Clockwork X Reader - Tumblr Posts
I was really surprised by your quick and kind response, excuse the pause in my replies. Since you're alright with the topic I gave you, would that be okay if I asked you to write Toby, BEN and Clockwork with a npd!reader? Fem or gn, whichever you prefer
-⭐︎
(♡) Authors note; awh :,-) I'm sorry for the wait! I feel so nervous writing for disorders SO PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF I DID SOMETHING WRONG PLEASE (also can you tell I love toby 🙁 my hcs for him are always longer than the others)
TOBY;
-So...where do I start.
-I really don't want to sound ignorant but I feel like this wouldn't age well with the Toby we all know and love.
-People with npd tend to feel the constant need to be important, respected and powerful.
- and he'd give you just that. It took him so long to finally open up and trust someone after everything that happened to him, no matter how much he tries to convince himself that he doesn't need anyone anymore because they'll just end up leaving like his mother and sister, he actually found a partner. And he's obsessed with them. There is no denying that.
- he genuinely believes that you're too good for him, unintentionally feeding your pride. And that's exactly what you want.
- and he gives it happily if it means staying with you.- yeah... Toby is a dog.
- he loves like a dog.
- even if he comes to terms in his mind that this isn't the healthiest relationship, and that you probably only stayed with him because he gave you his every bit of attention, feeding your pride and need to be the best, he'll always stay.
- sometimes his mood swings kick in. Talking back, throwing snarky remarks your way, perhaps even bringing up your tendencies to bring you down, crush the facade of confidence you've put up to hide the mess that you actually are.
- arguments with him are nasty but he always comes back sobbing desperately, poor guy thought you'd leave him forever. And the cycle repeats.
BEN;
-it isn't as angsty like Toby with BEN, he'd probably catch on pretty quickly. He'd just look for signs in how you act in your day-to-day life just to confirm the possibility of you having said disorder.
-since he spends most of his time on the internet he might as well do some research about the whole thing.
-it doesn't really bother him because ay, he finally got a partner. You won't catch him complaining EVER.
-sometimes has a 'what the fuck are you doing' moment because it's canon that BEN is a master manipulator, I can see him looking right through your manipulative tendencies. He doesn't play into your games, just kind of dismisses you.
-which might bruise your pride a little.
-but he does play in from time to time just so you'd stay.
CLOCKWORK;
-as much as I love Natalie...I really don't have any ideas for her.
-I can definitely see her getting annoyed at your antics every now and then but not enough to break up.
Hello! I’m grateful you wrote my request and this is in no way me complaining, I only want to answer what you said about accuracy and all. I’m well aware than npd is not well researched so I’m putting this more so as a way to give you more insight than complain about your portrayal, I’m chill with it. Sorry for the long message. It’s kinda hard putting this stuff into words, but I want to bc I’ve seen one too many posts about all ppl with npd needing to be ‚separated from the society, put down or castrated to stop their kind from spreading’ so I’m not about to waste an opportunity to put out a different perspective. If you don’t want to publically respond I’m chill with that, this is just some info for you if you wanna know more
I really resonated with the part where you said Toby loves like a dog because that’s also the metaphor I use to explain npd. Bc it kinda feels like you’re a dog, you love like one certainly. It feels like you were raised for cagefights. They taught you when you need to bite to survive and get a pat on the back. Taught you that if you didn’t, things get ugly for you. Taught you that everybody is a threat. You have never been prepared to read emotions because surviving and winning were always synonymous and both consumed your youth too much to genuinely learn social clues. And maybe, now you’re out of that place. And suddenly you’re expected to be a good dog, to love and be soft and kind. But the best you can do is act and frantically look around the room for a sign of a threat, because at this point you expects to be hurt. Sometimes you still bite. You know how to fight for your life but you flinch when someone wants to hug you. You’re mean and bitter at heart because as far as you know anyone could hurt you for any mistake you make. Showing weaknesses is out of the question, so you put on a mask. You need to be the best and to be perfect because you know what happened when you weren’t. You hate yourself for every mistake and see that as a life-or-death threat. You seek patterns to be safe and you learn to respond well to things without knowing why you should perform a certain way. You remember that when you used to make a wrong step, it was hell for you. And it’s hard to make a connection when you fear everybody hurting you. When you can’t grasp why anybody would keep you around if you’re not benefitting them. So you act like you’re great and hope that people believe you enough to think you’re worth having around
When I met my roommate in the school dorms I really liked her. A few weeks into knowing her, she started giving me food and trinkets. And many times, though I acted with all the gratitude that I always had to show and I did all the things you’re supposed to do, I felt lost. Because I wasnt very useful to her. She had no benefit from giving me things. Shamefully, I do admit I sat there alone tearing up at a chocolate bar or two that she left for me because it felt so confusingly nice(?) and I still don’t know why she does it. But of course I know (by observation) that people are uncomfortable when others question things like that. So I don’t, I just try to be useful and hope she decides I’m convenient to have (a ‚pleasure to have in class’ of sorts)
With manipulation it’s hard to say how much of it is true because most of the diagnostics were based off of male case studies and generally when the label of ‚npd’ has been slapped on someone, most things they do are seen as kind of evil. I know I do avoid conflict and use my words to my advantage if I feel threatened, yeah. Just yesterday had a friend getting progressively more heated at me (we have very different opinions on things as it turned out) and I did subtly framed it as ‚I thought you were more mature than that, it’s really childish to blow up on me’ bc I know he feels like the group doesn’t treat him seriously. Is it good? Maybe not, but a threat is a threat and I’m not about find out what he does when he gets really angry lol
As to the ‚look at me, I’m the best’ kind of thing, you have to put yourself first because you’ve been put last by everyone else. In a sense, it really does feel like fighting for your life and then being thrown into a setting where nobody had that growing up so you feel like you need to act like them and count days before everything turns ugly again because it’s hard to believe most people aren’t cruel and dangerous. That’s all you’ve known and all you prepared for
So you have a hard time forming honest connections. You feel like an empty shell and discard your smile as soon as you’re through the door. You’re tired. And you don’t know how to act in this new world. So you still do what you need to survive, despite everyone telling you that it’s not about that anymore
Like, ofc I have some personality. I know I like making music and enjoy a quiet evening. I know others tell me I’m fun at parties, funny, charming. Sometimes it’s hard to tell what is me and what is my survival instinct kicking in though. The way I see it, the modern mirror of Narcissus is in other people’s eyes. And I just try to do anything to keep seeing admiration instead of hatred in them
To be fair I feel like that would work (somewhat) with the creeps, because they aren't super well either and someone who can see patterns in their behavior (how they act when something is wrong etc) could work better bc I don't see then opening up and talking about feelings either. Sure, all those things kinda suggest that they could also mentally destroy me if they wanted (but I would let them bc I love them, especially your portrayal of ben 😌😌). Also I heve a feeling BEN is the kind of guy to show you gore videos for fun and talk about tormenting others for funsies so inability to emotionally connect with others would probably make it easier to enjoy yourself around him lmao idk about others probably trauma bonding would work?? Lol
-⭐︎
HELLO?? I FUCKING LOVE THE WAY YOU DESCRIBE THINGS OH MY GOD I'll try to respond to every point in this message because I really like it and thank you for reaching out so often I love when people interact with me :) literally get so excited once I see that little star emoji at the end of requests because I know it's you lol. I mostly based the headcanons off of people on Quora (other than more research on different sites) since it's people with said disorder talking about personal experiences and other people who don't have npds' interaction with people who do have it.
I fucking love when people use the dog metaphors for toby when writing him.
I agree on the point that some creeps would have this, Jeffrey comes to mind, I feel like a lot brush him off as an evil person but I see it as a sort of defense mechanism for him? I can definitely see Jeff relating to this for sure.
IM SO HAPPY YOU LIKE MY PORTRAYAL OF BEN X3 and that's so true I literally mentioned it in one of my headcanons like that stinky fucker would show you gore and legit go 'its not even that bad' when you start freaking out. Definitely pops up those videos on your devices randomly. He's so annoying I love him.
One thing I don't like about creepypasta headcanons that revolve around the reader having a personality disorder is the creators make them act so...nice? Like I know that's what people want to read but let's be honest these serial killers never experienced a day of comfort in their lives, I genuinely don't see them being all that nice about it unless it's more of the kinder creeps like Liu or Jane or Nina but even then they'd be awkward about it. The most they'd do is notice (unless you straight up tell them) and that's it. I wouldn't say they would straight up fucking degrade you for having a disorder but I don't see them caring because they're all traumatized, I don't see them sympathizing with reader so yeah that's something that kinda bugs me in creepypasta headcanons.
Present Silence
C̲l̲o̲c̲k̲w̲o̲r̲k̲ ̲x̲ ̲N̲o̲n̲-̲B̲i̲n̲a̲r̲y̲!̲ ̲r̲e̲a̲d̲e̲r̲
❥ Warnings: mentions of neglect, mental instability, hints to eating disorder, mentions of cancer, death of a parent
𝙿𝙻𝙴𝙰𝚂𝙴! 𝙸𝚏 𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚢 𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚐𝚎𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞, 𝚍𝚘 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜.
⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱
︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶ ︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶ ︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶ ︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶ ︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶ ︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶
(Y/n) wasn’t much for silence, yet it was the exact thing that haunted them in the dead of night. You could say it rooted from a traumatic event from their childhood; an abandonment that made them become almost non-pellucid to the outside world. Not that they cared. They saw society in a fixed lens, seeing every little speckle of morality as if it was a blemish on their sketch book.
However, the white tiled halls outside their room didn’t even make any motion. No reverberation of heels clicking against the marble or the creaking of an old wheelchair rolling down the narrow walls. It’s as if the present became quietude itself. Static fills the emptiness inside (Y/n)’s head, spreading down throughout their body like a virus. It bleeds into their veins, leaving a heavy formication. Their fingers itch and claw at the ashen sheets below them, pulling at the restraints hung taut at the edge of the bed.
They wanted to scream, beg to the black figure standing in the corner to stop. It watches them with gaping eyes, its black irises widening with delegation. The creature wasn’t real, they knew this. The suppressed subjectivity of their mind was interesting. The morbidity that it plays with made (Y/n) want to laugh. To say that it all started with a drawing was much too simple.
The doctors liked to prescribe it as a disease; a disease that will slowly consume (Y/n) as they spiral into madness within these matted panels. (Y/n) thought of this ‘sickness’ as gospel. With their new pair of glasses, they could distinguish what was true and what was false. Who was for them and who was not. That power does come with a cost.
(Y/n) was quite bright as a child, finding new ways to express themselves as an upcoming member of a Utopia they thought existed. With a pencil and paper, they could abstract anything that popped into their young mind. They love to draw. It was an activity that allowed them to show others how they saw the world. Bright and opportunistic, with the sun shining over everyone in brand lighting.
‘That world doesn’t exist. Get over your stupid dreams of becoming something that’s unrealistic.’
Their mother had told them that a long time ago, when the colors they once saw turned bland. When their father left, life as they knew it flipped upside down. ‘You can be anything, and I’ll be there for you,’ he said. What a joke. He should have known that the cancer would get to him before (Y/n) would ever aspire in a work ethic. Their mother wasn’t much of an enthusiast, especially after her husband died. The one luminosity that ever dared to make her smile was the one that left her with a kid she didn’t even love.
Life wasn’t too bad. (Y/n) still had the gift of sight and vision that provided them with the love of drawing. As they woke up from the distant memory of a peachy story, they then realized their potential. No one understood their craft though, using the aphorism that grotesque and dark art did not aid in this world’s progression. (Y/n) did not adjure this type of thinking. Didn’t they see it wasn’t that of a pretentious display?
The school recommended that they be transferred in an institute during their third year of high school. (Y/n)’s mother was more than compliant for their requests. ‘They need medical help. A kid their age should not be thinking so deeply about these things.’ The nurses were nice enough. They had charming smiles and always made nice comments on (Y/n)’s latest projects. They were fake, sadly. Though, (Y/n) appreciated their efforts to perceive the meaning.
The crisp breath of the inky silhouette fans over (Y/n)’s face. A shudder goes down their spine, pricking their nerves like hot wax. It lies on their leaden body, grabbing at the muscles of their neck with a tight squeeze. (Y/n) was hyperventilating again, the edges of their field of vision spotting. It was a trick. Why was their mind going against them so?
They twist and turn against the restraints tied around their limbs, the leather rubbing into their skin harshly. The feeling of it burning at the pellicle of their wrists and ankles erupts another feeling inside the pit of their stomach. They needed to get out. They wanted out. The sudden anticipation to move ached in their joints and they struggle more against the phantasmal weight on them.
(Y/n)’s hands slip through the material, and they heave themselves upward. The darkness emitting their sight disperses into the shadows of the room, leaving them to gasp for air. Rubbing at the red pigmentation of their abused wrists, they kick off the belts holding their feet. The distant sound of a clock erupts the quiet void of the room.
The window adjacent to the door opens gradually, and the form of a girl crawls in. The constant ticking coming from the girl’s retina eases the density crawling at (Y/n) with vigor. The static falls into a pleasant buzz on their skin.
The girl pushes her brown locks out of her face, her one hazel orb almost glowing in the moonlight. Her sewn smile stifles one to reach (Y/n)’s blue-tinted lips. She reaches into the bag hanging over her shoulder, unzipping it with ease. She pulls out a black book and tosses it onto the thin bedding. Despite her not speaking, (Y/n) nods their head in appreciation.
“Thank you, Clocky…” (Y/n) huskily remarks. Their fingers graze over the rough fabric of the cover and they open it to see it was another sketch book. It was probably one she snatched from one of her 'jobs’. She would never say what she did, but that didn’t cause any frustration on (Y/n)’s part. “You always know how to make me feel better…”
“I saw you screaming again,” Clockwork replies, “Did you have another episode?” She sits down on the mattress, crossing her arms.
(Y/n) simply taps at their head, the pads pointing towards their left eye. They suddenly get up from their position, their malnourished body contorting with audible pops. Clockwork watches them with precise movements as they grab for a box under the furniture. (Y/n) opens it, grabbing some paper and two graphite pencils.
“Will you draw with me?” They ask sweetly.
Clockwork looks towards the door, before breathing out. “Alright, but only for a little bit. I’m not supposed to be here.” She places herself on the cold floor as (Y/n) positions the material.
“I’ll show you the new monster I saw tonight. I’ll call it Present Silence…” They muse as they begin to drag the charcoal tip over the clean sheet of paper with eager. Clockwork observes as they wind the black substance in circles. Normal people would call (Y/n)’s art as childish or rubbish, but she was fascinated with it. They drew the way she saw the world.
“Are you not in the mood to draw?” (Y/n) asks, stopping for a moment to look up.
Clockwork hums in response before grabbing the book from (Y/n)’s lap.
“I’m not finished-” They reply, but don’t fight with her as he looks over it.
“Present Silence, you say?”
They nod with a smile. “It suffocated me.”
She gathers her thoughts, before placing a hand on (Y/n)’s head. She brushes her fingers through their hair; these were the hands of a killer. Her hazel eye locks with (Y/n)’s as they wait for a response. She gives them back their art piece and picks herself off the ground.
“Where are you going?” (Y/n) says sadly, “Stay for a little longer?”
Clockwork climbs over the windowsill, her hand holding onto the glass. She glances back, a ghostly tender look veiling over her harsh looking demeanor. “The next time I visit, I’m bringing something special.”
“What you bring me is always special,” They answer.
“See you…” Clockwork says in response, closing the window back to where it was before she entered. Present Silence once again greets the lonely figure within the room.
⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱⏱
︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶ ︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶ ︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶ ︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶ ︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶ ︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶