#anyway you get the doll paragraphs | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

starleska · 9 months

Text

Dollface - the Toymaker x Real Toymaker!Reader

As a toymaker, you are delighted when you stumble across MR EMPORIUM'S TOYSHOP. But when you meet its eccentric owner - one eponymous 'Toymaker' - you enter into an impossible game with higher stakes than you ever imagined…with the risk of your deepest fantasy coming true. Rating: Mature. Tags: Dollification; Toyification; Truth or Dare; Reality-Bending; Humiliation; Psychological Torture; Fluff; Teasing; Touching; Forced Dancing; Mentions of Neglect; Cosmic Horror; Horrible Fake German. Reader is presumed female, but has a complicated relationship with gender and enjoys feminine terms of endearment. requested by the lovely @chronicbeans!! whilst this was originally meant to be a few-paragraphs long headcanons bit...but then it sprawled into a 13,000 word fanfic. my apologies to yourself, and to any German speakers in the audience 🙈💖 you can also read this on AO3. i hope you enjoy!

Toys are your life.

For as long as you can remember you have been fascinated by all manner of toys: everything from teddy bears to zoetropes; spinning tops to yo-yos. As a child you weren’t just interested in playing with toys—you wanted to reach inside of them, pick them apart, and understand every little detail about how they worked. Much to the chagrin of your parents, you spent more time trying to put your toys back together than you did actually playing with them.

But all of your alternative playtime paid off. Now, as an adult, you run a modest yet successful local toymaking business, with your own vendor stall at the market and a popular online shop. Much of your work is custom, using vintage materials to replicate toys of the past, and you occasionally trade and sell real old toys too. As a result, you have something of a monopoly on the local toy scene, and feel you know every single toymaker and toy-collecting enthusiast in a fifty mile radius.

That’s why it’s a real shock when you stumble across MR EMPORIUM’S TOYSHOP late one night.

The storefront is a gorgeous assault to the senses. Parked in the middle of the cold, grey street, the toyshop beams out crimson and gold onto the snow drifts, with all manner of classic toys peeking out at you through the windows. You are delighted to see an assortment of downy plush bears and hand-painted model motor cars crowding the shelves: so many it feels like the toyshop itself might burst at the seams. Your giddiness only increases as you get closer to the window. You can make out all sorts of fun, bright shapes within: countless colourful toys beckoning you and begging to be taken home.

Yet it isn’t these treasures which catch your eye the most. Right at the back of the shop, near the counter, you spy a shelf lined with dolls. They are beautiful even at a distance: likely from the early 20th century, masterfully painted and wearing a fine rainbow of little dresses. Even from your vantage point you can see the impeccable craftsmanship. There’s immense detail in their delicate hands, and if you’re not mistaken, each doll has a crop of real human hair.

Perhaps most intriguing of all is the eyes. Their glass sheen looks so sad and wistful…far more emotion than a doll should be able to communicate.

If you didn’t know any better, you would believe the dolls were alive.

Oh, I shouldn’t , you tell yourself. I’m much too old now to be playing with dolls…and I keep all my old ones locked up anyway. I shouldn’t deprive some kid of a toy. This is a deeply silly excuse, and a hypocritical one. The vast majority of your clientele are adults, as are the brilliant toymakers you’re proud to call your friends. This is the perpetual double-standard you constantly believe and are always trying to rally against: that you are uniquely strange, and deserve to be ridiculed for your interests.

The curious thing is that this idea doesn’t apply to toys more broadly…only to dolls. You have made countless dolls throughout your career, and yet owning dolls and enjoying them is something you’ve long nursed a hang-up over. But that is a can of worms you refuse to open up today. No , you decide, today I am going to be a normal adult who is confident about their interests and doesn’t feel an ounce of shame! I am going to go into this toyshop and look at those dolls, and that’s that! With your mind made up, you shift your backpack onto your shoulder, take a deep breath, and push through the toyshop’s door.

The door slams shut behind you with the tinkle of a bell. You are immediately enveloped in warmth, and the delicious scent of varnished wood enrobes you like a fine dress. You can’t help but close your eyes and inhale: somehow, the toyshop smells just like your childhood.

“Hallo, meine kleine Mädchen! Komm in, komm in, be ge-removings yourselves from dee kalt! It is ein horrid evenings, is it not?”

You open your eyes in surprise, and see an older, greyish-blond-haired man leaning against the counter. He’s dressed in a most whimsical fashion, wearing a soft white work shirt coupled with a maroon waistcoat, and a brown apron stuffed with woodworking tools. A spotted ascot around his neck and a pair of pince-nez balanced at the end of his nose complete the look.

The man smiles at you like he’s known you all his life. You feel like you’ve been transported to another time.

“It is,” you agree, as you shake the snow drifts from your boots. “So sorry for dropping in so late—I’m surprised you’re still open.”

“Ah, but I am always having times for dee beautiful Fräulein,” says the man with a coy wink. “But vot is it zat is ge-bringings you here?”

You have to stifle a giggle. You know enough of the language to know the man’s German is terribly off, and his accent is borderline offensive. However, you also know that folks in the toymaking community tend to be eccentric, and you can forgive a corny, theatrical accent for the wonderful atmosphere of this shop. Who are you to judge if he wants to LARP as a Bavarian thespian?

Before you can reply, the strange man is suddenly beside you…although you don’t recall seeing him move. He has also removed his pince-nez. You blink, a little taken aback. How did he move so quickly? You wonder if you’ve eaten enough that day.

“I’m…a toymaker,” you say, trying not to sound freaked out. “I’ve never seen your shop before, and I thought I knew everyone in town who makes toys. What’s your name?”

The man’s eyes are blue, you notice—terribly blue, and sparkling in the soft light with unspoken mischief. “You are beings ein toymaker? Vy, zat is a coincidence…” He taps the side of his nose. “Many peoples ge-calls me by many names. But zey most oftens call me the Toymaker, und nothing else. It be gettings dee point across, nein? Und was ist your name?”

You tell him, and the Toymaker’s mouth splits open in a wide grin.

“Das ist ein schöner name!” he says enthusiastically. “Truly, a magnifizent fit. It is not often zat I am gettings other toymakers in mein shop…I vonder, vot does your eye ge-fallen upon? Could it be mein cuddly collection of teddies? Oh, ja, I sees you are ge-needings ein soft companion for dese frosty nights. Or could it be mein train? Choo-choo! it goes, round and round all dee livelong day! I am ge-havings many customers mit ein eye for dee train.”

The Toymaker’s voice is smooth as butter, rich and inviting, and each word he speaks seems to add a little more colour to his delightful environment. You look around in awe at all of the toys, unable to comprehend the sheer scale of the place. Just moments ago the shop seemed so small, with the abundance of toys seriously crammed in on the shelves, but now it looks impossibly vast: a veritable sea of playful delights. The little choo-choo train in question chugs along on its rails and moves past the doll shelf, drawing your eye back to their pretty little figures.

“Ah, dee Katze hast gotten your tongue,” says the Toymaker. He gestures to the dolls, and the gold ring on his right pinkie finger catches the light. “I too ams often becomings stricken by dee beauty of mein dollen…zey took me many nights to make, ja. Oh, but ge-look! Eins ist out of place. Zose fingers are so fiddly! Und dee hair…zo many eveninks ge-spended brushing out zeir tiny curls."

You watch as the Toymaker reaches up and begins deftly rearranging the dolls. His fingers are long and nimble, and they move with such care and attention, placing each doll’s tiny hands neatly in their laps and smoothing down their dresses. When you’re a toymaker, you grow to appreciate a pair of well-practised hands, and there’s something undeniably… charming , about this Toymaker and his cartoonish whimsy. It’s silly, but you feel a little heat rising in your cheeks. The attention he’s paying to such small, delicate objects…

…well, it’s only natural that your mind should wander to more practical applications of such hands.

“The dolls are gorgeous,” you say. “Do you offer any toymaking classes? The dolls I make have a bit more of a modern touch.”

That’s when the Toymaker laughs, and it is a strange laugh: it tinkles out of his mouth like a jingle, in a musical, ‘Ha ha ha HA ha ha ha!’

“Oh, mein dollen are sehr modern…moreso zan you sink,” says the Toymaker. He gives you another wink, as it seems he likes to give them out for free.

That’s when you feel the little clench in your chest. Oh dear, he really is quite handsome. This wouldn’t be the first time you’d caught feelings for a quirky, attractive stranger, and they were often not as well-dressed as the Toymaker. You have a tendency to get caught up in the realms of imagination, and have thought up more than a few daring trysts with pretty-faced people with whom you’d only exchanged a couple of words. You ought to grab a doll, leave, and have a quiet little panic attack about this interaction at home.

You force your eyes away from the handsome man and back to the shelf.

That’s when you spot her.

Somehow, a doll had escaped your notice. Right in the middle of her sad-looking rainbow sisters is another doll, simply and prettily done up in a powder-blue be-ribboned frock. Unlike the other dolls, this one is smiling in a dimpled way, and her eyes sparkle with a magical sheen not unlike that of the Toymaker’s. You note with some amusement that the doll has the same eye colour as you—hair colour, too. This isn’t strange on a doll, but it gives you the same jolt of satisfaction and déjá vu you get when meeting someone who shares your name.

“Ah,” says the Toymaker (now on your other side). “Dee dollen…zey speak to you, ja? Zey are ge-having ein chitter-chatter, all high up on dee shelf. Vot fun games zey have ven I ge-leaves the shoppen!”

Dollen isn’t even the German word for dolls, you know—it’s Puppen. But you get the sense that the Toymaker’s German accent is less an earnest recreation (and it’s certainly not his natural accent), but a pantomime version intended to amuse and entertain.

“I’m sure they do,” you say, but you’re distracted from the Toymaker’s little act. The longer you look at the doll, the stranger you feel.

You move closer to the shelf to get a better look, and are startled by what you discover.

It isn’t just that the doll on the shelf has similar hair and eyes to you: they’re both the exact same shade, even down to the imperfect flecks in your irises.

You study the doll intently for a moment, blink, and— what? The doll’s hair is now the same length as yours. Was it always? No, you could have sworn just a moment ago it was not just a completely different length, but style.

You rise up on your tiptoes to get a better look at the doll, and are baffled by what you see. It’s as if detail is stacking on the doll right before your eyes, the way some video game maps load in piece-by-piece. You watch as texture is added to her hair, and light pools in her eyes. This level of craftsmanship is uncanny; it’s as if the Toymaker went out of their way to create a doll which resembles you.

“How did you do that?” You turn to the Toymaker, confused. “Did you know I was coming here?"

The Toymaker’s mouth contorts into an offended pout. “Now, you ge-vounds me. It is ein special privilege, having another Spielzeugmacher in mein shop. Tell me, vot do you sink of her hair? Es ist pretty, ja?”

“But that doll looks exactly like me,” you say.

You can feel your heart hammering in your chest. Suddenly the warm, cosy atmosphere of the toyshop feels more claustrophobic and oppressive. The Toymaker looks unbothered; he rests his chin on his hand and contemplates the shelf.

“Zere ist ein…certain resemblance,” says the Toymaker, with an unusual, almost French affectation on the last word. “But you are just ge-havings, as zey say, ‘von of zose faces’. Ja, das ist richtig: ein dollface. Puppengesicht. All smooth und sveet. Vy, vot a lucky lady you are! She simply must be goings home vith you.”

You’re scrambling to work out what kind of practical joke this is, and how the Toymaker was pulling it off. You’d met a few eccentric toymakers with God complexes before, as they tend to go hand-in-hand: you’d briefly dated one who designed escape rooms in his spare time. But this is on another level…creating a doll which can be imperceptibly altered to resemble a person in real-time? You’d never heard of such a thing, and you can’t think of a non-creepy reason why someone would go to the trouble of making one.

Oh, hang on a minute, you think. This guy might just be a genius. “This is a marketing trick, isn’t it?”

You pull away from the Toymaker and lean against his counter, feeling terribly smug for having figured it out.

The Toymaker puts his head on one side, quizzical. Playing dumb, you think.

“I am not ge-followings you,” the Toymaker says.

“You make dolls of the people you see ahead of time,” you explain. “People you know who will come in here at some point…collectors, other toymakers. Then you wait and put them on the shelf when they come in, maybe behind some hidden panel so you can spin them around when they get close. Then when they come in, it’s like they’ve found the perfect toy!”

You’re so proud of yourself for having cracked the case, you want to pump your fist in the air. For a moment, you envision yourself wearing a deerstalker hat and smoking a pipe. Go me! But your victory is short-lived. During your diatribe, the Toymaker’s bright, childish grin had frozen on his face, and remained in place even during your brief mental celebration. But now the smile slowly slips like a mask peeling away from too-tight skin. In its place sits a stormy frown: one which clenches the muscles and wrinkles of the Toymaker’s face into an expression which says ‘insulted’.

“For shame,” says the Toymaker. “That’s twice you’ve accused me of cheating now. You really do me a disservice. I am bound by the Rules of Play, and would never resort to such cheap tricks.”

What the hell…? The Toymaker’s accent is completely different. Where before his voice was a thick soup of faux German, now it is a soft British breeze: a proper, formal accent which speaks the way trees rustle. You gape at him, dumbfounded.

“Your accent is different,” you can’t help but say. You’re no longer just leaning against the counter—you’re actively pushing into it, with the edge of the countertop pushing into the small of your back.

The Toymaker raises an eyebrow at you, and smirks. “You are not half as stupids as you are ge-lookings,” he says, slipping the German back on like a heavy cloak. “But zen, I know you are playing ein game mit me, aren’t you?”

You stare at the Toymaker. Something has shifted: the air is thick with a tension you cannot identify, but which you want to run away from. You keep staring, thinking that if you look away from those too-blue eyes for even a moment, you might just lose your grip.

You know for a fact that if you look back at that doll on the shelf, it will look even more like you than before.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you say, and you wish you weren’t lying.

The Toymaker laughs his musical laugh and wags his finger in your face. “Sehr naughty!” he says. “Oh, how natürlich dee lies kommen to sie, mein Schatz. You be ge-knowinks how to play games…zis ist ein lecker human mind game, und you are ge-tryings to deceive me.”

His voice slips smoothly back into the British:

“Do you think I don’t know all about your little fantasy?”

Your eyes go wide, and a choked noise escapes your mouth. No. There is no way that this man…this impossible toymaker could possibly know. You were always so careful, so sure to keep it all to yourself! Familiar shame and embarrassment wash over you in a hot wave as the Toymaker looks at you, looks into you, as if he can see the inner workings of your mind. Your mind grabs at the old, familiar justifications the way one might grab a newspaper for modesty if they found themselves naked on a bus. It’s perfectly normal to have fun little flights of fancy. Everyone plays make-believe sometimes, right? “But zey are embarrassing, zese thoughts of yours,” the Toymaker giggles. “Not dee kind of thoughts you can share mit deine Mutter. I am not ge-thinkinks zat you have shared your desires mit ein Partnerin…” There goes the eyebrow again, cocked sardonically to match the wicked curl of his lips. “Is zis true?” You feel nauseous. The firm pressure of the countertop underneath your palms is all that stops you from shaking. It feels as if the Toymaker is probing the inside of your skull, and using those skilled fingers to strip back the whorls of your brain and grab at the fleshy thoughts inside.

“Get out of my head,” you say quietly.

“Oh, but zis is dee game I ge-likes!” says the Toymaker. “Humans mit zeir internal struggles. Desires mit dee most fun ideas, but you are too ge-frightened to say vot you vant. So you play games mit dein loved ones…dee hunting und dee exasperation. Oh, you simply vill not communicate!"

You don’t know when the Toymaker got so close to you, but now he’s towering over you, with his hands firmly planted on either side of the countertop. You’re close enough to count the spots on his ascot, and examine the year-lines etched around his mouth and eyes. When he smiles those lines crinkle, but not naturally: it’s the way a puppet’s arms reach for the stars when the marionette twists them upwards.

“Okay, you’ve had your fun,” you whisper. “I’ll buy the doll and leave.”

This close, the Toymaker radiates heat. He smells like rose petals and Christmas.

“You could…but zat vould be no fun,” says the Toymaker. “I propose ve solve zis in a more interesting vay…”

The Toymaker waves his hand across your field of vision…and transforms the centre of the toyshop. A small wooden table complete with chairs has popped into existence just in front of the counter. You gape at the sight. How did he do that?! “Let us play ein game,” he says. “If you vin, you can take dee doll free of charge. But if I vin…”

The Toymaker’s smile cracks like the earth preceding a quake.

“You vill stay vith me und play mein games forever!”

You have to give yourself credit for reacting as well as you did. Most people, if they were faced with a crazy fake German man who seems able to read your mind, may have had a breakdown or made a run for the door. But you’ve seen a lot of anime, and you understand that if you are challenged by a handsome, powerful man with magical powers and a delightful hairstyle, you cannot refuse the call. Your brain has shifted from This should be impossible, to It’s game time. “Alright,” you say slowly. “You’re clearly very powerful. It seems like if I play a game with you, you have far more to gain than I do. A doll isn’t a good enough prize.”

The Toymaker smiles at you. “Ein girl after mein own heart,” he says. “How about zis: if you vin, I vill show you exactly how I make mein dollen, complete vith a demonstration. Zat is generous of me, nein?”

His words are laced with sinister venom, and it’s all you can do not to be poisoned.

“And I’m guessing that if I refuse your game, something terrible would happen to me?”

The Toymaker hums low in his throat. “Hm…not accepting mein game is always ein option…ja, you could do zat. Und yet…”

You inhale as the Toymaker brings his face terribly close to yours. The skin of his cheek brushes your own. You can feel his soft breath as he whispers into your ear, British once more:

“I know you are so curious as to how I make my dolls. If you leave now, you’ll never know. And I think if you wanted to leave, you would have done so already.”

The Toymaker pulls away from you, leaving you with your face on fire. He’s right. In less than ten minutes, the Toymaker has sussed out your fatal flaw: your damned unstoppable curiosity. There have been countless times where your life would have been improved if you’d kept your nose in your own business…but this is different. The Toymaker isn’t just dangling a carrot: he’s already dug his hooks in you, and you are being reeled in with every second you spend looking into those impossibly blue eyes.

When you next blink, the Toymaker has moved again. He is sitting in one chair, his hands folded primly in front of him.

“Name your challenge,” he says.

You weren’t expecting this: you thought he would have a game in mind. “Any game at all?”

“There isn’t a game I don’t know,” says the Toymaker coolly. “It is common courtesy to allow the guest to pick the party game.”

You can’t help a nervous giggle. “This is a weird kind of party,” you say.

The Toymaker acknowledges this by inclining his head. “Choose.”

Your mind scrambles over dozens of options. There are so many games…board games, card games, strategy games. Do we need equipment? How long does the game have to be? What games can you play with just two people? That’s when your brain starts to run in a very different direction, and a variety of… game positions …flash through your imagination with impunity.

A flush scalds up your neck. You look at the Toymaker, who raises his eyebrows in a knowing way.

He knows exactly what you’re thinking.

You want to scream.

“Truth or Dare!” you blurt out.

That gets his attention. The Toymaker leans forward, his eyes quizzical. “Zat is non-traditional…yet apt,” he says. “Could it be zat you are ge-vantings me to force zat fantasy out of you, meine Liebchen?”

“No,” you lie. “I want you to tell me what you are, and why you’re doing this to me.”

“Then let’s get down to business,” says the Toymaker. “We take it in turns to ask each other Truth or Dare. A Truth corresponds to a question which must be answered truthfully, and a Dare is an action which must be carried out. The player earns one point for each Truth or Dare successfully completed.”

The Toymaker steeples his fingers together. You can’t pull your eyes away from them.

“If you refuse to complete a Truth or a Dare, or you contravene the rules of the game, you lose a point…and must complete a forfeit.”

The way he says ‘forfeit’ sends a shiver down your spine. “What kind of forfeit?”

“Oh, dee usual,” says the Toymaker casually. “Somesing difficult or humiliating. I do not ge-liken to pre-plan zese things…I am preferings to be spontaneous.”

You are starting to regret your choice of game. This is a man who knows more about you than you’ve ever told your closest friend…surely a game like Truth or Dare would be pointless for him? So you ask: “Why would you want to play this if you can already tell what I’m thinking?”

The Toymaker frowns. “A good question,” he says. “The Rules of Play prevent me from having any unfair advantage over an opponent. Although my abilities will remain intact, anything which would tilt the game in my favour is out-of-bounds. I am physically incapable of cheating, and would thank you not to bring it up again. There are only two states of being which matter: winning, or losing. I intend to win.”

Fair enough , you think. “And what if I cheat?” you say. “I have a pretty good poker face. If you can’t look inside my head during the game, what if I just lie to you? How could you tell?”

The Toymaker chuckles, bearing his mouth wide. To your horror, you see there are far, far too many teeth in his mouth.

“I can always tell when someone is lying to me.”

“Six turns,” you counter, voice trembling. “Whoever has the most points at the end of those turns is the winner. And…you can’t choose Truth or Dare more than twice in a row.”

The Toymaker seems impressed by your game-making skills. “Agreed,” he says. “Let us begin.”

He snaps his fingers, and all the lights in the toyshop go out. Above, a stagelight snaps into existence, pouring heat and light onto your scalp in a cascade. The Toymaker’s striking features are illuminated by this shift in lighting, casting the lines of his face with the severity of stage makeup. You swallow: he looks divine.

“Would you like to go first?” he asks politely.

“...No,” you say after a moment. “I think that honour should go to the house.”

Your gamble pays off: you realised that the Toymaker is a man with great respect for the rules of the game, and this offer makes him smile.

“How generous,” says the Toymaker. “Truth or Dare?”

“Dare,” you say.

The Toymaker taps his finger to his lips, considering. Then, he says, “Destroy something precious to you.”

It takes a few seconds for you to really process the Dare. When it hits, you are baffled. What kind of Dare is that? you want to say…but you don’t bother saying it aloud. What kind of toyshop is this—and what kind of ‘toymaker’ is he? All you need to know is reflected in the sadistic gleam in the Toymaker’s eye. This wouldn’t be an ordinary game, and contesting his requests would be fruitless. All you can do is make your move.

You take a deep breath, and reach down into your backpack. You didn’t leave the house this morning planning to bring anything precious to you, but you are a sentimental person by nature, and know you have one item which fits the bill. It’s with great sadness that you pull out a small, ratty teddy bear and place him on the table. The bear is old and beige and dressed in a crimson band leader’s outfit, complete with a hat and red-laced riding boots.

“Oh, ein teddy bear!” laughs the Toymaker, delighted. “How charming. He is quite dee looker, isn’t he?”

“He’s the first bear I ever made,” you say. “I was listening to some 90s British pop music, and the idea for his design just…popped into my head. I scribbled it down and pulled him together from scraps of fabric and repurposed stuffing in just a day. His name’s Neil…I keep him with me for good luck.”

Something about what you said is terribly amusing to the Toymaker, but you don’t know why. “Ein handsome name indeed,” says the Toymaker. “But I am afraid zat vill not be enoughs to ge-save him. Poor Neil. Now…vill you complete your Dare?”

You take a deep breath. There was no turning back now; you’ve accepted the Toymaker’s game, and the predatory sheen in his eyes tells you that you can no longer just walk away. So you pick up Neil, grab hold of his little teddy bear ears—

And tear his head off, sending stuffing careening all over the table.

“Oh!” says the Toymaker with a false gasp. “Vot an unfortunate end for poor Neil. I did not know zat you have such ein cruel streak.”

“Shut up,” you say, trying not to look at Neil’s decapitated corpse.

Even though he’s just a teddy bear, you feel like you’ve just killed a defenceless animal. Neil’s lifeless button-eyes gaze up at you imploringly, as if asking why you’d do such a thing. You knock Neil’s head off the table and focus back on the Toymaker.

“That’s one point to me,” you say. “Truth or Dare?”

The Toymaker grins at you like a shark. “Dare.”

There are a thousand questions ricocheting around your head, but you ask the one which you know will keep you up at night: “Tell me how you did that thing with the doll.”

The violence of the Toymaker’s laughter makes you jump. He actually covers his mouth to quieten himself, but his shoulders shake even so. “Oh nein, nein, nein, you are ge-makings ein mistake!” he says. “You cannot be askings a question ven I have chosen Dare. Oh, meine Schatz, you have your lost your point…and must receive ein forfeit.”

Your veins run cold. “What? No! That was never in the rules!”

“It is a common rule,” says the Toymaker, suddenly serious. “What is the point of distinguishing between a Truth or Dare, if a Dare can be a Truth?”

You want to protest…but his logic is infuriatingly sound. It’s exactly the kind of argument you could see yourself making if you were playing the game against a friend. You try to think of some other get-out-of-jail-free card—anything which would allow you learn how the Toymaker made that doll look exactly like you—but you come up short. You slump in your chair, and resign yourself to waiting for the next round.

“Oh, do not ge-look so sad,” says the Toymaker. In mock sympathy, he makes a little tutting sound against his teeth. “Now, about zat forfeit…ah! I am ge-knowings just dee sing.”

The Toymaker snaps his fingers…and your clothes burst into a flock of doves.

You scream and leap up from the table, batting away at the birds scrambling over your skin. They coo and and flap in your face before struggling upwards and flying into the rafters. Shocked, you look down to find yourself still fully clothed…but with a wardrobe change. You are now clad in a beautiful, powder-blue dress. The fabric is inhumanly soft and threaded through with white ribbons.

“Oh my God!” you yell. “What did you do?!”

The Toymaker is doing his best to stifle a giggle behind his hand. “Do you like it?” he asks. “I think the colour is rather fetching on you.”

You clutch at the skirts of your dress, wishing the floor would open up and swallow you whole. There is no way this is possible…you hadn’t felt anything, not even a shift of your own clothes or the sliding of new fabric against your skin. One moment you were wearing your own clothes, and the next you weren’t. It’s as if your clothes were merely a covering, and when they transformed into doves and flapped off, they left only your dress behind.

You move your legs under the layers of fabric, and blush when you discover you’re wearing a pair of frilly stockings. As you stick out your feet, you can see your feet are clad in a shiny pair of Mary Janes. It’s with a sick feeling in your stomach that you realise what the dress is.

It’s the same dress that the doll on the shelf is wearing.

"You're sick," you hiss.

The Toymaker cocks his head to one side. “Indeed?” he says. “How odd. I thought I was being rather generous, giving you a helping hand towards becoming your true self.” He snickers at you. “If I am sick, then I do wonder what that makes you. My mind is full of games, but the inside of your head is full of so much more.”

You ignore the Toymaker and hold your own arms, shrinking back down into your chair. Yet as you look down at the dress, you can’t help but feel a pang of longing. The dress is a perfect fit, one which could have been custom-designed, and the fabric is truly stunning in appearance and quality. With its puffy sleeves and shapely waistline, you know if you were alone you would have given your new skirts a twirl.

But you can’t let yourself get lost now. This is as much a mind game as it is a real one, you realise. The Toymaker is eyeing you like a piece of meat, and it’s clear that he is capable of so much more than a costume change. You must press on with the game.

“I want to keep playing,” you say.

“Wonderful,” says the Toymaker. "We’re currently still at zero points each, with two turns down. Unfortunately, your turn was taken due to the forfeit. I must ask you: Truth or Dare?”

You don’t allow yourself time to think about it: “Dare.”

The Toymaker’s smile is knowing. “It is a fool’s errand, trying to delay the inevitable. I believe my initial suspicions were correct…you do want the Truth to be pried from you, don’t you? Perhaps that makes the shame a little less potent. After all, the mean, scary Toymaker made you dress this way. It wasn’t your fault…you couldn’t help it. Am I getting warmer?”

Your face is getting warmer, and it’s getting increasingly hard to meet the Toymaker’s gaze. “It isn’t my fault that my opponent is insane,” you say, with venom.

Somehow, the Toymaker’s laugh is German. “Ah, zere is zat fire. You are quite dee entertaining playmate, meine Liebling. I am not ge-xpectings you to verstand games of dee mind…but I do find zem exhilarating. Dee expressions ge-crossing your face right now…I vish you could see zem.”

You scowl at the Toymaker. “Just give me your Dare.”

The Toymaker shrugs at you. “If you insist. I Dare you…to perform a dance befitting a fine young lady such as yourself.”

Oh, God, no. This is a nightmare of a Dare. “I—I’m not a dancer,” you say. You can feel your blush crawling up your neck. You envision yourself prancing around in your new dolly-dress, and the embarrassment makes you physically cringe.

“Oh, zat is not ein problem!” The Toymaker beckons you to look under the table. When you do, he taps his own shoes against the floor, performing a rhythmic tap-step. “Zose lovely Schuhe I gave you vill ge-helpen sie along. Provided you are villing to perform dee dare, your tanzen is all taken care of. All you are ge-needings to do is stand up, und take drei steps backwards.”

The Toymaker leans back in his chair and looks at you expectantly. The list of excuses which blossomed into your mind when he first suggested the Dare are dwindling rapidly, each one seeming more pathetic than the last. But…maybe there is a way out of this?

“What about music?” you ask. “Surely you can’t expect me to dance without music.”

The Toymaker shakes his head at you. “Do not ge-worry about dee musik! I have it all covered. Unless…you vish to forfeit once more?” The idea of any other part of your body spontaneously transforming into an animal is enough to make you scramble to your feet. Immediately, you are self-conscious: the dress is equal parts beautiful and ridiculous, and is so poofy and frilly that it gives your lower half the shape of a bell. You haven’t felt this kind of embarrassment since you were in school: the dry throat and sweaty palms before getting up on stage for assembly. Feeling like a silly child, you can’t help but look at the Toymaker, searching those mirthful eyes for guidance. But the Toymaker simply shoos you, indicating for you to step back. Hesitantly, you take one step away from the table. Then another. Then, one final, gentle step. Without warning, the floor of the toyshop erupts! From beneath your feet a wooden stage springs up, unfurls around you and traps you like a box. You shriek and try to stumble away, but your new dancing shoes root you firmly to the spot. A spotlight bursts into being above your head and illuminates your frozen self in all your newfound frilly glory. You look down from your new height to see the Toymaker sitting in what is now the front row of a vast auditorium; the toyshop’s interior has vanished. He whoops and grabs a fistful from a cartoonishly large bucket of popcorn. You open your mouth to yell at him, and maybe call him some horrible names you haven’t thought of yet. But before you can, music starts blaring from all sides of the auditorium. It’s a grating, repetitive tune: some ghastly combination of twee guitar and twinkling piano…and it’s so familiar . You know this song, but what is it? And why does it sound so…childish? The music hits a powerful note. Your mouth opens unbidden, and from your vocal cords a voice which is decidedly not yours belts out the opening lyric to a familiar nursery rhyme: “I’m a little teapot, Short and stout!” Your voice is loud and beautiful, and you project better than any Broadway singer. You can do nothing but watch yourself in abject horror as your knees bend in time with the music, and your shiny shoes send you toppling along the stage in time with the song. “Here is my handle Here is my spout!” You try to scream and stop, but your body is no longer in your control. Your arms bend at frightening angles, and your hips send your neck careening to the side with a crack . A rictus grin is firmly plastered onto your face, and your mouth stays open and singing: “When I get all steamed up, Hear me SHOUT!…” Your hands flap and your toes point and you screaming on the inside, begging for this to stop, stop, STOP ! But the infernal music is inside of your head and it’s pushing in on all sides, and no matter how much you cry and beg and plead your mouth won’t work except to belt out the final words of your song. “TIP me over and POUR. ME. OUT!” At the last line, your knees give out and you collapse face-first onto the stage. A grand cheer goes up from the auditorium. You twist around, trying to see if the Toymaker has conjured up an audience to witness your humiliation—but he is the only one present. The Toymaker is on his feet and giving you a standing ovation. “Vunderbar!” the Toymaker cries as he claps enthusiastically. “Oh, you are dee most darling little teapot, ja. Zis is a fine game we are ge-havings!”

“What—did—you—do?” you gasp on the floor. You feel like your lungs have been crushed. Something the Toymaker did seized up everything inside of you and folded them up like paper. Now it’s as if you really are a doll: crumpled up and discarded in the corner when your owner is finished playing with you. Although you’re quite sure the music has stopped, the melody is blasting in your head in a maddening loop. You try to move, but your legs won’t work.

“Oh, don’t be zo dramatik. Eversing I ge-make brings viele fun,” says the Toymaker. “Herzlichen Glückwunsch …das ist ein point to you.”

You don’t see the Toymaker get up on the stage, but the next thing you know, he’s crouching down next to you. Without warning, the Toymaker lifts you up under the arms and pulls you to your feet as if you weigh nothing at all. You try to stand but your rigid muscles struggle with the task and you stumble, falling right into the Toymaker’s chest. He chuckles, and you hear it rumbling softly in his chest. His skin is impossibly warm…and you can’t hear a heartbeat.

The two of you stand like that for a long moment, with you enveloped in the Toymaker’s arms. When pressed against his waistcoat, the maddening song infesting your brain quietens, and is replaced with an easy sort of calm. It’s strange…all the questions and anger and terror seem to just burn away. They’re forgotten in the simplicity of being held like a doll.

Eventually, your senses kick in. You manage to pull yourself away from the Toymaker, and you refuse to look at his face. “I just want to get on with the game.”

“Of course.”

The Toymaker waves his hand and the stage and auditorium vanish. You are transported back to the interior of the toyshop, with its familiar cuddly audience and the table taking centre stage. You sit back down at the table shakily. You know when you look up the Toymaker will already be sitting across from you…and you’re right, even though you didn’t see or hear him pull back his chair. His eyes are bright and curious.

“Okay…Truth or Dare?”

The Toymaker places his hand on his chin and pretends to be deep in thought. After a while, he says, “Truth."

You very nearly ask him the same question you were denied just before: how was he able to make that doll look exactly like you? But the momentary calm offered by the Toymaker’s embrace has had a quieting effect on your mind, and a spike in your critical thinking skills. You have to think strategically; if you want to win, you need to ask him a question which will throw him off-guard. Asking him about the doll wouldn’t be a challenge because he likes to gloat, and to tease. But if you win, you can have your answer to that question and an actual demonstration…

…plus, you get to keep your freedom. Don’t forget that.

So you stare at the Toymaker and wonder…what causes a man (creature, entity, etc.) to end up this way?

“Tell me about your childhood,” you say.

The smile is wiped from the Toymaker’s face in an instant. His mouth twists in discomfort and anger. For the first time since you’ve met him, you feel a pleasant curl of satisfaction in your guts. The game is on, you think.

“What’s wrong?” you ask out loud. “Do you have a problem with the question? Because you can always forfeit—”

“I. Will. Not. Lose.”

The Toymaker’s fists are on the table now: they’re clenched and shaking. Although he’s looking at you, his mind seems far away, trapped somewhere else. After a beat, he leans forward, grabs your head and brings your foreheads together so they’re just barely touching.

“You asked for this,” says the Toymaker gravely. “I will do more than give you the answer to your question. I will show you. Close your eyes.”

The closeness is invigorating: the Toymaker’s hands are strong against the sides of your head, and you wonder for a second if he could pop your skull like a balloon. You consider saying no and demanding he just tell you the answer, but the look on the Toymaker’s face is so intense that you cannot refuse. It’s that terrible curiosity in you, willing you to stand at the edge of the universe and take a step off the cliff.

So you do as your bid, and close your eyes…

…only to awaken in a void.

To say there is nothing around you is an understatement. Your idea of nothingness is very particular: blackness; emptiness, an absence of sound and light. But this is something else entirely. You can’t even feel the lack of something in this place because there simply isn’t anything to feel. From the moment you open your eyes you feel the contradiction of yourself as a physical being, standing in this vacant not-space. There is less than nothing here. There is zilch. There is negative zero. There is null.

You try to get your bearings by looking around, but there are no bearings to get. This is a nothingness which exists beyond your comprehension. Just standing in this nothingness makes your jaw tighten and the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. This is a phobic realm which is the antithesis to life.

And it is so, so cold.

“This is where I grew up.”

You jump. The Toymaker is standing beside you, arms folded behind his back. He surveys the nothingness with humble respect, the way a weary sailor surveys the ocean.

“How?” You try looking around again, but without anything to anchor gaze on, your eyes just swing back round to the Toymaker. “There’s nothing here.”

“Nothing except for me.”

The Toymaker sits down on the emptiness, cross-legged. Feeling discombobulated in the lack of space, you sit down too, next to him, and wonder how that’s possible. You hug your elbows, trying to fend off the omnipresent cold.

“We are outside of your universe,” says the Toymaker quietly. “Below it, as a matter of fact. We are in a pocket realm, like the hollow in a tree branch. Here there was nothing for a very long time…so long, that I do not know how to count it. The void is indifferent to such concepts.

“I was a child for an eternity, and many more eternities after that. Merely a conscious speck suspended in forever. At the time I had no form. No body, no face, and not really a mind. I was a collection of distant ideas and fraught, base emotions. There was no reason for me to have either a solid shape or a brain. I existed only in relation to the void, and the void went on forever. All I had to entertain myself were my games.”

With a flick of the wrist, the Toymaker conjures a ball into existence. Then another. Then another. He does this over and over again until he is juggling at least twenty balls. His hands move in a blur as he juggles the balls effortlessly. He tosses them higher and higher, so high that you have to crane your neck to see. Eventually you lose sight of the balls in the nothingness.

But then, the Toymaker sighs…and you notice that the balls are disappearing. This continues for about a minute, the balls growing fewer in number until he’s down to just three…and then there’s only two, so he’s not really juggling at all.

Finally, the Toymaker catches the last remaining ball and holds it up to your face. A frost has grown along its leathery side.

“Playing games can keep you warm,” says the Toymaker, “but only for a little while. Eventually, the cold gets in. And the cold devours everything."

“How did you survive here?” you ask quietly. You can’t raise your voice above a whisper: it feels disrespectful.

“Death isn’t something I am capable of experiencing,” says the Toymaker. “I can never die from the cold. But I can still feel it.”

The Toymaker looks at the ball in his hand, and it catches fire. You gasp and pull away, but the fire only burns for a few seconds: the flames are quickly extinguished by a new crop of frost, growing over the ball’s surface like a disease.

In moments, the Toymaker is holding nothing but a ball of ice.

“I’m…sorry,” you say.

It’s a feeble reply, and you know it. The cold here is wrapped into the environment itself. This no-space could well be made of nothing but a creeping, insidious chill. It’s worse than the kind of cold which slams into you, like the jump from the shower to a towel on a winter night, or the way your cheeks are slapped when stepping outside on a snowy day.

This cold is sinister.

It waits.

It seeks out warmth wherever it can, wraps itself around that spark of heat, and crushes it frozen.

The Toymaker runs hot, you remember with a shiver.

No wonder. The Toymaker fends off your weak sympathies with a shake of his head. He stares off into the nothingness, and continues to speak.

“I thought it would just be me and the void forever. But then one day, I heard laughter! It was a sound utterly foreign to me. I was so frightened, I spent millennia curled tight up into a ball, cringing away from the sound. But I could hear them now…beings, with shape and light and thoughts. As the epochs stretched before me and the void remained still, I found myself drawn to their laughter.”

The Toymaker’s eyes glitter with recollection. “I learnt how to poke small peepholes into the fabric of the void, and peer through at the shapes. And oh, the things I saw! These beings, they played games , just like me! Games which used pieces and strategies and all manner of wonderful toys. I wanted to have them all. Needed to have them. So I did. I fashioned myself fingers, and with those fingers I fashioned toys and toys and toys, enough to fill up every child’s toy room in every universe!"

You watch as the Toymaker trembles with excitement. His voice has swollen to fit the void: a rallying cry against the darkness. He looks so proud of himself…but only for a moment.

“After a while, my toys grew old,” he says sadly. “They say a boy becomes a man when he must throw his toys onto the fire in order to keep himself warm...and the cold never stops. I realised that wood and string were all well and good, but they had no personality of their own…and I had no opponent.”

The Toymaker turns to you then. There’s a manic look in his eye. “So I began to lure in the flesh-and-blood creatures,” he says. “It was easy enough once I learned to assume their shape…especially the early ones, who weren’t so bright. And what shapes I would become! I enjoy this shape so much that I’ve decided to keep it permanently, with the odd touch-up every half-century or so. Being handsome helps bring in the players.”

There goes that easy wink again, smooth and charming and drawing you in like the lure on an anglerfish.

“And…that’s why you’re here today?” you ask. “You just want to play games with us?”

The Toymaker’s laugh is mean. “Don’t flatter yourself,” he says. “All that exists is to win, or to lose. I don’t want to play games with you. I simply want to win.”

The two of you stand in silence for a while, contemplating the nothingness. The longer you stay, the more you can feel the chill sliding its icy fingers over your flesh. It crawls up your socks and settles into the gaps behind your knees. It causes wet, cold dew to form at the edges of your eyelashes. It even seeps into the spaces between your skin and fingernails.

You wish you hadn’t asked for this Truth.

“One point to you, Toymaker,” you say through chattering teeth.

The Toymaker starts: clearly he’d forgotten all about you. The void has a sobering effect on him, it seems. How did a little boy manage to have any imagination in this place at all? “Yes,” says the Toymaker with a worn smile. “One point each.”

The next time you blink, the void is gone. You are returned to the familiar warmth of the toyshop, and are still sitting at the table across from the Toymaker. But now, even as the cold sloughs off your skin and your cheeks begin to heat up again, you can see the toyshop for what it is. The bright lights and colourful attractions are nothing more than decorative wallpaper for a frozen, ephemeral darkness, ever-creeping in on the corners of your vision.

When the Toymaker speaks again, his German is back in full force, and you wonder if he’s trying to stave off how frightened he really is.

“Zat is vier turns down,” he says. “Mit only zwei to go. I ge-believe it is my turn, ja?”

Oh, hell: he’s right. You’d gotten so caught up in the impossibility of the Toymaker’s mind that you’d forgotten you’re playing a very dangerous game. But the Toymaker’s smile looks fake now, and the way his eyes glimmer seems less like mischief, and more like withheld tears. For the first time you want to stop this game…not just for you, but for the Toymaker too.

But that’s not how this would be played. The rules are fixed, and you’ve seen what the consequences could be. Worse, you only have one response left to give. By the way the Toymaker is grinning at you, you know he’s remembered this rule too.

“Truth or Dare?” he asks.

You swallow, before giving the only answer you can: “Truth.”

The Toymaker laughs a little too loud. “Now, you had better nots ge-try to get out of zis one,” he says. “I vant you to tell me dee truth: vot exactly is your fantasy? I vill be requiring details.”

There it is: the question this whole game has been building up to. This situation is impossible and ridiculous. Here you sit, surrounded by beautiful toys in your gorgeous dress, playing a game with an unbelievable, broken man who can rewrite your entire reality with nothing more than a thought. Yet you still can’t just open your mouth and give him the answer. Somehow, even in the face of impossible adversity, you are still beholden to your human embarrassment.

“If I tell you…” you say slowly. “...Do you promise not to laugh?”

The Toymaker’s eyebrows knit together. He looks distressed by the question. “All players should be treated with respect,” he replies.

That’s not the answer I want, but it’s the only answer he can give , you think. But maybe that’s the key here. You would never willingly part with this information…but the Toymaker just did the same thing for you. He didn’t have to show you where he came from. He could have talked around it, given you the crib notes, and you would have been none the wiser. The Toymaker showed you vulnerability just by allowing you into his history.

You owe him that same level of respect.

“I didn’t get much attention when I was growing up,” you say. “It wasn’t a bad upbringing, but I was just kind of…left, a lot of the time. I wasn’t looked after. There was always some sort of problem that needed fixing, and my parents never had time for me. No one bothered to check on me, so I just had to figure things out for myself. I spent most of my time alone in my room…just me and my toys.”

“That sounds familiar,” says the Toymaker, and the sympathy in his voice is real. “How did you pass your time?”

“I took my toys apart,” you say. “I think my parents felt guilty for leaving me alone a lot, so there was never a shortage of toys. But I wanted to figure out how they worked. That seemed much more interesting than actually playing with them, you know?”

The Toymaker smiles with approval. “Dee keen eye of a toymaker is a gift,” he says. “But I sense you are delaying your real story…”

You curse inwardly: again, he’s right. You cannot hide any longer.

“I took apart all of my toys…except for my dolls.”

That gets the Toymaker’s attention: those bright blue eyes light up with interest. “Go on.”

“I had a set of five dolls,” you say quietly. “Generic dolls. Sparkly, brushable hair, and little swappable outfits. Nothing special. But even when I was really small I couldn’t hurt them. I was terrified of damaging them in any way. There weren’t any other kids around to talk to, and my parents weren’t home, so I just…talked to the dolls instead. I knew it was weird, but in my head the dolls were more sentient than my other toys. I thought they could really understand me.”

The Toymaker starts back up in his German voice: “Ah, zere is nothing more ge-saddening zan a lonely Kind. Zat is why decapitating poor Neil vas being no problem for you, zen?”

“Yeah. It still hurt, but not for the reasons it would hurt most people.” You swallow; this is the really difficult part. “The older I got, the more toys I had, but I never added to my doll collection. My parents would joke all the time about how I was becoming a ‘little lady’. When I became a teenager there was so much pressure to be pretty, and girly…and it made me feel sick. So I tried to fight back against it. I cut my hair, I swore off pink, and I wouldn’t be caught dead in a dress.”

The words stick in your throat. You look up at the Toymaker, hoping for some kind of mercy, but you don’t find it. But he isn’t mocking you, either: he just sits and waits for you to continue.

“I locked my dolls away,” you say. “I pretended I had thrown them out…but secretly, I’d sneak them out, and play with them. I’d brush their hair, and mend their dresses. I still do.”

The Toymaker leans in. “Why?”

“I…I wanted to be like them,” you whisper. “They are so pretty. The long, flowing dresses and the perfect makeup…they’re dazzling in a way I could never be. I can never, ever be that beautiful.”

You twist the fabric of your dress between your fingers fitfully, and force yourself to say it:

“I always wanted to be someone’s favourite doll."

There’s silence in the toyshop. You stare down at your lap, your heart pounding and your face flushed. Stupid, stupid…! Your eyes well up with hot tears. You can’t bring yourself to look at the Toymaker.

“Und zen you arrive here,” he says. “Meine beautiful dollen drew you in.”

“Yes,” you say quietly. “If I can’t be loved like a doll, then at least I can give them love instead. If I were a doll, maybe things would be easier, you know? Maybe…”

You can’t help the little choke-sob which escapes your lips.

“...maybe someone would take care of me."

The tears fall freely into your lap now and stain the beautiful fabric of your dress dark. You feel disgusting: worthy of ridicule. I deserve whatever happens to me now, you think, your brain awash with old, dark feelings you’ve kept locked up just like the dolls in your closet.

But it’s the Toymaker who snaps you out of his reverie. You didn’t hear him move, but you flinch when his fingers slide under your chin and tilt up your face towards him. Your tears cast him in a watery halo.

“Mein Liebling, stop ge-crying,” he says. “I have made sehr many dollen over dee years, und many of zem have been beautiful. But you are somesing else entirely entirely. Ein living, breathing, villing doll, so cute und poseable. Oh, you und I vill have zo many adventures together! You could be mein prized possession, und I vill hold you and play vith you from dawn zu dusk.”

The Toymaker’s words send a shudder through your body. Blood thrums at the surface of your skin and pools in your cheeks and neck. The Toymaker leans in until your noses are almost touching. He’s so very close to you now…close enough that he could kiss you.

But just before he reaches your lips, the Toymaker moves to the side and whispers into your ear:

“Dee game is not yet over, meine schöne dollen. You have one final question to ge-ask of me. Do it, und zis vill all be over…one vay or another.”

You can feel him smiling gently against your hair, and it makes you want to sob. Oh, please let this torture end…! But you’re in the Toymaker’s grasp now, in the final throes of his game, and you know you have to finish this or your suffering will never be over. There is only one turn left. You have to try, one last time, or you would spend the rest of your life at the beck and call of this madman.

“Truth or Dare?” you manage to croak out.

The Toymaker lets your face go. “Dare."

You take a deep breath. This is your last chance.

“Let me go.”

The Toymaker takes a long, long moment to process your answer…and then he starts to laugh. Really, really hard. The tinkling arpeggio of his laughter builds and builds until it seems to shake the very walls of the toyshop. For a moment, you are terrified that it’s all going to come crumbling down like a house of cards.

“Oh, perhaps becoming ein dollen hast eroded deine brain, ja?” says the Toymaker, the arrogance flashing in his teeth. “I am not ein genie you kann outsmarts. I am afraid zat since letting you go ist your prize, you cannot request it of me. So, you have lost ein point, putting us at a tie…und you must complete ein forfeit once more.”

No. No. NO! “That’s not fair!” you yell. The tears are streaming down your face in earnest now; all of the distress of this game and the Toymaker’s psychological torment can no longer be contained.

“Oh, und here comes dee tantrum,” says the Toymaker with a sigh. “I hates it ven zey get like zis. You must have ein forfeit…und I think I have dee perfekt idea to stop your ge-crying.”

The Toymaker snaps his fingers again. You open your mouth to scream at him…but nothing comes out.

You try again, but your mouth just flops open like a fish, with no sound attached to it whatsoever.

The Toymaker has stolen your voice.

“I have assisted you in another core aspect of your doll transformation,” says the Toymaker, the British swooping in over his tongue with ease. “I do not think most dolls can talk, do you?”

You awful…! But the words can’t even die on your tongue, because they never reach your tongue in the first place. There is a total disconnect between your mouth and your brain. Although you can fashion your lips into the correct shapes and try to push the air into forming syllables, none of them can escape your mouth.

The Toymaker has silenced you, taking away perhaps your only remaining asset in this game.

You mentally tally up the points, and realise he’s right. You are now tied, and six turns have passed.

“But I cannot tolerate a tie. Dee rules dictate zat ve must perform a tie-breaker challenge…” His accent ripples between the German and British easily, as if he can’t decide between childish delight and cool professionalism. “Do you have any suggestions for a tie-breaker?"

The devastation of losing your voice almost made you look over this detail. Yes, he’s right: for all of your suffering, the Toymaker hasn’t actually managed to get a point over you. That means all is not lost.

That means you still have a chance to win.

But you cannot strategise in a vacuum: much less when you can’t speak. The Toymaker looks at you in amusement, as if expecting you to try and talk anyway. You could have written a message down on a piece of paper, or typed it on your phone, but you decide not to give him the satisfaction. The Toymaker has already gotten you on the rules twice: you are going to play within his boundaries and win fair and square.

You don’t see where he produces the hat from. A flourish of the arm, and it’s suddenly in his hands: a beautiful top hat which would have gone perfectly with a tuxedo. The Toymaker flips the hat over and proffers it to you.

“Ladies first,” he says with a sly smile.

You reach into the hat and are surprised to find a variety of small, paper tickets. After some rustling around, you pull one out and read it. When you do, your eyes go wide.

WHOEVER HOLDS THEIR BREATH THE LONGEST IS THE WINNER. “Vot fun!” exclaims the Toymaker, clapping his hands together in excitement. “I must ge-varn you, I am a very gut schwimmer, and kann hold mein breath for ein long time.”

But do you even have a lung capacity?! is what you would have asked if you could. How was this fair? The Toymaker is clearly an extradimensional being, and his physical body doesn’t seem to conform to the laws of physics, space or time…anything that would put a real challenge to this game. But you can’t say so: you have no way of telling him.

Besides…is it cheating if that’s just how he is? Is it cheating if he’s just better at the game?

A loud tick-tocking draws your eye to the right side of the toyshop. Against the wall (where it definitely didn’t exist before) is a grandfather clock. Both of the clock’s hands are almost at the 12. This was news to you; you’d arrived at the toyshop sometime around 8pm.

“Ve vill begin when ze clock strikes twelve,” says the Toymaker. “Zere are no fancy rules…ve just start ge-holdings our breath, until eins of us cannot anymore.”

The grandfather clock ticks closer to your demise. You look at the Toymaker in desperation, clasping your hands together in a silent plea…but he just looks at you coolly. Now, you are nothing but an opponent to defeat. You are an obstacle ready to be demolished.

Well, I am not helpless. If anyone is going to decide the winner of this game, it’s going to be me. With only thirty seconds remaining, you fish around in the pocket of your backpack and pull out your phone. You set up your video camera, prop the phone up against a toy monkey holding a pair of cymbals, and hit the record button.

“Ah,” says the Toymaker. “In case of ein photo-finish. Gut idea.”

There’s a cold fire in his eyes now: something which ignited when he took you into his personal void. You have no moves left, and no gameplay strategies to implement. It is clear that he is the master of games, and you may as well already be his doll.

But hell, you are going to try your best.

The grandfather clock strikes twelve with a loud, booming chime, and you suck in the largest breath of your life. You don’t balloon out your cheeks: instead you opt for a subtle approach learnt from musical training, where you draw in the oxygen deep into your lungs and will it to sit there for as long as you can handle.

By comparison, the Toymaker doesn’t look like he’s holding his breath at all. You merely hear him stop breathing. He looks totally at ease.

The first ten seconds are child’s play.

The first twenty seconds are fine.

The first thirty seconds are acceptable.

But by the forty-second mark a playful fire start to burn in your chest, and the urge to take a breath begins to beg. Inside you curse yourself, wishing that you’d practised— but why on earth would I have practised such a useless game?! You look at the Toymaker. Big mistake. He waggles his eyebrows at you silently, rippling them in an over-the-top-sultry manner. You feel your lips quirking up into a smile…You can’t believe it! He’s trying to make you laugh!

So much for respecting the rules, you think to yourself. Your chest is really starting to hurt now. But then you wonder, is that really cheating? If the Toymaker can try to make you laugh, what if you can make him laugh too? But you shut down that idea immediately: if you prancing around in a frilly dress singing I’m A Little Teapot didn’t make him laugh (just clap!), you didn’t have a chance in hell.

Oh no. What is he doing now? While trying to focus on holding your breath, the Toymaker had conjured two familiar puppets on the ends of his hands: Punch and Judy. With a final, victorious wink, the Toymaker begins a silent, over-the-top slapstick routine with the puppets. Even without dialogue you recognise the beats of the show; Mr Punch is a mess of a man, overwhelmed by the demands of his wife and baby (the latter brought into being with a tiny, adorable puppet the Toymaker wears on one of his thumbs). His hands move with such finesse that the puppets almost look real.

Such a gaudy routine wouldn’t have been enough to make you laugh by itself, but the Toymaker brings a whole new dimension with his wonderfully expressive face. Each time the long-suffering Judy begins a voiceless tirade of her husband (i.e., throwing little puppet-objects at his face), the Toymaker supplements Punch’s depression with a frown worthy of a theatre mask. When Punch manages to land a hit on his wife or baby (My God, were these shows always so violent?), the Toymaker grins with such deranged glee that you can’t help but find it hilarious.

Oh no. You look at the clock: it’s been a minute, and your chest is really starting to hurt. The Toymaker and his puppets make your cheeks puff out with the effort of not laughing.

He smirks at you as Punch picks up his wife and baby and tosses them into the air, punting them like footballs. It’s so absurd and ridiculous that you can feel the giggle rising up in your chest. You desperately want to open your mouth and suck in oxygen but you can’t, you simply can’t, because if you do you’ll lose the game and he’ll keep you here forever…!

As your remaining seconds tick closer to your inevitable failure, you close your eyes. You want to have one last moment to remember yourself as you are, because you are sure whatever the Toymaker is going to do to you will not be pleasant.

Your chest aches. Your cheeks bulge. Your will starts to unravel.

And then, you have the idea.

It’s a stupid idea, and with barely any seconds left to execute it, you have no guarantee that it will work. But as you open your eyes and look at the Toymaker’s smug ‘I’ve already won!’ expression, you know you have no choice but to follow through with your mad plan.

So, holding on to every last bit of breath you have, you lunge at the Toymaker—

—and envelop him in a bone-crushing hug.

Several things happen at once:

The first is the Toymaker exclaiming in surprise, his breath clearly lost, and dropping his puppets, which dissolve into ash as soon as they hit the floor.

The second is your desire to breathe finally overpowering you as you collapse against the Toymaker, and the two of you tumble to the floor.

The third is the grandfather clock exploding. Just as you hit the ground the clock bursts apart, firing out wooden shrapnel with a horrifying bang! On reflex you huddle yourself against the nearest form of safety, which in this case happens to be the Toymaker’s chest.

You weren’t expecting him to hold you back.

The two of you stay like that for some time: you and the Toymaker, on the floor together, breathing heavily and wrapped up in each other’s arms. Despite your own adrenaline, you can’t understand the Toymaker’s terror: surely he caused the clock to blow up? He certainly wasn’t in any danger.

But then you hear a sound you couldn’t hear before. It’s the thrumming of the Toymaker’s heart, loud and insistent and desperate to survive. You hear it through the fabric of his waistcoat, and feel it in the pulse of his neck. For just a moment, the Toymaker seems to be just as human as you.

You wonder if the Toymaker’s mortality is contextual.

Eventually, you manage to disentangle yourself from the Toymaker’s limbs. You peek at the smoking remains of the grandfather clock, and are relieved to see that nothing has caught fire: there’s just a scorched, black mark where the clock once existed. The shards of wood which exploded out from the clock have disappeared.

Thankfully, your phone is untouched! You pick it up, pause the recording and watch it back. A smile stretches across your face.

“Oh, Toymaker!” you say, and you are so very pleased that your voice has returned. “You’re going to want to take a look at this.”

When the Toymaker climbs to his feet, you are immensely amused to see that his perfect curls have been knocked a bit by the explosion. For the first time since you met, the Toymaker is dishevelled and confused. It’s a cute look on you, you think.

“You broke my game,” says the Toymaker incredulously. “How did you do that?”

“No idea,” you grin. “Maybe it was an unexpected outcome. Still within the rules, still a valid way to win, just…unorthodox.”

You show the Toymaker the recording. You watch as his expression turns from bafflement, to despair, to outright blazing anger.

“No!” the Toymaker cries. “You can’t have beat me!”

But the camera never lies. The footage on your phone clearly picks up the Toymaker gasping in shock as soon as you hit him with your hug…whilst you don’t gasp for air until a few seconds later, just before the grandfather clock explodes.

“Seems like I have!” you say happily.

“But I…you…” The Toymaker’s fingers flex in the air meaninglessly, as if looking for a straw to grasp. “But that’s cheating!”

“No it isn’t,” you say with confidence. “There was nothing in the rules about us not being able to make each other lose our breath. If you making me laugh was a valid strategy, then me hugging you was too. Either we both cheated, or no one did.”

The Toymaker looks like he’s been slapped, and it is a delicious feeling. You almost want to pinch his cheeks. With a pout fixing his lips, the Toymaker snaps his fingers…and your clothes return to normal. Your dress is gone, replaced by the clothes you entered the shop with.

(Is it a little silly to be regretful of that fact…?)

“I still say that shouldn’t count,” says the Toymaker sullenly. “That was an underhanded tactic. I’ll be writing that into the rules next time.”

But you’ve turned away from the Toymaker now—he obviously needs to work through his sore-loser feelings in his own time. You trot over to the doll shelf, pick up the beautiful doll in the powder-blue dress and cradle her in your arms. She truly is a wonderful prize.

When you turn back around, the Toymaker is sitting on the floor with his hands hugging his knees. You feel a pang of sympathy for the man…it seems this really is his whole life.

“But why did you hug me?” the Toymaker asks, baffled. “That’s not a winning strategy. You just surprised me. You were so…”

The Toymaker looks up at you with shining eyes. This time, his eyes really are wet with tears.

“...Warm,” he whispers.

The triumph of your win quickly sours on your tongue. The way the Toymaker is looking at you gives you a powerful feeling…and it’s not one that you like. Even though every part of you is telling you to make a run for the door while you have this post-win window…you don’t.

Instead, you sit down cross-legged on the floor next to the Toymaker, just like you did when in the void. You even bump your shoulder against his.

“I’ve been sad a lot in my life,” you say. “But I’ve never felt as much sadness as I did in your void. And it made me wonder if…you’d ever been held before.”

The Toymaker looks at you with flashing eyes. His bottom lip trembles as if he’s trying to hold back a lifetime of grief. He doesn’t say anything, but those eyes tell you all you need to know.

“I wouldn’t mind coming around here sometimes,” you say gently.

The Toymaker looks at you like you’ve got two heads. “You would voluntarily subject yourself to my life-or-death games?”

“Maybe not the life-or-death part,” you say hastily. “But I had fun today. Weird, horrible fun. You’re kind of a weird and horrible guy…and I’m pretty weird too.”

To your surprise, the Toymaker actually laughs at that. “You are unique, meine Liebling,” he says, German once more. “To out-ge-smart me, you must be.”

“Well…maybe it’s a good thing we met,” you say. “Maybe you don’t need to keep luring in suspecting people to your shop, Toymaker. Some of us might actually want to stick around and play. And maybe…”

You rest your head against the Toymaker’s shoulder.

“...Maybe I could help keep the cold out for a while.”

The Toymaker and you sit in silence for some time, listening to the gentle whirs and clicks of the toys going about their business. You keep your new doll tucked between your legs, and your cheek resting against the Toymaker’s shoulder. He’s so warm that you find your eyelids fluttering: you could easily fall asleep right here.

It’s a surprise when you feel the Toymaker’s fingers sliding into your own. You look at him, and see those telling blue eyes alive with fresh excitement.

“It’s a deal,” says the Toymaker, with an enormous, brilliant smile.

You let the Toymaker pull you to your feet. To your amusement, he grants you a deep, formal bow.

“Run along now, meine Schatz…today must have been ge-xhausting for you. But I shall be seeing you again soon, ja?"

Other people would not have caught it, but you know what loneliness sounds like: you hear the edge of desperation at the edge of the Toymaker’s voice. You take a step back and return the bow with a curtsey.

“Ja, genau,” you grin.

The Toymaker’s smile could have outshone the sun.

That night, when you return home, you take all of your dolls out of your closet. You line them up with care on your shelf, making sure to pose them prettily and smooth out the creases in their frocks.

But you keep your new doll in your hand, and clamber into bed with her. Before you turn out the light, you look one last time at her perfect, dimpled face.

Oh, what games will you and the Toymaker play next?

#the toymaker x reader #the toymaker x you #the toymaker #doctor who #the celestial toymaker #dw #the giggle #fanfiction #x reader #starleskawrites #i don't know what came over me but it sure was fun to write 🥰💖#long post

230 notes · View notes

conditioned-to-obey · 3 months

Note

your blog has me both needy and inspired to get back into reading as a hobby because you seem so eloquent 😭 love your posts and hope you keep posting for as long as you are comfortable 🫶

Good to hear you would like to get back into reading, doll.

Understandably, trying to get into the swing of a new routine can be daunting. But the fact of the matter is you and everyone around us, are already reading again. Every single day. News articles. Tumblr posts. The nutritional facts on the back of cereal boxes. Comic books. Graffiti on train cars. To name a few. I don't believe we as adults ever truly stop reading.

Reintroducing reading as an everyday hobby can be as simple as a single chapter before bedtime. A page here and there on public transport. 2 paragraphs while we sit in the bland waiting room at the doctors office. Places where we will be stationary anyway. Or whenever we feel the dull gnaw of boredom cutting its teeth on our minds and we aren't sure what recreational chew toy will saite it.

I find that revisiting an old book that you have enjoyed before -preferably something more manageable, around 200 pages- works more effectively. Rather than trying to tackle an entirely new novel. Nostalgia is a powerful mental tool.

Shory stories are another example of more manageable narratives. For those who don't have the attention span or drive for long novels or series. Bradbury writes great short stories that I can't recommend enough.

For those of us that commute, audio books or books on tape are another viable option.

Reading shouldn't have to cost a dime and should be accessible for everyone. Public libraries are valuable resources to find everything mentioned above. That's what they are there for. Utilitize them.

Wishing you the best of luck.

#atlas shrugs

46 notes · View notes

autisticwizardwritings · 1 year

Note

HI HI HI HI HI :D

Can i get a total drama request about the contestants meeting Chris’ niece/nephew(gender neutral tho) preferably for world tour but any are good :)

Thamk you!!! :3

(Wasn't sure if you wanted younger, same age, or older, so I'm doing all three. If you want ALL of them, tell me! I just did these 3 for now since they're the only new appearances in World Tour, but I'd be happy to write more of the cast! I say it at the end too, but if you want this written in a proper paragraph style too I'd be more than happy to try to do so, just let me know!!)

Probably OOC 💔

Alejandro, Sierra, and Blaineley meeting Chris’s niece/nephew (no pronouns mentioned) (gn)

Younger (8-12)

Alejandro:

Extremely confused

Also fairly concerned

Why would Chris bring his own niece/nephew on this show at such a young age?

Even if they aren't competing. Should they really be seeing this sort of thing?

After finding out you're not part of the competition, he relaxes a little bit.

Apparently you're here because your mom/dad had to go on some big work trip, and since you were so young, you couldn't be left alone for that long.

Convinced that your parents don't watch the show, because no responsible parent would allow their child in that

Probably tries to talk to you, to get to know you.

Maybe even ends up seeing you as some sort of sibling after a while.

Will defend you if anyone else (*cough* Duncan *cough*) decides to be an asshole

Genuinely cares about you.

How can someone so sweet be related to *that?*

If you're a trouble child however

Makes sense how you're related to Chris

Still makes an effort to be nice to you considering you're only a child

Little minds are influenced by family, they can't help it.

Does tend to keep his distance more though

Probably pulled his hair at some point and that was it for him

Always ponytails it if you're there now.

Either way, if you get hurt somehow, he'd help.

Again, you're only little.

Even if you're 12.

A little less worried in that case, since you're old enough to kinda look out for yourself

But still makes sure you're alright.

Sierra:

She already knew of your existence.

Found your mom's Facebook page for info on Chris

Found you there too

Doesn't question the fact that you're here

Immediately wants to become friends with you

Probably smothers you with hugs

Suuuuper friendly

Constantly saying stuff like "Chris your niece/nephew is so sweet" even if you're basically the devil himself

"They could do no wrong ♡"

She's doing it because she genuinely thinks this, but also partially because she wants some "brownie points" or whatever the fuck they're called

Also trying to prove to Cody that she can "be a good mom."

He apologizes for her

If she wins a reward challenge, she'll 100% share whatever it is with you if it's child friendly

Even if you're getting the same good food as your uncle

Will make you dolls out of anything she can

And will want to play with them with you

Blaineley:

A child? Really?

What was Chris thinking?

No one wants to see a child on a show like this

Not to mention the grubby little hands

Doesn't want anything to do with you

Or she makes it seem like that, anyways.

If you get time where it's just the two of you, she's actually surprisingly nice.

Genuinely good with kids

Treats you like her own child

As soon as someone walks in she's back on the other side of the room glaring at you

Will deny this until she dies

If she finds out the fans like you

Then she starts acting all nice and buddy-buddy on camera too

Not very genuine though

It's just like that when she knows she won't get poked fun of for it

Same age as (still younger than Blaineley)

Alejandro:

Couldn't really care less tbh

Another contestant

Another obstacle

For now

Still makes the effort to talk to you, to make you like him

Like he does with everyone there

The more allies the better right?

May possible try to woo you

With the idea in mind to get you eliminated

There's a possibility he does come to genuinely like you over time

But he'd never admit that

(Platonically or romantically depends on how you wanna read this)

Keeps you around for a little while after

Really not a fan of you at first though

Mainly because you're related to Chris

Who wouldn't?

With the reputation that man has, he's got every right to assume you're like he is

Hopefully that's wrong

If it is? Like I said, definitely starts to genuinely care for you

Actually tries to befriend you

Not just an alliance

Not just for a scheme

Maybe a little schemey

But not only for that.

If you ARE like Chris?

Not a fan of you then.

The whole robot thing hasn't happened yet since this is World Tour

But even then

He knows what an ass Chris is

That's an understatement

Really doesn't like you that much

But he still makes the effort to "befriend" you

Just to get rid of you, of course.

(Cannot write for this man to save my life, sorry if this is absolute dogshit)

Sierra:

Again, already knew about you.

Very excited to meet you, too!

She's the self proclaimed Total Drama Superfan, she HAS to know everything about you!!

Talks your ears off

All with good intention of course

She is absolutely ECSTATIC

You know in those cartoons where they shake someone's hand extremely excited and they just. It's almost violent

Yeah

Like that

That's how she shakes your hand when you're first brought on the show

I'd imagine you weren't brought immediately

Because like

Idk

I have no proper reason

Just for funsies

Before any proper eliminations

(But after Zeeke's)

But yeah!!

Her Cody obsession is… off-putting to say the least

You stay away from her, or at least keep your distance at first

She keeps talking to you, being all friendly

And if you're not too scared of her

Then you guys could become friends!

If you keep talking to her on your own without keeping any distance?

Makes every day so much better for her

Probably used to people being weirded out by her

So you actually talking to her because you GENUINELY LIKE her?

Bouncing off the WALLS

A friend! Yay!

Obviously Cody is still her #1 priority

But if you prove yourself, she miiiight let you in on a couple group hugs

Maybe

Blaineley:

Doesn't give a shit

Just like the younger version

But without the sweet bonding time

Doesn't like you very much

Might put on her fake little buddy-buddy act to stay on the good side of the media

Since you're probably "great for the ratings"

Being related to Chris and all

Idk what else to put for her sorry

Older than them (17-19) (STILL younger than Blaineley)

Alejandro:

..why are you here?

Probably assumes you're an intern at first

Or here to help run challenges/watch them

If you're in the challenges, he finds it to be unfair

You're older, probably taller and smarter, and he's CONVINCED Chris is giving you some sort of advantage

Still does his whole thing

But like. Not romantically.

If you're not in the competition?

VERY confused as to why you're here

You're not competing, but you're still back in the plane with them?

It just doesn't make sense to him

You're probably there to help out with challenges

If you're 17, and I'd assume still in high school, you might be there for volunteer hours or something

Since you're probably not getting paid either way /hj

Might attempt a flirting thing once or twice (if you're not older than 17)

Probably doesn't do shit though

Sierra:

Genuinely have no idea what to put here I'm just repeating myself

Again, already knows who you are

Basically just like the second one but more "respectful" (not really)

Blaineley would've probably been suuuuper boring (even worse than her "same age" (technically still younger) one) so I didn't include it.

I'm sorry this is so shit lmao I'll probably try redoing it as a proper paragraph written fic/one-shot instead of this. That'll probably make it better. If you want that, please tell me so I can start it soon!! xx

165 notes · View notes

racheyace · 2 months

Text

Not a Horse

So…I did not mean for this to be so long! I’m doing a short writing course just to brush up on my skills and was given a prompt ‘You’re a veterinarian and one night an old man barges into your clinic with an animal you never thought was real.’

Now the idea came to me straight away and I sort of ran away with it! The exercise was to write a paragraph, I wrote ten pages…whoops.

Anyway, this is right up G/t alley including found family, hurt/comfort, two itty bitty brothers, a flustered Vet and a gruff old man. I really hope you enjoy it! These are all new characters, and I may or may not write more with them, that will depend how much you are all interested in this story continuing or not.

TW: mentions death of a parent, untrue veterinarian diagnostics (don’t come at me, I know nothing about medicine)

Approx 4.2k words

Elijah was in for another long night in the clinic.

It had seemed like such a good idea to start his own veterinary clinic, running his own staff and hours, he hadn’t accounted for the long nights and endless stacks of paperwork.

Yelden was a small rural community, a farm town he had grown up in. For the longest time, the nearest veterinary clinic was at least a two-hour drive away. When Elijah graduated university, he made it his dream to start his own Veterinary practice in Yelden, a farm community without a local vet just seemed ridiculous to him.

To no one’s surprise he got busy very quickly and his business was booming, he was doing it mostly on his own though and this resulted in him quickly becoming burnt out. He had no days off, no time to visit his family, no time to keep a pet of his own and certainly no time to have a social or love life of any kind.

Eventually he began letting the younger veterinary assistants take on most of the cases while he tried to keep his head above the growing ocean of incomplete forms and bills.

Tonight was another one of those nights, looking at the clock he noted it was getting far to close to one AM way too quickly. He groaned and dragged his hands through his wavy brown hair and then down his face, trying to hold back the urge to bang his head against his desk.

“Help!!”

Elijah raised his head quickly, suddenly becoming alert, there was silence and for a moment he thought perhaps he was becoming delirious and then he heard it again.

“Please someone help!”

Elijah clumsily rushed to the door of the clinic and pulled the doors open to reveal an elderly man soaking wet as rain pelted down on his thin greying head. When had it started raining?

Elijah ushered the man inside quickly and sat him down on the couch reserved for people waiting for their animals to come out or to go in. Elijah floundered about looking for some towels and practically threw them at the man before turning the kettle on and starting to make a cup of coffee.

“Don’t worry about me!” The man snapped, pushing the towels off his shoulders, it was only now Elijah noticed the man was cradling something to his chest between two hands.

“Help him please!” The man begged, shakily holding his hands out to show the vet, Elijah stepped forward.

He had expected to see an injured bird, perhaps a sick pet mouse, instead his brain felt like it was glitching as he tried to make sense of the creature cradled across this old man’s fingers.

It looked to be human for the most part, two arms, two legs, a pale face that held two eyes, a nose and a mouth. What stood out to Elijah and clarified that this wasn’t in fact a miniature human, was the fact that poking out of his long auburn hair were two pointed ears and what looked like butterfly wings were folded gently against his back.

Was it possible he was looking at a real fairy? Elijah also wondered on the possibility that this crazy old man could have also just brought in a doll thinking it was a fairy. The man seemed so concerned though, so worried about the small creature curled up in his palms.

Elijah snapped out of it when he realized the old man was still urgently begging him to help, unsure of what else to say he simply nodded his head and lead the man into an examination room.

Elijah waited for the man to put the creature down on the metal table and when he didn’t, he realized the table would be too cold for the already wet and obviously sick creature. He folded a towel and laid it down on the table over the top of a heat mat he usually used for lizards or similar creatures. He gestured for the man to now place the fairy on the towel so he could begin his examination.

“Please Doctor, what’s wrong with him?” The old man breathed down his neck while Elijah held a stethoscope to the little guy’s chest, the rounded metal end covered the poor things entire torso.

“I’m not a doctor sir, I’m a Vet.” Elijah said patiently, listening intently to the creature’s fast heartbeats.

“He’s not human.” The old man reasoned. “Doctors treat humans, I figured this would be the best place. Please, there has to be something you can do.”

“He’s also not a horse, his anatomy is not familiar to me.” Elijah snapped, he took a calming breath before continuing again more calmly.

“His heart rate is fast, but I do not know if that’s normal for him or not, birds of a similar size have a resting heat rate that is this fast.” He tried to explain.

He pulled up a magnifying glass and decided to observe the small creature’s other symptoms. He had a sheen of sweat on his forehead and his body was shivering even now that he was dry and on top of a heating mat. Elijah picked up a thermometer and cringed at the idea of putting it where he might usually put it on an animal, he instead pried the little guys mouth open and hoped he might get an accurate reading that way.

While he waited for the thermometer to read the creatures body temperature, he asked the man some more questions. “What are his symptoms? And for how long as he been unconscious?”

“H-he started to get sick about four days ago, he would get hot and cold flushes, there were moments he was coughing so much I could hear him wheezing, he said his chest was sore, and then tonight he passed out and I couldn’t get him to wake up!” The man answered urgently.

Elijah nodded his head, brain scanning for a possible diagnosis, it sounded like a common cold that had possibly developed into a chest infection or pneumonia, but he really had nothing to go on. For all he knew it could be a fairy disease that is incurable, human or even animal treatments may only make this worse.

“Well?” The man asked impatiently.

“I-I don’t know.” Elijah said quietly. “It sounds like a chest infection of some kind, but I have nothing to compare him to, I’ve never worked on this kind of creature before and-“

“Compare him to me!”

Elijah’s eyes landed on yet another Fairy that was now poking his head out of the old man’s chest pocket, the man quickly pushed the flap down to hide him once more, but the small creature inside kept on pushing it back up.

“It’s okay Ray, I can help, please let me help.” The new Fairy pleaded up at the old man who was apparently called Ray.

Ray looked at Elijah with caution, his blue-grey eyes telling Elijah that if any harm came to the little guy that Elijah would pay.

“Fine.” Ray said through gritted teeth. “Just…Be careful.”

The small fairy then leapt out of the pocket, wings flickered and flapped quickly, they held the same yellow and black colours as the sick fairy, both fairies also held similar facial features, though this fairy looked much younger.

The new Fairy flew directly in front of the Vet’s face almost making him go cross eyed, his eyebrows raised skyward as he waited for the little guy to make the first move. He still couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

“Compare me to my brother, I’m healthy and I feel fine, I want to help.” The child insisted, hands held together in a pleading gesture.

Elijah cleared his throat before attempting to reply calmly so not to scare the little guy.

“O-okay, uh, l-lay down please.” Elijah said nervously.

The smaller fairy did as he was told and landed beside his brother on the warm towel, he leant down to speak into his brother’s ear. “You’re going to be okay Kells, we’re going to make you all better.”

He then lay down on his back, wings splayed out comfortably under him and he waited for the Vet to continue. His child like features smiling up at the large man with an amused expression dancing on his face.

“Do I scare you, Doctor?” The younger fairy asked.

Elijah shook his head, shaking the absurdity of this whole case out of his mind, instead he put on his best bedside manners and smiled gently at the child.

“Actually, you do, you’re not going to crawl into my ears and lay eggs, are you?” Elijah asked, he put his stethoscope back to his ears and held the metal plate to the child’s chest.

“That would be creepy and besides Fairies don’t lay eggs, so you have nothing to worry about Doc.” He watched as the Vet carefully placed the metal plate on his chest and shivered upon contact with his bare skin.

Elijah pulled away immediately and Ray tensed beside him. “S-sorry, did that hurt?”

The child laughed, shaking his head. “No, it’s just very cold!”

Both Elijah and Ray breathed a sigh of relief, and he placed the stethoscope back onto the boy’s chest.

This time the heartbeat was slower, almost a normal human heart rate. He stepped back scratching the dark stubble on his chin, and then remembered to check the thermometer, the sick Fairy’s temperate was 42 degrees. He then compared it to the younger brother’s temperature which was 36 degrees.

“What’s the verdict Doc?” The Fairy boy asked.

“I’m not a Doctor, I’m a veterinarian.” Elijah said, still thinking about his next course of action.

“Vetabluar-“ The young boy tried to say the word, causing Elijah to laugh.

“I’m a Vet kid, but you can call me Elijah.” He said with amusement.

“I’m Pip!” The child said with excitement. “That’s Ray and this is my big brother Kells…You can help him, right?”

“It’s nice to meet you Pip.” Elijah said gently and then turned somber. “Kells is very sick, I’m fairly certain he has what Humans call, Pneumonia. Which basically means a bug had caused Kells to become sick and then he’s developed an infection in his lungs and airways.”

Pip looked up at Elijah with wide eyes, clearly not understanding much about what was being said, but it all sounded serious, all he really wanted to know was that his brother would get better.

“But why won’t he wake up?” Pip asked.

“Well, it is rare but in some serious cases of Pneumonia your body will go into survival mode, this means his body has put him to sleep so that he will hopefully heal and breath better.” Elijah tried to explain.

“So, he’s healing himself?” Pip asked, trying to make sure he was understanding correctly.

“Not exactly, he’s trying to heal himself to prolong his life, but in cases like this, if he doesn’t get some antibiotics soon he may-“

“What are you waiting for then, give him the antibiotics.” Ray jumped in, he didn’t want to even fathom the possibility of Kells dying from this.

“I will have to guess the dosage…” Elijah started, mind wondering to his foggy mathematics brain and trying to estimate how much antibiotics would be safe for the small creature.

“Then guess the dosage!” Ray urged.

“Pass me the scales from over there.” Elijah said gesturing to his desk.

“0.1mls per 20 grams, a mouse weighs about 30 grams, I suspect he will be lighter than that.” Elijah rambled on quietly as the scales were placed on the examination table beside the two Fairies.

Elijah put on a new pair of gloves and then gently nudged the sick young man so that he was laying on his side across his four fingers, so small.

“Please be careful!” Pip piped up from beside the Vet’s occupied hand, Elijah gave him a reassuring nod and then gently laid the Fairy down on the scales.

“32 grams, so if I give him just over 0.1ml…” Elijah trailed off writing his calculations down. “Do I include his wings in the weight? If they are connected to the nervous system, then blood will circulate through them and then yes I do…”

“Can you do it?” Ray asked again, growing more and more impatient.

“Well…” He turned his green-eyed gaze down to Pip. “If your wings bump into something, can you feel it?”

Pip nodded. ”Oh yeah, it really hurts!”

“And if you scrape or cut the wing, does it bleed?” This question caused Pip to take a nervous step backwards.

“You’re not going to cut his wings off are you?” He asked, suddenly growing frightful of the Human.

“I would never do such a thing Pip, I promise. I just need to know if blood circulates through the wings.” He tried to explain, Elijah also realized he was looming over the two brothers rather closely and stood straighter, moving back to give the boys space.

Pip regained his naturally tanned complexion and his shoulders slumped in relief. “Phew, okay that’s great to know, and uh yeah, we have blood in our wings.”

Elijah smiled softly and then turned to look through the medicine cabinet, he found the bottle of Amoxicillin which he frankly only guessed would be appropriate for a fairy and then pulled out a small needle, the sort of needle he would use on a bird or a mouse. He poked the needle into the bottle and then measured very carefully, the dosage he calculated would be appropriate for the small young man.

With the needle primed and ready to go, he turned back toward his patient, stopping briefly to explain to the others in the room what he intended to do. He suspected seeing a comparatively huge needle beside Kells would definitely freak Pip out and he was right in his suspicions as he looked at Pip whose eyes had become saucers again.

“This is a needle.” Elijah said holding it out horizontally in front of the younger brother. “It has medicine inside. This end is sharp and will pierce his skin so that the medicine can go directly into his bloodstream.” He explained.

Pip nodded slowly and gulped, little blue eyes fixed on the sharp end, it seemed to catch the light and glinted at him menacingly.

“It won’t hurt him.” Elijah assured. “I would normally administer this orally- uh by his mouth, but this will allow his body to absorb the medicine faster.” He explained.

“Pip, could you hold his sleeve up for me?” Elijah asked gently.

Pip did as he was instructed, unlike the younger Fairy who wore a brown open hanging vest, his sick brother wore a long-sleeved tunic of the same colour, presumably to keep him warm and to try and stop his shivering. Pip rolled up the loose shirt until his brother’s bicep was visible, he held it there steadily, trying in vain to appear braver than he currently felt.

“Perfect.” Elijah smiled encouragingly.

Then with a deep breath to stop his own hand from shaking, he gently pushed the needle into Fairy’s skin and slowly injected the medicine into his bloodstream. With a small cotton ball at the ready, he pulled the needle out and held the cotton ball to the pinprick of blood that welled, he then used a cut up bit of tape to hold the cotton ball there.

“Done, now I’ll need to continue to administer this to him every six hours over the next day, and then every twelve hours for up to a week. I’ll also see about getting some fluids and nutrients into him as well, my hope is that if this is working, we should see him wake up in the next twenty-four hours.” Elijah said, taking off his gloves and packing away the supplies he’d gotten out.

“Thank you, Elijah!” Pip all but shrieked, wings flapping, the small boy dived at the Human’s hand and wrapped his arms around two of his fingers giving them a hug.

“I-Uh-y-you’re welcome.” Elijah said flustered, he then looked toward Ray as though asking, is this normal?

“You get used to it.” Ray chuckled, watching the scene unfold with warmth in his eyes.

“And uh-how long have you known Pip and Kells?” Elijah asked, now that the emergency had been dealt with, he was positively brimming with questions.

Pip flew back over to Ray and settled comfortably on the old man’s shoulder, leaning tiredly against his neck, eyes growing heavy. Ray accepted a cup of coffee and they all sat down together around Kells as Ray explained how he had in fact come across the two brothers.

It had been almost ten years ago; Ray had found Kells cradling his little brother who would have only been six years old at the time. Kells, who had been ten years old was teaching his little brother how to fly, their parents had gone missing the year before, leaving Kells to care for his baby brother. During the flying lesson an Eagle had spotted them and given chase, though they had managed to escape, they had both hit the ground hard and Kells had been trying to calm his brother down.

Ray had found them during a regular hike of his and though the boys were untrusting of him at first, they had accepted his offer of food and warmth for the evening after their harrowing ordeal. And then they never left. Ray had taken them out to the same forest numerous times in search of their parents, but they had never found any trace of them.

Eventually the brothers came to accept that the safest place for them was with Ray, even as they grew up, they found they didn’t want to leave, they had come to love him like a father.

“They were lucky to have found you, it looks like you are taking good care of them.” Elijah said quietly, noticing the young boy had since begun snoring on his adoptive father’s shoulder.

“I feel lucky to have found them.” Ray replied in a whisper. “Since my wife passed away, I had felt so lonely, only the day before I’d found the boys I’d thought seriously about ending it all together, I just didn’t feel like living without her. They gave me a reason to stay, they saved me.”

Elijah’s heart broke then, tears welled in his green eyes and he fought the real urge to pull them all into a hug. He considered himself to be a relatively hard man, but he had now been awake for almost an entire day, discovered the existence of fairies and then heard the sob story of the century. He was done holding himself together today.

Wiping at his eyes, he was jolted out of his own emotions by the chime of the clinic door being opened. Ray stiffened as well, hand flying up to protect Pip from being seen even though they were behind a closed door.

“It’s seven o clock already? Um I’ll go handle that.” Elijah said sniffling and standing up headed for the door.

“I’m going to lock this door, none of the staff will bother you, I’ll tell them there is a patient in isolation, I’m the only one with a key. Oh, and I’m going to bring a bed in, so that you can get some rest, it looks like you all need some.” Elijah added as he ducked out of the room and locked the door behind himself.

After giving his staff, a stern warning not to enter the room under any circumstances, and an updated list of appointments for the day, Elijah made his way to his own office. He slumped down on the couch and immediately fell asleep, it felt like he’d only closed his eyes for a few minutes before a pounding could be heard at his door.

“Sorry Elijah, there’s someone calling for you from the isolation room.” Annette called from the other side of the door.

Elijah’s blinked sleep away and noted it was now late afternoon, he’d slept most of the day, but it still didn’t feel like quite enough. He’d set an alarm earlier in the day to give Kells his next dose of antibiotics but that been the only time he’d woken.

He pushed himself up from the couch, straightened his now unruly hair back down and then opened the door. He thanked Annette and reiterated that he and Ray were the only ones permitted to enter or leave that room.

Though she seemed unsure about his request, she did agree and passed this information on to the two other staff members currently in the clinic.

Elijah ducked into the room, locking the door once more from the inside and he looked to Ray first, he was ready to ask what was wrong when a small cough came from the examination table.

“He’s awake! Elijah! Kells is getting better!!” Pip hollered from beside his brother who he was clutching to furiously.

Elijah couldn’t hide the relief from his face, he sat down in his chair and observed the now conscious Fairy. He still looked quite pale, and that cough sounded rather wet, but he was awake, that had to mean he had done something right.

“Hi Kells.” He began gently, noting the apprehension on Kells face immediately. “I’m Elijah, how are you feeling?”

Kells looked between his brother and Ray who both gave him encouraging nods of their heads, he then cleared his sore throat.

“Alive I guess, I’m hungry.” Kells shrugged weakly.

Elijah’s smile broadened. “Of course, I’ll get some soup ready for you in a moment, but do you mind if I examine you first?”

Kells couldn’t have turned a paler shade. “Examine?”

“I’d like to listen to your chest and take your temperature.” Elijah explained patiently, holding up his stethoscope and thermometer.

“It doesn’t hurt Kells, he’s done the same to me, it will help him see if you’re getting better.” Pip jumped in, giving his brother’s arm a squeeze.

Kells agreed hesitantly and Elijah made fast work of the examination so to put Kells at ease.

“Your temperature has gone down a little and your heart rate is still a little faster than I’d like but it’s also much better than last night. You’re improving.” Elijah said.

Ray crushed the tired Vet in a hug with tears in his blue-grey eyes. “Thank you so much, I don’t know what we would have done if we’d lost him, thank you.”

“It’s been my pleasure, and I want you to know that your secret is safe with me. I would also like you all to stay here for the next few days at least, just to give the antibiotics a chance to really work….but if you’d prefer to be at home, I can work around that to, I can come by twice a day to make sure Kells is getting his doses.” Elijah rambled on.

“Ray?” Kells called up to the old man.

“Yes, my boy?” Ray was down on his knees, eye level with the Fairies immediately.

“Can we go home?” Kells asked quietly.

Ray nodded and curled a wrinkled hand around the young man’s shoulders, resting his fingers there in a gentle sort of hug. “Of course we can.”

After getting the all clear from Elijah, Ray settled the brothers back into his pocket and Elijah informed them that he would stop by later tonight for Kells next dose of antibiotics. Elijah walked Ray to the door, finding it hard to say goodbye to them, he hadn’t even known them that long and yet his heart begged for him to reach out, make friends, even if they were absurdly tiny friends.

“I’ll see you soon then, and uh, just call if you have any concerns or anything really.” Elijah said awkwardly, looking down at his shoes.

“Will do, thanks again Doc.” Ray nodded once and then turned to leave.

“Bye Elijah!” He heard Pip call from within the pocket.

Elijah laughed. “Not a doctor, bye Pip.”

Elijah closed the door, reluctant to get back to reality, his staff had left for the evening, and he was sat at his desk once again with a stack of unfinished paperwork. His mind couldn’t wonder far from Kells and Pip though.

Ray had said they had saved him from dying of loneliness, Elijah couldn’t help but wonder and hope that perhaps they might do the same for him.

#gt #g/t #giant/tiny #gianttiny #giant #tiny #gtfluff #sizedifference #gt community #fairy #fairygt

39 notes · View notes

nexility-sims · 7 months

Text

𝐕𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐄'𝐒 𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 / ❛ boy crazy ❜ part 1 (@armoricaroyalty)

❝ The Lover's Gala was the Armorican Queer Front's biggest annual event and 2044 was the 25th Anniversary. The organization's communications team had spent months putting out stories about the gala and the celebrities and members of the royals family expected to attend, trying without much success to turn the event into a major cultural major. Overnight, Princess Zofia (and her new boyfriend) blew them all out of the water. It was only his second time in Armorica, and the first time they'd appeared in public together since the funeral. It was only natural that they landed on the front page of every newspaper in the country, the gala (and the work done by the AQF) a vague footnote after paragraphs upon paragraphs breathlessly speculating about the intimate details of the lovebirds' long-distance relationship. "

♥ shoutout to gabe for pitching this very fun idea, as well as for the title card, the contextual prose, and, of course, my beloved daughter miss zofia augusta st. fleur !!!!!!! she's my favorite barbie doll & has been for a long time :^) i guess i love and adore my son as well, but nonetheless. this is special in part because it's the first time i've written them speaking outside of a parody piece that will never see the light of day. anyway, enjoy this super premature dialogue-inclusive, full-color sneak peak of Them™

PART 2

TRANSCRIPT:

{Light music, overlapping conversations}

[Z] It’s gotten so long since December!

[R] Anything for you.

[Z] Anything at all? Promise?

[R] On my life.

[Z] So ... Can we leave then?

[R] Well, that’s actually your call—

[Z] Okay, let’s leave right now!

[R] We’ve been here for only a short while, Fia.

[R] Even less if you count the “restroom break.”

[Z] That was worth it, and no one even noticed.

{Knocking}

[Z] Occupied!

[Z] Anyway, Hannah’s still here. Even Pidge. Et cetera. We can go.

[R] They walked out ten minutes ago—Hannah with Hugo, Margaret following Arthur. All through a servant’s door. Very conspicuous.

[Z] Did they? Huh. So they did.

{Rui laughs}

[Z] Look, if we leave now, it’ll be perfect. It’s barely nine o’clock. We can go back to the city, change clothes, go dancing—!

{Imaginary club music thudding} [Z&R V.O.] Party all night—bet you don’t believe me, but we actually do have good clubs [Rui snickers] or, like, one I like a lot—then I get a cheeseburger—[no pickles]—right! Oh, remember that poor cashier in Nakawe? You sure told him. [“Plain” means plain.] My hero! Anyway, then you carry me and my sore feet to bed. Ideal night.

[Z] You can keep this on, actually. Maybe ditch the jacket.

[R] Undo another button or two?

[Z] Of course. [Soft sigh] You get me.

[Z] The rose is also a must.

[R] It’s for you—a keepsake.

[Z] Aw. Our first appearance and our first Valentine’s Day ...

[R] A sign, probably. Meant to be.

[Z] Romance novel worthy. I’d read it.

[R] The boxes are checked: excitement, fate, many graphic—

[Z] No! Erotic. {Repeats in Armorican} Memorize that one.

{Murmuring}

[R] Do you think I should’ve worn a tie this evening?

[Z] What?

[R] If we were home, obviously not. But, Armorica is ... People here seem to care a lot about unnecessary things. So, was that a misstep?

[Z] {Laughs}

[Z] Pfft. Hugo didn’t even have his jacket on.

[R] {Scoff} I am not Hugo.

[R] I want to make a good impression—on your family, really. This visit is different. They’re all, for better or worse, paying attention to me.

[Z] Are you kidding? Mission accomplished. [Z] Trust me, they love you! Now, come on, let’s go already—!

#ahhhh happy v day everyone !!!!!#sorry to literally everyone else #but they are my favorites of favorites hands down #ch.zofia #ch.rui #part two Soon

58 notes · View notes

ymiwritesstuff · 2 years

Text

What They Call You | Goro Majima, Kazuma Kiryu & Akira Nishikiyama

Hello, I'm here with some headcanons for some of the Yakuza boys bc I love them all and my brain is craving content for them AAAA! Anyway, here are some headcanons of what they'd call their s/o, hope you enjoy!! ❤️

Notes: Fluff, some mild suggestive themes, spoilers for Yakuza 1/Kiwami during Nishiki's segment, mild angst

Goro Majima

Darlin' - This one is the default for him, the one his s/o will hear the most. It just flows off his tongue effortlessly, he hardly even realizes he is calling you that in the first place. The drawl of his Kansai-ben also really adds to the experience, making the pet name feel extra unique and exclusive.

Doll - This is the one he uses when he really wants to sweet talk. And oftentimes he pairs it with remarks about how pretty you are in his eyes. There is some slight silliness in it but for the most part, his overly honeyed words and compliments are almost always accompanied by this pet name.

Baby/Babe - Putting these two together because I feel like he'd use both in the same situations. Though I feel like "Baby" would be more so used when he and his s/o are intimate. In general, though, he uses one of these to surprise you, as you are so used to his usual "Darlin'". When one of these leaves his mouth, he's silently asking something of you. Usually, it's sexy time.

Princess/Prince - 100% most used when he wants to tease his s/o or is in the process of pampering them with lavish gifts or an unusually affectionate kiss. With this one, he just wishes to let you know how highly he thinks of you and how important you are to him. It leaves you with warmth on your cheeks almost every time.

Kazuma Kiryu

Your Name - Listen, Kiryu isn't too big on pet names, simply because to him, there isn't anything better to call you than your name. It's just much more special to him than any other nickname could be. He likes your name, so why wouldn't he use it? Sure, his s/o might feel like it's somewhat serious and not as light-hearted as it could be with traditional pet names, but really, Kiryu just wants to let you know that your name is all that he needs to call you, because nothing else would be able to convey his feelings better, in his opinion.

Dear - Now, despite what was said in the previous paragraph, there are still some times when this man will use a pet name. This one in particular is used if he and his s/o are married. He's a traditional, gentlemanly husband, so he uses the most traditional pet name there possibly is. Admittedly, he felt strange saying it at first, but it quickly became second nature, and he soon grew to love calling you that.

Beautiful - This is pretty self-explanatory. Whenever Kiryu uses this one, he is simply describing what he sees. To him, his s/o is the most beautiful thing there is, and him saying this out loud, is a verbal confirmation of it that admittedly leaves you somewhat flustered.

Cutie Patootie - He tried this once after seeing it on the internet. Bad idea. You almost died laughing. Never again.

Akira Nishikiyama

Babe - Nishiki's default. This one is rather broad, as he uses it with anyone who happens to strike his fancy if he is not already seeing someone, so it doesn't feel as exclusive when he and his s/o do get together. However, he somehow is able to make it sound special and different compared to how you used to hear it before you officially started dating. The charming smile he so often wears is surely a partial reason for this.

Sweetie - This one is saved for his s/o. It's a lot more tender and dare I say, sweet, perfect for when you two have been together for some time. Usually, you'll feel a kiss on your temple or cheek right after hearing him call you by this pet name. It warms your heart and you cannot help but smile a little. He is always genuine whilst addressing you in this way, and you know it. You hear it in his voice and see it in his eyes.

Sexy - To absolutely no one's surprise, Nishiki is a flirt, and he knows it. Whenever he is in a teasing mood, expect him to whisper sensual compliments to your ear along with this pet name. He is fully aware of what he is doing and needless to say, this is a word he calls you a LOT during intimacy. Usually, it's mixed with praise or, you guessed it, more compliments on how amazing and hot you are to him.

Mine - SPOILERS FOR YAKUZA 1/KIWAMI! When he calls you his, it's usually out of fear, though anyone can see the underlying possessiveness in his eyes. Deep down, he doesn't want to lose you, not after having already lost so many people dear to him. His sister, Kiryu, he absolutely can't deal with loss any longer. You see the change in his behavior, hear the sternness of his voice, and hear the hunger in his tone as he claims you with his words. Pre-Kiwami Nishiki would never say it in such a way, hardly at all if we are honest, but he has changed, and he is desperate to have you stay with him. So he holds you tight, vigorously telling you how you belong to him.

Support me on ko-fi!❤️

745 notes · View notes

helpfandom · 1 year

Text

Yandere PLATONIC Hypno/Mezmeron x human Reader HCs.

@yanderes-galore

You challenge, I provide.

Eennsy weensy bit of Warren too. It's like,, a paragraph and a few mentions.

You were the kid who was his favourite, you absolutely ADORED his shows when he was a human, before he got mutated.

He loved that you were a fan and when he got mutated, a part of his brain became animalistic, hence, he became a yandere.

Surprisingly, one of the few times when I break the "reader / person is shocked to find a mutant." But this is because reader is a kid. Like a kid, reader doesn't know not to trust people yet.

Yet.

Anyway, so when he turned into Hypno, he became a yandere for you! His big fan! And since you loved him so much, wouldn't you love him now?

As I said, I break the trope (that is a trope for a reason) and Reader is actually, surprised to see their favourite entertainer / person who isn't family or friends show up and be a mutant.

Little Reader here is okay with it because now he can do MORE magic! Which is exactly how he kidnaps you.

He kidnaps you by using the 'enters box, and now their gone!' trick to lead you to his apartment that he shares with Warren.

And yes, Warren loves you (in a platonic way) and Hypno (romantic), has no qualms with keeping you if it means he gets to have a family with his Bf.

So, once Hypno has you in the apartment, he keeps you entertained using magic tricks to make you forget about going home. He uses the short attention span to draw you away from thoughts of your previous home.

Although once you start crying because it's nighttime and you want the previous parents back, he starts to have some regrets and uses his magic to get you to sleep. Oftentimes life is boring with them because he wants you to rely on him for entertainment and wants to be your 'dad' which is disorienting for the little kid who just thought that magic was cool.

He hates using the hypnosis on you, but would do it if you are escaping or in BIG trouble. He wants you, not this,, being that looks like you but has none of your personality!

When they have to do crime to get money, he uses his hypnosis on you (although he hates that he has to,) and makes you wait until they get back.

He often gets upset but is scared of hurting you, so he hits the wall or objects but it only ends up scaring you more when you see the holes he created with a punch that could have been aimed at you.

Best scenario, you get Stockholm syndrome and he lets you get your education and go outside without having to hypntoise you too much.

It's best if you just Stockholm quickly because while he wants you to be you, and not some lifeless doll, he isn't afraid of that reality.

In the end of the day though, you're not escaping him because of his hypnosis.

#platonic #tw yandere #yandere #x reader #yandere tmnt #headcanon #yandere x reader #platonic yandere #platonic x reader #yandere rottmnt #Yandere hypnopotomaus #yandere hypno #Yandere mezmeron #Yandere hypno rottmnt #yandere mezmer-ron #Helpfandom's writing

127 notes · View notes

hippolotamus · 5 months

Text

Fav lines game 💫

rules: share your favorite lines or paragraph you've written from one of your fics, posted or wip.

thanks for the tags @bidisasterevankinard @diazsdimples @tizniz @daffi-990 💖

since I'm indecisive and, like Stevie, do what I want, I'm choosing lines from each of my 'ships

Buddie - from honey, when you call my name

It’s okay. Eddie can ask for this. He can want this. Isn’t it just one of the (many) points Frank’s been trying to get across? That he doesn’t have to settle for the bare minimum of whatever life hands him? That he can request and desire and, most importantly, receive. And anyway, it’s Buck. Who would be more enthusiastic to give than him? “I, uh, want you to have me,” he whispers. “I‘ve never. Not with another person, but. I want you to.” Jesus Christ, for all the confidence he started with he sure can’t seem to find any now. “It’s okay if you haven’t. If you’re asking what I think you’re asking.” Buck presses a kiss to his hair. “You can have it. But I need you to ask me.” Another soft kiss, so light that Eddie could have imagined it. “Need to be sure.” Eddie squeezes his eyes shut tight, only for a second though. Because he wants Buck to see, and maybe he wants to allow Buck to see him, here in this sacred space they’re creating. He tilts his head back, baring himself. Offering himself up for Buck to take.

Lutalia - from stay here honey (i don't wanna share)

“You’re not getting soft on me, are you?” Nat teases. “I might start thinking you want me for more than just my body.” Lucy snorts and rolls her eyes. “This is a one-time thing. Don’t get used to it.” “Well, if you’re interested…” She trails off, tracing a finger down the center of Lucy’s chest, over her abdomen, and dragging the sheet down as she goes. She pauses to rub the heel of her palm over Lucy’s neatly trimmed patch of coarse blond curls. Nat’s gaze turns darker, hungrier. Like she’d eat Lucy alive, which doesn’t seem like such a terrible thing. “I don’t mind going back to something more familiar. You know, in the spirit of putting you at ease.” “How very altruistic of you.”

David/Patrick - from I know all your secrets

“Don’t go.” The words are barely more than a whisper. Still, David may as well have screamed them for as raw, vulnerable and hollowed out as he feels. He bites down on the inside of his lower lip, a pitiful, broken attempt to hold himself together. If Patrick wants to leave, David won’t stop him. He’ll stay frozen in place, stone faced and unyielding, until Patrick is gone. Once upon a time he would have tried for nonchalant, but that act is no good anymore. Patrick doesn’t just mean something to him now – he is everything. Anything less and David will crack, bleeding his emotions everywhere until there’s nothing left.

Twylexis - from the with my heart in my lap wip

Twyla steadies herself, maintaining her hold on Alexis so they’re almost walking as one down the sidewalk. She’s a comforting line of warmth huddled against Alexis’s side. Her cheeks are pink and flushed from dancing, and her lips curl up in a satisfied smile. “Wasn’t that fun?” Twyla stops abruptly to look up. “That was fun.” “Yeah, doll. It was,” Alexis assures her, tapping a finger to the tip of Twyla’s nose and indulging in the soft chuckle it earns her. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather have gone with Tommy? He was having a really great time dancing with you.” Twyla’s giddiness turns to something more subdued and vulnerable that makes Alexis’s heart twist and ache. “No, Twy.” Alexis presses a kiss to the crown of Twyla’s hair, then tilts her chin to drown in a mesmerizing sea of green. “Trust me when I say there’s nobody in there for me.”

np tagging @stereopticons @shortsighted-owl @eddiebabygirldiaz @actuallyitsellie @filet-o-feelings

@queerbuckleys @bi-buckrights @chaosandwolves @elvensorceress @fortheloveofbuddie

@bucksbiawakening @giddyupbuck @saybiwithme @honestlydarkprincess @hoodie-buck

@indestructibleheart @jesuisici33 @kitteneddiediaz @thekristen999 @ladydorian05

@lemonzestywrites @lizzie-bennetdarcy @loserdiaz @loveyouanyway @monsterrae1

@rmd-writes @shipperqueen6 @spaceprincessem @spotsandsocks @statueinthestone

@slightlyobsessedwitheverything @steadfastsaturnsrings @the-likesofus @theotherbuckley @thewolvesof1998

@vanillahigh00 @watchyourbuck @weewootruck @welcometololaland @wikiangela

@wildlife4life @your-catfish-friend @mrs-f-darcy @drowsy-quill @a-noble-dragon

@blackandwhiteandrose and anyone else who wants to 😘

ps: if you want tagged in stuff like this click here

#tags what *are* you doing????#hippo writes #buddie #lutalia #schitt's creek #twylexis #fav lines tag game

50 notes · View notes

gold-rhine · 2 years

Note

For the ask game, what about edging, dollification, collars with Albedo, Diluc, and Heizou?

warnings nsfw

hmm, edging and collars work for basically anyone, lets start with dollification. i'm leaving albedo out of this bc it feels both the most obvious and also bc he has his unhealthy hang ups on being an artificial creation which i wouldn't want to touch. now, both diluc and heizou would be fun, but in completely different ways.

like, if u told heizou "hey baby, today you'll be my pretty little doll," he'd be SO excited. he's into roleplay in general, loves feeling helpless and completely in your power, loves being manhandled and things being done to him, would adore to be dressed up and pampered and showed off as your pretty treasure. the problem is that he can't keep still for longer than 5 minutes or his hyperactive ass will die. so it wouldn't be so much dollification, as "enthusiastic heizou vibrating at high velocities for few minutes, trying to not move before breaking into giggles, whimpers and writhing." like he'd still be fun, just not very on theme.

now, diluc tho, that'd be a complicated case, i'm almost tempted to actually write it out. is he straightforwardly into this at first? no, but diluc is so repressed, he doesn't know shit about what he wants until it punches him in the face. he'll be open to try bc you asked, but dismissive like he doesn't even see the point. though passivity will be secretly appealing to him bc he's awkward and always anxious about doing something wrong or being too wooden and weird, so the fact that there's basically nothing for him to fuck is comforting. he'll see this as a challenge, bc diluc sees everything as a challenge, but it has clearly defined rules and expectation by which he can judge his performance, so that works well for him.

the thing is that diluc is already on several layers of dissociation, he sees his body as this kind of meat puppet, a tool to do things with, sometimes useful, sometimes inconvenient. so forcing him to ground himself in the sensations, in his body by focusing on it, being hyper-aware of positioning and movements might be very good for him, while also providing him safe space to realize he enjoys things without the psychological struggle to allow himself it first, bc it's not his decision, it's you playing with him as with literal doll.

so like, dressing him up in a pretty dress, positioning him carefully in front of the mirror, so he has to see himself, scars and all, being treated like a fragile and precious thing. leaving him for some pauses so he has to stew in this view, going back to make adjustments, touch him almost casually, nonchalantly, pretending not to notice that he's getting riled up, bright blush, cock getting harder. moving him to more and more provocative positions, until he's half undone, playing gently with his hair, while the sweet shame and desire and softness melt through his barriers, until it turns from a challenge to maintain stillness to actually relaxing and letting go of control, so when you fuck him, he's pliant, tension finally gone, trusting and open with his body.

collars - heizou would be into it, but i've already wrtten a fic with leashplay for him, and the social aspects of collars are kinda lost with him, bc like. he's just like THAT anyway. he's already wearing a choker, shirt with the sides cut off, his gloves are a combo of red ties and fishnet. he can show up to work wearing bedazzled "Master's little cumslut <3" collar and no one would blink an eye, except kujou sara who'd yell at him for dishonoring the tenryuo commission and he'd be like show me where in the regulations it says i can't be a cumslut, no i dont care about the spirit of the law, show me the exact paragraphs. so like it'd be fun, but i feel like it also derails the prompt lmao

albedo tho is that kind of introverted clingy where he won't be actively pestering you for attention, but he will drop anything if you ask him to spend time with you for as long as possible, and will be unashamedly open about it. he's also pretty direct about showing preferences to ppl he likes in public and in companies, as we've seen in few events now. so i think he'd actually be into collars unironically, as the symbol of belonging and being connected even when not together, an open unspoken secret that he's yours. he'd have very tasteful narrow leather collar, dyed darkest blue to match the darks of his outfit, with the golden ring in the center framing the gold diamond mark on his throat. like, it passes quite easily for fashion accessory for most ppl, for these in the know its like - is this ring for what i think it is??? or is this his artistic shit to accent the skin mark?? and like since albedo can be quite a mischievous smug troll, he can catch the confusion and press on it with absolute poker face, until the person is embarrassed that they were even assuming it, and then he'd drop a banger of double entendre that suggests, but doesn't confirm anything, again with innocent poker face. albedo would have a lot of fun with it

but also, the imagery of his "imperfection" framed, left open, just for you. the clasp of the leash, when closed, touching the gold diamond. silent acknowledgment of his nature and acceptance of it, the triple secret meaning of vulnerability under the already existing layer of suggestiveness. him sitting at your feet, surrounded by papers and drawings for his research, working as usual, but content to be close, glowing softly when he feels your fingers gently run through his hair from time to time, reaching up both eagerly and obediently when you tug up his leash. much to play with a little prince.

edging - heizou is so fun to tease <3 put him into your lap, hold him close, take your time. he's sensitive, responsive, eager, he'll squirm, whine, whimper, beg shamelessly, tease, cling to you, try to catch your hands if you don't tie him up, but get back to behaving if you scold him, pout, writhe helplessly, arc, moan, never shutting up for a second, regressing into some incoherent sweet and horny nonsense in the end. mwah best kitten.

#rhine talks #rhine writes filth #sub heizou #sub diluc #sub albedo #genshin smut

322 notes · View notes

gay-disabled-characters-showdown · 4 months

Text

LGBTQ+ Disabled Characters Showdown Round 2, Wave 1, Poll 1

A character being totally canon LGBTQ+ and disabled was not required to be in this competition. Please check qualifications and propaganda before asking why a character is included.

Check out the other polls in this wave and prior here.

Hiccup Haddock-How To Train Your Dragon

Qualifications:

1. The man is missing a leg 2. He's bi in fanon (and in my heart) 3. Blorbo original flavor. Need I say more?

He has a prosthetic leg, and at least in my circles is quite often hcd as bi

Propaganda:

He's so cool. He builds his own prosthetics that interface with the prosthetics he built for his disabled dragon. First viking to ride a dragon. Chief that brought a new era of prosperity to Berk.

Probably one of the most popular physically disabled characters. And although I personally am not disabled, I have heard a bunch of disabled ppl say that they like him as rep. As he pretty much just exists with his disability. It is not ignored. He doesn't not always function the same as people with 2 regular legs. But it is not made into a tragedy. He just has a prosthetic leg after an accident which caused him to loose one. And nobody really makes a big deal out of it, which makes sense in the society they live in. Idk, here's a link to a video discussing the disability representation in httyd: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PvwRhb_ocPM

The qualifications and propaganda paragraphs correspond, @flammableengineering is the first submitter.

Harrowhark Nonagesimus-The Locked Tomb

Qualifications:

She's a lesbian and the author Tamsyn Muir has confirmed she's written as schizophrenic, based on her own experience.

Okay SO Harrow is a necromancer nun who is also a huge lesbian. She spends the books of TLT series being super gay and repressed about her emotions for 1. Butch lesbian Jesus and 2. Human Barbie the death of God. She narrates the second book (Harrow the Ninth) and is author-confirmed schizophrenic. She experiences hallucinations thru the whole book and has since childhood. She’s also WIDELY headcannoned as autistic by the fandom (me too) because. Because she IS SO FUCKING AUTISTIC (source: I am autistic too)

Schizophrenic lesbian with a traumatic brain injury

Schizophrenic and sapphic

canonically a schizophrenic lesbian. neither word is used in series, she isn't in a position to get a diagnosis and queer identities are so normalised in the universe that labels just don't get mentioned, but she is written as both by an author who is also both.

Canon schizophrenia

Canon lesbian with canon schizophrenia

She's a schizophrenic lesbian with a traumatic brain injury

Propaganda:

The Locked Tomb is pretty popular on tumblr but I might as well submit her anyway

She’s a lesbian necromancer nun. She’s a saint and also woke up the death of God, who is a human Barbie, who she is in love with, tho she’s also kind of married to lesbian Jesus. She’s schizophrenic. She’s scrungly. She puts bread in a drawer. She’s even autistic

Harrow first started hallucinating (visual and auditory) when she was ten years old! The traumatic brain injury and seizures are much more recent. Unironically gotta love a pov protagonist who makes you struggle along with her in sorting out hallucination and false memory to figure out what's going on. Also while Harrow's disability shapes the narrative, the book isn't at all about her being disabled. It's a fantasy/scifi gothic horror novel about being trapped at a work retreat with God.

so many women want her but she’s determined to be in love with the soul of the dead earth trapped in a 10ft barbie doll instead. she’s a lesbian disaster and is trying to deal with both schizophrenia and over 200 actual ghosts haunting her.

Author Tamsyn Muir has discussed how Harrow's schizophrenia is modeled after her own experiences. It matters a lot in her eponymous novel, where her inability to trust what she sees and hears is compounded by her self-inflicted lobotomy to save her girlfriend's soul from getting absorbed into her own.

Harrow is one of the protagonists of her series & both her lesbianism & her schizophrenia play major parts in the story. The author has spoken about how she wrote Harrow based on her own experiences, and the authenticity comes through strongly. Beyond that, she's a teenage gothic nun in love with a holy corpse & she's the greatest bone magician ever born. What more needs be said.

She's a lesbian, she's psychotic, she has seizures, she faints regularly and can't rely on her own memory worth shit. And the only reason she's not going to kill god is so she and her girl can escape the cycle of violence. Basically, Harrowhark Nonagesimus is the entire package.

Anything Else?:

Listen. Listen. I’m not doing Harrow justice here. I LOVE her (Submitter 2)

The author is also schizophrenic! Which is pretty cool. (Submitter 3)

The author of the series is openly schizophrenic, and has mentioned in interviews that she's drawing on that experience when writing Harrow :) (Submitter 8)

#polls #poll #disabled characters #disability #lgbtq characters #lgbtq #lgbtq dcs round 2 #lgbtq dcs r2 wave 1 #hiccup haddock #how to train your dragon #harrowhark nonagesimus #the locked tomb

24 notes · View notes

wondermacaroni · 5 months

Text

Happy 4/13!! Since I’ve been posting group doodles lately, it was obligatory that we draw something to celebrate. Mine is in green (except for the shading, lol). Some thoughts on my history with Homestuck and my reread of the comic with friends are under the cut.

I’ll say preemptively, forgive me if the paragraph spacing is wonky. I don’t post a lot of big text posts, if any at all, so I have no idea if this will show up in a bearable to read format or not. Anyways.

I first read Homestuck on an early morning in April, soon before that year’s 4/13 and a little ways out from my 14th birthday in late May. I hadn’t slept at all that night, and my normal internet circles had slowed to a crawl as the sun began to rise. Bored out of my mind and too energized to sleep, I decided it was finally time to check out that one webcomic that I had seen some people post cool art for.

To keep it simple, I had a pretty big scare in the family that same day I started reading. Everything ended up and has been just fine regarding that, but I think it cemented Homestuck in my mind as a way to process things somehow. Now that I’m about to graduate college, I’ve returned to needing to process things, and of course, my way to process it.

So, one night a month or two ago, I’m looking into some Homestuck browser game (shoutouts to Wigglersim) when my friend asks what it’s about. I get a little clammy, but I do mention the game, Homestuck and all. Imagine my surprise when they ask for a link to check it out as well.

I could hear the interest egging me on like the Green Goblin mask at that point.

Over the next few days, we went from the browser game, to the doll maker, to installing the collection, to almost-nightly streams of our read-along with the comic. It has been a BLAST so far. Sure, we probably could have blazed through on our own much faster. But having someone there to break things down and engage with, especially for a work like Homestuck, has made the whole ordeal even more enjoyable overall.

To be honest with you, I could never really get myself to reread Homestuck before then. I had the collection installed on my laptop but I could never get past some feeling of shame that came with opening it, or even looking at it for too long. Even when I had finally forced myself to get comfortable with Homestuck Posting or die trying, the thought of fully reengaging and not dwelling in the bliss of memories was a little too much.

Having a friend there, one who has been willing to engage despite it all, has made the reread much less daunting. Despite all of my warnings of the future like a frenzied oracle, I’ve been able to expose that long-hidden soft spot after all these years. It’s like unclenching your jaw, in a way.

The time we’ve spent taking it all in has REALLY spurred us to put something out lately as well. Every turn of the New Year, my friends and I boot up a group canvas and collaborate on one big slab of doodles. Lately though, I’ve been wanting to do that a lot more, and so have my friends. With the reread, I finally decided to rip off the bandage and do something I hadn’t really done as a teen first reading through Homestuck— I decided to make some fanart.

It felt like uncorking champagne. Though it was probably more akin to uncorking sparkling grape juice. Whatever. I hadn’t done it, I did it, and it felt GOOD to do it. You get it. If nothing else, waiting to draw that fanart for eight some odd years meant that I didn’t have any old drawings to painfully reflect on, for better or for worse.

I don’t like doing much other than lurking. However, with all of the drawings we had made, it’d be a shame not to share them beyond like ten people. My friend started posting some, to some really surprising amounts of engagement, at least for us. I followed in suit for support, and I’ve seen much of the same myself. It’s intimidating to be perceived, but it has been nice to shake hands with the community from the other side of my normal lurking perspective. Thank you meowrails fans for your support, maybe I’ll cook again soon, who knows?

We’ve now gotten to the point in the comic where this reread just becomes a read, and right before 4/13. I never finished the comic past the second Alterniabound flash, though I’ve picked up on little spoiler things here and there. I’m excited, I’m nervous, I can’t wait to see what horrible ick I’ll get next.

With streaming this to my friend, I have accidentally convinced more friends to look into Homestuck as well. The network slowly grows, and with it, another ticket is reserved for a group movie night of Con Air. I can’t wait to see how it goes.

Anyways, that’s all for my yapping. Have a happy 4/13, consider a reread with friends, and thank you for your interest in my lecture if you’re reading or skimming through this.

#homestuck #413 #john egbert #man I’m sorry I just have a lot to say #homestuck posting in the house tonight

24 notes · View notes

isuckatwritingsobenice · 2 years

Text

Bittersweet

Alastor x reader + Vox x reader ( Slight Valentino x reader )

Navigation

Tag-List

Requests are open!

Warnings: implied fem!reader, cursing, mentions of drinking, mentions of sex, mentions of killing / violence, Valentino being a horny bastard, Alastor calls himself a serial killer, slightest mention of drugs, drunk sex, Lilith unintentionally plays matchmaker while her man is drunk on her arm, Valentino and Vox bicker for like two seconds, smut with a bit of plot, praise kink!, name calling, P in V, no protection ( WRAP BEFORE YOU TAP )

Notes: Reference photos will be underlined with a link to the reference ! When a paragraph startles with o it’ll be in authors POV

“ I hope you all enjoy the rest of the party! Let us celebrate!” Lucifer said, Lilith smiling proudly by his side. Everyone cheered, raising they’re glasses up. Some had a hard alcohol, some had alcohol with drugs, and some filled with champagne, the prudes with water others with blood. All glasses were raised in a toast to the new year. As everyone began to split into small conversations, I took the time to walk around a bit, admiring the MorningStar estate. Lilith’s theme this year has been Masquerade. She had, so the rumor goes, a new dress made for her in honor of her daughter’s new hotel opening up. Though her daughter was no where to be seen at this lavish party.

I made my way towards one of the large doors, which opened to the wrap around balcony that went around the third floor, with stairs connecting to the second and fourth floor on opposite ends. From where I had been standing on the balcony, I could see the clear garden and outstretched further, a large body of red water. I leaned onto the railing, taking a sip from my glass as I stared at the red moon.

It’s almost time for the New Year to start. That means the angels are coming to do a bit of a… clean up. Some had started early. Not like it mattered to the higher up demons who took sanction at the Morningstar mansion every year. Keeping most of Hell’s ranks in place. Aside from the few individuals that liked to fight the angels. Usually to earn bragging rights.

I had never done so myself, seeing as it was a waste of time. Not like killing one would get me out of here anyways. However, it definitely didn’t go unnoticed how there seemed to be more people at the party this year. I fixed the back of my mask, securing it tightly onto my head.

“ You seem bored.” I heard from beside me. I didn’t give myself time to react, I simply continued to stare at the moon.

“ And if I was? What do you suppose you could do about it?” I asked, my nails digging into the palm of my hand, nerves rattling.

“ What would you like me to about it?” He said, and it didn’t take long for me to realize who I was speaking too.

“ Hello Valentino.” I said, taking a sip from my glass with a roll of my eyes. This horny bastard.

“ What gave it away?” He asked as he took his mask off with a grin.

“ You’re horrible personality.” I responded, downing the last of my champagne.

“ Never expected the daughter of a sin to be so hostile. Maybe you need someone to teach you a lesson, hm~?” He said, his finger coming to caress my face, making me look at him, his nose getting closer to mine.The flirting was the usual, but the suggestiveness in his tone seemed to strike something else in me. Something hot.

“ Keep your dick in your pants Val.” Oh goodie, a third party. How much more interesting could this get? Valentino pulls away from me with a chuckle. I huffed and spun my glass in a circle, now kind of sad I finished my drink.

“ Or what? Gonna make me~?” Valentino teased, before he was pushed to the side.

“ I think this conversation is done. I’m going back inside. Have fun sucking each other off.” I say, clearly annoyed as I let go of my glass, letting it fall from the balcony and onto the ground where a faint shatter can be heard.

“ Oh doll don’t leave so soon- ow!” Valentino says.

“ Honestly Val, control yourself.” Vox replies, now clearly over his shit. I make my way back inside, pushing through the crowds of people as I make my way to the opposite side of the room, connected to yet another balcony. Thankfully, this side seemed to be far less intriguing, which meant no disturbances.

“ Oh Y/n~!” I hear, and it’s Lilith as she pushed the door open, walking with her dead husband and Alastor behind her. “ I have someone I want you to meet.” She says with a smile, as if I didn’t know who he was. Of course I knew who he was. How could I not? “ Al this is-“ Lilith begins, but I save her the time.

“ Y/n L/n. I know who your name so you can save the introductions. What is this about Lilith?” I ask, silencing Alastor, his smile turning from friendly to now nervous, watching Lilith’s express change to annoyance.

“ Well, I wanted you two to try and get alone. However, seeing as you both already know of each other I’ll leave you both to it.” She said, turning with her husband drunkenly holding onto her arm as she brought him back inside. “ Oh, Alastor please make sure she get’s home safe.” Lilith said, before shutting the door and going back into the party. Like I needed him.

“ So… you get out much?” I asked, before Alastor smiled. This is gonna be a long night.

┈ ┈ ┈ ⋞ 〈 ⏣ 〉 ⋟ ┈ ┈ ┈

“ Another one?” Alastor asks, as he hands me another glass, this time of whiskey. I cant really remember how much I’ve had to drink at this point ; nor do so care.

“ Don’t be silly. This is nothing.” I say, taking a large sip from my glass, ignoring the burning in my throat. “ Cmon have some. Have a drink with me.” I say, giggling slightly as I lean into him, the coolness of the railing helping me cool down.

“ I don’t know dear, you heard Lilith, get you home safe.” He responds. I groan and lay my head on his shoulder.

“ Al cmon, please.” I whine, setting my glass on the floor, before my arms go to wrap around his waist, pulling him into a hug. “ Have a drink, please.” I beg, and I can feel the way he laughs, his voice ringing through his chest. I press my cheek to the middle of his chest, before tightening my hold on him.

“ Dear, you know I can’t do that.” Alastor says, and I groan. Stupid Lilith for having some dumb emotional claim on me and stupid Alastor for listening to her.

“ Just have one, please, for me.” I beg, hands tugging as his, what used to be, neatly ironed vest, his jacket hanging soundly on the railing.

“ Darling, you do realize your asking a serial killer to have a drink with you. What if I kill you?” Alastor asks, as I stare up at him through my lashes, face still close to his chest. His arms move to wrap around my waist, pulling me closer.

“ I don’t mind dying twice.” I say with a small giggle, and Alastor lets a large smile take over his face, as a sound of a crowd laughing plays from Alastor.

“ Fine. One drink.” Alastor says, as I let out a celebratory squeal, throwing my arms around his neck to pull him into a hug.

“ See, you’ll have fun I promise!” I say, bending down to grab my drink as we head inside to get Alastor one as well.

A few drinks later, Alastor and I are back on the balcony, laughing as I take my shoes off and attempt to walk in a straight line, holding the sides of my dress up so I can see my feet.

“ Am I doing it?” I ask as Alastor crouches down to see if I’m in a straight line or not.

“ I think so! You’re doing great dear!” Alastor says as he throws his head back, finishing the rest of his drink. So far, at least from what I can remember, Alastor has has five drinks of a name I can’t remember right now, and I’ve had eight cups of whiskey. Neither one of us are sober enough to think of anything coherent. As I continue to walk, I wobbly a bit and Alastor laughs as I try to keep my balance. “ Almost there! A few more steps!” Alastor encourages and I try my hardest to do it correctly. I take a few more steps before I let the sides of my dress go, throwing my hands in air in excitement, I had finally made it to him.

“ I told you, I told you I could do it!” I said laughing as Alastor stood, his arms wrapped around my waist, spinning my around as my feet were lifted from the ground.

“ You did wonderfully dear! m’so very proud of you!” He said, laughing as he set me down. His praise causing butterflies to erupt in my stomach, almost knocking the wind out of me. As Alastor was about to pull back from me I tightened my hold around his shoulders.

“ Say it.” I said, my voice in a hushed whisper. I could feel him tense under my hold.

“ W-what? Dear-“ Alastor asked, confused, as his hands moved to settle on my waist, above the large poof of my dress.

“ I wanna hear it again. Wanna hear you say your proud of me again.” I say, hands running down the tops of his shoulders to brush his shoulder blades. He shivers a bit, before there’s a soft kiss on my shoulder, the strap of mg dress falling slightly.

“ I’m so proud of you. You did so good for me.” It comes as a whisper, but it’s more than enough to have me squeeze my thighs together. The air is tense, and neither one of us move for a bit. It’s quiet, the only noise coming from inside, where the guests are in a whole other world. Alastor leans up a bit, cause my hands to fall to the front of his arms. His eyes are dark, different from before.

“ A-are you okay?” I ask, stomach suddenly empty. The look he’s giving me isn’t one I can pinpoint. He doesn’t speak, leaving my question unanswered as he leans closer to me as I impulsively back up, trying to create space. Maybe I should’ve listened to him when he said he was a killer. What if I really do die twice? It’s only when my back hits the cool meta bar or the balcony railing that I realize he’s caged me in. How dumb can I be? I don’t say anything, holding my breath as Alastor get’s closer, his hands now on either side of me, holding onto the railing. Since when did he roll his sleeves up? That was new, or at least something new I had noticed. I glance from his forearms, which were decorated in lovely veins that stuck out as he held onto the metal, before looking back at him, his eyes holding a cold stare. “ Al-“ I couldn’t finish, Alastor closing the gap between us with a kiss, and it was rough. Like if the kindness I had seen a second ago was all a facade. Regardless, I kissed back, my hands holding onto the railing behind me for support. He was quick, his hand moving up my side carefully, over my ribs, up the side of my breaste up gently sweeping over my shoulder. Before I could process what was happening I felt a harsh grip on my throat.

He was choking me. I let out a small gasp at the attack, my hands letting go of the railing as I reached forward to hold onto his wrist, while he had taken the chance to quite literally shove his tongue down my throat. I couldn’t breathe, gasping for hair as he continued to kiss me, my hands holding on his wrist for what little life I had left. My eyes began to water, my throat feeling as if it was closing up, my head spinning with the lack of air and the intensity of our makeout. Just when I thought I was going to pass out, Alastor pulled away, his hand falling to my side, his kissed descending down my cheek and to my jaw. Tears had began to fall from my eyes, partially out of relief that I wasn’t dead ( again ) and partially because the ache between my legs, despite my lack of air moments prior, had grown increasingly stronger.

“ Your skin is soft.” Alastor says, kissing my cheek one last time before pulling back to stair at me. His eyes light up in amusement at my current state. Panting and catching my breath, my hair is probably a mess and my lips are sore, most likely swollen while my hand unconsciously moves to massage my neck, where his hand had previously been. “ Was I too rough?” Alastor asks, his hand gently moving mine out of the way, his hands gently massaging my neck. I nod a bit, as one of his hands moves to wipe a tear that had fallen.

“ Do it again.” I say. Alastor stops, blinking at me a few times. He seems shocked I would request for him to do it again. My hands reach up to his, forming his hands around my neck. “ Please.” I say, before there’s a shit eating grin on his face.

“ Hm, why? Why should I? Do you like it?” Alastor asks, his hands squeezing ever so slightly. I nod, quickly hoping he’d carry on with it. I begin to fidget, my legs squeezing intensely together to try to relieve some of the stress I feel. Alastor seems to have noticed, because he removes his hands from my neck, before bending down to grab his now empty glass. “ Let’s go.” Alastor says, before I rush behind him, slipping my shoes on quickly and trying to tame my hair. I follow him like a pathetic puppy through the crowds of people, determined not to lost him.

I push through the crowd of people, my mask discarded and probably the only thing i’m clutching onto. As if things couldn’t be much harder for me, everyone began to get a lot closer together, some making out with one another, probably with they’re tops off, others passing a blunt along a line, everything seemed to happen all at once. Looking up I finally realized why. It was ten o’clock. Two hours before the new year. Everyone was cramming together, trying to be at the front of the large ball in the front of the room, which would signal the new year.

I panic when I see Alastor far ahead of me, people in my way of him. He seems to be having a specific destination in mind, since he hasn’t looked back at me since we started walking. I push through the people that are in my way, only one thing on my mind. Getting to Alastor. I had finally pushed through the last few people before I had reached as far as I could to grab onto him. He turned around, looking at my quickly before his hand moved to hold mine, leading me to wherever it was he wanted to go. “ I apologize love, I should’ve done this earlier.” Alastor says, his hand holding onto mine tightly as we continue to walk through the busy crowd. It’s only when we push through two large doors that I realize he had been leading me to the garden this entire time.

“ Why are we here?” I ask, now suddenly confused. Alastor pays no mind to my question, a staff appearing at his side, now fully dressed in his tailcoat. In front of him a portal opens, and on the other side is… a room?

“ Come now dear, time to finish what we started.” Alastor said, waiting for me to follow him through the portal.

┈ ┈ ┈ ⋞ 〈 ⏣ 〉 ⋟ ┈ ┈ ┈

I don’t know how long we’ve been like this. Going from a disastrous crowd to now a fit of giggles and kisses, the alcohol seeping back into my system reminding me just how much I drank. My lipstick is smeared, my dress is hiked up and bunched at my hips while my back is against the wall, my hands occupying themselves through Alastor’s hair, careful of his antlers. The straps of my dress fall as Alastor moves his kisses down to my neck, sucking at my pulse point. Everything feels that much more intense and hot, his knee between my thighs, giving me just enough friction not to come undone but to have some relief. There’s an old cd on Alastor’s record player, though it seems pointless.

All coherent thoughts leave my mind when I feel Alastor teeth sink into my shoulder, my back arching a bit into him, hips stuttering. “ Oh, oh my god. W-wait Alastor you, hmph.”My mind feels fuzzy, blank, his knee just right to rub my clit in the most delicious way my toes curl. Alastor pulls away from my shoulder, and with the way it aches I just know there’s definitely going to be a mark there by tomorrow.

“ Too much? Can’t handle it?” Alastor asked, moving to kiss the other side of my neck.

“ No no no, I can I can. I just, too quick. Too much, mm” Alastor raised his brows.

“ Too quick? Darling you won’t be thinking that when I’m done with you.” Alastor said, and it was the only warning I had gotten before I felt two of his fingers sliding down my folds.

“ Al- Oh yes.” Two of his fingers pushed, almost bullied their way through my pussy, achingly slow and almost frustrating. However, when I felt the tip of his fingers curl a bit, I knew it would be worth the wait. He gradually picked up the pace, his fingers moving in and out, picking up the pace every few seconds. The sounds were obscene, almost straight out of one of Valentinos porno’s. When had he even found the time to take make panties off? We’re they even off? I couldn’t tell, handing gripping the edge of my dress, holding it up for him as my hips began to grind down onto his hand. “ Please please please.” The words fell with no actual meaning. I could feel my stomach start to turn, tightening, just a bit more.

“ Please what? What do you want?” Alastor asked, his fingers moving quicker, almost too fast. Tears began to form, my eyes watering and my vision turning hazy. My legs spread further apart, wanting more.

“ More, more I want more.” I said frantically, practically riding his fingers.

“ More what? Use your words. I wanna hear it. I know you can.” Alastor said, his thumb coming up to circle my clit, my eyes squeezing shut at the sensation.

“ Mm, wanna cum, please please let me cum. Please.” I cried, tears falling down the sides of my face, head back against the wall while my back arched, his fingers moving at a brutal pace.

“ Do you deserve to cum? Do you think I should let you?” Alastor asked, before I nodded frantically, feeling drool spill from the corners of mg mouth.

“ Yes, yes I do! P-please! I swear I’ll be good, jus’ - oh - jus-t for you. All for you.” The words spilled before I could even register what I was thinking. Alastor grinned, before he slipped a third finger in.

“ I think you’ve been a good girl tonight, don’t you think? Go on, cum all over my fingers like a good girl. My good girl.” Fuck if that didn’t do it. I came, hard, all over his fingers, and he fucked me through my orgasm with his fingers, his lips catching my own in a kiss, swallowing up all my moans.

“ Mm, Alastor too much. T-too much.” I said, pushing his hand away, while his fingers continued to move in and out of me. Everything felt like so much, everything was hot and it felt like my head was spinning.

“ Let’s get this dress off, hm?” Alastor said, finally pulling his fingers out, and watching as a string of slick connected from his fingers to my pussy, almost embarrassing at how he stared, separating his fingers slowly and watching them almost stick my back together. “ Let me clean these real quick.” Alastor said, before bringing his fingers up to my mouth.

“ Suck.” He said, his tone demanding. I took two of his fingers in my mouth, swirling my tongue around it, tasting myself on his fingers. With a ‘pop’ I took his third and final finger into my mouth, trying to please him as best as I could. He pulled his finger from my mouth before kissing the top of my forehead. He pulled me away from the wall a bit, his hands reaching to the back of my dress and pulling at the zipper, tugging it down. The straps of my dress had began to fall, and only now did I realize I hadn’t worn a bra, since the dress had one built in. The dress fell to the floor, and my hands had quickly went to cover myself. “ Do not. I want to see all of you.” Alastor said, that same demanding tone taking over again.

In a matter of minutes we both end up on the bed, Alastor’s clothes being messily thrown off while trying to stay as close to me as possible. It was addicting, to be so close to one another like this. His hands raked my sides, before stoping to cup one of my breasts. His kisses has faltered, moving down to my collar bone. “ Mm, c-careful.” I said, knowing that my breasts had been extra sensitive due to the confinement of the dress. Though that did anything but make Alastor gentle. From palming my breast he had pinched and pulled at my nipple, moving down to suck the other. My hips had a mind of their own, trying to find some friction while Alastor’s hips kept my legs apart in a torturous position.

“ Look at you, my good girl, so responsive.” Alastor said, before switching his assault to the opposite breast, before pinching the other, drawing a loud moan from me that was almost pornographic.

“ P-please, careful, they’re, mm fuck, they’re sensi- oh yes - mm they’re sensi, sensit-tive.” The stuttering of my words made him grin, pulling away from my breast that was now covered in marks.

“ Are they? I wonder how sensitive they are.” Alastor said, using both hands to grope them. He was rough, not caring about being soft anymore. “ Wondered how pretty they would look at that party. Stumbling around wearing a dress not knowing what eyes are watching.” He said, giving a particular rough squeeze. I hissed, back arching while my hands had gripped at the bedsheets. Spreading my legs, I felt my mind start to turn to jelly.

“ Please, I need you.” I said hoping he would understand what I meant.

“ Where? Where do you need me? Be a good girl use your words.” Alastor said, his hands moving to run down my sides, before he began to caress my thighs.

“ Need you, p-please don’t make me say it.” I begged, and it was pathetic but so was admitting to him that I wanted to be fucked. He shook his head, sliding his hands under my knees and pushing my legs up a bit.

“ If you don’t say it I’ll just leave you like this. You wouldn’t want that would you?” Alastor asked, and I shook my head furiously, not wanting to be edged. “ Tell me what you want, what you need.” He said, his eyes staring right through me.

“ Need you, need you to fuck me Alastor. Please! I’ll be good I promise! I promise I’ll be good. I jus’ need you. Need you now. Can’t wait any longer.” I begged, and Alastor smiled wide, pressing my knees back.

“ Hold your legs there. You let them go and you won’t like what’s next.” Alastor said, and he was firm as he spoke. I nodded, holding my legs where he had left them. “ Tell me if I need to stop, okay?” Alastor asked, before I nodded. He stroked himself a few times, using the pre-cum as a lubricant. He was careful when moving at first, going slow, and trying to sink in inch by inch…

so this is unfinished 😅, i got lazy but i don’t wanna keep this in my drafts so here it is!

#alastor x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin alastor #hazbin angel dust #hazbin charlie #hazbin vaggie #hazbin demon #hazbin vox #hazbin hotel rosie #alastor

206 notes · View notes