cw: possible mischaracterization, first time writing for listed characters, favoritism, writer doesn't like squirm.
style: bullet head-canons
proofread: yes
a/n: gonna try not to let my dislike for squirm get in the way. i don't like how he's always just crying and eating, it annoys me. poll at the end for next group!
Goob 🧸
could see it going both ways, but for the sake of the post you're the one confessing.
it doesn't take too much for him to develop a crush on you so long as you get along with his sister and you're a generally sweet person.
when you confess to him, he wont waste any time dragging you into the tightest hug ever.
if he had a tail it would be all over the place.
he'll say something sweet about loving you too and be ecstatic when you ask for a date.
his probable date choices are doing crafts together, a sleepover with lots of cuddling, or a long conversation over sweets.
whatever you pick, he'll be super happy to have you.
Rodger 🔎
once again could go both ways, but i feel its more likely that you'd confess to him.
it takes a pretty solid relationship with him before he'd develop feelings for you, but once he does theres no going back.
when you confess, his eye will just turn into a full circle out of surprise for a moment ().
he'll clear his throat, before accepting your feelings and telling you he reciprocates
he might try to question you on how long you've liked him, nosy as ever.
he'll be glad to plan something nice with you.
his probable date choices are a classic dinner date, a picnic, or a simple long conversation in privacy.
regardless, he's going to question you on things he doesn't know yet. if he's gonna be in a relationship he wants to know everything about his partner!
Squirm 🐛
you definitely have to confess, this dude is the most loudly insecure person you'll ever meet.
i wouldn't say he needs much buildup, he'll develop feelings once you've been nice to him long enough.
when you confess, he doesn't believe you at first.
if you reassure him that you're being genuine, his first response will be asking why you even like him.
take a minute to have him chill out. once he does he'll tell you he likes you back.
when you're planning something, make sure its nothing too extreme. he'd much prefer a chill date.
his probable date choices are a sleepover involving late night conversations, reading together, or watching a chill romance/comedy movie.
if you pick reading don't act surprised when he's got the book shoved halfway down his throat. he cant help it!
a/n: so somehow despite my dislike for him i gave squirm the longest part. oops?? final part for male toons will be out tomorrow!
Blah blah blah you all know the song and dance by now, poll at the end for the next ending
Notes: gn toon reader, pre shut down, squirms just been kicked from the bookclub, this ones a little rougher than other endings- while it's not explicit that the reader doesn't reciprocate and its implied squirm likes the reader a bit more than as a friend, Squirm's tendency to think the worst hurts him here, the readers also in the book club, admin got a little into the conflict he may or may not have written this while he was irritated whoopsie sorry gang, touching up on the idea that the toons really genuinely cannot help being the way that they are because thats how they were designed, fuck it everybodys hurting and projecting
Word Count: 3.1k
CWs: none unless you count the readers brief existentialism
You reach your hand into the bag…
And your fingers wrapped around something smooth and round, like a ball. Compared to most other objects inside the bag, it had some give— soft. Sleek for the most part, the skin of your thumb still caught along the curve of whatever it was. You could turn it around in your fingers as long as you'd like, and you probably would have if you weren't in the middle of a game with everyone's eyes on you.
So you pulled it out.
It was a ball. Fit right in the palm of your hand. A squeeze pushed more of it's exposed stuffing out.
"Looks like it might've gotten punctured somewhere in there," Dandy mumbled as his eyes fixed on the blue and green object. "Er… I'll have to check to see if there's anything sharp in the bag—"
But the flower was never given the chance to even glance into the opening of the bag before a sniffling voice interrupted his train of thought.
"Th-that's mine… I… I uhm, popped it…" Squirm hardly stepped out of the crowd— more like shuffled forward— with his hands knotted together as a few eyes flicked to his soft segmented body. "I— I've been meaning to get a new one…"
The stress ball rolled in your hand, even with the uneven pressure it felt nice between your fingers. Each light squeeze almost in tune with Squirm's footsteps as he brought himself closer to you and Dandy.
"Can I have it back?" Squirm mumbled as his large watery eyes shyly averted from your face, instead choosing to fix on the rolling ball between your fingers. "…Please…?"
Ah. Right.
"Maybe we can get you a few backups, I'm sure the gift shop has more than enough—" they did. Colored to look like ornaments. In fact you were sure there was at least one that was designed to look like the Christmas main. There always tended to be at least one unique piece of merchandise that was modeled after the holiday mains. "We could look through them during the game," You tried to offer a smile against Squirm's warbling lip.
"That sounds like a wonderful idea, Dewdrop!" Dandy smiled as he allowed the velvet sack to slump against his leg. "Smart thinking, I always knew you were a neat little problem solver," his face scrunched into a massive grin. His voice sounded light, and he looked a little too gleeful that you had pulled Squirm's item; but you chose to ignore it. Not while the sniveling toon was right there within earshot— the guy could hardly tolerate the thought of being talked about regardless of context.
"Come on, why don't we go ahead and get a move on," You offered a smile, one that Squirm halfheartedly returned as his upper hands wrapped around the stress ball. Good enough, you thought; as three sets of feet slowly marched down the hall. The sound of Christmas music didn't at all die down as you both paced away from the party— if anything it temporarily quieted before the next set of speakers brought the volume back up like a warbling choir. You'd have to figure out who was in charge of putting on the music and see if they could at least turn it down a few notches after closing.
"I guess they didn't think hard enough to turn the music off after closing, maybe I can see if they can switch it off… or maybe see if I can talk to Dyle about it," You shot Squirm another half hearted grin, but his face was fixed down to the rainbow carpet under his feet. "Dandy's right… you really are good at problem solving…"
So you stopped smiling, and sucked the skin of your cheek against your teeth instead. His tone was… odd. Mumbled and inward like it was weighted down with an odd sense of envy.
Just as you had thought there was a box of themed stress balls with half a dozen different designs stuffed into a box right by the doorway. "I guess Bobette was gonna restock…" You pursed your lips, and pushed the box towards the… caterpillar? Worm? Book worm? You actually weren't entirely sure what Squirm was meant to be and at this point— knowing him at least— you were sure it was a sensitive topic. Regardless you pushed the box towards him with the end of your foot. "Take your pick, I'm sure there's plenty more where that came from."
While Squirm lowered himself, you scanned the room. "The storage room is open-" You commented, but Squirm was more focused on the box of stress balls.
"Do you… do you think Bobette would r-really be okay with me taking things?" Squirm's voice was quiet as his blue head angled back up to you, sending the squishy segment that made his collar warp against the motion. The tip of your foot only pulled away from the side of the box as your lips pursed. "I don't want her to b-be upset with me…"
"I don't think she'd be all that upset, I mean… I think she'd got more than enough stock to make up for a couple of lost balls," You crouched down and plunged your hand into the pile. Ruby red with olive stripes— emerald green with deeper green accents designed to look like Christmas trees… Balls that looked like golden bells and the iconic red baubles that you often found scattered around the floors from visitors that thought it was funny to pick at Gardenview's decor… a few had printed on faces to look like Bobette's, just as you had expected.
You don't think you'd be able to be a main, having to walk around with the expectations made your skin crawl. Better a background character instead of a main character, so long as you didn't think too hard about the fact that so many other background characters from the show weren't given a breathing counterpart.
The expectations already placed on you already made your bones feel cumbersome— and that was on top of projections of how people thought you should feel based on what your animated counterpart might have felt had they taken your place instead. You were intended to be a perfect copy, just like everyone else, so why didn't it feel like it? No one else seemed to sway this way and that about how they were meant to be— or maybe they did and just hid it too.
No one liked to think about that aspect of being a toon.
What would happen if one fell out of the public's favor? Or stepped too far out of the intended script that no one got to rehearse?
Everything was predetermined without anyone noticing. And if they did it was something left unspoken.
The stress ball with Bobette's face squished under your fingers as they squeezed around the mock main. Poor thing's wide eyes peeked through the gaps of your fingers as the grip tightened, just to snap back into place as you relaxed your fingers.
"I guess I can see why you always keep one of these on you," You pulled it out of the pile and rolled it between your fingers. "It feels nice."
"Yeah… y-yeah…" Squirm rolled his popped stress ball between his hands, seemingly unwilling to part with the object. You chose not to comment on it. "I… I think they're really… neat.. and some of them are pretty—" the bug-like toon's glossy eyes passed over you for half a moment before fixing themselves to the spilled stuffing threaded between his fingers.
The silence settled between the two of you, just as awkward as it had been as you two of you walked down the hallway— if anything it was worse within the mostly enclosed space of the gift shop. Walls were good at making things feel more claustrophobic than they had to be. It probably also didn't help that Squirm kept slinging glances your way when he thought you weren't working; the way he seemed to flinch under your eyes coming his way almost made the corner of your jaw twitch in mild discomfort. It nearly felt like a relief when he finally looked down at the box of balls— just enough of a break to allow yourself to settle into the silence and take a seat at the table in the corner of the shop.
A plastic chair creaked quietly as you settled yourself inside it. It took at least half a minute for Squirm to peel his eyes off of the box of stress toys, and turn his attention onto you.
"Is everyone still- snf—" Squirm started before his own throat cut him off.
"Is everyone still what?"
You watched quietly as Squirm's mouth contorted into a wobbly line as he visibly clutched his teeth around the words. "Is ev-everyone still having fun in the book club? Y-you're.. you're still in it, right?"
The corner of your mouth tugged off to one side as Squirm simply just started to unload in a barely contained string of sobs and hiccups. "Y-you're all having fu-fun without me, aren't you?"
"That's not true—" a lie. While the book club certainly wasn't celebrating Squirm's departure, it wouldn't exactly be accurate to say that— devoured books aside— things had changed since he was made to leave. "We miss you, but I'm sure you understand why we had to…" You could only trail off as Squirm's sobbed gasp overcame your voice.
"I-I knew it! You're all better off without me— I knew it!" Squirm's voice cracked as one foot dared to lift off of the cold wooden floor below, nubbed foot partially dusted in the fake snow that had been piled up in the room; before he seemingly decided against shortening the distance between the two of you. "I-I don't mean to— I can't help it, I really don't want to—" another hiccup cut through his wobbly words— and he didn't try all that hard to fight the oncoming sob.
While Squirm made his face wet, the back of your throat went papery dry.
What could you realistically do in a situation like this? Lying wouldn't be do either of you any good, even if he wasn't already long aware of his little problem. You were fairly sure Brightney had gently explained to him why he needed to leave the club. At least, she explained the main reason.
He couldn't help it. He really couldn't. Everyone knew it, and he wasn't the only toon who was doomed to their prewritten narrative. It was cruel in its own right, that certain form of helplessness you were sure Squirm had weaved around himself settled in the pit of your stomach like a hot iron.
He was just like you in his own way. Doomed to follow his invisible script while you were never given a set line.
What could you say to him now?
Comforting could only stave off the problem for so long— and it wasn't really one that would be backtracked now that he was breathing among the rest of you.
It sounded unfair, but you weren't exactly sure how much longer you could grit your teeth and pretend you weren't as upset as you were about your paper-based belongings being reduced to shreds. Long before Squirm had been kicked out of the book club you had stopped bringing your personal copies of books along and stuck to what the library offered before they too were reduced to nothing but scraps— speaking of, your gut still twitched in empathetic irritation over the craft sibling's loss of her sketchbook. In all honesty, if something you had worked hard on by hand had been taken, just like that…in an instant your were more angry about that than anything else— and you had no real idea why. It felt almost silly, like the narrative actively shifted against you; forced to latch onto something that was easier to confront.
Or maybe it was your excuse to unload everything out on someone who wouldn't fight back.
It's not his fault.
And yet as his eyes remained welled up with tears you wondered if he ever took everyone's advice to heart. At what point could one be forgiven for growing exasperated at telling the toon to breathe, or to once more gently push the worm to keep it together— around toons and visitors. How many times had he failed to regulate his breathing, or separate himself when the moment was becoming detrimental to his state? He wasn't a main, and as mean as it sounded it seemed it became common knowledge to the visitors to not step around him if their little ones were holding a brand new drawing they had made to show their favorite toons.
"It's not his fault," you tried to repeat in your mind as a mantra as his babbling continued— but what could you say when you've already tried everything else in the past?
"You hate me too, don-don't you?" The words almost hit you like a truck— Squirm, as far you knew, never outright accused someone specific of something so harsh. And he just kept pushing as the tears kept flowing. "Y-you're— …Dandy was right, you're smart… and you're really nice and—" Squirm's not-snow ridden foot trudged forward as the gap between the both of you closed. Instinctively, you leaned back in the chair. "and I can't do anything right—" the stress ball between his fingers nearly squealed under the pressure of his grip. "I'm useless—"
The second his breath brushed against your cheek you immediately stood up. You weren't exactly sure why, but the snap that traveled up your spine forced your legs to spring upwards— before it settled somewhere tensely between your shoulders, something standoffish; like a line had just been discovered.
It's not his fault.
But all you could think of was his watery eyes as you took mental inventory of what all had been destroyed. Countless books, Scraps's sketchbook, you were sure that the notes Looey had been making for his jokes had been nibbled on. Even the small notepad of recipes that you kept tucked away in a drawer within the kitchen hadn't been spared.
You could have made something great tonight instead of the recipe you had to settle on.
You weren't written to be a baker anyway, so did it really matter?
It's not his fault.
It was probably that thought alone that gave you enough pause to slacken the grind of your teeth in the face of the sudden onslaught of pent up frustration.
"I never said I hate you—" The words came out more rigid than you would have liked, but there wasn't all that much that you could do now; nothing more than take a hissing breath that stuttered between your teeth as you fought (and lost) the fluster creeping up your neck to your cheeks. "I don't appreciate being projected on either, when I have been nothing but patient with you—"
The look on his face only served to further stroke the hot pit that scorched your guts— so you busied yourself with picking up the toppled over chair.
"I know you don't mean to— and I know its harder on you than it is for the rest of us— but none of us hate you-" okay so maybe Shrimpo was, but he too- like Squirm- was trapped within his own prewritten existence. Opportunities for existentialism be damned you were too caught up in the moment to really think about that. Better to be angry than to spiral. "least of all me— I like you Squirm. I still make you pie when I've got the time, don't I? Talk with you about stories? Hell I sometimes read to you so you don't have to worry about eating the book midway through—"
You brushed right past the slight flinch Squirm released when the soft "swear" slipped your lips. Maybe if they didn't want the toons to be repeating that sort of rude language then maybe the human staff should be better at their jobs— you were sure half of the toons problems would be solved if they weren't paraded around like show ponies to entertain some soccer mom who smelled a little too much like the smoke that billowed from the oven every time Cosmo forgot to set his timer—
If you had a nose you were sure your nostrils would flare just like the taller visitors who didn't like that they weren't allowed to enable their flash while taking pictures of Astro.
By the time you focused back on Squirm's tear streaked face the fire that had dared to slip through your teeth died right on your tongue in a soured aftertaste.
"I'm sorry, that came out a bit rougher than I would have liked…" You muttered after releasing the remaining tension in the form of a sigh. "I really do like spending time with you, Squirm— but I can't keep… doing this anymore. It feels like you don't really acknowledge it when I say I care about you, it's…."
Exhausting.
"I know it's not your fault,"
It all felt so unfair.
You didn't want this, and Squirm most definitely didn't ask for it. All of this would have been for nothing. The cycle of crying and comfort was sure to repeat itself all over again the moment things got tough.
It didn't feel like it in the moment, but you really did care about Squirm. You cared a lot.
Maybe that's why you got so angry.
"I think I need a minute alone," You pushed the chair back into its original spot. Dandy wasn't even at the doorway when you stepped towards it— the party still ongoing, the music still twisting the frayed knot that made up your guts.
"I-I'm sorry—" Squirm started but you only looked back at him; not in anger. Not with resentment. Just simple exhaustion. It was all you needed to stop his words in their tracks.
"We'll talk soon, once we're both calmed down," You promised. Be it in a few hours or tomorrow. Or later down the line once you figured out what was wrong with you specifically.
The music outside had already passed its chorus by the time Squirm mustered up a soft okay.
It felt mean. It felt evil. It felt unjustified as you left the game before the time ran out.
It was probably for the better, having it this way.
You'd make him a pie, you decided as you trudged over towards the elevator— taking it passed the kitchen floors, right to your floor.
