Chapter 1: [Agree to Terms and Conditions]
Chapter Text
…. Are you sure about this?
"I’m as sure as I can be."
It’s going to hurt. A lot. Your current body has to fundamentally change-
"Yes, yes, I know!"
Apparently you don’t! LISTEN to me. …You’re going to have to fundamentally change. You won’t just be an email Addison anymore.
"Right. ….I’ll be an actual Advertisement."
There’s no guarantee this works. I’m just assuming it will.
"You’re frikking GOD! Anything you assume has to be real!"
I suppose you’re right. But even I am not fully aware of this world’s rules. It’s all guesswork at this point.
"Okay. But you’re still a smart guy. A smart Lightener at that!"
Flattery may get you everywhere, little Postman, but try not to oversell yourself.
"Right, sorry! … I’m not afraid of it hurting."
You should be.
"It didn’t hurt that much when you tried altering my code."
No, but it also didn’t work. All we got out of that was the little angels.
"They’re pretty cute, you know."
Oh I do. …Because altering you through code didn’t work, I’m hoping that altering your physical body will yield different results. Since this world is limited to my knowledge and imagination, I can translate your physical form into a doll.
"And from there, actually change me. With any luck you and I have left, it’ll work, and I’ll come back to the Dark World looking better than ever!"
…I don’t want to make you a puppet. I’ve been there. It’s unnerving at best.
"It’s not forever. Just until I make it big! Then you give me my–"
And I will! Just keep up your end of the bargain, and I’ll do mine.
"…You said this is how I can go to any Dark World."
Correct.
"Then I’ll do it."
…. It’s going to take a few days. Possibly weeks. You’ll be conscious through most of it. And I can’t help you through it because you’ll just be… Well. No different than the jack-in-the-box or the cat stuffie.
"…Can I still talk afterwards?"
Yes.
"Once this is done, will I be able to move without petrifying in a few hours?"
Yes.
"Will I still be your favorite?"
….Postman, it’ll take more than this to change my opinion about you. I’d argue I wouldn’t give this much attention to someone I didn’t like.
"Then… Let’s do it."
Alright.
Gaster put the phone down, and closed his eyes. It was so easy to visualize his little character- downright second nature at this point- and he could feel the weight settle into his right hand. He let his eyes slide open, and he lifted his hand.
Sure enough… There he was. A downright average Addison in the shape of a doll. Specifically a ball-jointed doll that was barely 15 inches tall. It was similar to his Human High dolls that he liked working with, except not as lanky. It was pure white, with a happy expression painted on a sharp face and punctuated by red cheeks. The hair was also white, and fluffed up like he was in a glamour rock band. The clothes weren’t too garish, just a simple black sleeved shirt and lime green slacks, and tiny white slip-on loafers.
“How curious…” It really was amazing this had worked. Simply imagining a Darkener into a form other than its original had worked. Either the power of Imagination was stronger than he ever expected, or there were other powers at play here.
He lifted the arms and rotated the joints, finding the action smooth. The head rotated easily, and a gentle squeeze confirmed it was vinyl. The legs moved just as well, and he was pleased to realize that the doll had waist articulation. He brought the doll closer, noticing the luminescence under the plastic skin. “Okay. No acetone baths for you, then. Don’t want to ruin that fun effect.” Out of habit, he rubbed a thumb against the face, smudging a bit of dirt. “Still. Need to redo your face.” And that smile. It was charming in its own way, but Spamton had lost too many sales and was suffering as a result. He walked to his desk, carefully plopping down in his chair and pulling himself to his work desk. Without a second thought, he bent the legs into a sitting position and balanced the little doll on the edge of a forgotten mug. No sooner had he reached for a notebook did the little doll topple over, faceplanting onto his table. “Angel’s Sake! I just put you down!” Such a pitiful little thing.
….Right. Spamton was just a “thing” right now. Hopefully he’d stay that way during this process. It was sheer luck that he found the one Darkener who could understand him. Hell, it was even better that it was the same one who he actually liked as a character.
….Hopefully this wouldn’t hurt him.
Gaster let out a little sigh, unaware he’d even held his breath at first. He opened his notebook, thumbing through a few pages before he found the right one. “Best to get started before either of us lose our nerve, huh?” Reaching over, he plucked the doll up and turned it over. “Just remember: you said ‘yes’. I can’t stop now, or you can never come back.” The doll’s frozen face just stared past him. “...Right. I’m talking to a doll like you can actually respond. I really must be crazy at this point.” He could easily imagine the responses that Spamton could give right then, but he shook his head. “Never you mind. Let’s get to work.”
First things first: he had to prep the body.
This…
This was not what he ever imagined.
Somehow, when [Hyperlink Blocked] described this process, he was assuming it would be more like that movie the Lighteners liked. “Life of Toys”.
So far? He was only half right. He was smaller than he’d ever been, and it was obvious he was a puppet. The way his joints were manipulated was…Angel above, it was hard to explain. His vision wasn’t the greatest, and somehow it was even worse now. All he could see was a darker than dark room, then unblinding brightness of some Light. But while it was dark, he was poked and prodded. It was like the worst version of Germenses measuring him for clothes, the feeling amplified to terrifying because of how large the hands were and how unyielding they were. Even Tenna couldn't get this big! The thumb against his face was nearly half the width of his head! Then there was Light, and he could see [Hyperlink Blocked].
Holy SHIT he was HUGE. The Light gleamed off what counted as a face, but he couldn’t see any eyes. Maybe they were there, but the sensations were just so overwhelming! He could feel and see everything, and there was no way to filter any of it! The voice seemed to mimic both a hiccupping dial tone and a tired professor at the same time, and it was so LOUD. It rattled the inside of his head, and he couldn’t even fix it!
Within a minute, he was manipulated into a sitting position and balanced on… Okay, he wasn’t sure what. But his legs weren’t bent just right, his balance was skewed just a little too much, and he fell forward.
And it HURT. He couldn’t pull his arms up to protect himself, and took the full brunt to his face. He wanted to scream from the pain, and scream again when the voice shook his head again. But… Heh. He can’t. He’s a doll. Dolls don’t get hurt if they get pulled on or thrown. He just toppled over! And his benefactor was loud! Just now, he probably yelled from fright, which meant that no MATTER WHAT, this man was going to be [LOUD &PROUD] and he couldn’t do [I can’t work this damn thing]!
…As he was picked up, all he could do was stare. He couldn’t understand [Hyperlink Blocked] right now. And he sure as hell couldn’t be understood. All of that knowledge paled in comparison to one, simple fact that… MAYBE… He should’ve taken into account: despite everything, he could feel it all. But he couldn’t react to it. He had absolutely no way of relieving the pain. He couldn’t fight, he couldn’t scream… Even his body refused to react. Not even instinct would help him right now.
…He was in for [you’re gonna have a bad time].
Chapter 2: Prepping the Body
Summary:
First step, no matter what, is to prep the body. Always best to work with a blank slate.
Granted, Gaster has the attention of a cartoon squirrel sometimes.
And Spamton's siblings get clued in on something being wrong.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Snip-! Snip-! SNP-! SniP-!
It would’ve been nice if the hair had fallen down onto the table in nice little clumps. Alas, the fair was so fine it floated around the work space and got all over Gaster’s hands. Honestly, it reminded him far too much of Dog Fur, and just how annoying it was. He tried to puff a little air on the face to clear it of the fine hair, only for a little cloud of hair and dust to puff out around him. Aaaand onto his desk. “Wonderful.” It was not. He sat the doll down on the left edge of the table, trying to brush the debris into a small pile. He’d love nothing more than to brush this all off into his hand and toss it away… But that becomes more difficult when you have huge stigmata marks on both hands. So, he had to do the next best thing.
He got up from his chair, striding over to what counted as a kitchen in this room. The room itself was similar to what living in a studio apartment would be like: a large central area, with his desk and workspace on one side, a kitchenette on the opposite, a dividing wall that hid his bed and closet on the north side, and a large window on the south side. There was only one door, which led to a bathroom. Because, at the end of the day, he was stuck here. He made this place because the alternative was floating in nothingness and numbers. And while it’d be so, so easy to let his mind wander and slip into despair… He could not be bothered.
No noble goals about it. He just…couldn’t be bothered.
Why waste away until he was dust?
There was no point.
He liked being alive.
Why was he up again?
Right. The kitchen. He grabbed the electric kettle and filled it under the tap. Maybe he was feeling a bit nostalgic, but he couldn’t help but be reminded of his brother whenever he used the thing. For all his brother’s teasing and jabs about running on coffee, tea, and cream of wheat, he still got him this silly little kettle after he finished work on the Co-... Right. That. He didn’t want to think about that. Think about the stupid little kettle. It shouldn’t work, but it does, and it’s adorable. He set it on its base, flipping the switch on. He then reached up to the cupboard, finding two separate mugs and a scratched glass teapot and setting them on the kitchenette’s counter. “Which should I have today? Black…No. Red? …Maybe later. Green sounds good…” He reached up, moving a few of the small tea boxes around in the cupboard. “Oh! I thought I used all of this.” He pulled out the dark green tin, smile growing. “Gunpowder… Maybe this will help me focus.” He set it beside the teapot, nodding to himself as he finished his little set-up.
…RIGHT. He’d meant to grab the trashcan. He should do that. He slung an arm down to grab the edge of it, striding back to the desk. He plopped back into his seat, brushed the hair into said can, he placed it next to his left side.
Next was wiping the existing paint off. He could do that easily. Barely an inconvenience at this point. He just needed to pluck a cotton ball from his desk kit, soak it in the acetone he kept nearby, and wipe the little doll’s face. Thankfully, there was nothing around the sculpted pieces of the face, and he could toss it easily. He set the doll in the center of the desk, and looked at the notepad in front of him. There were plans, poorly drawn sketches, and the vaguest of ideas… But he needed to figure out what best to do for the little postman. Obviously, he needed a re-root of his hair. Black was a much better contrast against the white. And, just as obviously, he’d need to fix his jaw. He had some polymer clay for the teeth, and some epoxy to reattach things. His hands needed to be switched out; he couldn’t very well work on cars or fine wires or do a good handshake with typical Addison mittens. He could stand to be a little taller, but… No. He wouldn’t do that. It was part of his charm, being so small but his personality being bigger than life.
A whistling caught his attention, and he looked over his shoulder. Ah. The water was done boiling. He stood, picking up the little doll and walking over to the kitchenette.
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.
“Hey Spam! [Wakey wakey, eggs and bakey]!” The orange Addison scowled at the door, expecting to hear a typical grumble or snore from inside the room. On hearing nothing, she tried to knock again, crossing her arms in frustration. “Spamton! Oh my GOD, get up!” Still hearing nothing, she tried one more threat. “I’ll go get Topsie if you’re not out this [Instant Deals]!”
She’d hoped for a squawk of some kind, maybe the comedic sounds of her sibling scrambling to get out the door, and maybe some argumentative yelling. That’s what’s supposed to happen here. That’s how it always happens on days her brother sleeps in.
But she heard nothing. And that never happens.
…
The grip on her arms tightened ever so slightly, her bravado sinking by the second. She reached forward again, knocking on the door again. This time, the knocks were more panicked. “Spamton? Cmon, this isn’t funny. I need your help at the store today!”
Still nothing.
“Angel, Spam, I swear if you’re doing this on purpose, I’ll-” She tried the door knob, just to make extra noise by jiggling it, and was caught off guard by it opening. That was…unusual.
Her worry immediately morphed into anger, swinging the door open. She’d been ready to yell again, but found the room empty. And somehow, that made her stomach drop. She took a quick look around the room, just to see if Spamton was hiding. It’d be incredibly out of character for him to do so, but… Hell, he’d been acting strange for weeks now. What’s one more? She kneeled to look under the bed, finding nothing but dirty dishes and a memorabilia box. Sentimental idiot. She tried the closet, finding it half-full. The other half was strewn next to a laundry basket, she assumed. She went to the dresser vanity, finding nothing. There was that strange landline phone on the wall, and she swore she could hear the hum of something as she walked by it, but no Spamton. She was ready to assume that her brother had snuck out at some point, and she just didn’t notice. But that theory was immediately dashed when she saw something on the center of the bed. A nice black wallet, with three white “255”s stitched on the lower left corner.
Spamton may be acting strange, but the Addison never left his wallet unattended. If it was here, and he wasn’t? Something was wrong. She reached over, picking it up and opening it. There was some Dark Dollars, and some dark colored coins she assumed was Points. He was going between the Worlds recently…
This wasn’t right. Spamton was gone, and his wallet was here, and-and-and…
“Germenses!”
She jumped up at the sound of her name, not quite catching the rest of what was being yelled. Oh Angel, she needed to get it together. She swallowed heavily, walking out of the bedroom and through the hallway. She held the wallet close to her chest, walking into the kitchen. There was Topsie, pushing her yellow hair back and using the fridge as a makeshift mirror. “I know, technically we got an hour, but apparently a Mauswheel formed in the showroom, and you know how freaked out Halred gets–”
“I can’t find Spamton!” The statement seemed to knock Topsie off her train of thought, and she continued. “I can’t find him, and his wallet got left here.” She held it out carefully, showing the stitching on the corner to prove her statement.
“...” The yellow Addison opened, then closed her mouth, then covered it as she looked between the wallet and her little sister. “...Did he [Leave your Name and Number after the Beep] or….anything here?”
“No.” A quick thought occurred to Germenses, and she looked to the landline on the kitchen wall. Maybe he called and left a voicemail? Her face fell when she saw no flashing light.
Topsie rung her hands together for a moment, a multitude of thoughts racing through her head at break-neck speed. After a beat, she looked up to her younger sister. “It’s possible he’s still at the TV World. Maybe he stayed a little too long and got stuck.”
“Without this ?!” The wallet was held up accusingly, and Topsie bristled in frustration.
“I don’t know, MAYBE!” She looked away from her sister, staring at the kitchen table. Germenses had the sense of mind to not mention that’s where their three brothers liked to sit most nights. “....Just…try. Wasn’t he getting cozy with some of the Darkeners there?” She didn’t bother waiting for an answer before continuing; it was a rhetorical question anyways. “Stay here, keep an ear on the phone. Maybe this is a stupid prank and he just wanted to freak us out. I’ll go to the shop, tell Halred and Ricoure. Maybe they know something.” It was a lot of “maybes”, but she had to try and stay positive. Or, optimistic at the least.
Germenses nodded, swallowing once. “Okay.” She rubbed the back of her head, fluffing up her hair a bit. “If he comes back before you guys do, I’m ripping his hair out.”
Topsie managed a small laugh at that. “Save some for me, then.”
HOLY ANGEL THAT WAS NOT FUN.
Was he understating it? You [CASINO SCAM] your [XXX] he was!!
The hair cut was unpleasant, but doable. It’s hair; he was certain that it would get fixed sooner rather than later. The face wiping was tingly at first, then HORRIFYING as he lost his vision! He wasn’t even completely sure how that worked, but it upped his anxiety to [Brand-New] heights to not even see what was going on.
THEN, on top of ALL OF THAT, he was lifted up like a toy [don’t forget, you are a toy right now. You can’t stop it, you’re just a toy to him now], and his face was on fire.
Not just his face, but his head, his neck, even his shoulders! It felt like he’d been plunged into a hot battery acid bath! It was so, so hot, he could feel it seep into the hollow parts of his head[HAH HE was EMPTY-HEADED] and it burned! He tried to scream in his own head, unable to use his mouth
It Burns! Ow! Stop! Help Me! It Burns!
He was pulled out after what felt like too long, and he could feel the large hands encompassing him. One around his body, and one…. OH GOD.
NO PLEASE NO DON’T I’M SORRY DON’T DON’T DON’T–
Pop!
“There we go.” Somehow, the hot water trick never failed to work. Just leave a doll’s head in just-under boiling water for a solid minute or two, then take it out, and the head pops off easily with a little tugging. He took a quick look at the neck peg, just to be sure it wasn’t broken. “Good. That could have been a problem if that broke.” He gently set the body down on the counter, easily picking up his mug of tea. How fortunate the seeping time lasted just as long as the head soaking did. He took a long sip of tea, breathing out a nice sigh. Once it was set down, he rummaged in the cutlery drawer for one of his screwdrivers. Yes, technically he was supposed to keep his tools separate from his eating utensils, but between his pots’ screws loosening, or his cupboard door falling off, it was good to keep one close. Holding the head in his palm, he carefully placed the tip of the screw driver in the neck hole and started to scratch out the remaining plugs. It took only a few minutes, and he was already walking back to his desk as he pulled the clumps of hair and glue out of the neck hole. Those were tossed into the trash just as he came up to it.
He set the head down a folded up washcloth, originally white but now stained with a rainbow of colors on the edge. It was best he let the vinyl air dry for a moment. He turned on his heel, retrieving both the body and his mug of tea before properly sitting down.
This was good. He could start the arduous re-rooting task while the body dried out. He much preferred using yarn as hair, and it would make it easier to style, for both him and Spamton.
…
Right.
…Angel above, he hoped the little Postman didn’t feel much of that.
He shook his head to dislodge the thought. No. He couldn’t imagine it. If he imagined it, it would become reality. That’s how these worlds worked. No, he just needed to focus on the task ahead.
He pushed his chair back, bending at the waist so he could get to the balls of yarn underneath his desk. They were all kept in a wicker basket– it was one of the supplies that him and his brothers used, so it was best kept like this- and it was easy to find the black ball in the sea of color. Once grabbed, he kicked the basket back into its place and sat up.
Might as well keep going.
Notes:
I actually wanted to try a different direction for the Addisons' names. I like them all, but I specifically went with a theme for this one. Props to whoever gets the theme.
Chapter 3: The Dreaded Re-Root
Summary:
God help us, Gaster has instant espresso and put on Star Trek.
Also, the Addisons are horrible at mental health. This should come as a surprise to no one, but they still suffer.
And Spamton has his first (of many) existential crises.
Notes:
Somehow this chapter got away from me and ended up being longer than I thought! Hopefully other chapters won't be nearly as long, but I really liked writing for the Addisons in this one.
Chapter Text
In his humblest of opinions, Gaster considered re-rooting to be both the worst and best part of customizing.
It was the best because it really made the new doll stand out! He could pick the exact color he wanted, style it just the way he liked it… It wasn’t as if he could do it to his own hair. It invited a bit of creativity, and truly, no two styles were alike. It added personality and charm to a blank slate.
However, he did not like the lead-up to it. Cutting the yarn, unraveling it in his fingers, making sure the finicky pieces were laid flat, and repeating this process for nearly an hour? And that was before the absolute tediousness of plugging each hole.
He set down the last few strands of yarns, leaning back in his seat to stretch his arms above his head. He could feel a slight pop in his shoulderblades, and he groaned as pain blossomed from the spot. “Ow….Damn…” He didn’t think his posture was that bad. He let his arms lower, but his left hand found his nasal bridge and firmly massaged both sides. He’d been going at this for nearly an hour, and could feel he was already losing steam. This left him with a bit of a conundrum: he can’t take too long of a break, given how Spamton was already in quite literal pieces around him. But if he didn’t take one, he’d burn out like a candle and then he’d never finish. Even if Spamton was unaware, he didn’t want to prolong this process. “...Now what, Wing-a-Ding?” He could easily imagine his brother saying that exact phrase. The brat.
…
“Come on. You have things to do. Don’t get lost now.”
He swung up from his seat, walking back to the kitchen. His earlier tea had been finished, and now he had incentive to make some coffee. He took the kettle off the base, refilling it with the tap and placing it back on the base. Nice as it would be to use his French press, he decided now was the time for the Instant Cafe Bustelo. A small spoonful…Nevermind, two small spoonfuls into his rinsed-out mug, and he’d wait for the water to boil again. While waiting, he walked over to the southern side of the living room. There was the large window, keeping back inky darkness and strings of numbers that he was certain was digits of pi. But there was also the armchair and a CRT TV. Not Tenna-oh heavens no, he was the product of someone elses’ imaginations- but a reliable box that could entertain him when his mind threatened to wander.
He snagged the remote from the armchair, pointing it to the TV and pressing the power button. The crackling snaps reassured him that it was warming up, and he leaned against the back of the armchair as “CH 4” faded into view against the black screen. He tapped the 0 and the 3, waiting semi-patiently for the TV to react. With an audible hiss, the screen flashed “CH 3’ before the screen lit up. The image of a blue-ish meteor slowly tumbling through space accompanied the building brass instruments greeted him, and he smiled as he set the remote back down. Wonderful! He may have missed the first few minutes, and that was unfortunate, but at least he knew exactly what would be on. He hummed along with the music as he walked back to the kitchenette, whisking the whistling kettle off its base and pouring a fresh cup of coffee.
He spared a few glances at the TV out of habit. He knew this opening credit, with the epic orchestral music and the slow shots of both space and a “star-port”, but it helped soothe the ragged edges of his mind. It was familiar, it was calming.
And best of all, it was something to listen to while he worked.
"JUST [ACT NOW]!”
“THE HELL YOU THINK I’M DOING?!”
Topsie wasn’t entirely surprised at the yelling. It was common for her brothers to be like this, and it seemed to rub off on their youngest sister. But the battle encounter? That was a little surprising.
Granted, it didn’t look like they were Fighting. The storefront was darkened, and a large white outline of a box atop some smaller outlined boxes floated between the two Addisons and a squirming Mauswheel. The blue Addison looked annoyed at the whole situation, and a quick look at the scuffs on his face and his visible health bar showed he’d taken a few points of damage. The pink Addison looked a few shades paler than usual, but otherwise, he looked unharmed. He had pulled his hand back as if to throw something, and a small cage flickered into his waiting hand. Or at least it would’ve, had the Maice not circle closer and brushed against his foot.
The cage disappeared along with his concentration, and a bitcrushed screech escaped him as he took 2 points of damage. The Maice were undeterred by this, but Ricoure seemed to deflate, holding his forehead. He pulled his own hand back in a similar manner, waiting for his own little cage to form into his hand. Once formed, he tossed the cage toward the creatures. It managed to snag a majority of the creatures, and they seemed…Pleased? Sated? At least calm now.
Not so much could be said for her brothers.
“Great job, Hal. They’re at [100 Free Downloads] Mercy, and you wasted your turn!”
“SHUTUPIDIDN’T!”
Angel above, she did not have time for this. Straightening her posture, Topsie squared off her shoulders and confidently walked to the opposite side of her brothers. She leveled an award-winning smile to the Mauswheel, and pressed a hand against one of the smaller outlined boxes. “Spare”. The squeaking Maice broke the self-imposed circle apart in an instant, scattering out the open door like their lives depended on it. Now that the encounter was over, the outlined boxes disappeared and the floor began to brighten back up. She had half a mind to scold her brothers, but… Well. That’d have to be later. Mainly when Halred didn’t look so pale and Spamton was accounted for.
Speaking of, though, she was a little…annoyed at how Halred looked. He was still so panicked, shivering like he was caught in a blizzard. Maybe if she was in a bitter mood, she would tease him about his fear of Maice getting worse and worse. She wasn’t even completely sure what caused it, but it had been notably worse the last few months.
Now that things had settled, Ric dug around in his pocket for a moment before popping a piece of candy in his mouth. He chewed it slowly, and the scuff marks on his face disappeared in an instant. “Thanks, Tops.” It was probably the most she’d get out of him for a thank-you.
“No problem.” She went to Hal’s side, grabbing his shoulders and leading him to the backroom. Her brother flinched under her touch and stumbled to keep up with her pace, but she couldn’t be patient right now. Once in the backroom, she forced him to sit down atop a box of merchandise. She’d turned to get the door, only to find her blue brother closing it behind him. She nodded her own thanks before crouching down to Halred’s level. His eyes were wide and panicked, and she had to look away from the manic spirals of black and neon green staring right through her. “Cmon, Hal. Cover your eyes. You’re going to make us sick.”
He flinched at the words, bringing a shaky hand to cover his eyes. All Addisons and advertisement-like Darkeners had colored spirals in their eyes; the “hypnotizing power of ads” and all that. However, most Addisons could control when the spirals appeared. It didn’t affect their vision in the slightest when they appeared, however, looking at their siblings’ eyes too much could make them nauseous. He was in no right mind to mention that Topsie had similar rotating spirals of black and purple in her own eyes when speaking at him.
But Ricoure was.
“Like you are? Ease up on him.”
She squinted her eyes closed, barking over her shoulder. “Weren’t you just yelling at him for acting stupid?!”
He bounced his shoulders in a shrug, keeping his voice level as he answered. “Yes. I fail to see why I can’t call you out, too.” He leaned his back against the door with a barely audible thump, crossing a leg in front of the other.
“Angel above, you’re such an instigator.”
“No, I’m a smartass. Way different.”
“Yo-you two ss-suck at thi-i-i-iss.” Halred’s voice strained to be as loud as his brother’s, and shook as badly as he did.
The pathetic nature of it was enough to pull at whatever patience Topsie had left, and she looked up to him. “Yeah, we know.” They were Addisons. All they did was advertise. Everything else? Woefully unprepared. She reached out, putting a hand on his knee and rubbing small circles. “Try to calm down. The Maice are gone. Just have to remember to get a Tasque to come by in the future.” Halred’s shaking seemed to get worse the more she spoke, so she simply continued to rub circles on his knee and keep quiet.
His shivering seemed to break around the five-minute mark, and he lowered his hand from his face. His eyes were still a bit manic, but at least the spirals were gone. He didn’t say anything, not trusting his voice to be steady. Topsie pulled her hand back and started to stand up, brushing her torso down. She took a small breath to steady herself, then turned to face Ricoure. “Reason I came over wasn’t just to help you two. Spamton’s missing.”
Ric rose an eyebrow at the statement, and crossed his arms in front of him as Topsie stared at him. “Okay. And?” He rolled his eyes; clearly his sister was reading too far into things. “He’ll come back if he gets hungry.”
“Can you not? He’s not a pet.” Her tone was more subdued, though it was hard to tell if she was genuinely worried or worn from earlier irritation.
“And he’s not a kid. He can wander off as he damn well pleases.” His own annoyance was evident, and he squinted his eyes closed.
“He left his wallet on the bed.”
And just like that, his earlier annoyance lifted. He blinked dumbly at her, waiting for Topsie to admit it was a joke, that she was pulling a mean, mean prank.
“Wwhat?!” He admittedly jumped at Halred’s sudden voice, then worked on pushing himself off the door. “You could’ve [This Way for UNLIMITED] with that!!” The subsequent argument between the two seemed far away from Ricoure’s ears, and he stared at the floor.
Spamton had left his wallet?
That… Okay, that was incredibly out of character. Even if they had no money or points, each Addison kept their wallets on them at all times. How could they take advantage of a deal or a sale if they had nothing to keep it in? Given that Topsie hadn’t mentioned the room being ransacked or finding a body, it was safe to assume their youngest brother left willingly…. But that seemed just as improbable. He reached into his own pocket, feeling the heavy weight of his own wallet, and the raised bumps of stitching that he knew read “0” and two “255”s in the corner. Granted, their little brother had been acting strange. Ignoring the fact he had installed a phone in his room, he’d gotten a lot…colder. Pulling away from them, refusing to go to the Grill with them… He couldn’t blame him; he got annoyed with how loud and obnoxious their siblings could be. And while Spamton was the best target for teasing- be it for his height, his bad luck, or his absolutely ragged and horrible smile- it wasn’t ever meant to be serious! It was just teasing. That’s all it was. …No. This coldness started around the same time as his luck changed, as if one caused the other. Did this mean other things would change?? Would Spamton just…
Ricoure covered his mouth with one hand and squeezed his eyes shut. He could barely hear Halred or Topsie over the beating of his fake heart in his ears, but that didn’t matter. He had to not make a fuss. No one liked it when any of them started acting strange, and he wasn’t going to make himself a target. He tried to breathe through his nose, counting the seconds as he held his breath, then released it.
It’d be okay. Spamton would be okay. He’d be okay.
It took a bit for him to “wake up” as it were.
Honestly, he’d think he was still in a manic fever dream. His brain’s way of keeping him sane despite the absolute madness of what was going on. That maybe he was sick, asleep in his own bed, dosed on some terrible medicine. That his headache was the result of some illness.
But he could feel the uncomfortable stabbing along his hairline. Not an overall “stabbing feeling” like his headaches normally felt like. But the distinct feeling of something stabbing into his head, following some imaginary line on his forehead. It was uncomfortable, but not as blindingly painful as earlier.
He still couldn’t see, and while that still upset him, he tried to focus on recognizing what else was going on around him.
For one, his head was being cradled in a hand. DO NOT think about where your body is, yougotyourheadpluckedlikeatomato DON’T THINK ABOUT IT. The grip was gentle, if unrelenting. And it felt…Weird. Whoever was holding him wasn’t made of metal, but there was no give to suggest anything organic. The more he thought about it, the more he realized he couldn’t recognize the texture. Was this even a hand?! …Okay, it was. This was far too similar to when that overactive Tenna picked him up. Though this was certainly….bigger.
The stabbing sensation came back, and he felt the urge to groan as something was pushed into his head. Just as quickly, the feeling was gone, and he could let his mind wander. It took a moment to realize there was some sound playing in the background. He could’ve sworn he could hear swelling music, and distant voices…
“-disintegrate this hostage!”
“With your finger?”
“With my death-ray.”
“‘S a lot like a finger to me.”
Then there was the sound of a short fight, and the hand holding him shook once.
“Who’s that?”
“My Hero!”
“Can we please leave now?” The hand holding him shook a few more times.
It seemed so…damningly familiar. It reminded him so much of sitting in a large audience hall. The goofball of a TV acting out a shlocky Western on stage, mimicking the TV program that had played on his screen earlier. The fight was so simple, so basic and silly. The dialogue could jump from being intense and sincere to being the most ridiculous sound-bytes in history. And while it was rarely [Laugh Out Loud] funny, it was enough to entice a small chuckle or huff of a laugh. He had to be careful if he had any popcorn, since it’d….shake…out of his…hand…..
…
The realization of it all hit him like a freight train.
He really was just a toy, a puppet….. [Hyperlink Blocked] was just…watching TV. Why would he be bothering watching TV while he held his head in his hands?
The stabbing sensation came back, and he wanted to cry out this time.
…
If he really was a toy…
Maybe he was thinking about this all wrong. He tried to consider when he’d watch TV. It wasn’t often, but there was a small set that projected programs at his house. …And how his sisters would turn it on, only to go back to their work… He remembered asking Germenses about this once. It’d started as asking why she liked listening to horrific descriptions of crimes, and devolved from there. But one line she said stuck out clearly: “It’s just nice having something to listen to while you work! It’s a little more intense than just music, and it feels like there’s someone else in the room with ya.”
….
Okay.
So he was a toy. The stabbing pains were the result of….something. …Then again…It seemed to be following his hairline. Maybe…Maybe this was the process of getting his hair back? It’d been cut earlier. And then scraped out from the inside scraped it pulled it pushed it was swallowed down his nonexistent throat…. He couldn’t feel the texture all that well. But he could feel that it was much thicker than before.
Did [Hyperlink Blocked] remember him mentioning he hated his fine, thin hair?
…
He wasn’t supposed to be aware.
Yes, he was a Darkener, all he was was a physical manifestation of a Lightener’s imagination. Somehow, [Hyperlink Blocked] was able to work around it. “Altering his physical body”. And…If Spamton were to be honest with himself… It was far easier to manipulate and change a toy than it would be something organic. Less gore, less mess… And it wasn’t as if he could scream or flinch.
All he was was a toy.
He could be discarded like one so easily. Hell, all of them could! His siblings could be deleted. The Plugboys could spark, and be replaced. Queen could become obsolete. And God, what if they actually unplugged Ten-...
…It didn’t matter. They were the manifestation of someone’s imagination. It’s not like that could be shared with multiple people. If they died, or disappeared? Who would even care? The person who made them? Nah. They’d consider it a fleeting memory of when they were young and stupid.
His musings were interrupted as he felt the hand holding him raise him up. He was jostled around, and Spamton could easily imagine he was being looked over. It made him downright grateful he had no eyes, so he didn’t have to look at [Hyperlink Blocked]. His voice still punched through his skull, though Spamton could tell he was trying to be softer. It was loud, it hiccupped, and it hurt so so much to listen to…
“☟︎♋︎●︎♐︎📫︎⬥︎♋︎⍓︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎❒︎♏︎📬︎”
…It sounded like the background noise on the phone calls. He’d never addressed it, or asked about it. Honestly, he figured it was a strange artifact or hold-over from being able to talk to GOD. Anyone would think that!
…But he could recognize images in that. The joys of being an email meant he could read both words and images. Sometimes he even used them in his pitches. It was just easier that way. Maybe…
He could decipher this. He needed his eyes back, but…Maybe he could work with this. Maybe he could understand [Hyperlink Blocked]. Maybe it’d prepare him for the future.
…Because… If he was this insignificant… Why would [Hyperlink Blocked] call him his favorite? The same person who was holding him, changing him, it was only for him, right? He wouldn’t do this for just anyone, would he?! No, he was [Hyperlink Blocked]’s favorite!! He needed to STAY his favorite!
He HAD TO.
…Because the alternative was SOUL crushing.
cuddlesome on Chapter 1 Sun 31 Aug 2025 01:12PM UTC
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DisneyPhantomlover on Chapter 1 Mon 01 Sep 2025 07:01PM UTC
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Novi3Agent on Chapter 2 Wed 03 Sep 2025 02:02PM UTC
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daydreamNerd on Chapter 3 Sun 07 Sep 2025 03:38AM UTC
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Quickbrook on Chapter 3 Sun 07 Sep 2025 04:20AM UTC
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