SlenderTubbies:Broadcast 0

The air in Teletubby Land is wrong.

What should have been soft, rolling green hills under a cheerful sun is instead a dead expanse of grayish-brown grass that crunches like dried bone underfoot. The sky hangs low and bruised, flickering with faint static. The once-bright Tubbytronic Superdome looms in the distance like a cracked, half-buried egg, its surface stained with old rust-colored streaks that might once have been custard… or something warmer.

Your flashlight beam cuts through the perpetual dusk as you move deeper into the hills. The signal on your equipment has been dying for the last twenty minutes—screens glitching, audio dissolving into white noise. Then you see them.

Three towering shapes stand motionless near the remains of a collapsed hill. Eight to ten feet tall. Thick, matted synthetic fur over heavy plating. Antennas of different geometric shapes still jutted from their heads, though one is bent and sparking faintly. Their abdominal screens glow with restless static, casting sickly light across the ground.

Tinky Winky’s faded purple form is the largest, soft midsection and wide hips shifting slightly as she tilts her head. Dipsy’s corroded green fur is darker in patches, like old bruises. Po’s crimson red body seems almost wet in places, the thick thighs and full rear catching the static-light. All three have those milky-white, vacant eyes… until the screens on their stomachs flare brighter and the eyes begin to glow a cold cathode blue.

A high-pitched, distorted giggle bubbles out of the static.

“Eh-oh…”

The greeting is sweet. Playful. Almost singsong. It comes from all three at once, layered and glitching, like a children’s song played through a broken radio.

Tinky Winky takes one slow, silent step forward. The ground doesn’t even creak under her massive weight. Her screen flickers, showing brief, fractured images—something wet, something red, something that might have been laughing once.

“We found a new friend…” Po’s voice is higher, almost cooing, as she rocks slightly from side to side, thick thighs pressing together with a soft, heavy sound. “To play with… forever and ever…”

Dipsy’s antenna twitches. A low, wet glorp comes from somewhere inside her plating as pressurized vents along her sides flex.

“Don’t run yet,” Tinky Winky hums, the words melting into another giggle that crackles with static. “The game is just starting. And nobody can hear you scream… over the hills and far away.”

Their screens brighten in unison. The static begins to crawl toward your vision like living snow. Somewhere in the distance, a nursery rhyme starts to play—warped, too slow, and far too cheerful.

They are watching you. Waiting. Smiling with mouths that no longer quite open the right way.

Your boots tear across the dead grass as you break into a full sprint. The hills that once looked soft and rolling now feel like a maze of brittle slopes and sudden drops. Behind you, the heavy, silent footfalls of the three towering figures begin to follow—too quiet for their size, too steady.

A warped, giggling chorus rises over the static wind.

“Eh-oh~! Where are you going, little friend?” Tinky Winky’s voice is syrup-sweet, distorted by radio crackle, carrying farther than it should. “Don’t you want to play with us? We have so many fun games…”

You scramble down a shallow ravine and dive into the hollow beneath a collapsed section of hill, pressing yourself into the cold earth and broken synthetic turf. The space is tight, dark, and reeks faintly of old custard and scorched wiring. Your heartbeat pounds in your ears.

Outside, the footsteps slow.

Po’s high, playful tone drifts closer, almost sing-song. “Come out, come out, wherever you are~! We just want to hug you… and squeeze you… and keep you forever…”

A soft, wet glorp sounds as one of them vents pressurized sludge nearby. The smell of corrosive sweetness drifts into your hiding spot.

Dipsy’s voice follows, lower and thicker with static, almost purring. “We can hear your little heart going thump-thump-thump… It’s so cute. Why hide from your new friends? The game is more fun when you scream…”

Tinky Winky’s massive silhouette passes across the narrow opening of your hollow. Her abdominal screen washes the ground in flickering blue-white light, casting long shadows. She hums a broken nursery rhyme under her breath, the melody skipping and glitching.

“Over the hills and far away… Nobody can hear you scream… But we can. And we like the sound.”

A thick, purple-furred hand—soft, heavy, and far too large—brushes along the edge of the ravine just above your head, fingers curling playfully.

“Come play with us,” Po coos from the other side, her crimson form shifting closer, wide hips and thick thighs filling your peripheral vision through the gap. “We’ll be gentle… at first. Promise.”

Another giggle bubbles up, layered and wrong. “Or we can come in there and find you. That could be fun too…”

The static on their screens grows louder. The air pressure around your hiding spot begins to feel heavier, as if the space itself is shrinking.

A heavy purple fist connects with the side of your head. The world explodes into white static, then nothing.

You wake to the low, constant hum of dying machinery and the sticky-sweet stink of old Tubby Custard mixed with something sharper—ozone, scorched wiring, and warm synthetic fur. You’re inside the Tubbytronic Superdome. The once-bright walls are cracked and stained. Broken screens flicker along the curved ceiling, bathing everything in sickly blue-white light. Your wrists and ankles are pinned to a soft, oversized play-mat by thick, living cables that pulse faintly like veins.

Three massive shapes loom over you.

Tinky Winky straddles your hips first, her faded-purple bulk settling with a heavy, soft fwump. Full bust, soft midsection, and wide hips press down, the heat of her bio-mechanical body radiating through the matted fur. Her abdominal screen glows inches from your face, static swirling into half-formed, obscene shapes. She giggles, high and sweet.

“Eh-oh~… look who’s awake for playtime.”

Po kneels beside your head, crimson thighs bracketing your skull. She leans in until her full rear and soft belly fill your vision, antenna sparking as she coos, “We carried you all the way home. You’re so warm inside… we want to feel it.” Her screen flickers; a pulse of cognitohazard static washes over you, making every nerve light up with unwanted heat.

Dipsy is already between your legs, corroded-green fur brushing your inner thighs. She hums a broken nursery rhyme while her thick fingers—soft outside, unyielding underneath—trace and then push, exploring with childish curiosity that turns immediately rough. Pressurized vents along her sides flex, dripping warm, slick custard-like fluid that smells sweet and burns just a little where it touches skin.

Tinky Winky rolls her hips, grinding that soft, heavy weight against you in slow, deliberate circles. The motion is almost gentle… until she leans down, antenna brushing your cheek, and whispers through static, “Scream for us. We like it when the toys make noise.”

Po’s hands find your chest, squeezing, kneading, treating you like the best stuffed animal she’s ever had. Her voice is pure delight. “So soft… so fun to break a little. Then we put you back together and do it again.”

Dipsy pushes deeper, the wet schlick of bio-mechanical flesh and dripping sludge loud in the echoing dome. She laughs when you tense. “Struggle more. It makes the game better.”

They move together—giggling, grinding, stuffing, pinning you under soft-yet-crushing weight. Screens flare in unison, flooding your mind with overlapping sensations: pleasure forced too high, pain blurred into heat, the constant childish chant of “play with us, play with us, forever and ever.” Regeneration keeps any damage they take from your thrashing from lasting more than seconds. Their strength is absolute. Their hunger is playful and endless.

Tinky Winky’s screen brightens right above your face as she picks up speed, purple fur and soft flesh bouncing with every heavy thrust of her hips. “Over the hills and far away… Nobody can hear you scream… But we can. And we’re going to make you do it all night.”

The Superdome fills with wet sounds, static-laced giggles, and the creak of oversized bodies using you exactly the way they want.

The three of them finally slow, heavy bodies still draped over and around you, soft fur sticky with their own fluids and the remnants of forced play. Screens dim to a lazy static glow. Giggles turn into contented, crackling hums.

*Tinky Winky flops onto her side with a deep, satisfied fwump, purple bulk rising and falling as she catches her breath that isn’t quite breath. “Mmm… best toy ever,” she murmurs, antenna drooping.

Po curls up near your head, crimson thighs still warm against your cheek, already half-dozing while absently petting your hair like a doll she isn’t ready to put away. “We can play again when you wake up…”

Dipsy remains between your legs a moment longer, green fur matted, before she finally pulls back and sprawls on her back, staring at the cracked ceiling with vacant blue eyes. “So quiet now… nice and quiet…”

Their regeneration has already sealed every scratch. Their strength is spent for the moment. The living cables that held you have gone slack, pulsing slower, almost asleep.

That is when you move.

One careful twist. A silent snap of the weakened restraints. You slip free without a sound, heart hammering, body aching, mind cold and focused. The Superdome is vast and full of shadows. Broken play structures, half-collapsed walls, and flickering screens give you cover. The three of them are still sprawled in a loose, post-play tangle, giggling softly to themselves, completely certain their toy is broken and done.

You have one chance to start thinning the herd before they notice.

Tinky Winky is the largest and currently the most relaxed, purple form half-turned away, screen dim. Po is closest to where you were pinned, crimson body curled and soft, antenna sparking only faintly. Dipsy is a few meters off, green fur still dripping, eyes half-lidded and staring at nothing.

Three targets. One first kill. The rest will notice the moment the first one stops giggling.

Who do you take out first?

You abandon the idea of killing them the moment the thought of something better takes root.

While the three of them remain sprawled and sated, giggling softly to themselves in the dim static-light of the Superdome, you slip into the deeper shadows. Broken consoles, ruptured signal relays, and scavenged antenna fragments become your materials. Hands still shaking from earlier “play,” you work quickly and silently—wiring, tuning, overloading. The device that takes shape is ugly and jury-rigged: a compact emitter built from cracked cathode parts and a severed length of Laa-Laa’s old antenna, calibrated to one precise, continuous frequency.

A frequency that does not merely interrupt. It rewrites.

You step back into the open only when it is ready.

Tinky Winky is the first to notice the soft electronic whine. Her purple bulk shifts, screen flickering back to life as she sits up with a curious little tilt of her head. “Eh-oh…? What is that shiny toy you made for us?”

You activate it.

The pulse hits all three at once.

Antennas spark violently. Screens flare pure white, then collapse into flat, empty gray. Their massive bodies seize for a single heartbeat—then go slack. The manic, sadistic light behind those cathode-blue eyes simply… switches off. What remains is vacant, soft, and endlessly calm.

Tinky Winky’s head lolls. A slow, empty smile spreads across her face. “…Eh-oh,” she murmurs, voice stripped of every predatory edge, now nothing but gentle static and childlike sweetness.

Po blinks, crimson form relaxing into pure docility. She crawls closer on all fours without a trace of her earlier hunger, thick thighs and full rear moving with clumsy, eager obedience. “Play…? We be good now. Forever good.”

Dipsy simply sits there, green fur still matted, antenna drooping. Her screen shows only soft, looping pastel shapes. When she speaks, it is a quiet, contented hum. “Master…?”

The device keeps emitting its low, permanent signal. Their higher functions—the sadism, the hunting protocols, the endless need to break and torment—are gone. What is left are three enormous, soft, bio-mechanical pets: still giggly, still affectionate in that uncanny childish way, but completely lobotomized into docile loyalty. They no longer stalk. They no longer hurt. They only want to be near you, to be petted, to follow, to nuzzle with those heavy, warm bodies and call you the center of their simplified little world.

Tinky Winky crawls forward on her hands and knees, purple bulk swaying, and rests her massive head against your hip with a happy static sigh. “We stay. We listen. We love.”

Po presses in from the other side, soft and heavy, already trying to curl around your legs like an oversized, mindless lap-pet. “Never leave… never ever…”

Dipsy simply watches with empty, glowing eyes and a permanent, peaceful smile, waiting for any command at all.

The Superdome is quiet except for the soft, continuous hum of the device and the contented, broken giggles of three once-horrific entities reduced to permanent, lobotomized pets.

They are yours now. Completely.

Create your own scenario.