and Hoodie to take him with them, to wherever they were going. Them snapping at him and potentially accepting was a far better prospect than... whatever this was.
Being alone.
Whatever. He could do with being alone for a while. Even if weeks had passed already. And if not, the other freaks around here would have to simply deal with him. Whenever they too would be around again.
It was rare for so many people to be out all at once, though. Had something happened that he didn't know about? Did they think he couldn't handle problems bigger than chasing teens out of the forest? And speaking of, how could Toby ever be less competent than the Jeffery "Teen Killer" Woods himself?
Every day was more sluggish than the last. The first week had been shit, but the second and third proved so much worse. He had spent a bunch of days sticking with the only other people still here — Liu and Sally. However, Liu surely hated his guts, and what was he even supposed to talk about with a child? Eventually, pissing off Liu stopped being entertaining enough to keep the loneliness at bay, and Toby wasn't about to rewatch children's shows with Sally again. They had been mildly interesting the first two times, but mostly because he had forgotten the first time.
So instead, he'd taken to outside sources of entertainment.
He just had no one to bounce the loneliness off of, and the constant itch underneath his skin was getting worse and worse. Eventually, he picked up the task of haunting the woods. Might even go down into the city, see if it held anything for him.
Toby grit his teeth and pawed at a reddish brown stain on his top. His hand began twitching though, so he gave up for the time being. It was mostly clean, anyway, and vaguely smelled of Tim's detergent. He wasn't a weirdo, like Woods, to constantly walk around covered in blood. That shit stank.
Again, how come they'd chosen that freak for a mission over him?
Whateverwhateverwhatever.
All he wanted to do tonight, again, was haunt the woods. Little adrenaline junkies loved camping out here, far too close to their headquarters, and they had to be taken care of. Forever or temporarily. Someone had to keep up the image.
Wind whistled above him, cutting through the old pines. They smelled of resin and rot and blood, though everything had a faint, rusty smell to him nowadays. Downhill, towards the old road to the city, the pines were mostly replaced by beeches, oaks, hornbeams, and the rare wild cherry tree. He liked that side more, with the muted sound of cars rolling in the distance, the stupid, colorful trash tourists left behind, and the constant, general mark of life. It was vibrant, and human.
Up here, it felt too quiet. Birds were seemingly afraid, and the chill never truly left, even during summer; it would just barely burrow itself underground, nipping at your feet as you passed by. A monster ready to drag you into it, ancient and greedy. Not unlike his master.
He shivered and picked up the pace. He just needed something to take his mind off of everything. Someone.
By the time he found it, the sun was right about to set.
The woman stood with her back to a tree trunk, hands clasped in front of her, face up, towards the darkening sky. She seemed to be around twenty-something, same as him, with shoulder length chestnut hair and oversized clothes — pajamas? It was still hard to tell from that distance.
Toby's boots made little noise, but regardless of how quietly he had moved until now, she should have sensed him. How could anyone be this careless in a forest?
He unlatched the other axe at his belt, watching her as he approached. Face still up, eyes... closed. Should be downright criminal to be this unaware. Would she bolt upon seeing him? The half mask he wore was intimidating, but people rarely ran from just that. However, the scar and axes tended to freak normies out a lot more. Would he rather pretend for a bit, or go straight into the adrenaline of a chase?
He spun one of the axes. Something was off. It almost seemed like she was waiting.
She opened her eyes, cutting his thoughts short. Fire ignited in his veins, and his arm wound back on muscle memory alone. She lowered her head.
He flexed his hand and released, sending the axe spinning. The blade sent bits of bark flying as it found a target — not the right one, though.
Impassive, she looked at him, axe having missed her head by about a hand. Toby must have been getting sloppy, because it should have been an easy shot. Whatever - his fingers twitched, gripping the other hatchet, and adrenaline pumped as he got ready to sprint.
"Does the hand of God pet dumb dogs?"
His body continued without him, taking a few steps forward and almost tripping. Her words hardly registered, but her tone sounded far too flat for this moment, and his grip on the handle suddenly felt far too intense.
"What?" he choked out, heartbeat too loud in his ears.
Her face remained inexpressive, body leaned against an oak, axe still embedded into it. Splinters had sprayed into her hair, though it did not seem to bother her, if she even registered them at all.
"Does the hand of God pet dumb dogs?" she repeated, voice flat.
"I, uh..." His lips pressed into a thin line, jaw tensing as he frowned. "What the fuck does that mean?"
She tilted her head to the side, looking at the axe he still held. No curiosity or life in her eyes, just a blank stare. Was this some kind of set-up?
Toby squinted, shrugging. "Why would he? Dumb dogs are dumb dogs." Fuck did he know about any of this anyways? Religion had never interested him much. "What's your deal?"
She did not respond, holding the same withering look.
Toby debated going for a second throw, but it felt... wrong, now, with her just sitting there calmly. He sheathed it instead, letting it hang from his belt, and got closer. Her clothes were stained and hung on her — large, black cargos and a dark green, weathered t-shirt to match. She had dirt on her knees and arms, but the t-shirt's stains looked more like bleach.
He reached for his mask and hooked a finger over it, pulling it down around his neck. He followed her gaze as she took in his scar, but offered no reaction otherwise.
"What're you doing here? Somethin' wrong with you?"
"Guess." Her head tilted towards him this time, stray hairs falling over her face. "What's the matter, weren't you aiming for my head?"
He kicked a few leaves around, grimacing. "You didn't run, it's too awkward now."
"Mm. So your answer?"
"Not like I really get what you said."
She looked him up and down, then shrugged, resigned, as if his answer was now a given. Bold move for someone at his mercy. He frowned, but a smile still found its way onto his lips.
"You ain't all up there, are you?"
In the dimming light, she glanced at the axe next to her head, tracing the handle with her eyes. "Kind of odd to hear that from a murderer."
The hint of a bite in her tone made his heartbeat quicken again. The air smelled rusty.
"Attempt murderer."
"Right."
"So why're you here?"
She considered for a moment, but it stretched for far too long in his mind. His hands started to itch again.
"I was bored."
"Liar," he immediately bit.
Her eyebrows twitched, and a certain coldness settled over her features, overriding the inexpressive look. Was it just a façade after all? Had it cracked? Toby's heart skipped a beat at the thought, but a sudden wave of shame washed over at how excited that got him. Was he this easy to entertain?
"I won't ask why you're here," she said, flicking her gaze to the hatchet at his waist, then back to him. "Figured I already know."
He prowled closer. "Do you, now?"
Yes, he thought. Something's changed in her eyes.
He spared another thought to the fact that his other axe was still embedded in the tree, right within her reach. Why wasn't she doing anything about it; about this?
"What's your name."
His tone was starting to get clipped; that hadn't even been a question. His eye twitched in annoyance. It was getting harder and harder to sit still; this back and forth was fun, but he also wanted to pounce. Figuratively, of course.
"Anne."
"I'm Toby," he said, and smiled disarmingly. Tried to, anyways. He wanted her out of that monotone, dead voice, and the slight change she had shown had been too little.
"Toby," she repeated slowly, testing the name. "What a silly name."
"I will throw the other axe."
She waved a hand dismissively. "No, you won't. You want to know if the hand of God pets dumb dogs."
"You're a freak."
He had spat that out, mouth curled in a sneer. And yet, Anne waited, watching him, like she expected something. Toby held her gaze. He let the moment lengthen, let his insult stand. Perhaps her common sense would come back, and make her crumble under the pressure.
She had green eyes, and light purple bags under them. How long would she have stayed out here, were it not for him? And how often did she do this, even? What of the dirt on her knees, under her nails? His eyes flicked back up to her. One side of her face was slightly breaking out, and it made him imagine her standing in front of a mirror, examining it. Carelessly wonder what cream to buy. It felt too foreign of a thought for him. He knew next to nothing about what the average woman did; his only references were Jane, Nina and the likes — fellow freaks.
Well, them, and his sister.
The sudden need to break his own hands was suffocating. He strangled the thought, stuffed it back down.
Anne was still staring at him.
The light was nearly entirely out, and the highway too far to offer anything other than an incessant background buzz. It was getting harder and harder to discern details, but he kept his gaze trained on her. Toby wondered what the other creeps would have made of her. Quick work, perhaps, but he thought she would've unnerved at least a few others as well, not just him.
The large bleach stains on her shirt caught his attention again. Nina had a spare shirt like that too, for when she dyed her hair. Anne's light brown seemed natural, though; nowhere close to the color vomit Nina preferred.
Had she taken it from someone? A father, brother, partner? Had she done a project? Somehow, these ideas felt too human for the woman in front of him. Could someone be this nonchalant while sitting next to the axe meant to split their head, and yet still be normal in their day to day life?
What did she look like, outside of the forest, outside of a murder attempt gone wrong? Did her eyes look just as soulless around others, or was this a special occasion? Something raked inside his chest, along his ribs.
Certainly, he was a freak as well, though. Each breath was becoming forceful and deep, and the warm air hardly managed to cool the heat inside him. The need to see her squirm was growing stronger and stronger. He wanted to loom behind her in that mirror, wanted to stain her shirt with blood. Watch her eyes shift from cold indifference to fear. Anger, even.
He wanted it, needed it. Something to ease the boredom — no, the loneliness. The pain in his chest.
Toby endured, holding her gaze.
But he broke first.
"Does it? Does the hand of god pet dumb dogs?"
She smiled. "It should."
It looked unnatural. Disgusting, even when it reached her eyes. Anne looked like any other twenty something year old he had hunted, and yet felt like a match waiting to be lit.
Or was that him? His hands shook at his sides, pulse suddenly too high, too fast. That smile had ignited something in him. A familiar need scratched at the back of his mind, nipping at his fingers. He wanted to bite something.
What does a dumb dog have to do with anything?
"Why?" he heard himself say.
Anne's eyes caught a predatory shine.
His right arm twitched, flexing and relaxing, and his gaze drifted into the leaf litter.
What did it matter if a dumb dog got pet? Toby liked dogs, but what was the point? A loyal pet? A good companion? But a dumb one couldn't be good, could it?
His chest tightened, hardly letting him breathe. He bit his cheek as the fog slowly cleared. Was he a dog, too? Did he even have a choice? He went where his Master pointed. But he was not Toby's god.
God was meant to be this... benevolent, all powerful, always watching figure. The Operator was not all powerful. Nor was he good. Was god supposed to be good, though?
He could hardly recall the tense, uncomfortable mornings spent in church. He had been so young. Way more worried about the next school day than what the creepy old man at the front had to tell him. He had never helped Toby when he complained about his sons picking on him, so he figured he'd never listen in turn.
Why specifically the hand of god, though? It had an air of power and action, of consequence. The hand of god, petting... Praising? Active praise, reward?
But praise had to be earned. Toby had learnt that the hard way, again and again.
"Shouldn't it be..." He exhaled, nostrils flaring, and looked back up at her. "Worthy?"
Her eyes widened, and he caught the sign. Toby stared at her with newfound clarity, finally piecing together her stupid little riddle.
"A dumb dog is useless. Not useful— not worthy, is it? But you don't believe in that, do you?"
Anne nodded.
He huffed. "That's stupid. Praise has to be earned."
She pushed off the tree, leaning towards him. "But does it? Is God not meant to be good? Are we not inherently worthy?"
Inherently worthy.
As she looked into his eyes, something in his stomach started squirming. Nights upon nights of hiding in his room, listening to shouts. Days upon days of keeping his gaze lowered, so that no one may see the guilt in his eyes. The knife in his hands, the blood splattering, the smell of gasoline, the fire–
The need flared again, turning sharp.
"You're fucking insane."
Her back hit the tree trunk again, forcefully. "Do it, then," she said, voice cutting cold. Daring. Annoyed. "Split my skull, go back to boredom."
His breath hitched, and he realized he was nipping at his thumb, hard. The pain barely registered, but a familiar one blossomed in his chest once more. He should. Just kill her, be done. Pretend it never happened. Forget about the way his entire body felt wrong.
She bared her throat, looking up at the dark sky.
"What the fuck is your issue?" he asked, quieter than he had intended.
Anne watched him out of the corner of her eye. "What's the difference between a zombie and a cannibal?"
"What the fuck is your issue?"
She sighed, letting her shoulders droop. At the same time, in a disgustingly intimate manner, she leaned her head on the axe's steel one. The protest died in his throat.
His body acted on its own, closing the distance and grabbing the handle. Anne did not move, watching him flatly, even now, as he towered over her, with barely a breath between them.
It would have been so easy to reach for his other axe, or rip this one out, and end whatever this was. But the axe at his belt felt foreign; the axe in the tree felt hers.
Tobias felt his heart stammer again, and again. He wanted to pry his ribs open, let it out. This wasn't how he was supposed to be. He needed to do something, fast, needed to...
"What do you do when love and abuse become inseparable?" she asked. "When you've never had one without the other, and they melt together?"
His grip turned painful.
"And when you think - I am a dumb dog. And yet, I do not deserve this. But the hand that comforts me is the same one that beats me." Anne gave a weak, mean smile, but held his gaze. "And it hurts, and you want to bite, end it all and take your filling, because who else could make you feel better than the one that hurt you?"
The smoke was clouding his mind again. The fire burned, and he fought to remember a time where he could have understood her. Before he had met the Proxies.
And he found that he could not. But for the first time in forever, he wanted something. The need scraped through his veins, pushing outwards.
"Show me."
"Do I pet you? Or hurt you?" she asked, voice laced with ridicule.
It hardly felt like it was aimed at him, though.
"I don't know. I don't care. Both. Show me. I want to know."
