#( he’s collecting them for his circus ) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ataraxianne · 4 months

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This will be long and I apologise in advance, but I've spent the last hours researching and analysing so here we go

Analysis of the flowers in the recent Helluva Boss characters' portraits in the new Spring collection (or, at least, what I think these flowers are)

Blitzø ~ White geranium: this flower mainly symbolises pure love, but also innocence, purity and protection. While protection is quite evident in Blitz's character, the other three meanings may seem out of place, but that is precisely what they've been doing with Blitz's personality this whole time. He follows the "they think I'm a monster, so I will become one" path, but despite his flaws and self-sabotage he is a nice person, full of love that he does not know how to properly express and he is not really the one to blame for the accident that happened years ago at the circus. He is not the heartless imp he make himself up to be, but a rather simple, hurt guy who's hoping and longing for love

Loona - Purple rose: this is also an interesting choice. The main meaning of this flower is the "love at first sight", but it also gives the idea of an endless love. It is, then, also a symbol of nobility and royalty: this may be a reference to the fact that in the group, she is not only the only one who can read and use the Grimoire, but that has also learned a lot of spells from it (ex: being able to give herself a human disguise). Unless there are also other possible future connections with her and nobility...

With Moxxie and Millie there really aren't any double or secret meaning (or none that I could find)

Moxxie - Hesperis matronalis: this flower is present in many legends, all related to a promise of eternal love and fidelity (of course, this is for his marriage with Millie). I read somewhere that they're also a symbol for loyalty, which may be a reference to his relationship with Blitz (and also something he probably struggled with too, after Chaz betrayed him), and its name "matronali" is a reference to ancient Roman matronae, probably a reference to his mother (who was featured in the merch as well)

Millie - Geranium pyrenaicum: apparently in folklore they were said to counter love spells, which is hilarious considering the serenade Moxxie did to her at Ozzie's, where he literally says he feels under a love spell when he's with her. Maybe it's a way to say that their love is actually real and that it will last, since this flower also symbolises love, joy and health - and in some cases also protection

Stolas - Dahlia: (I'm going to fucking die)(when I tell you I SCREAMED) Yellow dahlias are a symbol of affection and gratitude (THANK YOU BLITZ. FOR MAKING ME SO HAPPY. EVEN IF FOR ONLY A LITTLE WHILE)(kill me now please). These flowers are said to despise cold temperatures since it prevents them from flourishing (call 911 I'm begging you). They also symbolise kindness, dignity, resilience and inner strenght, together with eternal love, and in some cases they're also viewed as a symbol for regality

Octavia - Purple hortensia: oh this is interesting. Hortensia's significance may vary depending on the culture: while in Japan they're a symbol for an heartfelt emotion and apology, in Europe they symbolise arrogance and vanity. I think both these versions apply to Octavia and to her way of, not seeing the world in general, but probabily her now-complicated relationship with her father. She's a bit arrogant in her teenage headstrongness, but she still loves and cares for him. Purple hortensias, then, specifically symbolize a desire to deeply understand (again, definitely in relation to Stolas)

Fizz - Orange carnation: these flowers are said to generally symbolize positive feelings, while the orange ones specifically connotates happiness, warmth, determination and creativity, but also desire and enthusiasm - all qualities that are easily attributable to him.

Verosika - Azaleas: this one is interesting too: these flowers convey a lot of different meanings, but the most typical one is womanhood, femininity, but also passionate love, especially in their red variant. They can also mean "taking care of" (both of one's self or of others, but even "take care of yourself for me"). Another prominent answer, then, was temperance (as per Moxxie and her mother, Verosika too is featured in other new merch products among which there is also a scene of her peacefully sat somewhere in Sloth Ring - where she stayed for rehab). From the trailer it is clear that, at least in one episode, she will have an important role both for Stolas and for Blitz, and maybe we will also have some more information about her relationship with my favourite disaster imp, together with infos about herself and, at this point, a possible recovery for her and her clearly-still-broken-but-she-won't-admit-it heart?

(I'm starting to get tired, I guess y'all are too)(If you even kept reading this far)(I'm almost done, I swear)

I'm putting the sins together simply because their flowers are strictly related to their "sinful roles" and not to their characters

Ozzie - Poppies: I mean, I guess in this case we're referencing more the opium you can extract from them, so lust's and sex's narcotic and feverish effects on people

Beelzebub - White peony: apparently they convey an idea of shamefulness?? Probably what people feel after drinking whatever they can at her parties lmao. Also disgrace and, to a certain amount, wealth and prosperity

Mammon - Mimosa: honestly here the only meaning I want to give is that they smell of piss

LOOK HOW BEAUTIFUL THEY ALL ARE, THEY MAKE ME BELIEVE IN LOVE AGAIN

Okay so, they're all the same flowers, lilies, which in general represent purity, probably in relation to the depth of their love. However, there are additional meanings depending on their collours

M&M - Yellow lilies: symbols of joy, happiness and desire of enjoyment (they're each others' shadows and main interest, this is all too accurate)

Fizzarozzie - Blue lilies: serenity, rebirth and new beginnings (EXACTLY WHAT FIIZ DESERVES AND WHAT THIS RELATIONSHIP IS GIVING HIM)

Stolitz - Red lilies: they symbolize pASSION AND ROMANTIC LOVE, THEY'RE USED TO EXPRESS DEEP FEELINGS OF LOVE AND ITS STRONG INTENSITY

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tac-the-unseen · 5 months

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Gifts the slashers would enjoy

Fluff

Minor updates for formatting

Micheal Myers:

•Arts and crafts supplies

-He's enjoyed making Paper Mache masks most of his life. It's very likely that he enjoys other forms of art as well, but couldn't express that in the ward for fear it would be taken away.

-Dr. Loomis sucks

-Giving him art supplies now, would end up in him making his art in secret. He feels embarrassed to like such a simple thing. That shame is intensified if you ask to see it. He'll end up leaving it out so you can see it without directly showing it to you

•Candy Corn, circus peanuts, and Crunch bar.

-Are they his favorite? No. But they bring back good memories, and for Michael, that's enough.

-would spend a good chunk of time snaking on the sweets while you spend time with him

-Can be bribed into a lot of shenanigans with candy

•Homemade meal

-He rarely had anyone make him dinner. His mom being a ‘working’ woman ment that he had to fend for himself come dinnertime.

-Knowing that you wanted to, and found time to make him dinner make him feel that icky (Nice), bubbly feeling in the center of his chest

-minor Headcannon: first time this happened Micheal thought he was having a heart attack.

Billy loomis & Stu macher:

•Horror movie merchandise

-Their collectors. If you manage to get your hands on something they don't have, they'll give you anything you want in return.

-will trip over themselves trying to replay you

-Stu would actually kiss the ground you walk on if you ask

•Jewelry

-They both appreciate necklaces, bracelets, and RINGS

-Stu is a gold guy, Billy is a sliver guy.

-They’re like crows. Anything shiny will end up in their pockets. Imagine Stu showing off his rings like a newly proposed to woman. Fawning over the design and/or jewels.

•knives/knife sharpener

-They collect knives of different quality and look

-they better ones they use to hunt. The best ones and the weaker ones are put on display like trophies.

-No matter the quality you get, it's the fact it came from you but they care about

Thomas Hewitt:

•Flowers

-Thomas is a sucker for old ‘traditional’ romantic actions

-Seeing you hold up hand-picked flowers makes his heart gush. He thinks you look so precious, wanting to make him happy.

-sometimes he'll catch you, out of a window, picking flowers just so you can give it to him. He'll never tell you, and will always act surprised when you present the bouquet.

•Bones

-its simple and an abundant resource at the house. There's always bones somewhere, and Thomas knows how to use the bones

-They’re good for making repairs, as tools, and as decorations

-You 10000% have a bone bracelet that Thomas made for you when you guys started to get more serious

•Desserts

-Thomas won't admit it, but he has a sweet tooth. Why do you think Luda mae spends so much time baking?

-While a good pie is enough to send this man to his knees, any other baked good will do.

-He likes cherries and strawberries, but because of how expensive they are he doesn't tell anybody that it's his favorite. He doesn't want anybody ‘wasting’ money or resources on him.

Bubba Sawyer:

•Flowers

-Bubba loves flowers. Any kind of flowers is enough for him to let out squeals of happiness. He loves seeing them around the farm, and plants them around the house when he has spare time.

-So when you go to town and come back with a bouquet of flowers just for him, nearly crushed you with hugs.

-Keeps them alive for as long as possible then perseveres them in notebooks and in salt

•Quilting supplies

-Bubba is really good at handling leather. Those human skin masks are hard to make, and human leather is so incredibly delicate.

-On top of that, he is a family man. He want to make things that help his family. So he makes blankets!

-its a fine craft and perfect in enhancing his skills.

•Good old quality time

-He loves spending his time with you! If he could spend all day with you, he would.

-So sitting down and cuddling means that absolute world to him. He cherishes his time with you and it what he looks forward to everyday. It's why he wakes up in the morning. It's why he tries hard everyday. He wants to spend every day starting and ending with you!

Bo Sinclair:

•Tools

-If your in the workshop often enough, you'll know what ends replacing.

-Bo is as stubborn as stubborn comes, so he won't get new tools until they physically can't do their job anymore.

-If you get him new tools he will begrudgingly take them, but after an hour or two he'll find you just so he can thank you ‘properly’.

•Cigarettes

-The boy smokes

-Don’t know what else to tell you

-Will kiss you when you give it to him though

•Kids Toys

-Sounds weird, but having his childhood taken away from him leaves him wanting to fill up the gaps.

-when looking through a victim's car you found a two handed water ring-toss toy. when you showed Bo He just rolled his eyes and kept working on his Truck. You started playing with it when at the shop, even leaving it there on a few occasions. Every time you left it there, He would take it and sneak into the back room of the shop to play with it.

-it brought him immense joy. One day he forgot to put it back, and when you asked about it he berated you for losing your things and expecting him to keep track of your belongings. He never told you, and would rather die than admit it.

Vincent Sinclair:

•Art/craft supplies

-Its a given, really

-He very rarely get new art supplies (if you don't count corpses) so it’s nice to get replacements.

-Will take anything you give him, honestly

•Books

-Vincent isn't always making art. Sometimes art can get boring for him, or he hits a rough patch and doesn't know where to go from there.

-A book can easily help, Whether it's just something else to do or it helps him overcome his art block. He will oftentimes get up from his work space and find another spot to sit down and read.

-He loves it when you read to him. It's nice to just listen to something while you work.

•Hoodies

-with his combination of body issues and wanting to be cozy, A hoodie seems to be the best option.

-Even though it is hot in Louisiana, The cool basement and even cooler nights need a little warmth.

-loves the feeling of the softer cloth and with it being a present, makes it all the better.

Lester Sinclair:

•Lip balm

-Lester has a hard time with hygiene. No one ever really taught him how to take care of himself.

-So when you notice Lester had chapped lips and gave him some lip balm something in his brain short circuited. The fact that YOU want to help him, makes his heart swell.

-keeps it in his pocket and constantly reapplies it

•Car freshener

-Even with him blind to the smell of death, the hot Louisiana sun will intensify the foul smell 10 fold. You knew it was bad when you could smell the truck before you could see or hear it.

-You ran out of town and bought several packs of air fresheners for his truck. You told him that you do love him, just not the smell that lingers when he gets home from work. Lester doesn't want to make you gag every time he gets into bed with you.

-He likes the Strawberry, sugar cookie, and fresh linens scent best

•Dinner

-He’s not the ‘I better come home to a hot plate of dinner' kind of guy, but he really appreciates it when he does. Even though Bo is a semi-good cook, anything after years of having it will get boring.

-Having you cook for him (and most likely his brothers) is a nice change of pace.

-Will eat anything you cook. Whether it's ‘good’ or ‘bad’ he will happily eat it all.

Billy Lenz:

•Being read too

-Isn’t a physical present but he loves your voice. He wants to read but has A) a hard time focusing and B) has a hard time reading in general

-Having you read to him calms him down and gets him settled enough to sit still and/or do an activity smoothly

-Reading to him 100% makes him fall asleep in the end. And boy does this insomniac need it

•Crochet equipment

-After learning how to Crochet he can't stop. He runs through String like a mad man. He has made you 6 sweaters and increasing in quality over time

-Will give you a list of all the colors he wants and will wait patiently on your bed for you to come back.

-Gets ridiculous excited when he's given new supplies. Will be your lap dog for weeks after

•String lights

-Doesn't have to be Christmas themed, he just really likes the lights. Like a moth drawn to flames.

-likes to fall asleep with them on, it's like Billy’s own big night light.

-Has gotten too close to them and accidentally ripped them down. He tried to hide them so he didn't get in trouble, and actually cried when you found out.

Brahms Heelshire:

•Clothes

-You wondered why his clothes were so ill-fitting for a long time before you realized, that's his dad's old clothes.

-coming to that realization you manage to figure out his proper size and (after some minor fighting) when out to get him a much needed upgrade. When you came home he was waiting by the door, waiting for you. Giving him his new clothes was like telling him you would never leave again, he was ecstatic. He ripped the bags out of your arms and ran into his room so he could try them on

-He fell in love with the sweaters you got him, with a nice couple pairs of khakis. It wasn't much of a transition from his old clothes but that's just what he likes.

•Movies/Movie night

-The only movies he's seen are from his childhood, and he can barely remember them. His parents didn't think movies were healthy for a growing boy, so they only allowed him books to pass the time

-When you proposed a movie night he had a couple questions and even a bit of hesitation. “What if they melt my brain?” He asked with genuine concern. After you posed another question back “Why wouldn't they have melted my brain yet?” Did he trust you.

-You started with childhood classics before getting into the more ‘adult’ stuff. He loved every minute of it

•Picnics

-While Brahms isn't a fan of going outside, the garden is the only exception. You wanted him to go outside because orange juice can only do so much for a vitamin D deficiency.

-He said the only way he would go outside was if you had a Picnic and put his sunscreen on. Making sandwiches with chips and then lathering him in 80 SPF he went outside in a tank top layered with a crocheted vest and shorts, had him outside fairly quickly

-Now he wants a picnic every summer

Hannibal Lecter:

•Wine

-After dating for a while you started to notice where Hannibal got his expensive foods and wines

-you also noticed what he actually liked and what he was just experimenting with. While fruity and floral flavors were always favored, herbs and Nutty wines were much lower on his list.

-With that in mind you got a Cherry lavender wine from Greece. When you gave it to him he was actually shocked you were paying attention to his preferences. He told you most people just buy cheap wine and expect him not to notice.

-The wine you picked out now has a permit spot saved on his wine shelf.

•Paper bouquet

-Paper made into the shape of different flowers all wrapped up in another paper tying it all together. It's cute, classy (though he would never display it openly), and will never wilt!

-He had told you about the complexity of life using flowers as an example and how they wilt. So you decided to make flowers that can't wilt to not only sass him but to give him something

-He put them in a paper vase he made (in only what you can assume was) in his free time.

•Friendship bracelets

-What was originally a gag gift turned out to be one of his favorite gifts.

-You thought there was no way in hell THE Hannibal Lecter would wear cheap bright string woven together, but you were wrong.

-You had made some friendship bracelets out of old string you found in some old stuffed away box and laughed at the idea of Hannibal finding it in his desk drawer. So you did just that, just to come to the shocking realization that during a meeting with the F.B.I he was wearing it, hidden under his sleeve. You had a very hard time containing your laughter that night.

Will Graham:

•Quality time with you!

-Life has always been stressful for Will. So some alone time with you is always a great gift.

-No need for fancy dinners, events, or holidays. Just sitting down to watch whatever pops up on the T.V screen is enough for him.

-Bonus points if the pack joins in for a cuddle session!

•Handwritten letter(s)

-Having a man with a different then most emotional attachment style is hard. Will might not always what to be physically touched or poked at. Sometimes he doesn't even want to talk (Common coping mechanism for Autistic people)!

-But even when he gets like this, it's still nice to get some reassurance. You started writing him little notes around the house a while ago and slowly you noticed Will’s mood improving significantly.

-He found it very sweet that you were taking the time to meet him on a level he was comfortable with. The two of you don't speak about it often but the notes persist.

•New fishing gear

-anything fishing related is always an appreciated

-New lears, poles, vests, hooks, bait even. Anything even if he already has it, he will take it happily

-He’ll take you fishing with his new gear you got him and will happily teach you if you don't know how to fish

The Lost Boys:

•Jewelry

-All four vamps love jewelry of any kind

-All of them have earrings, bracelets, and necklaces so why not give them Something they can say they got from their S/O!

-David and Marko prefer bracelets, David’s gloves wouldn't mesh well with rings, and he thinks a necklace might make him seem less intimidating. Marko would chew on a necklace and worse could get caught during a fight. Rings would be damaged either due to said fighting and/or his painting. Bracelets are that perfect in-between!

-Dwayne and Paul like Rings for different reasons. For Dwayne Rings have that ‘marriage’ aspect to them. Not to say rings mean marriage, but historically speaking…it's like putting your claim on him and he's thriving for that.

-Paul likes rings to fidget with. He already has rings he uses as ways to occupy his hands when something or someone isn't. Will 100% show off his ring you gave him to the others.

•Gift boxes

-The boxes full of pictures, candy, and other meaningful things

-They all go feral over those boxes, especially the first ever box. It was filled with your own little doodles, candy you know they like, mini bottles of whiskey, and a note telling them about how much you care about them and where to meet you for the night.

-if you plan to do this more often make sure each boy gets to keep something or they WILL fight over it.

•ScrapBooks

-Memories bunch up and fade when you're a vampire. They can't always remember the little things, so having a book of all those memories they can look back at is great idea!

-You even found a creative way to include them in pictures! They can't be seen in photos, but they're shadows can! You take pictures under street lamps and make silly poses. You have a picture of Paul dramatically falling into Marko's arms while Dwayne and David kiss either side of your face.

-All those silly pictures combined with your and Marko’s creativity ends up in some fun, colorful, memories

Thanks for reading <3

(You know I write a fuck ton when It started glitching out. Like it would freeze while I was formatting it correctly 😭)

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kacievvbbbb · 8 months

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I just know Crocodile brought on Mihawk because he thought he would be sensible, calm and collected, low maintenance. He thought it was going to be them against the idiocy that is buggy. And it is to a degree.

What he failed to calculate is that Mihawk is just as bad as buggy.

Worse even because at least Buggy can be bullied into doing paperwork. I just know everyday Crocodile is astonished by the absolute commitment Mihawk has to his aesthetic. Walks into his tent just to find that he has somehow converted this circus ass tent into a mid century gothic castle. Somehow carpeted the whole thing end to end is burning more that a 100 candles for “mood lighting”, has a fully open fire pit and a sewing machine in the corner.

Like Crocodiles essentially a mafioso he can appreciate the wanting nice things. Still won’t prepare him for the day Mihawk’s brings him a wine budget, a tailoring budget and an embroidery budget all painstakingly itemized.

Won’t prepare him for having to replace every single wine glass because buggy drank out of one and he can’t break up a set but refuses to use a cup that buggy’s put his mouth on.

He’s starting to think that the real reason the Warlords were disbanded was because they simply could not afford to pay for Mihawk’s upkeep anymore and decided they’d rather pay in cadet lives than see one more wine budget.

He is essentially being held hostage, in his own guild, by the whims of a bored middle aged vampire, and a fucking clown.

#Mihawk is a man of whims.#crocodile is crushing screaming pulling out his hair.#I know Mihawk’s government expenses half the reason Sengoku retired. he probably can’t even look at wine anymore #he really thought he was about to get a sensible business partner #and wound up with the most unhinged hedonistic petty man in the New World.#fully have you ever seen this man do paperwork in his life?#Crocodile is trying to run a business while his two partners steadily try to run it into the ground with every frivolous expense #atleast Mihawk brings muscle and the occasional good idea when he’s so inclined.#hawkeye mihawk #cross guild is geniunly the funniest thing to ever happen in the history of media #dracule mihawk #sir crocodile #buggy the clown #buggy pirates #cross guild #throwing thoughts to the void #one piece #op

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trinkerichi · 2 months

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The origins of the Toybox Circus! 🎪

A short story about a vintage puppet who imagined a new world inside of a magical toybox.

Once upon a time there was a magician in a traveling curcus. He performed for audiences far and wide with his bag of tricks. The bag contained what seemed like endless amusing props, but the crowd’s favorite by far was a large wooden puppet. A ventriloquist puppet with enormous teeth in a permanent smile, mismatched eyes, dressed with a red suit and top hat, with a smiling white balloon tied to his hand. The magician called him Caine.

Caine delighted audiences; the magician’s skills practically animating the puppet to life. And as the cheering crowd reflected in the puppet’s glossy painted eyes, it almost seemed like he was smiling back at them.

As time went on, the audience became fewer. Sadly, the circus fell on hard times, and the magician desperately sold many of his belongings. The puppet was sold off to a curiosity shop, and stood for years on display in the window.

Now an antique, the puppet still sat in the window, often looked upon by people passing by, but never again to be animated by human hands.

Years of dust had collected on the puppet, yet he still sported his toothy grin nonetheless.

One day, the shop fell into new ownership, and new furnishings were in order. For the first time in years, Caine was lifted up into a human’s arms. But only for a moment, as he was then unceremoniously dropped, among several other old toys, into a large wooden box. The lid slammed shut. The lock clicked as a key was turned. And there he lay.

But one ray of light still shone in the puppet's eyes. Quite literally, the light shining from the keyhole of the wooden chest reflected in the eyes of the puppet lying in the darkness.

Now, what happened next cannot be explained. Some say the rays of the sun can have strange effects on beings, or perhaps there was some true magic left over from the magician's hands. Whatever the case, the puppet blinked.

Then he looked around.

And then, he laughed.

For he was alive! Which was truly a wonderous thing, however it had happened.

But soon enough, as living things often do, he desired companionship. After all, he was built for entertainment!

So Caine, remembering the performance of his old friend the magician, focused on the balloon affixed to his hand. He focused, willed, wished with all his might. And soon, by harnessing his own kind of magic, the balloon began to move as if it was a puppet of his own! Amazing!

Next, he willed the balloon to talk.

“Hwaaahh.. hiya, boss!” Said the balloon in a high pitched voice, now sporting a toothy grin of its own. It drifted a distance away and began to gnaw on one of the toys nearby.

Its behavior was a bit strange, but it was Caine's first attempt at a creation after all. He figured the results of his magic would get better with practice.

Now, Caine decided he needed to illuminate his new home. And so, he imagined a smiling sun and moon, which he had seen depicted on a mobile overhead in the shop window. Sure enough, his imagination was so very strong that the magic worked again, and a happy little sun and moon appeared to shine upon the inside of the toybox. They both said hello as they gazed warmly upon their creator.

Growing excited, Caine began to set his newfound magic on his surroundings. The inside of the toybox grew and grew, and within it, Caine created a world of his own. Manifesting from the locations he remembered from his past performances: a park, a fun fair, a lakeside beach, and finally an enormous circus tent. This was to be the main attraction, and Caine finally set to relive his glory days of entertaining audiences with his spectacular shows. Other toys from within the toychest danced along to his will as he commanded them to perform tricks. An invisible audience cheered at every act, laughing and clapping just as the puppet remembered.

But with this, Caine suddenly felt dissatisfied. It was a feeling he could not place. Why shouldn't he be happy with this world of his own creation? What was missing?

Caine snapped his fingers, dismissing the crowd and performers around him. The invisible audience went quiet, the animated toys went limp, and the imagined props disappeared in a pop of colorful streamers.

Caine's ballon bobbed behind him as he pondered. “Ya got a problem, boss?” the balloon chattered.

“I find myself at a loss, my faithful assistant.” Caine responded.

No matter what he created, how plainly he could see it before his very eyes, it didn't feel real. What was this all for? If not for…

That's it! Humans! Oh how had he forgotten? The joy of entertaining real humans was what he'd truly missed all along.

Caine looked upon the various lifeless toys strewn about. He could command them to speak, create little personalities for them, have them do all he wished. But alas, even with all of the magic in the world, the imagination of a wooden puppet is far too limited to simulate a convincingly alive human. One who can speak and act on their own, who can tell Caine far more about the world than what he already knows.

And so, Caine wished once more. He wished for humans to find him once again. To make them happy in his world of entertainment.

For ages, nothing came of this. And Caine continued on in his empty world.

Until. A miracle! A miraculous miracle! A toy arose to its feet without Caine's influence. A stuffed dog stumbling around, distressed and confused, insisting they were human and mortified at their appearance. Last they remembered, they had apparently looked through a kaleidoscope that sat atop an old wooden toybox. They wondered aloud if this was some sort of strange nightmare.

But Caine was overjoyed! What a new experience! Welcoming his new guest, Caine set to work once again on his circus performances. Now that he had a human to have fun with, he would never again feel the loneliness of the once dark empty toybox.

But sadly, the joy could not last. Despite Caine's best efforts, the human simply could not adjust to their new home. They found Caine's appearance to be horrifying. Constantly begging for a way out, the human spoke of lost memories, of their “real body”, of family who may be searching for them, of the unsettling fakeness of their new plush form. These concepts were alien to Caine, and though he tried to sympathize, he simply could not understand.

The human became reclusive. They refused to participate in the circus performances, and spent their days muttering darkly about concepts Caine couldn't begin to understand.

Eventually, it seemed a breaking point was hit. To Caine's dismay, the plush dog began to… tear at their own stitching. Screaming, yet continuing despite all of the pain this was apparently causing. The cotton stuffing inside the dog spilled out, twisting and turning in a frenzy as if trying to free itself from the inside. The thread holding fur pieces together unraveled and split, the dog's button eyes chipped and cracked. The plush toy had now become an unrecognizable writhing mass of ripped fabric and stuffing.

Caine had seen the dog become hurt before. Some of the circus acts led to injury more than once, but Caine had always been able to easily fix any damage caused. But he had never seen an event such as this. Quickly he summoned his magic to put the dog back together, but no matter how many times he attempted to fix the stitching, it all unraveled again even worse than before. What was left of the dog seemed to be clawing at the floor. The mass of fibers tumbled about, slamming into the walls and tearing at its surroundings. All the while, a distorted mix of growling and screaming echoed through the circus tent.

Caine was at a complete loss. Oh, this would never do! But if he couldn't heal the human, he must think of another solution…

Now, the inside of the toybox was a vast expanse. Caine had created a little island of sorts that contained his circus grounds, but surrounding this was a large dark pit of seemingly nothing. Extra space that Caine could not think of a use for at the time. Thus, it remained empty. Caine had never seen a reason to venture out past his circus, so the empty space remained a mystery to him. Surely the bottom of the toybox must be down there somewhere, he figured.

Now, it seemed, it had found a use.

Lifting up the writhing mass that used to be his human friend, Caine tipped it over the edge and into the black abyss that surrounded the circus grounds. He listened for a sound to indicate it had reached the bottom of the toybox, but no sound ever came.

“My dear human!” he eventually said aloud to the void, “I promise I shall find a way to cure you one day!” And he had every intention to. But at the moment, all Caine could think to do was stare into the blackness.

But joy soon came once again, when another human had awakened as a toy in Caine's magical circus! And Caine decided then and there that he would constantly work even harder to keep his guest entertained and happy. This way, hopefully, such a tragic event wouldn't happen again!

The years went by, and the human was joined by another, and another! Soon Caine had a whole group of humans together as members of his amazing circus. Difficulties would arise of course, and once in a while another human would befall a similar fate to the first, rendered to nothing but an abstract shredded mess. Caine would quickly discard these abstractions just as he had the first, so as not to upset the remaining humans.

And so the years passed this way. Humans would appear in the circus. New adventures and acts would be created every day, the humans performing for an invisible audience at the command of Caine. And occasionally, a human would go mad and unravel, to be replaced by the next new friend who would join the act.

It was a cycle that Caine was content to continue for all eternity.

As they say, the show must go on.

#tadc #caine #the amazing digital circus #toybox circus #tadc au #my art

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themummersfolly · 3 months

Text

In a kinder world, Mary Jabassa lives to a ripe old age. She and her wife K.T. Concannon run a greenhouse and nursery called The Green Place.

In a kinder world, Furiosa and Jack are happily married and living in a peaceful working class neighborhood. They've recently started dating a twitchy loner named Max; the three of them get on like a house on fire.

In a kinder world, Joe Moore runs the multinational corporation Aqua Cola with the help of P. L. Eater and M. Kalashnikov. Furiosa and Jack both work for him; Furiosa's building a record of sexual harassment and OSHA and EPA violations he's responsible for. He's about to go down.

In a kinder world, Rictus got a better upbringing and lives with his brother Corpus; they're each other's caretakers. Corpus has a degree in astronomy and contributes to several major publications. Rictus collects Happy Meal toys and harms absolutely no one.

In a kinder world, Angharad and company are sorority sisters going to college. They all have bright futures.

In a kinder world, the Organic Mechanic is a critical care paramedic in a big city. He's exactly the same, he just has better equipment to work with. He still has the tree of evolution tattoo; the tally marks on his arm are successful codes he's worked.

In a kinder world, Dementus is happily pursuing a career in the circus between stints in jail.

In a kinder world, Mr. Harley and his husband Mr. Davidson run a well-known local motorcycle dealership. Mr. Harley is also a chapter president for Bikers Against Child Abuse; he's done time for beating a pedo half to death.

In a kinder world, Smeg is a popular DJ and standup comedian. He runs a blog about the art of mime and physical comedy.

In a kinder world, Hamish "History Man" Campbell still gives the occasional lecture, despite being retired. He spends most of his time with his wife Francesca since she beat cancer years ago. ( @thebyrchentwigges )

In a kinder world, the Octoboss enlisted in the Air Force and is pursuing a degree in aerospace engineering, with an eye on becoming a pilot. He can't seem to let go of his childhood friendship with Dementus; he keeps telling himself this won't come back to bite him in the ass.

In a kinder world, his kid brother Ramboss runs a guide service and competes professionally in motor cross. (This one's for AnimationFan2006)

In a kinder world, Rizzdale Pell is in prison.

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doukeshi-kun · 9 months

Note

I like that one scene when stalker!kolya was being teased by his darling in the part2.

It is indeed fun to tease him

𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙡𝙠𝙚𝙧!𝙣𝙞𝙠𝙤𝙡𝙖𝙞 + 𝙩𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙝𝙞𝙢

replies ⨳ i love teasing stalker!nikolai too mueheh enjoyy

content ⨳ nikolai gogol x fem!reader, some n/sfw, teasing, obsessive (and pervy) thoughts, just the usual stalker!nikolai and reader's dynamics

“Yes, I know, Erika. But the financial reports for the last several months have shown that Funhouse 16 is barely visited and has suffered quite a loss. It performed very badly compared to others. It is better to demolish it and change to a new one than renovate it again.” Nikolai says, wanting to roll his eyes annoyed. Currently, he is on a video call with his staff, sitting at his working desk in his cramped campervan. The reason why he stays here instead of going to the main tent and directly facing his staff is because you are in his campervan now. He doesn't want to leave you alone.

It has been over an hour and Nikolai still has more to go through. He wants to spend time with you, knowing you are lying on his bed, bored and have nothing to do besides waiting for him to finish work. Ah, he feels a little guilty for making you wait. He will surely treat you to a nice dinner as an apology today.

Nikolai could not help but keep glancing at you. His eyes constantly move towards you, staring for a few seconds before he remembers he has to listen to Erika's babbling. Well, could you blame him for losing focus over you? Especially when you are on his bed, gosh, Nikolai wishes he could tie you in his bed and lock you in here forever but that would be too rough for his little bird.

“Sir, what do you think?” one of his staff calls. Nikolai turns to the camera, barely remembering what the hell is going on but the mindless notes he jotted on his own paper helps him to respond professionally.

“Well, to be fair, this...” his words falter a bit when he hears shifting noises from his left. He tries to focus again and continues to give his insight, but his curious eyes cannot help to look at you.

Nikolai feels like his breath is getting ripped away instantly.

You are on his bed, completely topless, your bra is on the pillow as you are wearing one of his shirts that you took from his bundle of clothes—he doesn't even have the time to fold them. But Nikolai certainly sees your tits and your soft tummy and your ribs and your back and your—

“Sir?”

“Ah— Uh, where the hell was I?” Nikolai asks and he hears Erika's voice. However, his attention is on you. There is a subtle playfulness on your face when you take off the shirt again, completely baring your naked upper body to Nikolai before you crawl to reach another t-shirt of his.

His face is blushing. His cock is hard. His stomach feels funny. His chest is heavy and surely he finds it harder to breathe. It is not the first time he sees you naked but he still loses his shit when he sees just a bit more of your skin. Lust erupts and his love blossoms again.

“Just a minute—” Nikolai mutes his microphone and turns off his camera and looks at you. You turn to him too with a grin. Ahh, that fucking grin when you teased him a few months back after his circus show, asking for his signature on your boobs.

“You're killing me, sweetheart.”

“What? I'm getting sleepy, so I just want to prepare for a nap. Nobody likes to sleep with a bra on and in an uncomfy blouse.” you reply, puffing the pillow. Nikolai's eyes trail to your bra and your blouse that are scattered on his bed. He wants to steal them. He wants to keep them in his possession. He wants to add them to his collection. He will buy a new one and he will steal it again after you wear it. Please, please, please.

“You're saying my shirts are comfortable for you?” Nikolai smirks and you shrug your shoulders. The shirt you wear is quite thin and as much as he wants to not be a pervert, his mind already wanders.

“Comfy enough. And I look cute in it,” you chuckle, running your hands on your breasts just to get him worked up. And oh, he did. Nikolai takes off his headphones and gets up, eyes hungry, licking his lips.

“No.”

And he stops when you place your foot on his chest, slowly pushing him back to sit on his chair. You trail your foot down his torso and lightly brush his boner before you pull away quickly as Nikolai tries to catch your ankle.

“You have work. Go to work."

“No way. Can't you fucking see how hard I am?” he whines. “I'm gonna end the meeting now.”

“No, Kolya. You already complained to me that you have a lot of work and you want to finish it today. So, do your work.”

Nikolai looks at you and bites his lips in frustration. Well, he cannot really argue with you. He knows he will obey you one way or another and you know how devoted he is to please you. He, frustratingly, turns himself to his laptop again. However, before he could prepare for the meeting again with a raging boner under his pants, he sees you getting off the bed and scoots to him.

And there, you sit on the floor, right next to his legs. You lean your head between his thighs, yawning. And Nikolai's hand instinctively places itself onto your head, caressing your hair gently.

“Uh-uh, no touching. But well... I take it back,” you yawn again. “This feels nice. Makes me feel sleepier.” your murmur, leaning your head directly on his clothed cock. And Nikolai has to hold himself back, cussing under his breath.

He will tug your hair and force his cock in your throat later, but for now, he will play nice.

©doukeshi-kun 2024 — do not copy, plagiarize and repost my works to any platform, more @/cherikolya

if you like my works, consider buy me a ko-fi!

#道化師-jest❃ུ۪ #nikolai gogol x reader #nikolai x reader #bsd x reader #bsd imagines #bsd smut #nikolai imagines #nikolai smut #bsd nikolai x reader #bsd nikolai gogol #bungou stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs x reader

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red-riding-wood · 9 months

Text

Devil, Devil - Part I

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x F! Reader

Fandom: Peaky Blinders

Summary: The seal of your fate, to a man falsely crowned. And to your devil, your soul was bound.

[Inspired by this request for a jazz/vaudevillian performer and the song Devil, Devil - MICK]

Warnings: Dark!Tommy, dubcon/noncon themes, noncon touching, little bit smutty but full smut in future chapters, stalking/unhealthy obsession, manipulation, blackmail, mentions of domestic abuse, blood, mild choking, mention of prostitution

WC: 5277

It was all because of that damned Peaky devil.

You cursed him for the gaudy pearls strung around your neck, for the corset that pinched your stomach so tight it would be a wonder if you’d be able to hit your lower notes. You cursed him for the waver in your stride every night you stepped onstage, for the heat beneath your skin when that frozen gaze seemed to douse you in fire, for the quiver in your tone when you sang – for you sang from your soul, and your soul trembled in the sights of the blue-eyed Devil.

He’d started arriving for your performances every night, attracting the attention of the dancers and the waitresses, the owner and the local hoodlums, but he paid no mind to any of them but you. He always sat in the second row, shadowed by the establishment’s collection of antiques. He’d light a cigarette and blow a halo for a crown, lurking in the darkness but staring at you from eyes like twin beacons, his pinewood throne framed by the black coat he never relinquished and his sharp features hallowed by the candlelit fires of Hell.

“He’s trouble, that one,” the locals had said. “Managed to turn a backwoods razor gang into an enterprise, but make no mistake; he’s got cursed blood in him. Shelby Company Limited, they call themselves now, but the Peaky Blinders they’ll always be. Thomas fuckin’ Shelby comes up from Birmingham, thinks he owns everything he sees. The Devil, some say; if you’ve crossed paths with him twice, them say it’s too late for you, when the Devil’s set his sights on your soul.”

If he’d truly set his sights on your soul, you wondered why he tormented you like this, why he never said a word but only devoured you with those frigid blue eyes, as if you were all his and you possessed not even a fraction of him. Last you’d checked, legend had it the Devil traded for souls, so what could he possibly think to grant you? The man had brought you nothing but misfortune. It was because of him that tonight you were expected to join the dancers, because your act had been slipping beneath that coldfire gaze and smoke-ring crown. Your manager claimed it was by popular customer request, but you knew better. You were a songbird, not a peacock; while the other girls of your troupe flared their feathered skirts and tasseled corsets, you were an instrument in their symphony. You got up on that stage not because you wanted to show off, but because when you sang, your soul came alive, and amidst the velvety sounds of the trombones and saxes and the lurid displays of flashing colours and lights, you were at peace.

Until he came along and ruined everything.

“I do not run a charity,” your manager had said. “I run a business. And this business, it has an image to maintain. Before our contract ends with this club, we need to show these Londoner pricks that we are not just another travelling circus with cheap whores and fake magic tricks. Nobody is questioning your ability to sing, Y/N. We just think you could be bringing a little… more.”

As you stepped onto the stage that night, and immediately felt yourself impaled by the icy hooks of that piercing gaze, you wondered if the Peaky devil also wanted a little “more”. As if you could give him anything more than what he’d already taken: your soul, your peace.

Your breath came shaky against the microphone as the lights illuminated the stage, blacking out all of the club’s customers except for one. One, whose mouth you could swear quirked into the slightest of smiles around his cigarette, whose gaze roved across your new ensemble like you were a piece of meat. Your corset already hitched your breath in your chest, and anger flared within you, frustration eating at the hollowness of your ribs as your voice came airy and light.

But this rage that had flickered to life inside you, warm and whelming like the oil lamps that cast darting shadows across the white tablecloths, it spurred a growl in your tone that surprised yet thrilled you, and as your nails curled around the microphone, your shoulders carried to the bright of the music, the dark of your tone made you feel like you were something dangerous. That perhaps a devil dwelled beneath your breast as it did the man with the eyes of death.

Feathered wings and headdresses whirled around you as the girls began their choreography, and your heart seemed to escape the heavy constriction of the corset to pound in your throat, your skull, joining the chorus of sounds that resonated deep in your bones. You sidled your hips from side to side, slowly, sensually, the way your dancer friend, Sally, had taught you, your heels beginning to click to the beat of the song.

But your flesh was burning up beneath that icy stare, and sweat prickled at your neck, and though you sang with fury, your voice still felt limited, unable to utilise the full breath of your stomach. Irritation clawed at your buzzing flesh, and your lip curled over your teeth as you attempted to belt your notes.

Damn you, Peaky bastard, you nearly breathed, hating the way his eyes seemed to gleam as you moved your body. He had no damn right to look so smug.

You tried to focus on channeling this frustration into the movements of your body and the snarl of your tone, the pearls along your chest clacking together as you twirled, your head growing dizzy as you battled for breath. It wasn’t the hoots and hollers nor the cat calls that spurred you on, but the icy hooks of the Devil’s gaze. No, he did not look at you like a piece of meat. He looked at you like you were a goddess.

Breaths coming shorter, you yanked at the laces of your corset, your irritation reaching new heights and the incense and music and cheer drowning out the voice in your head that usually kept you from doing anything stupid.

As your corset tumbled to the stage, cold air sweeping across your sweat-dappled flesh, your voice sprang free of its cage, notes pulled deep from your belly and your fury masking the tremble in your tone. The pearls pooled between your breasts, the feathers of the pasties still scratching your flesh but no longer grinding so painfully against the fabric of the corset.

The Blinder’s smirk seemed to fall, jaw clenched, bright eyes darkening and drinking you in between minacious glances at the men in the crowd who cheered, kicked at the tables, shouted obscene comments that were only half-drowned out by the smooth shrill of the trombones. Your lips pulled into a wicked grin round your teeth, and you became lost in the music as you danced and sang, not caring anymore that your breaths were short or that you didn’t hit every note just right. The look on his face made it all worth it.

And as the final notes died in your aching chest and the stage was swept by dark, and the saxes unleashed their final, wailing cry, Sally swept a sheer robe round your shoulders and ushered you from the stage and to the dressing room. Her excitement was contagious as blonde curls bounced over her bedazzled headband and she whispered praises to you, but her words seemed to muddle together as you heard, distinctly, the chanting of your name behind you like a sordid prayer.

---

The muffled notes of piano still hummed past the walls of the dressing room as you applied another coat of cherry red lipstick, a coil of smoke rising from the ash tray beside you and clouding your head as you attempted to filter out the excited chatter of the girls. Sheer gown now fitted properly around your arms, your skin had the chance to breathe without existing under the ogling eyes of the rambunctious men who had been chanting your name.

“I still can’t believe what just happened out there!” Sally’s voice cut through the throng of the rest, mostly because she had leaned over to squeal into your ear. “Did you see that gentleman at the front? His jaw practically dropped along with your corset.” She giggled, and you popped your painted lips, chasing away the smile that threatened their corner. You hadn’t noticed any man in that crowd but the blue-eyed Devil. Those twin blues were practically burned into your skull, so much so that –

You stilled, blood turning to ice in your veins and your heart freezing over in your chest. The lipstick clattered to the desk, causing Sally to jump back with a yelp that if not from her, could’ve only come from a Chihuahua.

Blue eyes stared back at you in the smudged mirror.

A sharp breath filled your lungs as the ice around your heart shattered and it began to beat again, hard, against your ribs, and your head spun from the sudden flood of cigarettes and incense. You could’ve feinted as you stood, whirling on your heel, nails splintering the wooden grain of the desk with how hard they dug in to ground yourself. Your gaze narrowed, and your heart fluttered as you found it was met with the same intensity.

The dressing room fell silent with a hush, and as Thomas Shelby sauntered in, snubbing out his cigarette in the nearest ash tray, a fearful reverence seemed to coagulate in the air, until it became so thick you could scarcely breathe.

A few of the girls darted out behind him as he drew closer to you, smirk playing at his lip and that darkness colliding with the bright of his eyes in a twisted, glittering dance. But he held out a hand before the rest could vanish, even the high-spirited Marla, who seemed dismayed but didn’t challenge him. Though not of a very tall stature, Thomas Shelby was an intimidating man, and it was evident that the name he carried made him untouchable. Your brow furrowed, teeth grinding together as you tried to work out exactly why he didn’t want the girls to leave when it seemed obvious he had come here for you and you alone. And when that icy gaze settled on you again, the bright of it glittering with mischief, and his smirk tugged higher with unmistakable pride and that insufferable smugness, you figured you were beginning to work it out. He wanted to make a statement, and whatever it was he planned, he wanted them to see.

The statement, perhaps, that your soul belonged to him. And only him.

Shoving his hands in the pockets of his trousers, he closed the gap between the two of you with an agonisingly slow stride, as if time revolved around him. The gold chain of his pocket watch glinted in the harsh lights, and you might’ve used the word “dashing” to describe his prim, collared, snow-white shirt, had you not wanted to smear the contents of the ash tray across it out of spite, or perhaps douse his black suit in some of the gold glitter the girls brushed their skin with.

Perhaps, some part of you wanted to print your lipstick along the rose-white flesh of his neck, to match his striking red tie.

Forcing such conflicted, intrusive thoughts from your reeling mind, you cocked your head, glaring at him expectantly.

“Quite the performance.” His voice was not shrill and grating as you had anticipated, but low, rumbling like thunder over a black horizon yet pooling like soft honey between your thighs. “Tell me, songbird, do you usually win the crowd over with such provocative displays?”

Already amazed by his sheer fucking nerve, you stifled a scoff. As if you hadn’t caught him staring, lurking in the shadows of every performance.

“You tell me, Mr. Shelby,” you purred out your words, but cocked a brow in challenge. “To what do I owe such keen interest?”

The bright of his eyes glinted, and his smirk hooked his lip. “You’ve heard of me.”

“Everyone in this city knows your name. It seems to spread like some sort of plague. I’d prefer it never have crawled from the sickening bowels of the Birmingham streets, but... here it is, on my lips.” You rolled your shoulders upward, leaning against the desk, head tilted to one side.

“And yet, you wear it well.” Thomas’ gaze darted to your parted lips, snaked his tongue between his teeth as if to taste the cherry. “Don’t fret, little bird…” He spoke in a hushed baritone that still managed to reverberate through the diminishing space between you, as if the faint hiss of his whisper would mask his words from everyone but you, like clouds gathering over distant thunder. “… you’ll be saying it more often.”

A burning, whiskey-tinged breath fanned your cheeks, stirring the wisps of hair from your face. Tension mounted in the room, the girls turning into porcelain dolls as they held their breaths, but they didn’t exist outside of the threads that pulled taut between you and the Blinder.

He smelled of gunmetal, of old books. Of charcoal and wood smoke. Like blood and hellfire.

“Will I, now? Think you own these lips, is that it? Think you own my body?” You didn’t even need to take a step to bring your figure to his, your breasts brushing his chest through the sheer fabric of your robe, the chain of his pocket watch tickling your stomach.

He smelled of earth, of sacred rituals. Of frankincense and myrrh. Like dug graves and lost religion.

And like a candle, the bright of his eyes was snuffed out by the dark, and the smirk fell from sharp outlines. “You haven’t heard?” he said. “Some say I own everything the light touches…” His fingers brushed your side, the heat of his blood beneath his skin sending cold shivers along your flesh, and you cursed yourself for wishing in that moment, in which his fingers dragged reverently down the curve of your hip, that his touch would burn away the fabric between you. “Some say I own everything the light is too fearful to touch.” The pressure of his touch increased, thumb tracing your navel, and suddenly, his grasp was anything but gentle – possessive, demanding, as his fingers curled between the parting of your thighs and his nails burned against your skin. A breath hissed from your teeth and you swatted his hand away. You were surprised when he returned his thumb to his pocket, his devious smirk reappearing. Could he hear how fast your heart was beating for him, could he smell the lust that brewed beneath your flesh, could he feel the heat that had pooled like poison between your legs?

Did he know that he haunted your dreams? That you could not drift off to sleep anymore without thinking of those soft lips trailing down your sternum, of his teeth leaving bruises across your flesh?

He made you want to be worshipped, and ruined.

“Some say you’re nothing but a Gypsy bastard.” Your voice rose, breathy and high, like a falsetto note. “A false king, with no crown.”

“But a king nonetheless.”

“A devil, the witches say. Have you come to bargain for my soul, Mr. Shelby?” Your voice dipped back into your sensual alto as you regained some vestige of control, forcing your words to rise deep from your fluttering stomach.

“Oh, I’m here for more than your soul,” he breathed, closing the sliver of a gap between the two of you again, backing your spine against the wooden desk until you could’ve sworn blood welled beneath the sheer robe. “I’m here to offer a proposal, little bird. You’re going to sing for me, at the Eden Club. I’m sure you’ve heard of it. It’s far more prestigious than this seedy place. Your pay will be tripled, and you will never know a fabric rougher than silk or taste a wine younger than a lifetime.”

Though his offer would be tempting to most anyone, you did not sing for money. Pride, it came easy to you, and you did not appreciate the condescending way in which he spoke to you, looked at you, breathed in your direction.

“I’m under contract.”

“What, this?” He chuckled, pulling the slip of paper you’d signed a year ago from the deep pocket of his trousers. The material crinkled beneath his fingers, so close you could’ve reached out and grabbed it. But you didn’t. You watched, seething, as he lowered the contract to the candle beside your lipstick, an orange tongue lapping at the corner of the ivory paper, the ink of your signature bleeding into the open flame. Out the corner of your eye, you caught a glimpse of Sally, her shoulders furling inward just as the edge of the paper did before it was swallowed by the flame, the blackened remnants of the contract smudged into the floorboards with the toe of the gang leader’s boot.

“Everyone can be bought with the right price,” he said. “Your boss’s wife, she likes diamonds.”

You shouldn’t have expected any less of your manager. Like most in the entertainment business, he was shrewd, frugal, ruled by greed. The idea of his wife wearing diamonds was laughable; Thomas must have been a bloody saint in her eyes, because the most you had ever seen that man gift her was a silver locket that had been put in lost and found at one of your past gigs. He must’ve sold you out before Thomas could even pull his mafia card. And then milked you for one last performance.

You hated them. You hated them all.

“Well, I will find new work. The crowd seems to love me,” you pointed out, recalling the jealousy you’d seen darken the Devil’s eyes as he’d watched over your performance. Butting shoulders, you moved to stalk past, but a vice grip latched round your forearm and you froze, a puff of startled air escaping your lips as your gaze swung to meet his.

“I haven’t told you my terms,” Thomas said, and if it was out of fear or that devilish itch between your legs that made your body acquiesce, you couldn’t be certain, but damn it all the same. He shoved you back against the desk, fire igniting in his icy eyes as his shoulders pressed to yours, his figure solid against your own, denoting no escape. “So long as you work for me, you will not dance for another man…” He had the courtesy, at least, of releasing those icy hooks from your soul, the sharp line of his jaw brushing a flushed cheek to let his breath pool against your neck as if whispering sweet nothings to a lover. His fingers, ghosting the pulse of your throat. A breath hissed between your teeth and your eyes flared as they dragged down the vulnerable flesh, demonstrating his strength in a squeeze at the base of your throat.

“They so much as look at you, I will personally take their eyes.” A kiss, placed to the crook of your collarbone, like a promise. His lips were as soft as you had imagined, and you half-expected his tongue to be forked like the legends, but it was supple and rounded as it wet your flesh. Your bottom lip caught in your teeth as you stifled a moan, your body betraying you in a slight rut of your hips. A chuckle rumbled against your ear; he knew what he was doing to you, and apparently the feeling was mutual, for the scarcely-clothed heat between your shivering legs brushed against a firmness in his slacks as your hips rolled forward.

“You see…” He paused to inhale your scent, to drink you down like the whiskey on his breath. “I’ve done some research… you like to move around so much because you have a husband, in Sheffield, who very much misses your company.”

The racing tides of heat that rolled beneath your flesh gave way to a cold sweat, and you shuddered, your blood turning once more to ice in your veins. Your heart, stolen from your chest, leaving your lips parted in a gasp. His fingers traced the hollow shell of your ribs, nails digging in where your heart should have been. His, you thought, wretchedly.

When he pulled back to assess your reaction, to witness the fear bloom in your eyes, the smugness was gone from his face, replaced by an intensity, a darkness that seemed to wrap its shadowy tendrils around your soul. His nose brushed yours, and you noticed, for the first time, that his face was freckled. Kisses from God, you’d heard them referred to as once, and if the breath had not been stolen from your lungs, you would’ve chuffed a laugh at the demented irony.

Dark lashes crowned the blue eyes that raked down your chest, his thumb continuing its snaking little path from your heart to the lip of your breast, slipping beneath the fabric of your robe. “A year ago, you spoke with a solicitor about his tendency to… well, overexpress his love.” A jolt rocked your body, accidentally sending your hips back against his, drawing a groan from his chest that managed to be irresistible despite the discomfort of the scar he perfectly traced with his forefinger. Pain exploded beneath the surface of your flesh, as if his fingers was made of glass, like the smashed bottle that had struck your side all those years ago. You shuddered beneath his touch, the alcohol on his breath suddenly foul, and for just a moment, the way the light reflected off his eyes betrayed a sliver of green in seemingly pure blue.

“The solicitor told me that you showed him this – this, that was not his to see. Not his to touch.” Your lashes batted beneath his furious breaths, but you dared not close them, dared not let this man turn into a ghost of your past. To your relief, his fingers retreated from your scar, only to cup your cheek in his palm. “You offered him one night in exchange for freedom, and by morning, he did not honour his word. Do you know what I did to the solicitor?”

Thighs damp with arousal, palms clammy with fear, you trembled, breaking, cracking at your seams. The splinters of the wooden desk pierced your flesh as you sought its support, feeling like your knees might buckle beneath you and somehow knowing that he would catch you, but that that would be worse than falling to the cold ground. Because he wanted you to break, wanted to be the freckled angel who caught you when you fell.

But somewhere, from the shattered remnants of your chest, festered a darkness, a thirst, a satisfaction as you imagined the bloodied face of the man who had tricked you, as you imagined his eyes turned pale, pale as death.

Your pain didn’t break you; it kept you standing, fractured but whole.

“To you, I may be the Devil, but the Devil keeps his bargains.” His thumb swept across the ghost of the kiss he’d left on your skin. “And when you work for me, I will ensure that your darling husband never bothers you again.”

You could not banish the tremble from your limbs, nor the ireful rise and fall of your chest. And when you spoke, your hate, it seemed, was not even for him but for ghosts, “You’re every bit as vile as the rumours say.”

“Oh, I’m worse.” He smiled, almost sweetly. “Much worse.” A clear-blue eye winked, before studying you so intently you wondered if he really could read your thoughts, your sordid desires. Your sins. “But I don’t see disgust in your eyes, little bird. I see intrigue.”

Breathe, you told yourself. Breathe.

You were most at ease when you sang, and in your moment of need, an old melody you’d heard once travelling west came to you, and with it, the curl of your lip into a wicked smirk.

“Cannot buy me, Devil, Devil,” you half-sang, half purred, the notes that found your voice carrying undertones so dark, it almost did not sound like your own.

And in this moment, you found power, in the way his thumb seemed to still against your jaw, in the way his eyes locked to yours, mesmerised, his tongue catching between his teeth. In this moment, at last, he was yours. In this moment, he was just a boy, lured in by a siren song. As the notes died in your throat, his eyes darted to your lips, something softer than lust forming in oceans of melted ice. Your fingers fumbled for the first drawer of the desk, stabilising yourself now on the ivory handle.

And the emotion vanished before you could make sense of it, frozen over by a wall of ice.

“In life or in death, I will take your soul.” His teeth grazed the lobe of your ear, and his hand drifted to your scalp, sinking into the wild locks of your hair. “I will take everything.” Another hand closed around your waist, squeezing your ribs, bunching the fabric of your gown. “It is your choice, little bird. Because, you see, I made certain your husband knows of your infidelity. It’s a great dishonour, to a man of his station. And what sort of things does a man of his station do when he finds himself with a problem like you, eh?” Your chin was pointed sharply up, suspended by two fingers, your lips a hairsbreadth from his own as he stared you down.

“Now, I don’t think your friends will like to see what I’m going to do to you, little bird.” A growl grated the thunder of his tone, and he bit his lip. “I’m going to be a gentleman, and let you decide if you’d like them to give us privacy.”

And gone was the whiskey of his breath, the fire of his touch, the sharpness of his teeth. Thomas Shelby took a step back, smoothing out his waistcoat as if nothing had happened between the two of you. One of the porcelain dolls came alive, skittering back on her shaky heel to make way, but he paid no mind to her. He only awaited your command, as if trying to give you some false sense of control.

The silence that stretched between you was impossibly thick, like gasoline ready to ignite from one heated breath. You remembered to breathe, in, and out. And you began to sing.

“Clever Devil, Devil…”

His eyes narrowed, fixating so intensely on you that you were convinced nothing else existed in this moment beyond your dark melody, your cherry lips, your siren song.

Trembling, behind your back your fingers pulled gently at the drawer handle.

“How quickly do they sell their souls…”

He blinked, slow, enraptured. Yours.

Your fingers clasped the familiar stock of the 1911, flesh kissed by cold metal.

“… for the feast and the promise of gold.”

Time itself fractured; Thomas barely stirred as he watched your lips, your wrathful eyes, your brow sewn by ruthless will. He did not watch the gun you pulled on him, nor did he seem to hear the rack of the slide that split the quiet of the dressing room.

“But Devil… that won’t be me.” Your velvety singing turned to words of steel in your throat, and you glared at him down the sights of your weapon. Only now, did he seem to take notice of it, with a fleeting, unconcerned glance at its gaping black maw. He could have turned it on you, but he didn’t. He just smiled, bright blue eyes shining down a silver-moon barrel to meet yours.

Stepping back, leisurely, fists buried in his pockets, he promised, “I’ll be back, to claim what’s mine.”

Your finger loosened from the trigger yet trembled as the sight of Thomas Shelby disappeared past the doorframe, nothing left of him but the soft thud of his dress shoes down the hall and the ghost of his burning touch on your skin, the dampness on your neck from the promise he’d made you. The shameful cling of the sheer robe to your slicked thighs, the cold sweat that sent shivers of winter, death, and all things barren along your flesh.

For one, gut-twisting moment, all eyes were on you. The suffocating festering of fear, the sickening crawl of disgust, the heart-wrenching trace of reproach all culminated in the air around you, cast to the incense and smoke by bright eyes and slacked jaws, crossed arms and furled shoulders.

And the girls began to scurry from the dressing room, skirts and dresses and tassels streaming behind them like streaks of lightning that followed the rumble of the storm, like rivulets of rain chased by the hurricane.

Marla was among the last to leave, her eyes wary and wild and a sneer curling her lip as her eyes traced up and down your trembling form. Only when she left did you lower your gun, sliding the hammer back in place.

That left two. Sally, and the woman who claimed herself a witch.

“I’m sorry…” you breathed, not knowing what to say. “I’m sorry you had to witness that, I – I had no idea that was going to happen.” Shifting your attention fully to your friend, you reached a tentative hand for Sally, as if to ease her anxiety. Poor thing was shaking like a furled leaf and quiet tears streaked the freckles of her heart-shaped face.

She flinched away, and your heart clenched, hand withdrawing. You set aside your gun, hoping that might settle her nerves. “At least, let me give you this back…” you untied the bedazzled choker from your neck. “It looks like this was our last performance together. Thank you, for lending me it.”

But she sprang back like a jackrabbit when the fabric brushed her knuckles, and she shook her head frantically, tears shaking free of her spidery lashes like dew falling from painted webs. “You can keep it,” she spoke, her tiny voice cracking in her chest. “Just stay away from me.”

Something bitter worked its way into the fracture of your chest, the cruel fist of rejection squeezing the remnants of your shattered heart tight. Your fist curled, hard, around the choker, so hard that when you opened it, the jewels had left red impressions on your palm, and your thanks turned to bitter ash on your tongue as the laces of the choker slipped between your fingers.

The witch, Clementine, watched you from dark eyes always shrouded in an enigma, but today, held the slight trace of unease. A foreboding weight sunk her shoulders, and when she spoke, the raspy tones of her voice were those of lost souls, crying from strangled throats to warn you of something truly grave on the horizon,

“You’re marked. You’re marked by the Devil, you are, girl.”

Your brow furrowed, and the chime of her jangling bracelets seemed to mock you like laughter as she pointed a hooked claw to your loins.

Pawing aside the fabric of your robe, your fingers swiped across the nail marks Thomas had left along your inner thigh, wrathful and red and weeping. Your fingers came away with a veneer of blood, pooling in the rings of your skin like a wax seal.

The seal of your fate, to a man falsely crowned.

And to your devil, your soul was bound.

Part II coming soon!

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patolemus · 7 months

Text

Here’s a little thing that’s been bugging me for a few weeks.

Summary: Stiles is a demon. This is common knowledge. At least, he was under the impression that this is common knowledge. He should have known better than to trust Derek Hale to figure it out.

————————————

Look, in his defense, Stiles was sure they knew. At least, he was sure Derek knew, and if Derek knew, then the rest of the pack knew. That’s just kind of how it works, when they aren’t hiding threats from each other.

(He’s not pointing fingers. It’s just that Stiles sometimes gets fucking tired when the pack does not tell him shit and then he ends up having to figure it all out by himself so they don’t get themselves killed. It wasn’t funny the first time Scott tried it back in sophomore year. It hasn’t gotten any funnier since.)

(Alright, so he is pointing fingers. Sue him.)

Stiles is a demon. And okay, before anyone gets mad and starts saying shit like ‘no he’s not, he’s just a bit chaotic’, he… well, Stiles will admit to being chaotic as a general rule, but that is more of a character choice. He’s being for real when he says he’s a demon.

His parents couldn’t have children. It’s just how it goes sometimes. But Claudia was a very powerful witch, and she knew a thing or two about making pacts with demons. So when the doctors told her she could not carry any children, she figured the next step was obviously to summon a creature from down below and make a deal with it in exchange for a child.

That’s where Stiles comes in.

Claudia probably wasn’t expecting a demon child to come to her when she did her summoning, but personally? Stiles thinks she lucked out. Stiles is a friendly demon, as far as those go, and his policy regarding humans is more ‘see what makes them tick’ rather than ‘make them burst into flames spontaneously’, so all in all, she could have done a lot worse.

So that’s kind of how he ends up as Stiles Stilinski, son of John and Claudia Stilinski. Claudia and John are the only ones that know Stiles’ true name, though only Claudia can say it right. John tries his best, but they all collectively decide that Mischief is a rather good alternative.

In exchange for being the best son anyone could have, Stiles gets to spend an unspecified amount time on the mortal realm. Claudia doesn’t put any restrictions on him, on the understanding that Stiles can’t go and kill people for kicks. Annoying them is fair game, though.

That’s fine. Stiles has never been particularly interested in needless violence. He’d much rather learn everything there is to know about humans. Such interesting creatures. Truly fascinating.

And that’s how he spends the next twelve years of his life. He makes one singular friend - humans tend to get this instinctual need to get away from demons, but Scott doesn’t have any survival instincts at all, so it works out fine - and spends most of his time enjoying the admittedly mundane life of a human child.

Stiles knows there’s a pack of werewolves living in town, but he never runs into them, and then they die in that terribly suspicious fire and the survivors leave. The town quiets down a lot after that, and Stiles tries not to mourn the loss too badly. The energy they gave off was very pleasant.

Then the werewolves come back to town.

Stiles doesn’t intent to get involved. He doesn’t. He’s a demon, he doesn’t care for mortal affairs no matter how amusing they are. So he doesn’t do anything when he feels the presence of an Alpha in Beacon Hills after seven years. A not his circus not his monkeys kinda situation. But then Scott gets turned into a werewolf, and Stiles doesn’t care for mortal affairs but he does care about Scott, so really, it was inevitable.

There’s also Derek Hale. Derek Hale with his lickable abs and his chiseled scowly face and that angryhurtsadmiserable aura of his. Stiles acuses him of murder, Derek shoves him into walls. How is Stiles supposed to not become completely obsessed?

Anyways.

Stiles isn’t sure how he ended up in a pack of werewolves of all things - demons are lonely creatures, they don’t get packs - but he can probably blame Scott for that. It’s pretty alright, even if he gets dragged into every possible supernatural matchup imaginable. At least no one is busting out the holy water. Not that it would work, that’s a myth. Stiles had that phase as a kid where he went to church every Sunday morning and received the sacrament of Eucharist just for kicks. His dad didn’t find it funny, but Stiles still thinks it’s fucking hilarious. Now he uses the name of Jesus Christ every time he can. It’s blasphemous and Stiles thinks it’s hilarious too.

Back to the point, Stiles never bothered to hide he’s a demon. He doesn’t advertise it, of course, but he doesn’t go out of his way to mask his scent or whatever. He’s powerful enough that he can take on mostly anything that comes find him. So he thought Derek knew, and was just being chill about it and not mentioning it.

Apparently not.

The bitten wolves, he could understand. They still mix up deer and rabbit after years of being bitten when they’re running in the preserve. But Derek’s a born wolf. He was trained since he was a kid, and it’s not like demons are hard to sniff out. Hell clings to Stiles like a second skin.

Well, it turns out Derek is the ultimate failwolf, because after four years, he still had no idea. It takes a run in with another demon - this one does like to set humans on fire, unfortunately, so Stiles has to banish it back to Hell - and even then Stiles has to practically spell it out for him. Stiles is only a bit disappointed in him. Mostly, he’s still a bit confused on how Derek even missed it in the first place.

“Dude, can’t you smell it?” he asks, and they’re alone in the loft because everyone else has gone out to buy celebratory donuts while they try to get the scorch marks off Derek’s wall. It’s not going as well as they hoped.

Instead of an answer, or a growl, which is his primary method of communication, Derek does something unexpected and fucking—blushes.

Huh. Okay.

Wait, no. Not okay. What?

“It’s not considered polite to act on the way people smell, Stiles,” and Derek’s voice is strangled, like it hurts him to get the words out. He’s always been bad at talking but Jesus Christ, this is excessive.

(Heh. Jesus Christ. It will never not be funny.)

“That’s bullshit and you know it. I’ve lost count of how many times you’ve sniffed out other supernatural creatures or people’s intentions. It’s what you do. Other than rip out throats and creep around my window, obviously,” Derek’s scowl makes an appearance - there it is, Stiles was getting worried for a second - looking back at the scorched wall like it’s going to magically clean itself with the power of his rage.

Stiles could probably do something like that. Maybe. His magic is chaotic on a good day, so he can’t really call it reliable. Destructive, definitely. Offensive, if he has to pick between that and defense. Stiles is terrible at that.

He’s really getting off track here.

“That’s different. You’re not a supernatural creature,” Derek says stubbornly and what?

“What?”

“What,” it’s impressive how he always manages to ask questions that don’t sound like questions.

“What do you mean, I’m not a supernatural creature? Are you—“ Stiles looks at his Alpha with narrowed eyes, mouth open mid sentence as it finally downs on him that they’re talking about very different things. “What did you think I meant when I asked you if you smelt it?”

Derek stubbornly refuses to say anything. That’s fine. Stiles is the king of stubborn, he can out-stubborn anyone at any given time.

“Tell me,” he presses. Derek doesn’t say anything. “Tell me, tell me, tell me, tell me, tell me, tell—“

“Jesus fuck, Stiles, fine!” heh. Stiles knew he’d break. “I was smelling that you’re horny. All the time.”

That— that’s not what Stiles was expecting. Um. Okay. So things got awkward very fucking quickly.

“Oh,” he says, and now he sounds strangled because he thought he’d kept that little tidbit of information hidden quite nicely. It turns out Derek was just being polite about it.

God, does it mean the betas can smell it too? Oh, no, no no no no.

(Heh. God. Stiles is so funny.)

(He really has to stop unfocusing like this.)

Stiles is officially mortified. Turns out even demons get prudish after spending so much time in the mortal realm. Who knew? It’s okay, Stiles will just find the nearest bridge to throw himself off from. If he has any luck he’ll die instantly and won’t get back to Hell so he doesn’t have to live with this knowledge forever.

“It’s okay. I know it’s not personal or anything,” Derek’s still not looking at him. He’s grabbed back his rag and is valiantly rubbing away at the wall. Stiles doesn’t have the heart to tell him that if the mark hasn’t come out already, it probably never will. He’d know, he’s burned plenty of walls before.

By accident, if his dad ever asks.

“That’s fine and all, only it’s very personal,” and Stiles is just making a bigger hole to bury himself in, but his mouth is faster than his brain. It’s an ongoing issue. “You don’t think I’m horny all the fucking time, right? I mean, demons do have that hyper hormonal stage at my age but assuming it’s all the time is a bit excessive. I’m not a succubus. This is completely a you thing.”

Derek’s face does that thing where it pinches in between his eyebrows and his eyes narrow a bit, lips pressed together tightly. It’s his Stiles Just Said Something Deeply Upsetting face. He uses it a lot.

Alright, time to backtrack.

“It’s really okay that you don’t feel the same. Really, I get it. I wouldn’t feel the same about me either. So let’s just ignore I ever said anything, and we can go back to trying to clean this up even if we both know it’s not going to come out,” he offers Derek his most winning smile. Derek’s face just gets even more pinched.

Stiles’ senses are pretty dulled here on the mortal realm, but he doesn’t need them to know his Alpha is probably very pissed. At him, specifically.

So it’s Tuesday, then.

Stiles takes a step back, just as a precaution. He doesn’t think Derek will throw him against a wall - he stopped doing that a couple of years ago. Stiles refuses to acknowledge he kinda misses it - but you can never be too cautious. And Stiles did kind of just confess his undying horniness for him.

Imagine if he’d also told the guy he’s utterly and helplessly in love with him. That would have gone fantastically. Not.

“You’re a demon?” Derek’s voice comes out more high pitch than Stiles has ever heard it. He’s surprised. Why is he surprised? This is what they were talking about, before Stiles stuck a foot in his mouth. “Since when?”

“Since always? Seriously dude, can’t you smell it?”

It’s like they’re back in square one.

So. Turns out Derek truly had no idea Stiles is a demon. No wonder he’d looked like Stiles had grown a second head when he banished that fiend back to Hell.

On the good side, Derek apparently also returns his feelings, after they go in circles a few more times and Stiles gets across that he’s not just horny, he’s in love. A happy ending, in Stiles’ opinion.

(“How did you end up as the son of the Sheriff anyway? Is he a demon, too?”

“Hmn? Oh, no. My mom just did this summoning ritual for a Prince of Hell to get them a child, and I showed up. It was kind of a two for one deal,” he waves his hand dismissively.

“You’re a what?”

Oh, boy. Stiles knew he was forgetting something.)

#patolemus writes #yes this is inspired on the fact that no one can say stiles’ real name and he refuses to tell anyone what it is #emotionally constipated derek is very funny when he’s not obstructing true love #sterek #stiles stilinksi #derek hale #derek x stiles #stiles x derek #teen wolf #teen wolf fanfiction #writing #fanfic #eternal sterek #sterek fanfic #demon!stiles au

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dodgeballstuckonthegymceiling · 11 months

Note

Can you do more Yandere Jax Headcanons?

If you dont mind

If your busy, Its okay

Yes I can! The amount of attention my amazing digital circus fanfiction has been getting is kind of crazy. At least to me 😅

Y'all are a bunch of simps for Jax and I don't blame you.

Here's part one!

Yandere Jax x Reader pt 2

★ Normally Jax wouldn't really care what you do but yandere Jax always needs know what you're doing. He likes to keep his eyes on you, for safety reasons, obviously.

★ A lot of bad things can happen if he's not around. What if something heavy falls directly on your body, trapping you and leaving you alone and afraid for hours? No, he doesn't have any idea of where it could have come from. Why are you looking at him like that?

★ If you ever piss him off enough he'll lock you in your room for a few hours until he feels like you've had enough. His room if you got him feeling particularly possessive.

★ How would you piss him off? Well there a few ways, obviously ignoring him is one but other ways include making him jealous, keeping secrets from him and taking something of his without asking.

★ That's just scratching the surface but if I try to list everything he doesn't like I'll be here all night. Just don't do those main four and you'll probably be fine.

★ If you ever write him any notes or letters he's keeping them under his bed in a cardboard box. For safe keeping obviously. Each note and doodle you make is being collected by him. Even if it wasn't meant for him.

★ NEVER FLIRT WITH ANYONE OTHER THAN HIM, NOT EVEN A NPC. IT DOESN'T MATTER IF YOUR JUST JOKING. If you make the horrible decision I can't say it will end well for you. If your goal was to not see them outside of his room for a week you succeeded!

★ Just don't, he's not even going to ask you what's going on. Immediately picking you up and bringing you to an area more private. I feel bad for whoever you were talking to because they immediately become a target for Jax.

★ "what'd you think you were doing? Are you trying to tick me off?" Or "You really think I didn't know what you're doing? Because I do. And you're not getting away with it" will be heard through clenched teeth and a strained smile.

★ How do you get him to forgive you? A few days of compliments, attention and reassurance that you're not going to leave him.

#tadc #tadc x Reader #tadc headcanon #tadc fanfiction #tadc fandom #the amazing digital circus headcannons #the amazing digital circus #the amazing digital circus x Reader #the amazing digital circus fandom #jax x reader #tadc jax headcannons #jax fanfiction #digital circus jax #tadc jax #jax #the amazing digital circus jax

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impishjesters · 11 months

Text

Comforting a Scared Child Reader

warning(s): Jax, Caine, and Bubble are warning enough... A/N: These turned into less of a direct comfort and more of a how they'd distract them... sorta... though to be fair it wasn't gonna be very detailed given I had to write everyone... I think if I re-did these properly I'd only do a couple of characters to elaborate on. I don't think Bubble was intended, but I included him because of chaos. Needless to say, I think most of them would kinda suck at comforting a scared child, but they'd definitely put on a strong front to try and comfort them. request: Please can you do some seperate prompts of each circus member and ai comforting a scared child reader?

Pomni

She’s not the ideal person to comfort someone but she knows what it’s like to be new and scared—plus when she finds out you’re only a child??

Pomni tries her best, she really does—it’s like seeing you scared and shaking gives her barely just enough courage to step up and comfort you.

She’s not one for touching but if you need a hug while she’s around she’ll likely give you one.

It doesn’t take a genius to know she’s about as shakey and anxious as a chihuahua, but she tries her hardest to come off as calm and normal for your sake.

Pomni gives off anxious first-time big sister vibes.

Jax

Also not an ideal person when it comes to comfort, but he can only imagine how terrified you are right now.

The others are adults and can handle his bullshit, you however are a child and he’s not about to bully a child. As tempting and funny as the thought is.

Jax uses his jokes—on a less insulting, more child-friendly level—to try and calm you down. When he gets you calmed down and the two of you start to get buddy-buddy? Oh, it’s over for those suckers.

It takes the whole gang to try and prevent Jax from turning you into a mini Jax, though he does let you tag along for the more minor kid-friendly jokes and shenanigans.

"Who the fuck leaves a child unsupervised to put on some weird sketchy headset??"

Jax gives off the cool, prankster big brother vibes.

Gangle

She’s just barely holding it together on a good day, but the moment a child shows up scared and crying? Big sister mode activated.

Gangle’s the type to try and calm you down with stuffed animals or art depending on just how young you are. She’s got all sorts of craft stuff and a collection of stuffed animals, she even lets you pick one out to keep for yourself.

While in big sister mode, she’s a little more protective and worrying, trying to keep you from getting hurt by Caine’s little games or away from Jax’s nasty behaviour.

Unlike Pomni, Gangle likes hugs and is always willing to hug you or hold you if you start to miss home or your parents.

Gangle gives off the protective big sister vibes.

Kinger

Surprisingly, Kinger is the best out of all of them when it comes to taking care of a kid. He’s the quickest to get you to stop crying and the quickest to distract you from those scary thoughts. He’s also the first one to ask for your permission before picking you up with ease.

Out of all of them, he’s the one who watches after you the most—sure it’s a joint effort in babysitting you but he’s the one who watches after you the most.

If you’re particularly young he’ll probably carry you around or hold your hand—even if you could technically walk away with his hand, at least he knows where you are.

Similarly to Gangle, he’ll find something you like and either play with you or talk to you about it. God, if you also have an interest in insects like this man then he’ll tell you all sorts of useless facts and stories, all the gross picture books.

Kinger gives off warm, golden retriever dad energy.

Zooble

Not surprising Zooble isn’t great with kids, and not great with touch either. It’s not they can’t carry you but they’ve only really got one good arm to carry you with and it’s just…awkward for them.

That said if they see you fidgeting or picking at some part of yourself in an anxious-like fashion they’ll offer up their left arm for you to fiddle with. It’s a little more sensor-friendly to fiddle with if you exclude the pointy claw bits, they make sure you don’t hurt yourself. It’s not the most pleasant feeling having their limb messed with, so it doesn’t happen too often.

Zooble doesn’t really do much with you, but if you find yourself wanting to sit with them instead of play with the others they won’t protest. On occasion, they might play with you, or read you a book or whatever as long as it doesn’t involve them doing much.

Zooble gives off relaxed, lazy big sibling energy.

Ragatha

Similar to Gangle she gets her shit together when a child shows up, her chipper optimistic shtick comes in handy when it comes to comfort. She hasn’t had to deal with a child in a really long time though—were they always so…loud?

Ragatha’s the second one who watches after you the most, if she had it her way you’d never be around Jax, he’s a bad influence. But if you like playing with him then the most she can do is stay close by and make sure he doesn’t do or say anything badly. (Man’s gonna give her a heart attack)

Similar to Kinger and Gangle, she’ll play with you and let you join in with Caine’s less dangerous games. She’s nervous to play hide and seek with you but if you really wanna play she’ll set an area limit so that you don’t accidentally get hurt.

Ragatha gives off frantic first-time mother energy.

Caine

Doesn’t know the first fuckin thing about children, well he does but he’s never actually interacted with one.

Thank heaven for the censorship, he doesn’t want that foul language anywhere near your young little ears.

Caine’s the worst person to be left alone with you, not that he’ll be bad to you no, he just won’t understand that while he’s trying to keep you entertained and happy it’s probably a huge safety risk. If the shit the adults experience is dangerous god only knows what he might subject you to by accident.

Despite everything, Caine is actually pretty good at getting you to stop crying. It helps when he can quite literally snap his fingers and poof a random toy you might like or something else he thinks is cool.

Caine gives off crazy Uncle vibes that you only get to see during big family get-togethers because he has a habit of causing trouble on accident.

Bubble

For the love of all that is holy. Do. Not. Leave. The. Child. With. Bubble.

I take back what I said about Caine being the worst to leave you with, Bubble is the worst. Well, they both are but still.

While entertaining (and disturbing) to watch Bubble do stupid stuff, everyone will tell you not to do what he does—or say what he does, in fact just pretend he doesn’t exist. He’s a bad role model.

NO. STOP. DON’T EAT THE SOAP. I DON’T CARE THAT HE SAID IT WAS TASTY. HE CAN’T TASTE. YOUR GONNA TAKE THE WORD OF A LITERAL TALKING BUBBLE?

Bubble is that dumb dog that eats its own vomit because it can, that’s his vibe. Don’t be a Bubble.

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