hi welcome, this is my self-indulgent corner where i post mostly ship art of my ocs and faves, sometimes wips that i delete, n a few rb here and there. i dont rly have a lot of rules other than:
no reuploads of my art outside of tumblr.
no usage of my art for RPs or any ai bullshit (chatbots, etc.).
curate your own dash (don't like, don't interact).
minors DNI (<- be at LEAST 18 yrs old).
☘ About ……✎
⊹ moomin
⊹ 20+
⊹ they/them
☘ Misc (boundaries, etc.) ……✎
⊹ sharing of faves: OK ; feel free 2 interact with me abt them too :]
⊹ oc ships: very selective ; unless stated otherwise, my ocs are personal branches of myself so just ask me if ur curious abt platonic dynamics and/or beyond for non-personal ocs
⊹ ask box is closed but you can send them through my strawpage ; doodle requests of charas from our shared interests are OK too 🩵
⊹ i draw for myself ; fanart is a rarity so don’t expect any of those here
⊹ this is not my main blog! i follow back over here but i am also very selective with doing so.
☘ Current ……✎
⊹ faves: two2 (blooming panic), ticci toby + eyeless jack + ben drowned (creepypasta), mac (date everything), harvey (stardew valley), minagi tsuzuru (a3!), link (TP, SS)
⊹ songs: Kalapastangan by fitterkarma
⊹ games: The Legend of Zelda series, Pokémon (ZA, SWSH, SM), To The Moon, Persona 3 Portable, A3! Act! Addict! Actors!
⊹ interests: marine biology, cute things, 2000s stuff (media, collections, etc.), -> Original charas <-, handcrafts (crochet, felt, paper craft, etc.), OG youtubers (dan & phil, smosh, etc.)
im a little bit embarrassed talking here on tumblr more than other platforms bc my accounts are usually private but i swear, ill def try to appear around here more n share non-art stuff too c: ive been thinking of doing a hc post of welt but also sharing some OC lore for some time now (-｡-; but first i gotta work on my writing more before i do that
"I know if you looked for me I'd look you in the eye"
{ Ticci Toby }
Tw: angst (no comfort) (slightly suggestive..?)
:Toby meant everything to you, surely you meant everything to him!
You met Toby in a half–empty gas station shop just off the road. You were buying cigarettes. He was buying junk food.
The collision was accidental, a muttered apology, the quiet rustle of plastic packaging scattering across the floor. You bent down at the same time, hands brushing for only a second.
His curly caramel-brown hair fell messily over his eyes. There was a deep gnash carved into his cheek, revealing his teeth. He seemed rough around the edges, unpredictable, but there was something else too. Something almost soft.
You talked. Just small talk at first, a few hesitant questions and before you left, numbers were exchanged almost without thinking. And after that, you never really stopped talking. Messages turned into late-night conversations. Late-night conversations turned into daily routines.
You learned everything about him, his strange humor, the things that made him laugh until he couldn’t breathe, his favorite movie, the way his texts were always slightly chaotic.
A month later, you arranged to meet again. It wasn’t a date, at least, that’s what you both insisted. Just a simple comedy movie together. Just hanging out.
The film itself was terrible. Overly dramatic acting, predictable jokes, ridiculous effects, yet the two of you laughed through nearly the entire thing, whispering sarcastic commentary and exchanging amused glances
Afterward, you decided to walk through the park nearby, the night air cool and gentle. That was when Toby walked straight into a pole.
The dull thunk, the stunned expression on his face, and the way he tried to pretend nothing had happened sent you into uncontrollable laughter. You teased him about it for weeks afterward, and he never truly lived it down.
Another month or two passed, and you grew closer.
Even with his sudden disappearances, days where he wouldn’t answer messages, where he seemed to vanish completely, he always returned with that same crooked smile and careless excuses. You noticed the injuries too: bruises, scratches, cuts he brushed off with a shrug.
You told yourself not to question it. Everyone had their secrets. And you trusted him.
Months later, the space between you had dissolved entirely.Movie nights meant sharing the couch, shoulders pressed together. Conversations blurring into comfortable silence. Fingers would intertwine absentmindedly, as if it had always been natural. Sometimes he would rest his head against yours, sometimes you would fall asleep beside each other.
Small kisses became normal, started off as a joke but it became sincere, gentle and shy. But it wasn’t like you were dating.
…Right?
Neither of you ever said it aloud.
It was the third of December when things seemed to change.
Winter had settled in. You sat together on the couch, bundledin warm blankets, hands wrapped around mugs of hot cocoa. The room still carried the echoes of your earlier argument, a game of Uno that had dissolved into playful yelling and dramatic accusations of cheating.
You were still laughing when he suddenly turned toward you. His warm brown eyes, almost golden in the light, studied your face with an intensity that made your breath falter. His hair was messy, like he had just woken up, and every so often his head jerked sharply with his tics, movements he never tried to hide around you.
Then, quietly, simply, “I– I love you.” The words hung in the air, fragile and heavy all at once. You masked your shock with a nervous laugh. Maybe really good friends said things like that. Maybe it meant something different to him.
“Love you too, Tobes,” you answered softly.
He leaned forward and kissed you.
You kissed him back.
he world seemed to blur after that, warmth, closeness, the steady rhythm of shared shortened breaths, the feeling of being so so close physically it made your chest ache. Everything felt overwhelming and distant at the same time, like a dream you never wanted to wake from.
And you let yourself believe it meant something.
Another two months passed.
By then, pretending became impossible. You wanted more than whatever this was, more than being “good friends” who shared whispered affection, intimate touches, and words that sounded dangerously like promises. Because you truly loved him, and not in a casual way.
You loved everything about Toby. Every strange habit, Every moment of vulnerability. Every insecurity he tried to hide behind careless laughter.
The night settled into a quiet that felt heavier than usual. The television murmured softly in the background, casting flickering light across the room, but neither of you were really watching. Outside, rain drifted gently past the windows, coating the world in pale silence.
Everything felt strangely still.
You sat beside Toby, your shoulder pressed lightly against his. The warmth from earlier, the laughter, the shared teasing, had faded into something quieter, something fragile.
Your heart wouldn’t settle. For weeks, the feeling had lived inside you like a restless thing, growing heavier with every glance, every touch, every quiet “I love you” he spoke so casually. The words pressed against your ribs now, demanding to be released.
If you didn’t say them tonight, you never would.You turned toward him slowly.
“Toby,” you whispered.
He hummed in response, barely shifting. His eyes remained on the television, unfocused, distant. A small jerk of his head broke the stillness before he leaned back into the couch again, waiting.
You swallowed.
Your fingers twisted in the fabric of your sleeve as you searched for the courage that suddenly seemed impossibly far away.
“I mean it,” you said softly. “What I said before… I love you.” The words felt delicate, fragile.
His gaze shifted to you, you forced yourself to continue.
“I don’t mean it the way friends say it,” you explained, your voice barely above a breath. “I don’t mean it casually, or as a joke, or just because we’re close. I mean it properly. Completely.”
Your chest tightened. “I think I’ve loved you for a while.”
The confession hung between you, trembling in the quiet.
For a moment, nothing happened.
No smile. No teasing remark. No familiar warmth in his eyes.
He only stared.
His expression was unreadable, not cold, not angry, but distant, like he was trying to process something incomprehensible. His golden-brown eyes searched your face slowly, studying every detail as if looking for a meaning he couldn’t quite grasp.
You waited.
Seconds stretched painfully into something unbearable. You could hear the ticking of the clock on the wall, the quiet static of the television, the faint sound of your own breathing. Your heart pounded so loudly it almost drowned everything else out.
Surely he would say something. Anything. Instead, he blinked slowly, his head tilting slightly.
“Oh,” he said.
Just that.
One quiet word, empty of emotion. Your stomach dropped. You forced a small, nervous laugh, trying to ease the sudden tension pressing against your chest.
“It’s okay if you don’t know what to say,” you murmured quickly. “You don’t have to respond right away. I just, I wanted you to know.”
He didn’t answer. His gaze drifted away from you, returning to the television though it was obvious he wasn’t watching. His posture stiffened slightly, shoulders tensed.
You tried to ignore the ache blooming in your chest. You shifted closer, hesitant, reaching for his hand like you always did.
He didn’t pull away.
But he didn’t hold yours back either.
His hand remained still in your grasp, lifeless and unresponsive, like you were holding something that wasn’t truly there.
A quiet dread settled deep in your stomach. The rest of the night unfolded in strained silence.
The television played episodes neither of you followed. The room felt colder somehow, the warmth from earlier replaced by something hollow and uncomfortable.
Time passed strangely, heavy and distorted.
Eventually, he stood. The movement startled you. “I should go,” he muttered, voice flat. So sudden. So unlike him. He never left early. He always lingered, always found some excuse to stay.
You followed him to the door, unease twisting in your chest.
“Toby…?” you started softly. He paused but didn’t turn to face you.
For a moment, you thought he might say something, explain or tell you everything was fine. Instead, he simply nodded once. “Night,” he said quietly.
Then he left.
You told yourself he just needed time. You told yourself you had surprised him. You told yourself tomorrow would be normal.
You slept poorly that night, waking repeatedly to check your phone, expecting a message, a joke, a meme, anything.
Morning came. Nothing. You sent a simple text.
'Are you okay?' No response.
Hours passed. You checked again. Still unread. By afternoon, unease had begun to settle heavily in your chest. You tried calling. The phone rang endlessly before falling silent.
Evening came.
Still nothing.
The next day, you waited by your window longer than you wanted to admit.He had a habit of appearing without warning knocking at your door with that familiar crooked grin, acting as if he had never been gone at all.
You kept expecting to see him there. The street remained empty.
You visited the park where you used to walk together. The gas station where you first met. The quiet streets he often wandered at night. Nothing.
No trace of him anywhere.
It was as if he had simply vanished, like he had never existed outside your memories.
Days blurred into weeks.
Your messages remained unanswered. Your calls went ignored.
The realization came slowly, painfully, settling into your bones with quiet certainty.
He wasn’t coming back.
.
A year later, everything looked different.
And so did you.
Time had softened your grief, though it never truly erased them. The ache that once consumed your days had faded into something quieter, Your reflection barely resembled the person you had been back then.
Your hair, once longer, was now cut short, cleaner, neater, There was a steadiness in your expression that hadn’t existed before, a quiet awareness behind your eyes that only time and heartbreak could create.
You carried yourself differently now. Slower. Surer. Life had forced you to grow into someone stronger.
The cigarettes were gone.
The habit that once filled your restless nights had been abandoned months ago, left behind like a piece of your old life. The smell of smoke no longer clung to your clothes or lingered on your breath.
You told yourself it was for your health. But deep down, you knew you had simply grown tired of slowly destroying yourself.
Your apartment had changed too.
The couch where you used to sit waiting was different, positioned toward the sunlight rather than the door. The television no longer played late into the night just to drown out the silence.
You had stopped waiting.
Kind of,
There were days when you barely thought about him at all.
Work occupied your mornings. Responsibilities filled your afternoons. Your world had grown larger, fuller, more stable. You had met new people, built new routines, created a life that no longer revolved around a single person’s presence.
You had become someone who knew that love alone could not make someone stay.
Yet sometimes, in quiet moments, memories still found you.
A passing laugh that sounded vaguely familiar. The dull thunk of someone walking into a pole. A movie you once watched together playing on a distant screen.
Small things. Insignificant things.
But they still made your chest tighten before you could stop it. The feeling never lasted long anymore. You had learned how to let it pass, like watching a cloud drift across the sky, temporary and distant.
That was growth, you supposed.
You had learned to live without answers. Learned to exist without closure.
Learned that sometimes people entered your life only to leave behind lessons rather than memories.
And still though you would never admit it aloud there remained a small, silent part of your heart that wondered where he had gone.
Not with longing. Not with hope. Just a quiet curiosity, like thinking of a distant storm that had once changed the shape of your world.
The order came without emotion. It always did.
A simple instruction, spoken like it meant nothing, like the life attached to it held no weight at all.
A name. A location.
And for the first time in a long time Toby didn’t respond immediately. He stared at the photograph longer than necessary.
The image was recent, taken from a distance, slightly blurred. You stood outside a small shop, hair shorter than he remembered, posture straighter, expression calmer. Older.
Different.
Alive.
His fingers twitched violently against the table, a sharp jerk running through his arm as a tic forced his head to snap to the side. The paper crinkled faintly in his grip.
A strange pressure built in his chest. Something unfamiliar. Something he didn’t have a word for.
He had carried out countless orders before. Faces blurred together, names forgotten the moment the task was complete. People were temporary. Replaceable. Meaningless.
You weren’t supposed to be different. You were supposed to be like the others.
But his mind betrayed him.
Memories surfaced uninvited , your laughter echoing, your apartment, the way your fingers curled around his hand without thinking. The sound of your voice saying his name like it mattered.
A mistake. All of it had been a mistake. He should have left sooner. He remembered the night you confessed.
The way your voice trembled. The way you looked at him like he was something human.
Love was not something he understood. It felt foreign, suffocating, dangerous. Your confession had pressed against the fragile structure of control he relied on.
And attachment was weakness. And that's exactly what you were.
So he left.
It had been simple, logical,
necessary.
At least, that was what he told himself
One whole year.
He had watched from afar more than once.
Hidden in crowds. Standing across streets. Lingering in shadows where you would never notice.
He observed the changes.
You stopped smoking. You smiled at people who weren’t him. You had survived.
That should have been enough.
And yet the order still came.
A quiet confirmation that distance had not protected you, only delayed the inevitable. You had been marked.
And now he was the one chosen to carry it out.
A bitter, humorless sound escaped his throat, quickly swallowed by the silence around him. His shoulders tensed, another sharp tic forcing his head forward.
Of course it would be him.
He studied the photograph again.
You looked peaceful. Unaware.
Living a life that no longer revolved around him.
Something inside him twisted, not guilt, not quite regret, but an unfamiliar disturbance beneath layers of trained indifference.
You had looked at him once like he was worth saving. Now he was expected to destroy you.
The irony was almost unbearable.
He told himself it didn’t matter.
People were temporary.
He repeated the logic over and over, forcing the words into the empty spaces of his mind.
Still, his hands would not steady. Your face refused to become just another target. Your voice lingered where silence should have been.
'I love you.'
The memory echoed relentlessly.
Why you?
Why now?
The questions had no answers.
Orders were not meant to be questioned.
Night fell.
He found himself standing outside your apartment without remembering the journey there.
A faint light glowed behind your curtains. You were home. Unaware that death waited quietly across the street.
Yet his feet refused to move.
Memories crowded his thoughts, the warmth of shared laughter, the quiet comfort of sitting beside you, the fragile hope in your voice when you confessed your love.
He had tried to erase you from his life.
He had failed
The night was silent when Toby finally stood before you. You recognized him instantly.
There was no fear at first, only confusion, then fragile understanding, and finally something quiet and heavy settling behind your gaze. You did not run. You did not scream. You simply looked at him. The same way you always had.
Like he was still someone worth trusting.
The moment stretched endlessly between you. His hands trembled.
His breath came uneven.
But the order from Him remained.
Unavoidable. Absolute.
And he had never disobeyed before.
It happened quietly.
No dramatic struggle.
No resistance.
You collapsed gently, the strength leaving your body like fading light. The world seemed to fall silent with you.
For a moment, Toby didn't move. He simply stared.
As if refusing to understand what had just happened. Then he dropped to his knees beside you.
Your name left his lips in a broken whisper, the sound raw and unfamiliar in his throat. His hands shook violently as he reached for you, pulling you carefully against him like something fragile that might still be saved.
Your warmth was fading. Your breathing shallow. Yet your eyes found him.
Even now.
Even like this.
There was no anger in them. No hatred. Only a quiet sadness, and something gentler that made his chest tighten painfully.
Forgiveness.
The realization shattered something inside him.
“I-” His voice failed, splintering into uneven fragments. “I didn’t… I didn’t-”
The words would not form.
He had never learned how to apologize. Never learned how to beg. Never learned how to hold something without breaking it.
His tears came without warning. Hot, uncontrollable, falling freely as he pressed his forehead against yours, trembling violently. His tics grew sharper, more erratic.
You lifted your hand weakly. Your fingers brushed his cheek, a faint, trembling touch. The same gentle gesture you had always given him. Comforting him.
Even now.
Your hand slipped.
The quiet rise and fall of your chest slowed… then stilled. The world seemed to stop with you.
Silence swallowed everything.
Toby froze.
He waited for your next breath. For your voice. For any sign that you were still there.
Nothing came.
A broken sound escaped him, something between a sob and a gasp, as the reality settled slowly, mercilessly into his mind.
You were gone.
And he had done it.
He collapsed beside you, pulling your lifeless body against his chest, dark red staining his clothes, clutching you with desperate, shaking arms. His face buried into your shoulder as quiet, fractured sobs tore from his throat.
He did not try to leave.
He simply lay there with you, trembling, as if proximity alone could undo what had been done.
Minutes passed. Then hours.
The night grew colder, darkness stretching endlessly around the two of you, but he never loosened his hold.
His tears soaked into your clothes. His breathing eventually slowed into hollow, uneven breaths. His fingers remained curled tightly in your sleeve, refusing to release the last trace of you.
For the first time in his life, the silence felt unbearable.
You had once told him you loved him. And now you would never speak again.
He remained there until morning light crept across the ground,
still holding you,
still whispering apologies to someone who could no longer hear them.
