Chapter Text
Waxwell sniffled quietly, his eyeliner smudging as he pressed his knees to his chest.
Why do they like him?
They're not supposed to like him.
He was supposed to be evil, mean, rude, bad...
And he failed at that.
He fails at everything.
Why can't he do anything right?
He huffed quietly, staring at the ceiling.
Shrimpo can do it.
He can do everything.
He can make everyone hate him, he can be evil, mean rude, bad, and he's good at it.
Oh, how Waxwell wished that were him.
He grabbed at his right pocket, feeling the ridges of his carpet cutter.
He had found it in some boxes while trying to prank the circus trio, which backfired, of course.
He wondered, should he do it?
Should he cut himself again?
Why was the cutter the first thing his mind went to whenever something slightly infuriating happened?!
Should he really do it again?
No.
He was going to change.
He was going to learn how to be a mean bully like Shrimpo.
The candle collected himself, and took a deep breath.
His chest hurt as he exhaled.
He winced at the pain, but ignored it, wiping his eyes.
He got up, fixed up his eyeliner at his mirror, and opened the door to his room.
He walked around, scanning the room for the shrimp.
He was going to ask him how he does it.
He was going to ask him to teach him how to be a proper antagonist.
As humiliating as it was, it would be worth it.
Definitely.
Waxwell looked everywhere for Shrimpo.
Strangely, he wasn't even in his room.
He groaned and flipped his waxy hair back, causing clumps of it to fall on the wooden floor.
Where would he be?
"Shut the fuck up, your puns suck ass."
The candles eyes lit up.
There he was!
Shrimpo's voice was coming from the cafeteria.
Who was he talking to?
He peeked over, recognizing Shrimpo and... Finn?
Why was he hanging out with Finn?
He should be hanging out with him- with Waxwell-!
No, he was not jealous.
He just wanted to talk to Shrimpo a bit, but of course that fishbowl had to be in the way.
Finn looked up, noticing Waxwell.
"Hey there, what'cha doing? You up to somefin?"
He asked, throwing in a pun.
Waxwel clenched his teeth.
"Uh- No,"
He snapped.
"Aside from like, evil stuff!"
Shrimpo scoffed.
What?
Did he think he was not cool?
But he was an antagonist- a bully...
He had to like Waxwell!
He pointed at Shrimpo.
"I- I bet you'd like to join me, huh?",
He said, his voice cracking slightly.
Why did he say that?
Why would he say that?!
Shrimpo grimaced.
"Fucking fag, I hate you even more than him",
He yelled, gesturing at Finn, who beamed at the thought of Shrimpo hating him a little less.
Waxwells face heated up.
He really fucked up now.
"Uh- I mean.."
His mind already raced to the carpet cutter.
Holy fucking shit.
"Nevermind... I'll just- Uh, I'll be evil by myself, then!"
He smirked, trying to hide his eyes watering.
"You can join me once you decide to... uhhm, be cool and evil!"
He ran off towards his room, the grin falling from his face as soon as he was alone.
He shut the door behind him, waxy tears dripping down again.
He kneeled down, leaning against the door.
He sniffled quietly, wiping his cheeks.
He noticed some eyeliner smudging on the back of his wax hands.
Great, he smudged it again.
Now he'll have to fix it once more.
How annoying.
He barely noticed how he already pulled out his carpet cutter.
New tears streamed down his face as he held the carpet cutter to his wrist, and slit it, lightly at first.
He said he was going to stop.
He said he was going to get better.
He said he wouldn't fail again.
But he did.
So, what was the point of stopping now?
He adjusted his grip, and slashed his wrist again, much deeper this time.
Ichor spilled out instantly, dripping onto his shirt.
He cried quietly, remembering what the shrimp said.
Why did the one person he cared about dislike him?
He didn't care if any of the other toons hated him.
Hell, he wanted the other toons to hate him.
As long as Shrimpo doesn't.
But he does.
He said it time and time again, that he hates him the most.
He sighed, stroking his sore wrist with his thumb.
The black ichor smudged, just like his eyeliner.
Waxwell looked up at the ceiling.
Were those stars, or just the sparks of his flame?
He walked over to his nightstand, threw the carpet cutter on his bed and opened the drawer, pulling out a bandage.
He wrapped it over his wound, not bothering to clean it up at all.
What has he done?
Just another desperate attempt to be heard, or what?
He picked up the mirror that lay on his desk.
He looked pathetic.
The black of the eyeliner streamed down his face, completely messed up, and his eyebags were even more visible than before, with the pink tearstained tint.
He grabbed a tissue, and removed his runny eyeliner again.
He picked up the eyeliner pencil that lay among various other makeup products in a sloppy manner, and applied it evenly.
Atleast he was good at something.
Alright.
He was going to try again.
He was going to atleast try asking Shrimpo about his initial point, instead of initiating that he was better than the shrimp.
He could never be better than him.
He could barely even talk to him, let alone pull proper pranks.
What was the candles problem?
What should he change?
Should he frown more often, like Shrimpo and let go of his snarky grin?
Whatever it is, if it means finally being a bad antagonist, he'd do it.
Was that stupid?
Was that silly?
Hell, he couldn't even think of how depressed it mad him with a straight face.
It was dumb as fuck.
Who would go so far just because they want people to dislike them?!
Waxwell did.
He was stupid, silly and dumb as fuck.
He wanted people to dislike him.
So what, if it makes no sense for you.
It made sense for him.
It was the only thing that felt right for him.
He didn't know why.
It just did.
That's when he heard Sprout call everyone for dinner.
Maybe some food will help him come up with more evil plans.
Yes, that should definitely work!
He got up, quickly scurrying to the cafeteria.
He sat down at the table, and absolutely devoured half the plate of pasta Sprout and Cosmo made them.
As much as he hated to admit it, he loved their cooking.
Whenever he tried to cook himself, he ended up burning the food with his flame.
Cosmo said, it tasted "deliciously charred".
He didn't believe the cake toon one bit.
Maybe he didn't want to believe him.
He just wanted to do something evil for once without it completely backfiring.
Great, remembering that made him lose his appetite.
He looked at his plate, which now looked nothing but disqusting.
What was wrong with him?
That's when he noticed Shrimpo, who was gobbling up his food in speeds he didn't know were possible.
Waxwell took that as a challenge, and started to scarf down his own plate.
Toxic motivation was still motivation, after all.
"Waxwell!!"
Waxwell glanced up, to find Goob sitting in front of him.
"My sister said that eating your food so quickly can be dangerous",
The craft said, staring wide-eyed at the candle.
"Wha- Well... that's all part of my evil plan!",
He said, still chewing on his food, surprised that he was talking to him.
"Woaah... what's your evil plan?"
Waxwell froze.
He hadn't thought of that yet.
"Y-you wouldn't know because you're not evil! And after all, it wouldn't be a good- er.. bad evil plan if someone knows",
He educated the craft, fumbling with his hands.
"Ohh... Well, I don't wanna be evil so that's fine!",
Goob cheered, struggling to pick up spoonfuls of pasta with his claws.
Waxwell frowned.
He had hoped to maybe find a sidekick, although there was no way Goob of all toons would do anything slightly evil.
He finished his food, leaving his plate at the table to show his lack of care about manners, and thankfully it gave him several ideas for pranks.
He got up and rushed to his room.
The candle grabbed his notebook and pen, and plopped onto his bed.
He was going to write down his evil plans to make sure they were really immaculate.
He started writing about his plans to steal all of Brightney's papers and pens, so she could never write lists again!
It sounded like a perfectly evil plan.
In fact, he was going to do it right now.
Waxwell jumped out of his bed, and towards Brightney's room.
He dramatically sneaked around, hiding behind corners and crates.
Finally, he reached the lamp's room.
Waxwell immediately found a drawer full of pens and paper.
He grabbed the papers, and started burning them with his flame.
This was truly an evil plan.
Brightney was going to hate it-!
After he burned all of the paper he found, he grabbed the pens.
How was he going to get rid of those?
He could only imagine the horrible stench of burnt plastic, so that definitely wasn't an option.
He'll just throw them into the trash.
He walked towards the nearest trashcan, and threw them in with no second thought.
That's when he heard some familiar laughs and distant voices.
"Pfft- that's so dumb."
"You laughed!"
"No I didn't, jackass!"
"Yes you did, Don't even deny it, I made you laugh!"
Shrimpo and Finn
Why were they always together?
Waxwell furrowed his brows, sighing.
"Fuck you, get your ass out of my room!",
Shrimpo yelled, laughing.
He actually sounded happy for once.
Happier than that candle could ever make him.
"Alright, if you say so Shrimpy~",
Finn singsang, throwing the door open.
He stopped in his tracks when he saw Waxwell.
"Oh, it's you again. Water you need??",
He asked, curiously.
"Uh- well, I",
He stuttered, frozen in place.
"Hey, Shrimpo, I think he wants somefin from ya",
Finn said, pointing at the candle.
"Who?"
Shrimpo asked, leaning over to see a somewhat nervous Waxwell.
"Oh, you."
"Uh, hello Shrimpo!",
Waxwell said, fidgeting with his nails.
"I'm gonna bail",
Finn said, leaving to his own room to give them some time alone.
"What do you want?",
Shrimpo snapped, after Finn left.
"Well... I thought since we- since we are both antagonists, we should team up!"
The candle stammered, trying to appear more confident than he truly was.
"And, uhm- you could show me your evil plans and all, whatd'ya say?"
He added, eyes darting nervously around the room.
"Fuck no, is this some kinda confession?",
He snapped back, turning his head away.
"W-what? No, this is an alliance request!",
Waxwell said defensively, balling up his fists.
"Haven't I told you already? I hate your ass more than every other toon combined, so back the fuck off",
Shrimpo yelled, gesturing at the candle to leave.
"But why?! Why do you hate me so much, what'd I ever do to you?",
Waxwell snapped, confused.
"Why do ya' think? You act like we're so close, when we are not. And you act so fucking miserable all the time, when everyone likes you!"
"But you dont",
He replied, quieter than before.
"Suck it up. I couldn't give less of a shit."
Shrimpo turned his back to the candle toon and disappeared into his room, slamming his door shut.
Waxwell felt fresh tears sting his eyes.
Again.
Gosh, why was he so sensitive?
Villains aren't supposed to be sensitive, they're supposed to be-... like Shrimpo.
No Waxwell, don't cry yet.
Atleast wait till you reach your room.
His flame was burning more furious than ever before.
Don't cry.
Don't cry.
Don't you dare cry.
He wouldn't cry.
Shrimpo wouldn't.
Yeah, that was not comforting him.
He marched towards his room as fast as he could.
This day was the absolute worst.
"Hey, Waxwell",
Brightney said, popping her head out of her door.
Waxwell hadn't even noticed her enter her room.
Was she there during his and Shrimpo's conversation too?
"Thanks for clearing out the papers and pens!"
"W-what?"
Brightney tilted her head.
"You.. threw away my used pens for me, and got rid of the paper I didn't need. Or was that someone else?"
Waxwell felt his flame growing three times as large, and his eyes becoming much much more watery.
"Waxwell? You good?",
Brightney asked, reaching out for his shoulder with her hand, which he slapped away before running off to his room, crying miserably.
Great.
Not only was his relationship with Shrimpo ruined, his evil plan failed and he made a fool of himself in front of Brightney-!
This day couldn't get any worse.
This was the third time he cried this day.
How pathetic could a toon possibly be?
He locked his door shut, and stood behind it, crying.
He didn't care about who heard him anymore.
He just cried, while his flame filled his room with smoke.
He uselessly wiped his tears, but with every handful he wiped away, three more came.
Then he felt it all coming up.He covered his mouth with right hand, and used the left one to guide him to his bathroom.
Waxwell leaned above the toilet, only seconds before this days dinner came out in wet, painful, acidic clumps.
He clutched his stomach tightly, removing his face from the porcelain bowl, only for a second round to come.
More acidic, more painful, interrupted by occasional hic's.
It hurt and burned his throat like hell.
What was happening?
Being a little sad shouldn't make him vomit like this.
He gasped, as another smaller load came out.
He wasn't even aware that he ate this much today.
He panted heavily, and crouched before the toilet bowl for another five minutes until nothing came out.
He got up with dizzy steps and grabbed the nearest towel and wiped his mouth clean.
How gross.
The candle clenched his stomach.
His tears never stopped flowing.
Now he was just covered in tears snot and vomit.
He flushed the toilet to hide any evidence of what happened just now.
With painful steps, he made his way to the sink and rinsed his mouth out.
It tasted disqusting.
Atleast this distracted him from his rage, and made his flame glow dimmer.
But, now that he remembered it, it grew back to its former large size.
He didn't even dare to look at himself in the mirror.
He knew he looked absolutely hideous, anyway.
A mere piece of glass didn't need to prove that to him.
He knew that very well himself.
He clutched his face, crying into his hands.
His nose was runny, so he went to his nightstand to grab a tissue.
He laid down in his bed, and blew his nose.
Why was he like this?
Couldn't he just be tough and thick-skinned like Vee, Brusha, or Shrimpo?
Why was he like this?
He adjusted his position, and felt something hard at his feet.
He fished it out from under his blanket.
It was his carpet cutter.
He frowned, shoving it into his pocket.
His flame grew even brighter from his upsetness.
He can't do this.
He can't cut twice in a day.
He opened the blade, and ripped off his bandages.
Both of his wrists were already absolutely wrecked.
Where could he possibly let out this anger now?
He pulled up the hem of his jeans to his thigh.
That was good enough.
He slid the cutter across his thigh, leaving a large wound.
Ichor dripped down his legs.
He grabbed a handful of tissues in a desperate attempt not to stain his sheets.
He managed to mostly save his sheets, aside from a few drops of ichor.
He could already feel his flame growing smaller, calmer.
He took a few deep breaths, and grabbed the blade tighter.
He held it above his skin again, cutting again.
He didn't cut too deep, not wanting to deal with the mess of the ichor, but it still bled horribly.
Why did two mere cuts cause such a mess?
After the blood had mostly stopped flowing, he wrapped his thighs in bandages sloppily.
His eyes darted to the carpet cutter.
New tears filled his eyes.
Because he can't just be a normal toon that doesn't cry at every given moment. He really was no better than squirm.
Why did he always do this?
He huffed, throwing the knife across the room.
As it slid across the floor, it went under his door and out into the hallway.
Oh no.
Waxwell scurried to his feet, and slammed the door open.
He quickly leaned down to pick up the cutter.
When he looked up, he saw none other than Goob.
"You look like you need big hug!"