Intelligent Idiots' Playground

Because of the grief, WX-78 put themself headfirst into trying to complete Woodrow’s work to make it into what was meant to be the true goal, not a copy but a moving of the consciousness. They end up growing hate for the human within them because of the pain of (familial) love and grief. Wagstaff doesn’t like WX’s research because it reminds him of Woodrow, and they end up fighting. This ends up with Wagstaff destroying WX’s research in a fit of anger and grief, but it isn’t enough.

WX-78 reminds Wagstaff of Woodrow in every way. The way they talk, walk, get excited about the moon and machinery and love to pretend to be evil. And the way they cry. It’s too much for him. Wagstaff cannot bear to be even in the same dimension of WX, so he pushed them into the portal.

Within the events of Don’t Starve, WX-78 disconnects their core in a final gambit to escape their grief. It works, but not fully. They remember the experiment, but do not remember they’re a copy. They remember they and Wagstaff experimented with the Constant, but not that they were forced in. They remember their love of being evil, but forgot it was just pretend.

In Disconnected, they remember the truth. That they are not the real Woodworth, just a copy. They remember the grief, the arguments, the final fight. The pain causes them to crush their core, but the memories still stay, just without their feelings, besides anger. Anger at Wagstaff for being a fool, not letting them save him. Anger at him destroying their research. Anger at him for getting them stuck in the Constant while he is free. So they mask even harder, hoping that if they pretend to be emotionless, that all emotions would fade, and with them, the memories.

AND THE THING IS, IS THIS ISN’T EVEN A HEADCANON BECAUSE THE LORE’S VAGUE ON WHETHER WX IS A HUMAN TURNED INTO A ROBOT OR A ROBOT WHO THINKS THEY WERE.

“God fucking dammit!” looseleaf growled, slamming the HOOT door open. “I want him dead!”

“Hey, hey.” OJ spoke softly. “What’s going on?”

“I just- I just need to punch something so I don’t get us arrested for murder!”

“Well, I replaced the punching bag in the basement from last week.” OJ suggested.

“Thank you!” looseleaf snapped. It was kind of endearing how his aggressive tone always remained.

“You’re welcome!” he called, as he stomped down the stairs.

🖇️

OJ knocked on the closet door, a small yelp coming out from behind the door.

“scrap? Are you in there?” He knew the answer, but he had to be patient with the little guy. Slow and careful, as calm as possible. Take things at his pace.

“Mhm…” came the shaky answer from the other side.

“Hey buddy, can I come in?” he asked, quiet and calm.

“Please… need-” he hiccuped. “Need you…”

“Alright honey.” he opened the door slowly and slipped inside, closing it just as slowly behind him.

The closet was illuminated by fairy lights, showing the little cuddled up in his nest of blankets, pillows, and stuffed animals, kept on the floor for times like these when he needed a safe place to hide.

“Hi kiddo. Can I sit here?” he asked. Scrap responded with grabby hands and big, teary eyes.

He took his seat next to him, and opened his arms. Scrap shoved himself into his chest, and the two hugged.

“What happened? Do you wanna talk about it?”

The little shook his head.

“Alright, it’s alright. We can just sit here for a while, okay?”

“Mhm…” he pressed his head further into OJ’s chest, as his caretaker ran his fingers gently through his hair

🖇️

“OJ! OJ!” OJ opened his eyes, glancing up at draft from his lawn chair.

“Yeah?” he asked the teen.

“Do you wanna hear about the ethics of cannibalism?” oh god, what rabbit hole did he find to entertain himself with today?

“Sure, why not?” Given what had happened many times before, OJ knew there was a 50/50 chance he would come out of this with a new outlook on the world.

“Okay, so, the main issue with cannibalism is, you know, killing people to eat them. But we know from events like those plane crashes and stuff where people had no food that it’s completely acceptable to eat people who are already dead if you have to! So, it doesn’t really make sense why people won’t just eat people who died of natural causes, and will instead opt to kill animals for meat! When you think about it, it’s really messed up! We value a dead body more than a living animal! If I was a chicken, I’d be really mad that someone decided to kill me when there was perfectly good meat sitting right there…”

And he continued on and on, talking a million miles a minute. OJ did his best to keep up, even if the middle’s enthusiasm could be hard to hold onto without being left behind.

Overall, OJ was pretty sure one of them would be a vegetarian by the end of this.

🖇️

“OJ?” to-do list grabbed his attention.

“Yeah?” OJ responded, looking up from his book.

“I’ll be out for a few minutes, I need to pick up some cleaning supplies.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that. I saw we were running low, so I picked some of everything up.”

“...I’m sorry, but I don’t believe you have the ability to pick up the right things.” she dismissed.

OJ had long since gotten used to list being dismissive of him. She was a bit strong in her sense of independence, and didn’t always appreciate others ‘butting into the system's life’ as she put it. "We're fine on our own’ she often insisted.

“Then check under the sink.” OJ suggested.

She stared at him for a moment, before opening the cupboard door. She examined each item to make sure it was correct.

“Very well.” she sighed, returning to the bedroom without another word.

🖇️

“I-I’m sorry…” obituary cried as OJ ran the washcloth over the cuts on his arm.

“Shh… it’s alright.” OJ calmly reassured. “You shouldn’t have hurt yourself, because it’s bad for you, but I’m not mad.”

This routine had thankfully become less common over the years, but there were slip ups every now and again. And when they happened, OJ knew he had to be gentle and calm. If obituary thought he was mad at him, he’d feel the need to ‘punish’ himself again.

“I’m so sorry… I-I just had to, and I know I shouldn’t have, but I just did, and-and-”

“Shh…” OJ continued to calm him. “I know, baby. I know. But it’s over now, and we’re gonna get you all patched up, alright?”

“A-alright…”

“Good, so good. You’re doing so good. We’re gonna bandage this up now, and it’ll be all better.” he placed a gentle kiss on his forehead.

“O-okay…” he nodded as OJ pulled out the bandages.

🖇️

“Daddy! Daddy! Watch!” sketch called from the top of the play structure. It was a bit small for his fully grown body, but his slim and short frame made it less of a squeeze.

“I’m watching!” OJ confirmed.

The syskid threw himself down the slide, landing on the soft grass.

“Good job!” OJ applauded as the little ran towards him.

“Can-can you push me on the swings?”

“Sure thing kiddo.” he ruffled his hair, before the little grabbed his hand and started pulling him towards the swingset.

🖇️

OJ took a deep breath, preparing himself. Someone had to do this, and that person was almost always him. Not like he minded much, he was used to dealing like people like her from his time running the hotel.

He knocked on the door. “Hey, sheet music?”

“Fuck off!” she snarled from behind the door.

“I, uh, brought you something.”

“I don’t want your shit cooking! I’d rather starve and make you dig my grave!”

“Okay, just listen.” OJ pleaded. “I know you’re mad about your guitar, but I brought you a replacement.”

There was silence for a moment, then shuffling, and then sheet music was staring him down, looking the smallest bit pleased he was telling the truth when she saw the guitar in his hands.

She pulled it from his hands, and slammed the door. A few minutes later, he could hear her testing the chords.

No one heard her grumbling for the rest of the day.

🖇️

Page whined, fussing as the bottle warmed in the microwave.

“I know sweetie, I know.” he gently patted the infant's hair.

Her eyes were screwed shut tightly, another whine building in the back of her throat.

“Shh, it's alright. Daddy’s right here.”

The microwave finally beeped, and he took the bottle out, carrying both it and page to the couch. He laid her in his lap, supporting her head with his hand, and brought the bottle to her mouth. She took it instantly, scrunched up face finally relaxing.

“There we go, all better. I told you I wouldn’t let you starve.” he was practically talking to himself, since page didn’t seem to understand most words, but she liked his voice, so why not speak?

He continued holding her, relaxing into the couch, happy to be able to help her.

🖇️

“Oh my god…” paper mumbled, amazed. “OJ, try this!” He took another forkful of the dish, and held it up to OJ’s mouth.

He accepted, taking it into his mouth. His eyes widened.

“Wow…” he muttered after swallowing.

“I know, right!”

“Who’s even cooking tonight?” OJ asked.

“Definitly not trophy.” paper snarked.

“Oh my god, you’re terrible!” OJ laughed.

“No, I’m honest.” paper refuted. 

OJ sighed, looking back at paper from across the table. “You’re perfect.”

“Thank you. You’re… close enough.”

“Oh my god!” OJ broke down laughing yet again. “God, I love you.” he reached across the table, and took paper’s hand in his own.

Victim - it/its, unlabeled

This I actually have more behind than just vibes… for it, it/its was purposefully dehumanizing because it didn’t feel fully like a human and/or wished it wasn’t human so Alan’s actions wouldn’t have hurt as much, but as it healed, how it used it/its also changed and it used it/its in a more reclaiming/confident way, like “you may have not viewed me as a person, you viewed me as a thing for your enjoyment. Maybe I was made that way, but I am also more than your plaything” dialectical thinking iykyk

Red - she/he/it (idk order, doesn’t matter, idk gender either)

Green - he/they, cis man

Blue - it/its, genderfluid

Purple - any/all pronouns, pangender

This is another purposeful one, and the reason I made them use any pronouns and have her be pangender is I wanted to purposefully show that abuse/dysfunctional families (unsure which it is since I haven’t seen any statements) can happen to anyone so I showed that in pronoun choice

King/Orange/Mango (I have seen so many names for this guy) - he/him, cis male

Gold - he/it, cis male

In my AvA/AvM headcanon, it/its pronouns are extremely normalized and common (lots of people use them) because of none of them actually being humans, all of them being creations of humans… i like it/its pronouns

An Italian restaurant was an interesting choice for OJ to go along with. He’d never even tried it before, but just agreed anyway. Paper just made him stupid like that, he supposed. That was probably against his better judgment, he shouldn’t get too comfortable too early. He couldn’t risk…

No! No, no, no! He was not going to start thinking like that. Salt was in jail, and paper was kind. This would all be fine.

He was escorted to the reserved table, where paper was already seated. Seeing him made OJ feel underdressed. Here he was, in a casual first date button up, while paper was dressed in a long, flowing sundress, the colour going through different shades of blue in a gradient. And were those jewels scattered about?

“Um… wow.” he couldn’t help but stare. “You look beautiful.”

“Oh, thanks! I wanted to make a good first impression- at least, first proper face-to-face impression.” he blushed. “And, um, you’re pretty too. Your outfit and, well, you.”

“The-thank you!” he tried to keep the wobble out of his voice. It was just a compliment, nothing to be afraid of. “I’m-I’m OJ.”

He held his hand out, and paper happily shook it, letting go as soon as OJ pulled away.

“OJ… I like that name. It suits you.”

“Thank you, you’re too sweet…”

“Oh, no! I just try to be kind. Treat others how you wish to be treated, you know?”

“Uh, yeah, I get that. It’s a pretty nice way to live.” OJ agreed.

“Yeah…” paper smiled. “Oh! Right, feel free to order whatever you’d like, I’ll pay!”

“What? No, no, we can split the bill.” OJ retorted.

“OJ, do I look like I’m hurting for cash? I chose the restaurant, it’s only fair you don’t have to pay.”

“I guess this is just the problem with being gay. Who picks up the bill?” OJ joked.

Paper giggled. “I guess you’re right.”

The waiter came by their table to ask for their drink orders. Paper ordered some sort of wine, while OJ settled on orange juice.

“Would you like that as a cocktail, or..?” the waiter asked.

“No, no, I don’t drink.” OJ explained.

The waiter moved on, leaving them alone once again.

“If… if I can ask, why did you choose, you know, your job?” paper asked.

OJ went quiet for a moment, lost in thought.

“It-it’s okay if it’s a sensitive subject! You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to-”

“No, no, it’s alright.” OJ reassured. “I guess I just… wanted attention. Is that bad?” He could hardly meet paper’s eyes. “I mean, I wanted to help people, of course! But I wanted that help to be visible, acknowledged.”

“I completely understand that. You deserve credit for your work, however you wish to receive it.”

“...sometimes I think I made the wrong choice. That-that if I’d just become a nurse, or a doctor, things would be… different. I know they would have been different if I just… wasn’t so full of myself.”

“...that must weigh heavy on your mind, huh?” paper asked.

“Yeah, it does.”

Paper fidgeted around, a bit uncomfortable. “We don’t have to think about that right now, if it bothers you. We can just… try to forget for tonight, if you’d like.”

“Yeah, I think I’d like that.” OJ smiled. “So, what about you? Why did you become a reporter?”

“Well, it’s a bit corny coming off what you said, but I also wanted to help people. I thought I could help bring awareness to things happening in the world. The truth, you know? Not just what sells. Actual reporting.”

“That's admirable. You’re a better man than me.”

“Oh no, nothing close! I could never be as brave as you are.”

“I’m not brave.”

“You are. You keep coming back to the job, everyday, no matter how hard or scary it gets. It's heroic.”

“Heh, you’re too kind to be real.” OJ sighed.

“No, no! Not at all! There’s… a lot to me you don’t see. You wouldn't be saying that if you knew about the other parts.”

“I don’t think any part of someone like you could be that bad.”

“It’s not that simple.” paper looked away.

“Are-are you okay?”

“...OJ, I have something I need to tell you.” They locked eyes again.

“Uh, alright.” he nodded.

“I-I want to be transparent with you, you don’t ever have to talk to me again if it scares you.” he took a deep breath. “I have dissociative identity disorder. That means that I have multiple people in my head. I’m just one part of ‘me’. That’s why I’m so ‘perfect’ seeming. I’m the ‘empathetic’ part of our mind. The kind one, who deals with people. Everything else is held onto by others. All of the baggage that comes with people is held onto by someone else, separated from me. So, yeah. That’s why I’m like this, because I’m just what people want to see.”

“...oh.” OJ was expecting a lot of things, but not that. “So, you were born with multiple personalities?”

“Uh, no. I-we used to be one person, when we were a kid. But… something happened, and it was too much for that kid to handle, so his mind just… broke.”

“And, you’re one of those pieces? The ‘part people want to see’?”

“Y-yeah.” paper confirmed. “I’m sorry if that’s too much for you, but I understand.”

“I may not understand everything, but… I’d love to meet the other ‘you’s. If you’d want me to, of course.”

“I-I’d love that!” paper smiled. “I-oh god, I'm crying, I’m so sorry. I-I’m just so happy! I was worried I’d be too much for you, just like I’m always too much for everyone else… too broken”

“Well, my mind didn’t break, but I’m pretty broken too, I'd say. So, I’m no one to judge.”

“Well then,” paper wiped a tear from his eye, and held out his hand. “Let’s be broken together.”