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v3lv3tf0x · 23 hours

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Pairing: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Fem Reader

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Request:

This is kind of a weird req and I want to write something for it eventually but-

Fem! Reader who was frozen but eventually escapes and falls for the Ghoul and they fuck a couple times and for some reason she has symptoms of pregnancy and they're like what the fuck but it just turns out that she was pregnant before she was frozen and the Ghoul's reactions and whatever. Angst or fluff I don't really mind :)

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[MDNI, Angst, Smut, Fluff]

[ I don't usually do requests, but I wanted to help out a friend who believed they wouldn't be able to do justice to this prompt. It's sloppy, not perfect, but time is limited and I have other projects that need my attention so I hope this suffices. ]

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Freedom.

Freedom was sweet.

Freedom was bitter.

Since the moment you’d awoken in that Gods-forsaken cryo pod in that wasting away vault you’d known there was no other path except the path of freedom. Stepping over mummified corpses, fellow vault dwellers you presumed, you’d lead wobbly legs and a pounding heart to the entrance of the vault. It felt like yesterday you’d first set foot in there. In reality, you had no idea how many years had passed, but from the looks of the rusting walls and thick blanket of dust, it had been a while.

You took what you could, stuffing a stray children’s backpack you’d found along your scavenging mission, anything and everything that would be necessary for a journey into a land you used to call home. A small pocket knife was the best you could get and it wasn’t the perfect self-defense tool, but with no other choice there wasn’t much you could do but stuff it in the pocket of your suit and hope for a miracle if you ran into trouble.

And trouble you found.

Since your first step into the bone-dry, scalding hot, merciless wasteland, you’d found trouble in the shape of a deranged group of people hammering at the vault door with makeshift weapons. You might have been able to fight off one of them, you doubted given how dizzy and out-of-touch with reality you were, but there was a slim chance. Three of them though, all large burly men with enough scars to put a military general to shame? No, that was impossible. You ended up a writhing mess on the ground, face pushed into the cracked soil and screaming and kicking as you were being taunted and tied up like a good catch after a successful hunt. Trafficking, cannibalism, organ harvesting, death. A slew of words so vile they made your stomach churn and your eyes bulge out of your skull because who in their right mind said such things to an outnumbered, weak woman who pleaded in a broken voice and had tears staining her cheeks?

Then he appeared, your guardian angel.

A man so grotesque on the outside, so vicious and bitter and terrifying, and yet he was the one who shot your captors down. He was the one who cut your wrists and ankles free and helped you sit up as you heaved and choked and sobbed. He was the one who checked you over despite the visible revulsion on his gaunt face at the sight of your vault suit. He’d dragged you to your feet, forced some sense into you, given you a stern reality check of the world he came from and never really shooed you away when you’d started following him around like a lost pup.

You loved him since that day.

And maybe it wasn’t the good kind of love because he’d used you as a distraction for his enemies more than once and never shared his water with you even if you were on the brink of passing out from dehydration. But he also let you sit close to the fire at night, told you stories of his bounty hunts, taught you how to handle a gun and always kept you in his sights lest someone thought you were up for grabs. He was a cruel man, but he was also a kind man.

You never overstepped. Always following his every order, whether it was to hide, to strip bleeding men of their valuables, or to get him another drink when his feet were kicked high and he couldn’t be bothered to do so himself. Always pliant, always willing, no questions asked because you wanted to live despite the hellhole reality you were thrust in. Maybe that’s why he grew fond of you over time, you didn’t rebel against him and took what he gave you with a whisper of gratitude. A good dog, that’s how he saw you. He slowly softened for you, split your rations evenly when you sat down to eat, thrust the canteen in your hands when he noticed your lips were dry, and smushed his hat over your head when the sun was too awful and you were too delicate to withstand it.

Cooper Howard, that was his name, a man made ghoul by the sheer toxicity of the surface, a man who gave you enough scraps to keep your love for him flourishing but never progressed things beyond a one-sided infatuation.

That is until he was left struggling on the floor of an old abandoned farmhouse, a feral ghoul looming above him and pinning him in place and snapping its jaws at him as foul-smelling, viscous drool dribbled down its chin. His hunting knife was gripped tightly, but between keeping himself from being bitten to shreds and holding one of the ghoul’s hands at bay before it could sink into his side and tear at his gut, he was stuck.

When the shot rang out and the ghoul slumped against him lifelessly, he saw you. Holding his gun as you shook violently, about ready to piss yourself because you’d never killed anything remotely resembling a human in your life, eyes wide and lips trembling and knees buckling. Smoke leisurely rose from the tip of the barrel and as he pushed the corpse off himself you sunk to your arse and burst into a fit of haggard breaths and disturbed whines.

You didn’t resist when he picked you up with alien tenderness, didn’t protest when he stuffed you in an old rickety couch and crushed you beneath his weight with a handful of sweet praises. You didn’t pull away in disgust when his tongue pushed past your lips in search of your own, twirling, dancing, letting words spill without ever being spoken. He wasn’t gentle, since the moment you heard his belt unbuckling he was all pawing hands and chopped curses, fiddling with your clothes until his need became too much to bear and he simply ripped them off. He threw a weak promise to get you new ones, but you couldn't care less at that moment. High-pitched mewls and desperate grunts bounced off the walls as he took you on that couch, rutting into you like a man possessed and gripping onto you so firmly as if you’d come to your senses any moment now and run away from him.

A radstorm raged outside, clashing against the boarded-up windows as the pitter-patter of acid rain poured against the tin roof. You never even noticed, too drunk on the sloppy sounds coming from the slick mess of your conjoined bodies, on the verge of a climax so raw it would surely knock you out. Blunt fingernails sank in your supple thighs, scarred hips slammed into yours as he fucked you dumb into the couch. His mouth never left yours, whether it was to keep himself quiet in case too many loving words escaped or because he craved your taste like a rabid dog did blood, you didn’t know. When your ankles locked around his waist he snarled, whatever self-control he’d managed to scrape by completely dissipating as he drove himself deeper. The tip of his cock snapped against the barrier of your squishy cervix so deliciously and you screamed his name in desperation and he couldn’t fucking take it anymore. He released one of your hips to slide a hand between your bodies and drag his rough thumb over your swollen clit. Your back arched, eyes rolled back and mouth agape as you bombarded him with barely coherent sentences that he didn’t deserve. He clutched at your hair when you clamped down on him, milking him for everything he had while he rocked out his release with face stuffed in the crook of your neck.

Something in him changed after that night.

It might have been the unfathomably long time without a caring touch or him finally succumbing to the little voices in his head telling him what he held for you wasn’t simply fondness. He took you every chance he got. In a guest house, against the wall of a bar after one too many drinks, bent over on a chewed-up fence after scavenging another farmhouse. He was relentless and you loved that about him. You loved everything about him. Always needy and ready and he couldn’t ask for more because this was the closest he could get to expressing himself when it came to you.

Life was good.

Everything was perfect.

Until it wasn’t.

You wince as the needle prickles your skin before retracting back in the Pip-boy. The green screen whirls, loading up and analyzing your blood sample for a full body scan. You give the damn thing a few smacks when it freezes and stutters.

Now really wasn’t the time for technical difficulties.

“You okay?”

Apparently, no matter how hard you had tried to hide your bubbling panic, it was still evident enough for Cooper to notice. He’s looking at you with a hint of suspicion, attention averted from the steaming can of cram he’d been stuffing in his mouth.

“I’m good, no worries.” you muster up a weary smile and instinctively tuck the Pip-boy closer to your stomach.

When the Vault Boy pops up on the screen with all the information available regarding your condition, you tense up. Your fingers hesitate to turn the cog to the main body scan as doubts and confusion and raw, untamable fear chew at your sensitive stomach and tug you slowly towards the gates of insanity.

“Don’t look okay to me.” Cooper straightens from his slouched-over position over the measly fire and sets aside his food before clasping a hand over one of his thighs. “Was wrong? Was I too rough again?” there’s a teasing scowl brightening his usually stoic expression, he scoffs and shakes his head. “I told you t’ smack my shoulder when I get too loose, woman. You never listen.”

You want to cry and laugh, but you do neither.

“That’s not it, Cooper.”

“Then speak for fuck’s sake!” he grumbles and gestures to you with slight agitation.

You pay him no mind, having delved too deep in the premises of your mind on what you were supposed to do if you read that single life-changing word on the scan. With a huff and a mental pat on your back, you turned the cog and opened the main body scan.

“Pregnant.”

It made sense. It explained the morning sickness that you hid, being forced out of your sleep while Cooper snored lightly next to you, and carefully pulling away before rushing to a safe spot where you could empty your stomach without being seen. You never told him, just jammed RadAway after RadAway, hoping it was poisoning or maybe some sort of flu. When the cravings came, you started second-guessing. You never gave into them, throwing caps left and right for a slice of some nearly impossible-to-get delicacy was unthinkable, you had to survive and there was no room for luxury.

You failed to spot the rugged ghoul as he left his seat and crept closer, spurred by your awkward demeanor, until he was kneeling right next to you and silently sharing the sight of the green graph.

“What in the hell…”

You recoiled at his words, at his realization, and tried to cover the Pip-boy with your hand and hide the thunderous revelation of your condition.

He was having none of it.

He smacked your hand away and gripped your forearm so tight you shuddered, bringing it closer to his eyes as his face contorted.

“What the fuck does this mean?” he spits and looks at you with something vile in those whiskey-colored eyes you loved so much.

“I don’t – ” you swallow thickly, crumbling under his gaze and snuffing out the need to rip away from him and run. You meet his stare for a split second before turning away. “ – I haven’t…Not with anyone except you.”

Lightning strikes into his core and he pulls away like bitten by a snake.

“The hell you mean you haven’t fucked anyone ‘cept me?” he stands, intimidating and cold, berating you with just his visage and nothing more. “How the fuck did you get pregnant then?”

“I’ve been with you since the day I left the vault, you know this.” you reach out for him, desperate for some sort of comfort, desperate for him to calm down because you couldn’t mentally take on both him and the news. “Cooper, please.”

He shoots you down with a snarl and a spine-chilling glare.

“Don’t fucken’ touch me.”

He’s pacing, trotting around like a cornered animal, the spurs on his boots clinking, a sickening cacophony that roots you in place and keeps your mouth shut. You don’t know what to say, you’re not a liar, yet you wish this was some twisted joke and you could laugh it off and confirm it wasn’t real.

A hand is rubbing vigorously at his chin as he tries to think, but there’s nothing in his head except that one single word that means so much and makes absolutely no sense.

He knew you weren’t lying, he’d always kept you within arm’s length, there was no way for you to even sneak past him without being noticed.

It still hurt though, the image of you leaving because he was a rotten man who’d struck gold by finding you. He was no good for you, never would be, and it tore him to shreds because he knew all of this and still he kept you by his side and cocked his gun at anyone who tried to step too close.

Why wouldn’t you bed another man when he looked like a walking corpse and acted even worse? Why wouldn’t you ditch him to be with a nice bartender and a good-mannered farmboy who would treat you like a lady should be treated?

Why wouldn’t you cheat him out of the only happiness he had?

“Is not fucking possible, sweetheart.” he finally speaks, faltering at your audible sobs. The idea of you slipping past his fingers to sleep with someone else is pushed to the side by the absolutely pathetic sight of you curled up on the floor and crying.

Ghouls were sterile, all of them, 100%, there was no way for him to knock you up even if he wanted to. But the Pip-boy said otherwise and now he was left questioning the very foundation of his existence.

“I know that.” you sputter through choppy hiccups. “But you’re the only man I’ve been with...It doesn’t make fucking sense.” you clutch at your sides, waterfalls streaming down your cheeks and pooling under your chin, eyes distant and jittery. “What if it’s deformed because of the radiation? Or if it’s not even alive? Or – What am I supposed to do…”

His body moves despite his protests.

He kneels in front of you, encasing you between his thighs, his fingers twitching and rising as he drowns in the long-forgotten feeling of being presented with such news. His hands are shaking and he rests them over your shoulders and pretends he can’t feel his pulse rampaging in his throat.

“What do you wanna do?”

It’s such a simple question, but coming from him under such a premise makes your head spin and your heart stop.

“I – ” you press your forehead against the center of his collarbones, arms protectively curling over your belly because despite not showing there was someone in there. Someone precious. “ – I don’t know…I’d like to – I don’t know.”

You stop and start, cutting off words that you weren’t ready to tell him yet and he wasn’t ready to hear either. But life didn’t care if you were ready or not, things happened, consent or not, and now you were both stuck in a mess you’d unwittingly made all by yourselves. There was always the easy route – find a settlement, get to the doc, have it removed, done deal, easy peasy.

But did you really want that?

It wasn’t just your kid, it was his too and him not saying a word, not even mentioning discarding it made things so much harder.

No, he gave you a choice, he put everything in your hands and he was holding you while you fought a silent battle that would dictate the entirety of your future.

“I think – ”

“ – I ain’t goin’ fucken’ nowhere.” he slices through your hesitation like butter, body rigid and jaw clenched because for once he was trying to be a man and not a monster.

Maybe even a father.

You shatter in his arms like glass and he presses one of his palms against the back of your head while the other circles your waist and brings you closer.

“You’d stay?” you ask with such horror and disbelief that it clutches at his chest and he struggles to breathe. You’re no coward, despite how heavy the air feels, you look up at him and you’re so vulnerable and angelic that he forgets every setback that would come his way. “If I kept it…you’d stay?”

He can’t answer, the words refuse to form, but he holds your gaze with calm stability, a good masquerade to hide a mind that was racing and a heart that was pounding so heavily he felt his entire body pulsing. Instead, he leaned in and pressed his chapped lips against your forehead in a voiceless promise.

You suck in a breath like it’s your first and cling to the collar of his coat, disappearing in his form, hiding from the world that was so cruel yet gifted you with something so precious.

The Pip-boy is still lit and waiting, the scan bright and piercing. You skim over it absentmindedly, a simple curious flick, then look again and squint your eyes at the tiny text printed under your pregnancy announcement.

“Four months.”

You’d only been out of cryo for three…

He followed your wide-eyed stare, he was no fool, he could do basic math.

You’d been pregnant before meeting him, before leaving the vault, before the bombs.

You want to puke. You want to rip your skin off and bury yourself alive because for the love of God it couldn’t be just perfect, there had to be some sick underlying thing to ruin everything. It wasn’t his, he was right, ghouls couldn’t have children.

It wasn’t his child.

You look disgusted and utterly pained because the realization makes you mourn at the idea of carrying his baby. You wanted to, you’d give anything for it to be his and not some random bloke you couldn’t even remember the face of. You wanted it to be his…

You search his face for anger or disappointment or anything that would prepare you for what was to come. Why would he stay if the damn thing wasn’t even his? He had his own problems, his mission. You were just an obstacle that had nearly made him believe he was going to be a father and maybe it was his second chance at doing it right.

There was nothing though.

He simply blinked at you, lips parted as he formed a sentence that had you pledge yourself to him for as long as you stood and breathed.

“That don’t change a damn thing.”

Tag list: @bountydroid @v3lv3tf0x @silverose365

#v3lv3t reblogs 🦊#OH MY GOD #IM IN LOVE #THIS IS SO GOOD #AHHHHH

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v3lv3tf0x · 1 day

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#v3lv3t reblogs 🦊#2+4=6 #7+8=...#8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 #add the 6 to the 1 in 15 #so 75

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v3lv3tf0x · 2 days

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Js realized I never posted this guy but I have ocs other than Nico I swear lmaoo

This is Noah, formerly known as Micah Vance before he got fucked over by slender man as they all do and ws hit with a healthy dose of cloud strife style retrograde amnesia + identity theft.

Full character file and details under the cut! Be warned– it’s LONG:

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‘ ‘ did you say something, what’d you say?... ‘ ‘

‘ ‘ was that your voice, or was that me? ‘ ‘

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N A M E

Noah Rivers

A L I A S

The ghost

A G E

G E N D E R

Male, he/him

S E X

Male

Noah is a human operator proxy.

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"I've never been fucking scared of you," He snapped, and Noah grabbed his jaw.

"I've always hated that."

"What?"

"How often you lie through your fucking teeth."

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A P P E A R A N C E

The most notable thing about Noah is his mask. It's drawn over crudely with charcoal, smudged all over, black around the eyes, the nose, the mouth. But the features are visible. The nose is sharp and angular, and the lips are drawn in a thin line. He wears it so often it's more like his face than his actual face. The only time he takes it off is when he's asleep, and sometimes not even then. His actual face, the one under the mask, has a scar that drags from above his right eyebrow down across his nose to his left jawline. His face is slim, angular, edges hazy against a monochromatic color scheme. The structure of his face is proportionate but it’s usually frowning, brows furrowed, mouth cut into a scowl. His features look like they were cut from alabaster or marble. Would’ve been pretty, maybe, in another universe. His eyes should've been black, but one of them is blinded, grayed over, and the other seems perpetually suited for low light. They are upturned, half lidded at a default and followed by bags, lines, and dark circles. They look bruised or dusky in color. He's bad with bright lights. He has black hair, cut choppy and messy, like he did it himself. His skin is so pale it's almost a sort of gray, the kind that suggests he doesn't see sun often. Lips chapped and dry, always cracked and bleeding, same with his hands, long black nails he likes painting for a reason he can't fully explain. They make his already slender fingers appear longer than they are. Almost clawlike. Noah is thin. He's tall, taller than he remembers, standing at 5’11”. He's built like an alley cat, all sinew and muscle, sharp shoulders, sharp bones. Scars all over his body. Some are new, from fights, other's he's had before he can remember in odd, purposeful places.

V O I C E

Baritone

Rough, and unused. When speaking his voice is barely above a whisper. He’s one of those people with a voice so low you have to lean in to listen. There’s an edge to his tone, a slight southern drawl. Sometimes the things he says sound more like they’re coming from a machine than a person. His voice is muffled when it’s under the mask, he compensates by being slightly louder.

S C E N T

His scent isn’t something that’s easy to pinpoint. It’s almost sterile, but not hospital sterile. He kind of smells like the woods.

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‘ ‘ how many times did i tell you

before it finally got through? ‘ ‘

‘ ‘ you lose. ‘ ‘

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C O M B A T

Noah has heightened strength and speed, but he’s still human. A human that ignores the capabilities of his own body, but human nonetheless. He’s a skilled fighter, can hold his own against nearly anyone when weapons aren’t involved. He doesn’t like knives. Helpless with them, helpless against them. Noah is a firearms sort of guy. Always has a gun on him, either a pistol, or when he’s hunting he has a rifle. He’s interesting during fights. A textbook masochist. Pain doesn’t elicit the same reaction from him as it would for most other people. At best, he’ll ignore it, at worst, he’s drunk on it.

P E R S O N A L I T Y

Noah doesn’t remember much about his life before meeting the operator, if anything. There are glimpses of a history that doesn’t feel like his in the back of his mind, or when he’s half asleep, or when his brain turns off and he isn’t really thinking. Those are his favorite moments. Where he can pretend he isn’t himself. He’s a murderer. He’s quiet, and secretive, and temperamental. What might’ve at one point been a charming persona, dulled and narrowed itself down to a chassis unrecognizable to people who knew him when he was younger. He’s quick to anger. Restless when things are calm, and when he feels alright. He’s never actively antagonistic, but he doesn’t like other people, and his skin itches for instability. He can never hold down a relationship. Of any kind, platonic, romantic. Always ends up ruining it somehow. And he likes it that way. He doesn’t even know why he’s so angry, he just is. His internal world is indecipherable, even to him. He’s constantly mixing things up, getting things wrong, getting distracted, forgetting things. Which is strange, because in the abstract he’s intelligent. There are moments where it seems like he’s lucid, and he’s calm, easy going, likable, even. He has a dry sense of humor that on boys like him feel more charismatic than it actually is. But the neuroticism always comes back eventually. He isn’t Noah without the neuroticism. Maybe he isn’t Noah at all.

B A C K S T O R Y

He isn't. He grew up as a boy named Micah. A different person, honestly. Relatively normal, all things considered. Had parents, friends, a boyfriend, people that cared about him. A trajectory that should’ve been normal. He would’ve graduated highschool, gone to college, him and his boyfriend would break up and he’d marry a girl, or they wouldn’t and they’d end up together only to divorce later, or something. He thought domestic bliss was a stupid concept. Would give anything for it now.

The operator in his hometown was a story you told to kids. They called him the thin man. Micah and his friends would play in the woods on the outskirts of Haven, hunt for bird eggs, mark fake trails, the woods were sparse enough to not really worry about getting lost or losing each other, you could walk in any direction and reach a clearing in half an hour, or so, until you reached the deepwood, but no one went in there. Not even him. Haven was famous for having people go into that part of the woods and never come out. They said it’s because it was so disorienting, that you could walk in without even realizing it, and before you know it all the branches look the same and you can’t see a path. But when he was nineteen he went in. And he met the reason why no one ever really left those woods.

The concept of a proxy was weird to him. Someone that worked for an invisible force of nature you couldn’t see, but you could feel, and Micah felt him in the form of thick static at the back of his neck. Then again, he was drugged the entire time. It might’ve been that. The man who’d kidnapped him was named Noah. He was older, had a limp, a face he covered up by some sort of mask. Micah couldn’t remember. But he remembered his hands. They were unstable, shook constantly, leathery skin, or maybe gloves. Felt like fire. He remembered the way they’d palpitate when he took a blade, dragged it down his face, or somewhere else on his body. And this man, Micah would think to himself in a sedated haze, would use those hands to kill him. There was no universe where he got out of here in one piece.

The brain does fascinating things under extreme trauma. Noah would’ve made a brilliant psychiatrist in the 50s, because he’d triggered an artificial disassociation in Micah that helped him survive the ordeal at all. Mind over matter, he’d think, over, and over, and over, mind over matter. If he liked how much it hurt it wouldn’t be so bad. He’d make himself like it. If he missed home, his boyfriend’s stupid face so much he wanted to die, he’d tell himself he didn’t miss any of it at all. Where was he now? They’d gotten into a fight the last time he remembered, he wasn’t looking for him, wouldn’t save him, it was a waste of energy he didn’t have the luxury to sacrifice. The sedative helped. He didn’t know what it was. Some sort of depressant. His mind reeled, ran, sludged, brain into liquid. He wondered if Noah did this to everyone. Whatever that static was, it never shut up. A constant, ear grating buzz. Red noise. He’d get sick, Noah would laugh at him. He hated Noah. Hated Noah’s voice, his shaking hands, the smug sort of way he’d talk to him like he’d already won, like he’d already killed him. And he really should’ve. Noah was arrogant. Didn’t think he needed a gun for him, even though he had dozens lining the wall of his basement, an arsenal. And he didn’t. It wouldn’t have been difficult to kill someone locked to a chair and half awake. He was just an idiot. Let Micah slip out, let him kill him. His death was anticlimactic. A face pumped full of lead, features torn asunder. But the static was too loud all of a sudden, and he was nauseous, and his vision dimmed.

The amnesia paired itself with some delusion disorder, courtesy of the operator, he’d realize. He didn’t recognize his face, or his body, a perpetual state of psychosis, of dysphoria. Noah was the strongest thing in his mind. The last thing he really remembered. Maybe that’s why he latched onto the name. The memory of him. Or a voice he didn’t recognize told him it was him, that it was the only thing he made sense. This was Noah’s cabin, he recognized it, recognized the rooms, the temperature, the basement, the bloody, empty spot on the floor where something should’ve been. And then Noah’s cabin turned into his cabin. Noah’s mind turned into his mind. Some things scared him. He didn’t understand why his hands didn’t shake anymore, why he couldn’t stand to see his own face. But he clings to anything familiar. The thin man is familiar. He does what it tells him to.

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“you had no right to kill him.”

A voice said, from nowhere and everywhere all at once, register so alien and low it made his heart flatten to the pit of his stomach.

“a life for a life. your kind values equivocal exchange, no?”

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#v3lv3t reblogs 🦊#excuse me for saying so #but #this is sexy as fuck

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v3lv3tf0x · 2 days

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Norm MacLean didn't like that he felt like a coward so he decided to be the head bitch. The moment. The brains behind the operation. Who's operation? His operation because this is his show now. The entire show could've just been his arc in the vault and I would have been happy. He brings the brains. The cunning. The Perception, even. He never quite felt right with the culture of vault 33 and the more he uncovers the more that makes sense for him. He is bringing the sheer force of will now that he has something to be willful about. He never lacked ability. Only motivation and ob boy does he have it. He hid in a hole once then decided no. Im not a baby brother hiding in a hole. Im the badass staring Vault-Tec in the eye who says I fucking dare you. And i find that incredibly sexy of him.

#v3lv3t reblogs 🦊

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v3lv3tf0x · 2 days

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I may be a liiiitle bit obsessed X3 This is part of a bigger drawing with more characters (and dogmeat)

#v3lv3t reblogs 🦊

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v3lv3tf0x · 2 days

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The fact that I've never made a Spirit OC until now is insane. I've been obsessed with this movie since 2002.

This gal is based on a drawing of a Spirit x Rain baby I drew as a kid, which was a neon yellow splotched mare named Spira. Little me was sooo good at naming things.

You can probably see this movie's influence in a lot of my artwork, honestly my usual style is quite similar. This movie lives rent free in my brain, if anything I pay it to stay there.

#v3lv3t reblogs 🦊#omg i love this sm

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v3lv3tf0x · 2 days

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Here’s what I think growing up in a dark cave and only having river water would do to tsunami :)

Ik that technically none of this would make sense in real life, and this type of evolution would only take place after a long time BUT A GIRL CAN DREAM OK.

Just some headcannons that I think would make her more diff and interesting

#v3lv3t reblogs 🦊

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v3lv3tf0x · 2 days

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saturdays are quite the handful for lewis...

#v3lv3t reblogs 🦊#best crossover ever

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v3lv3tf0x · 2 days

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#v3lv3t reblogs 🦊

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v3lv3tf0x · 2 days

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So i headcanon Toby to be a PHAT stoner so sometimes id assume he'd let his brain take him to a very dark place, that he would smoke so much to the point his nose would literally bleed. Everyone reacts to a certain amount of the devil's grass a different way,

#v3lv3t reblogs 🦊#he would

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v3lv3tf0x · 2 days

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Themm THEMMM i did some practice poses and they're my go to pair.

I love them so much*

#v3lv3t reblogs 🦊#SO CUTE #OMGGGG

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v3lv3tf0x · 2 days

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Toby Headcanons

First things first, rewrite link —> https://www.wattpad.com/story/330185513-ticci-toby-a-rewrite?utm_source=android&utm_medium=link&utm_content=story_info&wp_page=story_details_button&wp_uname=foressfaction&wp_originator=4ym0kekpamjg%2byu500owdfcdlnhtpkigcby1thrmnvj95d4u%2f2vtey8ihglpowcvuy8icvezeljevfn%2fbufrp

Fair warning, I am the Toby enthusiast so you’re in for a long read. If you actually care enough to read all this, keep in mind there are some triggering topics for well… everything. That’s also including the other links leading to other posts of mine. Read with caution. I go into heavy detail about topics that are usually pretty sensitive.

Family headcanons—> https://www.tumblr.com/foressfaction/734266713806405633/basic-family-head-canons-for-toby

Operator headcanons—> WIP

Him with Jack—> https://www.tumblr.com/foressfaction/735560061461594112/my-jack-and-toby-headcanons-theyre-bfs

Him with Natalie—> https://www.tumblr.com/foressfaction/746264454600278016/toby-and-clockwork-some-headcanon-takes-on-this

Him and Lyra —> WIP

Him and Cross-X—>WIP

The main basics

He can't read, he has always had trouble reading. He can get simple sentences and phrases but actual literature like books, newspapers, or anything over half a paragraph long, he can't read it.

Due to losing his memories, he lost knowledge of what normal people do. He doesn't know social cues that well. You could come up to him and say that you want to be his friend and he'd look like a clueless child.

Never having a friend before, anything of the sort now would make him suspicious of you, or just not trust you.

He has very very bad trust issues, meaning he thinks everyone is out to get him. Which may not be true, though he can't help but think it due to his anxiety.

He is terrified of vehicles, and riding in them. Though he doesn't remember why. His body still reacts with trauma he doesn't recall experiencing.

This is kinda annoying for him.

He can run incredibly fast and has almost unlimited stamina. He knows his limits though and never pushes his body to the extent due to the fact he will lose mobility for the next hour or so trying to regain his breath.This may lead to him potentially passing out.

He will only run to his full abilities if he is in severe danger (or feel he is)

He loves the smell of lavender, it makes him tired and relaxed. It is the only thing that will help him sleep.

He still bites his nails so he sometimes will coat his nails in either nail polish (yes he paints his nails sometimes) or will get that nasty tasting polish. It depends. He's very insecure about his hands and so he will paint his nails to make them look a little better.

Along with the aid of sleep, basic company helps a lot. It would have to be someone he's close with or at least knows to an extent. Just having someone there, regardless of distance or their position in the area, really helps him sleep.

He's easy to make friends with but it'll take some time for him to get used to you. He'd want to know a lot of things first and learn more about you.

His favorite season is fall, and his favorite spice is Parsley. He loves the smell.

He can't cook but if he was to ever help someone with cooking (which…Is a bad idea anyways) he'd probably sprinkle a little parsley in secretly.

He is of German descent but can't speak it. (unless operator is controlling him, in that case he ONLY speaks it)

He has two marks in the shape of the operator symbol on his upper left arm and lower right side. They are scars as they were once carved into the skin and slowly scarred over.

He would be the type of person who would lay his forehead on your cheek and stare waiting for an apology or just if he was in a playful mood.

He also sucks on his candy canes until they are quite literally a deadly weapon.

I feel like he would run up stairs so fast he literally trips up them. This also goes with anytime he needed to run, it's an immediate sprint, no working up speed, no preparing his legs, literally gone- this might cause trip ups occasionally. Imagine getting hit by an axe then you hear footsteps with a loud thud following after.

He isn't very picky with food, I feel he'd eat what normally people wouldn't, like the top piece and last piece of a bread loaf, or spaghettios cold, not warmed. Same with hot dogs, he may not boil the weenie, who knows it depends.

If anyone took the bread crusts off their sandwiches he would eat those alone- i think he likes bread guys.

He probably wets his socks or pillow in the summer to feel cool, sometimes would probably just walk around with a cold wet towel draped over his head.

Lyra would occasionally make fun of him for being shorter than her for most of their childhood until he would have eventually grown taller if she hadn't passed.

He would've gotten back at her.

She definitely picked on him a lot in a playful manner and he'd always overreact. Definitely a stereotypical 'get out of my room' emo kid. He'd definitely be a stoner if we're talking normal mansion au thing. Bro would probably be high 25/8, mainly so he doesn't feel like shit all the time.

He'd meow back or bark back at animals who do so to him. He'd growl at anything growling at him and eventually these would plainly turn into tics. Now he'd just meow or bark/growl out of absolutely no where.

He'd definitely be pretty flexible, upon somehow squeezing into places like cabinets and tiny closets to avoid capture or getting spotted, he had always been pretty maneuverable-?? He'd probably purposely freak people out by doing literal gymnastic poses just out of the blue. I'd imagine he'd break, fracture or pop out of socket bones without knowing it due to not feeling the actual pain of the strain he puts on them. Therefore he ignores it and one day if he just decides to do a backbend then he just goes for it.

He loves peaches and anything peach flavored. Usually when savaging for food, canned peaches are his main target. He would almost completely avoid a store if they had none. He isn't picky at all, of course, but he'd like at least one thing of his personal liking if he's going out of his way to steal it. It HAS to be the canned ones. He doesn't fuckin know how to peel an actual peach? And I figured if anything he'd HATE the fuzzy skin on it and would absolutely have a meltdown. ( based on me). If someone handed him a FULL ASS UNSKINNED peach. He would look at you like 'What am I supposed to do with this….'

I also headcanon that he got his hat from Lyra as when they were younger and she was still alive, she worked at a mailing company sorting the mail. The symbol on the hat looks like a yellow envelope. She gave it to him when she quit so he could wear it and stuff.

He'd absolutely love spiderman and silly things like star wars and transformers. He's definitely more of a Marvel guy and probably owns/owned tons of spiderman themed clothing.

Toby would always comfort Lyra after her rough days at work. I feel she'd fall asleep on the couch immediately after sitting down. He would crawl up beside her and just curl up against her, also falling asleep. She'd always wake up before him and take him to bed soon after.

I feel he would have trouble making eye contact but it's for a completely different reason than most. It's not because he's awkward but because he genuinely doesn't know how to look at someone. Unless its a partner or a really close friend. He will avoid eye contact at least for too long. If he's actually able to hold contact with someone that's a sign he's growing comfortably that they wont hurt him.

It stems from his father shaming him for just looking at the man the wrong way anf sometimes that led to physical disputes that he wishes to avoid from any possible individual. He has a natural resting bitch face so it's not hard to mistake his look as something spiteful.

When he stutters it's not a tic, it has nothing to do with his TS, it's just a speech impediment and is very VERY insecure about it because of how many times he's been called annoying or told to just 'hurry up and say it, i don't have time for this', something along those lines.

- His tics include facial grimaces, snapping his fingers or jaws every now and then, hitting himself, or others around pretty hard, tapping his foot or whistling. He will blurt random ass shit as well (this i will sometimes add into the rp, it can be kinda funny, sometimes inappropriate) ex: "suck my loli" or "shitty shoe" shit like that.

- Appearance wise, nothing really changed. His eye color did however. Instead of that dark brown, it's a hazel green. He's probably around 5'6 overall. Plus he's extremely frail and unhealthy. He is covered and when i say covered, I mean covered in freckles. Shoulders, arms and his face are where they really are noticeable. Like normal, his hair is the same, dark and frizzy. It has a little bit of curl to it but mainly it's just wavy and fluffy.

-He still bites his hands since he's never really broken that habit, so you'd never really see him without bandages on his hands.

-Personality wise, he's pretty feral. Even as a teenager. He can be stalker-ish and weird. He's still pretty damn timid though since..hello social anxiety.

Toby is extremely neurodivergent. He stims and tics all of the time. He can't handle certain smells, tastes, textures. Specifically wet hands on any cold dry surface, or per say, chewing on a piece of steak or anything chewy for more than 6 seconds MAX. He can't have food touching and has to use multiple forks/spoons/knives when he has a meal.

-Toby can't stand the sight of his own blood. It causes him to break down and literally freak out. He has a strange phobia of organs and bones of his own coming out of where they shouldn't be. He is very sensitive with wounds in the torso area due to this exact organ phobia.

(He's had dreams where he literally had to hold his organs inside so they wouldn't fall out.

🌿Appearance Headcanons🌿

[F]He pretty much stayed the same, originally, he started with just a few freckles here and there, but how i see him, a full face of freckles, and all over him, arms, back, neck, just everywhere. This also goes for scars. He has lots of rather unique ones. Especially on his back. He has two deep gash scars right on his shoulder blades that look like he once had wings. At least that's how he wants to see it.

[F] His teeth had kinda been crooked from all of the pressure onto them throughout his childhood and due to his teeth actually getting knocked out when he was little. (his baby teeth of course) his adult teeth never really wanted to grow in right.

- I find it better if he is 19-25years old, him as any older kinda feels weird to me since i am used to portraying him as a late teen or in his early/mid twenties. This really depends on how he'll be used and the story i will go by

- His hair is still the same. Still a dark chocolate brown. It's just a lot messier, or well, very fluffy With a few curls.

- He is still very pale but still slightly more tan than how he is originally, his skin has a pastel peach light tone (just a normal pale person) and not like the light grey people usually see him as.

-His face is very scarred, but the one that stands out the most is the iconic tear, or gash in his right cheek. It exposes muscle, and his teeth from the side. It's very disgusting so he keeps hidden with masks, or bandages.

Visage and wardrobe

Adding this in last second but I feel his closet is FULL with brown grunge grey and green flannels and layered shirts and grandpa sweaters. He’s your average grunge Pinterest guy you’d find on every corner of the internet but he’s stylish unconsciously. He throws shit together he thinks looks good and apparently it actually does. One day he’d be rocking a fire fit and the next he looks like he came right out of a dumpster as most of his older clothes are torn and sheared up from well… living where he does. He prefers layers no matter what season it is but will occasionally wear sleeveless stuff and shorts. Probably owns a few shark themed pieces and along with what I said earlier. Some marvel and other stuff. Probably from the kids section who knows honestly. All of the tags on his clothes are faded.

- https://www.tumblr.com/foressfaction/743158587608727552/while-im-on-art-block-heres-some-stupid-shit-toby

Persona🌿

His personality is pretty much the same. He's a little more timid though. He actually has a big heart, despite him being a potential serial killer, he still has a few soft spots and a heart. He will care and love for someone, but in order to really earn his trust, someone would have to repeatedly prove that they are worthy of it. He's literally insane, meaning he can be really up and active in a hypomanic way. He's pretty childish around those he knows, but doesn't trust those he doesn't, in fact, those he doesn't know will most likely be ignored or get small, nervous/annoyed responses. He's easy to make friends with since his persona is very passive, he's really sweet in some situations and the next he'd be having a mental breakdown or some kind of manic attack.

-He's very jumpy and easily startled, and would most likely flinch or try to shield himself if someone moves too fast around him. This is due to his trauma and slight PTSD.

-He is touch starved, meaning when he does get affection he'd get extremely confused, weirded out or just plainly get emotional. He didn't get much love and was reminded daily that he was a sack of shit and he finds it hard to believe anyone would love him.

Canonically, he never had a sexuality, meaning he could be any sexual orientation you want. For me, he is Biromantic/Asexual. For him, relationships would have to move slowly, not just kiss kiss fall in love type of shit. You'd have to become his friend first, and of course be loyal and such. It isn't easy at all for him to fall into a relationship, in fact that's the last thing on his mind. Since he believes he is unlovable, no one would even like him in such a way, so he gives up and just sticks to what he has to do.

[Fluffy HC!]

-If the whole mansion concept is being used, he would definitely be very dramatic and really in character if he was to roleplay or play a game with Sally. If he was given a role he will make sure he fills it as accurately as possible just to make her happy. He has a soft spot for children obviously. Unless The Operator is in control.

-If he is good friends or in a relationship with someone, he will generate a nickname based off of your appearance. It would usually consist of cute characteristics he sees in you, and sometimes he'll base it off of your personality. If not, if he's feeling silly, he'll call you a nickname based on random objects. "How's my favorite frying pan this morning?"

Romance?

Toby thinks love is just a fantasy, and no one could love him, much less return the feelings, so love is the last thing on his mind. Though he thinks about what it would be like to have a partner

-He would be so emotional if he even gets a hug, much less feelings being confessed, or confessing his own but Toby may accidentally slip it out, or tell them just to get it off his chest and carry on like it means nothing but on the inside he knows it does and will beat himself up about it

-I think he'd definitely act differently as well, especially his tics would act up more as well around them because he's really nervous and maybe say random things to shoo off the feeling like nothing was there to begin with.

Habits

- He still bites his nails and inner cheek but does it when he's really stressed or nervous. He's really fidgety so he'd mess with anything loose or even would twirl his hair, soon he did it so much his hair got used to it and began to get slightly curly but mostly just wavy.

- [F]He grits his teeth a lot. He'll do it randomly.

-[F] His ADHD still affects him now, so it's hard for him to focus on one thing at once and gets easily distracted. Its a bad habit

Mentality🌿

- Nothing really changed. He still suffers with his disabilities, just some stopped affecting him as much after he reached 17 originally. Being schizophrenia and Anxiety. But this headcanon still suffers with those two despite his age. This explains why he can see the operator, which brings me to the next change.

He had suffered from Schizophrenia since he was 7 years old. So he's been seeing this entity his whole life. Making so much happen and of course all of the deaths in his life was blamed upon the entity.

- [F]Since he cannot feel pain, there is a high chance that he could have hurt himself very badly and not know. So every now and then he does check ups on himself, especially after something brutal happened or had gotten into a fight. He could be perfectly fine one second ago then faint due to blood loss and wake up not even knowing what happened. This is really hard for him since a really bad wound that could grow fatal could be anywhere and he wouldn't know. So a check up on himself here and there could really save his ass.

Story🌿

- Everything pretty much stayed the same. The deaths, the conflicts. The only thing that really changed was the cause of the deaths.

- However, after the ending, where the fire nearly took his life, he couldn't remember anything on why he was there, or how he ended up in this situation. He blacked out and woke up in a whole different area of the dense forest. He no longer remembered a thing but every time he'd try and get close to coming back to the past, it would all happen again.

- He never remembered anything, even after he had murdered someone, in fact he doesn't even like doing that. He despises the fact that he should murder innocent people, however sometimes, he will see the face of a man he hated so dearly but didn't remember why.

-Amongst the crime scene, after he had murdered someone, he'd sit and stare at what he had done, a huge moment of lucidity would take over him, making everything come back for those few moments. Then his mind would wipe blank once again and he'd go on like nothing ever happened. During those moments, he'd regret spilling the blood of the victim, and hate on himself even more, while violent memories and thoughts ran through his mind, making him feel less and less stable. This sometimes knocked him out, and he'd be there, unconscious at the scene which isn't good since that's how ya get caught and arrested.

He lives in a small shed in the middle of Rosswood Park/forest. His shed is deep deep in the woods, he had never lived in the mansion. (might will make something work for roleplay use)

Before anything, these are just my changes and adjustments I made to either fit a better way of my liking/needs and to just plainly make more sense.

Disorder list and how it all affects him.

Tourettes Syndrome

A shared headcanon: Toby has coprophilia (uncontrolled cursing), which is actually an uncommon symptom, but seeing that he was unfit for public school, it would make sense in his case. Most tics are not debilitating (but can be discomforting, obviously), so Toby’s TS must be an extreme case. So my headcanon of his verbal tics being coprophilia makes sense. He is an extreme case and has complex verbal tics (coprophilia is classified as a complex phonic tic and not a simple phonic tic). This was one of the reasons he was unfit for public school, along with being bullied for his motor tics. It doesn’t mention anything about him having verbal tics in his story or implying that he has coprophilia—but again, Wade did not know much about TS, so I headcanon him to have it as it makes more sense. He also seems to just have simple motor tics (generally brief movements involving spasmodic, non-rhythmic muscle contractions) ie. jerking his head and other limbs occasionally. However, since he was unfit to go to normal school and therefore should be an extreme case, I headcanon him to also have complex motor tics (more purposeful movements such as: grimacing, tapping, walking in a specific pattern or circling, jumping, kicking, or punching), mainly kicking and punching/hitting and slapping. This would make much more sense because tho he still would probably get made fun of for just simple motor tics, that alone shouldn’t stop him from being too unfit for regular school. His are obviously chronic and do not disappear as he gets older, unlike with many cases.

-So there are my headcanons on his TS and tics. They make much more sense, and if Wade had actually known about TS more, would probably be what they would have given him. I’m not entirely sure if you can have both simple and complex tics of the same type, but I don’t see why not, so I headcanon him to have both simple and complex motor and phonic tics. His simple verbal tics include clearing his throat, grunting and other short repetitive noises. Typically he usually grunts and makes said repetitive noises more but will compulsively clear his throat, sometimes with coughing, from time to time. Said repetitive noises often happen while trying to speak and will act up if he is nervous or very excited. His complex phonic tics, like I stated before, is coprolalia along with sømetimes muttering or shouting random words spontaneously.

Again, his complex verbal tics act up when he is nervous or very excited etc. He tends to curse randomly while talking and sometimes will say random words which sometimes makes it very difficult for him to talk and make coherent sentences. Cursing is his more common complex verbal tic while sputtering random words is less common for him. Most days it isn’t too bad and he mostly just swears when talking (along with all his other tics but I’m focusing on how it affects his speech right now), but sometimes he’ll have days where talking is very difficult and he stutters trying to get the words out and can’t make coherent sentences. Again, it gets even worse when he’s nervous or very excited. For his simple motor tics, he mainly jerks and cracks his neck along with jerking his other limbs in weird ways that often cause his joints to pop and make a cracking sound.

Sometimes they’re violent enough that if he could feel pain it would hurt him and occasionally injuring himself cause ie. tearing or pulling a muscle (which is shit as he can’t feel pain so doesn’t notice anything is wrong most of the time). Again, like always, these tend to get worse and act up when he’s nervous or very excited. Often when cracking and jerking his head he will also grunt or make said repetitive noise as he does so. His complex motor tics include throwing things, punching, slapping, hitting and kicking either himself, anything and anyone he can reach or is close to him, and if nothing is around, the air itself. These are less frequent than his simple motor tics, but as he is an extreme case, they are still a common occurrence for him. Again, like all his other tics, they tend to act up when he’s nervous or very excited, but not as much as all the others. His simple motor tics act up more when he’s nervous or very excited more than his complex motor tics. When they do act up more, which ones tend to depend on how he’s feeling. If he’s feeling stressed, nervous or sad, he tends to hit or punch, kick slap, ‘hurt’ himself more. If he’s angry it’s a mix of hitting, slapping and punching himself along with kicking, punching and throwing nearby things. If the emotions are positive he tends to backhand anything that might be nearby, just doing that motion if there’s nothing to hit, throwing things, kicking his legs out or slapping himself in the face, and occasionally punching if he’s really happy or excited. He must be careful cause he tends to punch nearby people in the face when that happens, most of the time pretty hard. He always feels super bad whenever that happens and tries to hit himself instead so he doesn’t punch someone in the face when excited. Sometimes if his tics, mainly his complex motor tics, are acting up badly, he’ll drop down on the floor and roll around a bit as he hits the ground and air and lets everything out in a little fit. It’s best to quickly move him to an opener area if he can feel a bad tic fit coming on so he can lay down where he’s not going to hit or throw anyone/anyone. It’s best to just let him get it out unless it’s partially violent and he’s in danger of hurting himself (jerking too hard etc.) or if he’s doing it to himself particularly hard and violently. He is an extreme case so he tics everyday, but some days, if he’s really lucky, it won’t happen too often and will mostly just have simple tics that don’t get in the way of day to day life too badly. On the other hand, he can have very bad days where his tics act up, his complex tics especially, where they happen very frequently and he can’t make it stop or slow down and has multiple violent tic fits where he usually ends up breaking and destroying a lot of things and hurting himself, sometimes pretty badly, especially since he cannot feel it and will try to direct things towards himself instead of whatever’s around him. And yeah, those are my headcanons on Toby’s TS and different tics. I headcanon him to be an extreme case (since that would make the most sense given how he’s supposed to not be fit for normal school since it’s that bad). I also headcanon it to actually get worse as he grows up, especially as his mental health deteriorates. I could probably go on about this more but I’ve rambled enough and I think I kinda went on a bit long, so I’ll try and stop myself here now.

ADHD

He does have ADHD, meaning he usually has sudden outbursts of energy. He shows this by getting easily distracted during times he should be occupied by one thing, instead he'd be interested in literally everything else but what he should be. Because of this, he wasn't fit for school, or anything of the such.

He doesn't take medicine for this, since he can't exactly get his hands on it, or thinks that he needs it.

He lets out his energy by running around in an open space, pacing back and forth, tapping or scratching with his fingers, or tapping his foot/bouncing his leg. Usually his ADHD acts up more when he's excited or trying to concentrate. He bites his nails because of it as well.

He can't focus on one thing at once, and would be distracted by the littlest things like a lizard on a tree, or even a bug flying around his face. He'd stop what he was doing before and focus more on that other than what he should be focusing on. He never exactly thought of it as something bad but usually he'd forget what he was doing before and that something could have been important.

Dermatophagia

note: Dermatophagia is what's known as a body-focused repetitive behavior (BFRB). It goes beyond just nail biting or occasionally chewing on a finger. It's not a habit or a tic, but rather a disorder. People with this condition gnaw at and eat their skin, leaving it bloody, damaged, and, in some cases, infected.

This was a lot worse when he was younger, but he still does it as he grows up. It can get so bad that he has to wrap his hands up by himself and fight the urge to feel the skin in between his teeth. He doesn't just bite his own hands however, he does it to his arms randomly. He'd bite into any of his arms for some odd reason but never hard enough to make them bleed. This of course depends on how hard he bites into them. This happens when he is usually upset in any way, and takes the anger out on himself or a nearby flat surface, like a wall or table.

This harms him badly, but since he can't feel it, he doesn't know when to stop, making this 10 times worse than any normal case. He's gone as far as to nearly gnaw off the skin of his knuckle, exposing the muscle underneath, almost to the bone. This isn't as bad as when he was younger, but when he gets upset in a way, he will still struggle with the problem of gnawing on his hands

I am missing some here, that being BPD, Schizophrenia, psychosis, and autism. I’m aware some are just mere disabilities but I want to do more research before I go into these sensitive topics.

Some more smaller posts with undocumented headcanons

- https://www.tumblr.com/foressfaction/746629900867371008/so-i-headcanon-toby-to-be-a-phat-stoner-so

- https://www.tumblr.com/foressfaction/744151888116711424/i-have-so-much-on-this-dude-hes-been-through

#v3lv3t reblogs 🦊

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