Finally, A Willing Audience.

🌙 — Late Nights

midnight laundry run

- the melodic jingle of a bell flowed through the atmosphere of the empty laundromat as the glass front door swung open.

- a tall, slim woman made her way into the world of detergent and garment as she squinted up at the buzzing fluorescent lights upon entry. a stark contrast from the darkness of the midnight streets outside. the bright blue-green hues from the bulbs reflected off her clock eye, and the deep red that soaked her clothes.

- she dug her hands into her forest green jacket, accessorized by dirty fur on the hood, and pulled out the contents in her pockets. lint, a switchblade, pack of cigarettes, lighter, and various coins.

- the change clattered onto the metal washing machine as she emptied the items and began to remove her blood-stained, mud-crusted coat.

- silently, the hum of the lights overhead buzzed through her cold ears red with frost. as she sniffled back snot, clockwork caught a scent of warmth and cleanliness. her long, calloused hands made their way to her white tank top as pulled it off over her head, revealing black bra and defined scarred abdomen.

- her long, messy caramel brown hair fell recklessly on her slender shoulders freckled with sun and stars. clockwork wiped her dirty, red painted hands off on her black skinny jeans torn with age and adventure, and began to slide those off as well.

- as the girl stripped down to nothing but underwear, she was utterly indifferent to shame or curtesy. slipping a cigarette out of her pack, she placed one in her mouth, deeply inhaling the rough tobacco smoke as though she were breathing in life.

- with the cigarette held between her lips, she placed her soiled clothing into the washing machine and inserted the coins into the slot. as time ticked on, she leaned against the rumbling appliance and hugged her arm around her waist, bringing her other up to grip the smoke loosely between her two fingers.

- for a moment, all was calm. the warm air of the laundromat danced on her bare skin, opposite to the cold tingle of the washing machine on her back. clockwork allowed the atmosphere around her to take hold, closing her one good eye for a moment.

- she felt as though everything around her crumbled away, only listening to the buzz of the lights creating a symphony of errand with the thundering clatter of her clothes being tossed and turned. it was quiet, and peacefully alone.

- in that moment, it was if the girl wasn’t feral with blood splattered onto her coarse body ripe with war. in that moment, she was as clean as she could be with mud on her sneakers ripped to shreds and victim flesh under her chewed nails.

- that is, until the sound of the bell on the front door made her eye shoot open. a ruthless glare dug daggers at the intruder of her peaceful night as she stared at the entrance.

- to her dismay, it was a familiar face.

- shaggy, messy tuft of chestnut hair and obnoxious orange goggles hiding the boys desensitized dark eyes. it appears he had been on a job. his clothes were even more tattered with red soaked stains and earth grime than the girls.

- “oh clocky have you no shame?” the boy joked, inviting himself to stride over to her side.

- “not one bit. got nothing to lose anyways.” clockwork replied, staring past the annoyance who she knew as toby.

- without second word or warning, the other began to pull off his sweater, and unbuttoned his jeans mudded with graveyard dirt. his hands were rough, but quick, as he removed every article but his boxers.

- toby was smaller by a couple of inches in comparison to the tall girl when she straightened her posture to reveal her full height. like the girls, his body was littered with scars. some old, some new.

- he slid some of clockwork’s coins off the top of an unoccupied machine and roughly shoved his bundle of wardrobe into it, easing the change into the slot.

- still leaning against her appliance, facing forward, clockwork glanced over to the side with aloofness plastered on her time-kissed face, to watch the boy fight with the cleaning instrument.

- “you’re an idiot,” she muttered as she tried to fight off an amused smile creeping on to the corners of her mouth.

- toby huffed and turned away from the sputtering laundry, now looking at clockwork in her brutal entirety. the undressed woman was certainly tough to swallow, she wasn’t exactly easy on any casual eyes.

- “you’re hot” the boy blurted out, rivalling her disregard for shame or consequence.

- clockworks head quickly turned to match her gaze, now staring directly at toby with furrowed brow and wide eye. she froze for a moment at the unexpected comment before shaking her head and smiling into her glare, huffing a confused chuckle in response.

- she couldn’t say she was surprised. toby was as loud-mouthed and crude as she was.

- “yeah, well, wish i could say the same about you” the girl teased back, taking another long drag of her cigarette.

- for the next endless two hours until the laundry had completed its cycle, the pair continued their banter and casual chatter. the occasional passerby on the street glancing in to the laundromat from the large window, to see two blood-splattered youths in nothing but underwear and crooked smile, sharing a smoke with sparks in their eyes.

- everyone could see it but them. the fire between them could burn that town down.

gay agenda? sure what time will the men be kissing

throwback to when i was in inpatient and drew the most atrocities hoodie

toby rogers is so video game what remains of edith finch coded

for the ask thing-

toby do you know i love you and how i would do anything to put you in a blender crunch you up and drink you like a smoothie

BEHAVE YOURSELVES

A drawing of my Creepypasta The Mind Twister💪

That’s also some days old, i fr need to start being more active here

🪓 — Teenagers. Ticci Toby

“you’re never gonna fit in much kid” / “make ‘em pay for the things that they did”

- toby rogers was an angry boy. angry at the world, at everyone. his rage was violent and loud, like his fathers was. it moved him.

- there was a biblical righteousness in his wrath, his calloused hands pridefully gripping the bloody axe as he stands tall over his pretty victim. what a mess he made. this was a typical scene for the boy, it was his desperate attempt at finding a sliver of control in his powerless life.

- one evening, he found himself mingling in a sketchy, broken down apartment with two familiar men he knew as tim wright and brian thomas, alongside some other faces he never cared to remember. it was the type of place heavy with past of brutality and crime. the type of place most normal people would be too scared to go near, fearing they would only become a victim to guys like him.

- though he was typically ignored in conversation, the rough boy forced himself into the world that constantly rejected him, intruding on any space he could. there was a loud, but subtle, desperate attempt to be something bigger than himself.

- volatility run coarse through him. for one moment he was sitting on a raggedy, stained old couch in the dank apartment living room chatting with his colleagues as they talked over beers, and the next he was storming angrily out of the building at a comment someone had made.

- he was always the runt of the group, the butt of a joke. the people around him would pick on him like predator to prey, and laughed as they watched him squirm between their teeth.

- when he left, slamming the front door behind him, the conversations and dark chatter continued on as normal. it was if he was never there, and nobody cared. there was a cruel indifference to the boys suffering, as god turns a blind eye.

- not until he returned with a metal baseball bat in his hand did they understand the extent of his rage. one look into his darkened eyes and they knew better than to try to restrain a rabid dog.

- with quick motion, he raised the bat up high and began smashing every bottle, window, tv screen and table in the room. he ignored the angry shouts for him to ‘calm the fuck down’ and to ‘put the fucking bat away’. he hit the weapon furiously at anything he could. “you think its fucking funny now?”

- sharp exhales escaped his grimacing mouth as his chest raised and fell in an attempt to catch his breath. he stood victorious amongst the destruction he had caused, shards of glass and splintered wood cluttered the dirty carpeted floor. through gritted teeth, he muttered “do not fuck with me”.

- the metal bat clattered to the ground as he let out a final frustrated sigh before taking his leave. he didn’t say another word. he had done enough.

Natalie Ouellette (Clockwork)

silly lookin people

toby being elderly

happy birthday to tobias rogers