#i have ocd of course i like security. its also annoying as fuck to sit and wait for a code for five minutes when a site has a laggy respons

[ispyspookymansion]

why does everybody think this post is like a call to action to abolish 2fa. its called Bitching and Complaining. like it sucks that if my phone is dead or i lose it or i change numbers i cant get into my email on my laptop and that it assumes everyone has access to a phone number so its prohibitive when its made mandatory and overall its also just mildly annoying !

first they made it mandatory to log in everywhere. create an account to download your free template Log in to access resource give us your email nowwwww. Now the humble password is being killed too. open your magic email link! type your 6 digit code that we texted you because we required your email and your phone number! we’re gonna call you and whisper a code sweetly in your ear so you can log in to your account. yes it has a password but you cant use that anymore. okay? poob is gonna call you. now poob is just gonna call you.

[moving-blogs-dm-for-new-one]

T*cc* Toby character and story redesign :D

Toby and his family moved across the states after the accident. They were moving to West Virginia, a more rural town surrounded by forest. He didn't want to be there, but he didn't have much of a choice. Really didn't help his mood when his father basically screamed at his mother for the entire three day trip. He was slumped in the back of the car, ticcing uncontrollably, one hour to go on the drive. He winced when his father yelled at him to shut up, sighing and trying to hold his vocal tics, again. Maybe he could make it until they reached the new house.

They reached the house, and he quietly helped unload the car, gently helping his mom climb out. Sighing, he patched her up quietly later in the bathroom, and let her cry on his shoulder, ticcing quietly.

For the next two and a half weeks of summer, Toby pretty much just laid in bed. He didn't have much energy or will to do anything. He would pull out his computer and play some games, but his father broke hit before their trip even began. He pulled out his old ipod from his 14th birthday, and laid back in bed, staring at the ceiling and looping the same playlist on shuffle endlessly to block out his father. Same old, same old.

When school started, he absolutely did not want to be there. His Tourette's was neigh uncontrollable, and he couldn't help but tic through every day. Of course, the other kids in class were horrible to him about it. He was bullied relentlessly, and was beat up on the first day of school, and many days after that. He went home, his mother patched him up, his father mocked him, and he went to lie in bed again. It went on like this for a few weeks. It was August second when his dad broke his mothers nose. They got into a fight and he slammed her head on the counter. Toby was furious, but he quietly patched her up, ignoring his father egging him on.

That night, he had sleep paralysis again for the first time in a month or two, but it was different this time. His eyes opened, and there was a being standing at the end of his bed. He couldn't tell who or what it is. Could have been his father if it wasn't so tall. They stared at each other for around three hours before Toby fell back asleep. He was afraid, yes. But not much bothered him since Lyra died.

He mourned her every day. He never stopped. His mother mourned in silence, afraid, and his father cursed him to move on, but he didn't. He was never one to pray, but he lit candles for her the way she used to, prayed to a god they'd both loved, Dionysus. He cried for her at night. She never left his mind. He missed his sister more than anything in the world. He had a small alter in the back of his closet so his Father wouldn't find it, candles, pictures of her, foods she loved and special items.

Over the course of the next few weeks, Toby began having hallucinations of the creature he saw. It was everywhere. It was in the reflections of mirrors and windows, across the school yard while he was being kicked, at the end of the street when he pulled down his blinds, and behind his eyelids every night when he tried to sleep. He couldn't understand why it was haunting him.

His mother noticed his extreme paranoia, depression, and unrelenting tics/tic attacks, and scheduled him for a meeting with a local psychiatrist. She talked him up for the whole drive, and he smiled and nodded, not wanting to be there but not wanting to further sadden or worry his mother. Her arm was in a sling today. It was bad enough she was driving him.

He met with the psych, sitting down in the office. She asked him how he'd been. He didn't know how to respond, but suddenly felt bitter.

"Fantastic. Obviously that's why mom brought me here."

"I'm sorry, Tobias. I thought I'd let you give your own input." He felt bad for a moment, before wincing at the usage of his full name, getting more frustrated. He hated this already.

"Don't call me that. It's Toby. I'm Toby." He was fighting his vocal tics as he spoke, but his physical tics were getting worse in response, and he saw her flinch and lean a bit further away in his chair. He felt a pang through his heart, immediately angry. But he wouldn't blow up. He wasn't him.

Then he saw the figure behind her.

He didn't even hear what she was saying. He just stared at it. For some reason for as much as he'd been seeing it, he'd never seen it in such clarity, and it was still fuzzing around the edges, almost as if it wasn't fully there. It towered over the back of her chair, slowly leaning down to him.

"Toby," It spoke, and he could barely comprehend its voice. It was garbled, layered, echoed over itself endlessly and buzzed and burned inside his ears. "I want to help you. Let me help you."

He screamed, grabbing a lamp off the side table next to him and whipping it at the creature. He heard the psych scream and froze, whipping his gaze to where she was holding her arms over her face, ceramic and glass sprawled on the floor behind her at the base of the wall. They made eye contact, and he felt sick. He didn't understand. He wanted to say sorry. He suddenly wanted to explain everything. He wanted to say he wasn't him. He wanted his mother. He wanted Lyra.

He passed out.

Toby awoke later in his room, still feeling sick. The lights were out, his room only illuminated by the moonlight casting in through the blinds and the yellow light seeping in from under his doorway. (tw heavy abuse and murder after this) He could hear his parents screaming downstairs. There was a smash, his mother was crying. He jolted upright, tics coming back harshly as he tried to quietly make his way to the top of the stairs, peering down. His father was screaming about him.

"We have to get rid of him, Evelyn," He screamed, furious. "He's a disaster. He's dangerous and annoying and he's a fucking nuisance anyways!! And now I owe that stupid fucking psychiatrist so much goddamn money!! What is wrong with you!!" His mother cowered away from him, shaking, but angry as well.

"We are NOT getting rid of our SON, Greg! He's just scared and sick!" Toby winced at the phrasing of "sick", but continued watching, listening. He felt static pulling at the edges of his vision, but ignored it, honing his eyes in on his father.

"He goes. Tonight, or tomorrow, your choice, Evelyn, but he's fucking going. He's young enough to get thrown at the orphanage." He took a large swig of beer, stumbling slightly, and Toby twitched, hands tightening so much on the railing bars he thought he might splinter them.

"No. He is not." His mother shook, standing up to him, fists clenched. He stopped, and both Toby and his mother held their breath.

"Excuse me?"

"He's not going. No."

The next few minutes were a blur. His mother was hurt, and hurt bad. She was crying, and his father was screaming at her. The living room was trashed. Toby ran down the stairs and his father heard, spinning around and screaming after him as he darted into the garage, heart thumping almost as loud as Greg's thundering footsteps. He found his fathers old hatchets in the back of the garage, his blood pumping in his ears. Everything was hazy and the static crept further into his vision.

"Let me help you."

He spun around, hatchets gripped tight in his hands as he shook and ticced. His father tore into the room, drunk and furious. He saw Toby bearing the hatchets and laughed deliriously.

"Now what are you gonna do with those, boy?" Toby almost blacked out at the name, screaming and sprinting forwards. A mass fight ensued, the two of them struggling against each other to gain headway, Toby's mother screaming in the background. Toby pinned him down. He spat curses and slurs and all kinds of horrible things about him, his mother, his sister, Lyra. He raised the hatchet, and brought it down on his skull. Blood sprayed and his mother distantly screamed in horror, but he didn't stop. Another swing, another, another, another, another. Tears poured down his face, but he didn't feel it, notice, or care. His arms stopped swinging. He looked up. His mother was holding his arms gently, but securely, the creature standing behind her, looming over the both of them. He was towering.

"Toby," She whispered. "That's enough. He's dead, love." He looked down, sniffling and ticcing, and he was.

She helped him up quietly, and he whimpered.

"Are you gonna turn me in?" She stared at him, then shook her head.

"You're my son. I'm not getting rid of you."

She cleaned him up quietly in the bathroom, and held him close as he cried, openly, for the first time in months. He clung to her, whimpering and ticcing and sobbing, and told her everything. She listened quietly, gently soothing him and brushing his hair. Eventually, she shushed him gently, making him look at her.

"We have to go, love. Quickly. You can tell me more once we're gone, okay?" He nodded, sniffling and taking her hand. They gathered their things, climbed into their car. She paused. Got back out. They lit the house together, and watched it burn for a moment. He felt the presence behind him, and saw his mother take his hand.

"Come on honey," She whispered. "Lets go."

They never looked back.

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Toby: (notes)

- 6'3", 17 years old, tall and broad. Always been heavier set and naturally slightly chubby, and decently strong.

- Has a nerve issue from birth where he can't feel a good 70% of his body, mostly the upper half and patches of the lower.

- Nonbinary (He/they/it), and pansexual. Gender dysphoric. Occasionally tucks and wears bras and other things sometimes.

- Has Tourette's, OCD, BPD, PTSD, Manic, ADHD, depression, s/icidal tendencies, struggles with compulsive sh, and has mild paranoid schizophrenia.

- Sees the Slenderman more than his mother, but she can see it on occasion. It doesn't hurt them. Guides them more or less. Helps Toby target similar individuals to his father.

- Stims a lot by cracking his knuckles, flapping his hands, tapping his foot and cracking his neck. (I also have a list of his tics!!)

- Loves his mother and Lyra so goddamn much

Evelyn: (notes)

- 43 years old, 5'2", small but definitely not frail. Will fuck you up if needed. Doesn't take shit anymore after leaving her husband. Also bisexual queen

- Huge soft spot for kids, and Toby. Loves Toby so much and lets him basically get away with everything (not that he uses this for any harm to her or those who don't deserve it)

- Knows Toby is a serial killer, assists him with some cleanup/travel/medical care/etc. Reminds him to take care of himself/cooks for him/helps drive him around/etc

- Takes up cooking and martial arts as hobbies

- Loves her son so so so much he's so stupid and crazy but she adores him and would do anything for him

- Do NOT fuck with power duo Evelyn and Tobias Rodgers they WILL destroy you