#the toymaker x you

[starleska]

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?

[thecorsairstardis]

Crash

This had happened before, and it would happen again. Your brain was full of fog, and your limbs were full of sludge; the bone-numbing fatigue felt like it had crept into your very bones. You felt heavy. You felt tired. No, not tired - exhausted. And there was no cure. You simply had to wait for it to pass.

A feat easier said than done when you body was fighting you at every step. But still you trod on, willing, pleading, begging your body to cooperate as you moved down the street of Soho towards--

There it was, just up ahead.

So close.

So close…

…yet so far.

The bell to Mr Emporium's Toy Shop chimed too many minutes later. You shut the door, listening to the second tinkle of the bell chasing the first, and leant heavily against it.

It was no good. Your legs gave way beneath you and you slid to the floor, hoping no one would try to push the door open behind you.

The bell had summoned him, as it always did - he appeared from behind the counter, popping up like a jack-in-the-box as though he'd been lying in wait all this time for someone to enter his shop, as though it was all part of some great game. Then again, you knew that for him, it probably was.

"Ah, guten tag, guten tag, kommen into the wa--" He was all smiles and showmanship for the expected new customer, however all that faltered when he saw you. You gave a weak wave in greeting from the floor.

The Toymaker lifted the counter and stepped out onto the shop floor. "Und was haben wir hier? A puppet mit her strings ge-snipped?" He stood at your feet, looking down at you through his pince-nez. You braced yourself for the inevitable rebuke you always got from everyone who encountered your fatigue: you're faking, everyone gets tired, just get over it. The Toymaker, however, just tilted his head, curious.

"You are not play-pretending, are you, meine kleine dollen?"

You wanted to point out the error in his German. Instead you only managed a tiny shake of your head.

"Hmm." He tutted and even the tittered noise of disapproval followed the musical melody of his beloved arpeggio. He stepped over you - literally over, one foot planted either side of your body - and over you he towered, sprawled on the floor like a discarded ragdoll. You closed your eyes, embarrassed--

--but no harsh scold came. Instead, there was the click of the shop door lock. You peaked up through your lashes to see the Toymaker turning the shop sign from 'open' to 'closed'. Then he stepped to the side and knelt beside you.

"Poor little Liebling," he said, removing his pince-nez and tucking them in the top pocket of his apron. Then he reached out and slid his hands under your slouuched back and sprawling knees. You tried to protest, tried to insist it wasn't necessary, but the words never quite got there. Either way, the Toymaker was unphased. He lifted you as if you weighed nothing at all. You had been amazed by his otherworldly strength; not being from this universe, he was not bound by its laws, and mavity proved no problem for him.

So you were lifted up, and as you were, you let your eyes fall closed.

You were aware of being carried, then being set down on something soft. He laid you down so carefully, like you were a particularly precious doll, and didn't he like to so often call you such? He lifted your head now, just up enough so that when he lowered it again it was resting on something firm and warm.

You opened your eyes and peered upwards at the Toymaker from your place in his lap. He smiled at you fondly. "Sleep, meine Liebling," he encouraged, smoothing a hand over your hair. You smiled weakly in response and lifted your hand to touch his cheek. He caught your hand in his and pressed a long, lingering, chaste kiss to the back of it.

Satisfied, soothed, and safe, you closed your eyes.

[morganhopesmith1996]

Imagine this is the look on the toymakers face when he see’s you coming into his shop again and again ♥️

[vmpyria]

i need more creepypasta x reader stories where the pastas actually act like serial killers???

idk i feel like most stories where they’re depicted it’s like..they’re all fluffy and cute and stuff and it just makes me 😞😞 bc i want a horror romance that is in touch with how canonically they are.

recently i could probs name a handful of stories where they act like actual killers, like there is this author who has this like prison (?) au where a few days ago they dropped a fic about that au and OHHHMYGOD it was peak bc they weren’t afraid of making the pastas do the crazy shit serial killers do and i fuck with that heavy.

like don’t be scared to make them gross psycho freaks LOL

im just tired of reading cutesy stories about fictional serial killers oops 😥 if you guys have any recs PLSS tell me!!

[erinawritesheadcanons2]

Hello, I came because I was looking for things about creepypasta, it's been so long that I really think it's already a little dead- and I saw your writing about them so I came to ask something about that if you still write for them well am I lucky? Anyway, here I go…

slenderman with someone who hangs on him like a koala-

you can include his reaction when it first happened if you want

Slenderman, Jason The Toy Maker, Laughing Jack and Splendorman with S/O who Hangs On Them Like a Koala

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A/N: Thank you Anon for requesting this HCS! I'm sorry for the long update, it has been such a hectic day because of college and research. I hope you understand! Also, this is one of the funniest requests I have received and this makes my day. Thank you for requesting.

Gender: Neutral

Warning: None except profanities

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Slenderman

It is canon that Slenderman is very tall, above than ten feet tall so it was no wonder many people are scared of this faceless creature and no one has a gut to mess with him.

So it is no surprise that you are imagining yourself hanging onto your romantic partner like a monkey that is hanging onto a tree, it is quite an amusing sight.

Because of these thoughts, you finally have the courage to do it just to see your boyfriend's reaction if you are hanging onto him and latching him like a koala would.

Slenderman's first-time reaction when you hung onto his arm like a koala, he was not only surprised but he was also quite confused about why are you hanging onto his arms.

"Darling, why are you hanging into my arms like this. Do you realize that...I am not a tree?" He raised his unexistent eyebrows in confusion.

The second time you are latching up to him and hanging onto his arms like a koala. He is not as much as surprised as before but he was still confused like the first time you were hanging onto his arm before.

"Why do you hang onto his arms like that? Is there any purpose? Or are you just bored and want to entertain yourself by clinging to my arm?" That is mostly what would Slenderman ask himself when looking at you while you are still hanging onto him.

As time goes by and you're always latching up to his arms like a koala would, he would just gonna let you be even though it would annoy him sometimes when he is busy.

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Having Slenderman as your romantic partner has its own perks, especially if you are a book and literature lover because your boyfriend does collect some fiction books with great plot stories and characters. You have free access to your boyfriend's private library and his office room without getting killed in the place.

However, that does not mean you can be fully entertained even if you have this access and you need more than just Reading books to make yourself not get bored. The poor (Y/N) NEED more, it could be going outside and wandering around in the forest, interacting with the other proxies, or anything that just can kill your boredom.

The grandpa clock on the wall still ticking painfully and Slenderman is busy reading the books that he got from stealing other creatures' libraries, for what? Who knows, you never understand your boyfriend's mindset and goal.

Not wanting to die out of boredom, an idea popped and crossed into your mind and the corner of your lips tugged upwards but it was stopped immediately by Slenderman's words."(Y/N) darling, please don't even think like that. I am busy reading this book and don't bother me." But that did not stop the (Y/N) (L/N). Walking very slowly towards your tall faceless boyfriend, there was a buzzing noise in (Y/N)'s head but she/he/they decide to ignore the sound as it gets louder and louder whereas you were getting closer to the faceless giant in front of you. Without any second thought, you leapt into the air as the calves of your legs used as a spring.

"(Y/N)-!" Slenderman accidentally threw his book away seeing you suddenly tackling him. Both of your arms were tightly wrapped around his torso as well as both of your legs. An innocent smile adorned across of your face with a twinkle in both of your eyes that shows 'mischief." He was standing there, frozen in surprise seeing you acting like this but it did not last long before Slenderman takes a deep breath.

"Fine....just don't bother me while I'm reading," Slenderman mutters.

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Splendorman

Now Splendorman may be as tall as his older but he was a little bit shorter than his faceless stuck-up brother so it also means you can hang onto your boyfriend, Splendorman.

Unlike his brother, Splendorman has also more patience than his brother so it was no surprise that you didn't get unpunished by his reaction when you were hanging onto his arms.

There would be even a time he is encouraging you to climb him and then hanging onto his arms like a koala, then. He would laugh because he thinks it was rather funny.

The first time this happens, Splendorman was very surprised by you climbing and hanging onto his arms like a koala. He did not expect it but he did not mind it instead, he find this sight amusing.

He could not help but let out some small giggles here and there while watching you do that. he thinks you look adorable like this and even sometimes even offers you some candy while you are climbing his arms.

Not only he does gives candy to you to make you happy but he also swings his arms gently to rock you if you are getting bored and need some kind of challenge, he wong swings too hard to make you fall off.

He won't get annoyed like Slenderman does if you keep swinging or climbing him like a Koala every day, he just genuinely thinks you are bored and need entertainment or be affectionate.

Thus, if you want to cling to someone like a koala? It is better having him as the 'tree'. He genuinely thinks you look cute doing this to him.

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Lights are everywhere inside the carnival as well as sounds of people chattering around despite the sound was not from a real human. Those loud and lingering sounds actually came from the radio and the speaker just to make the carnival less lonely. A certain peculiar person with (H/C) hair colour and (E/C) eye colour had a date with a certain smiling man.

The two of you hold hands together with a blush adorning both of your cheeks, smiling happily and walking with the certain giant with a polka dot suit. He has been spoiling you since Valentine's day and today he brought you to his personal carnival which is less creepy than Laughing Jack's carnival.

"(Y/N) Sweetiepie. I have a surprise for you but you need to close your eyes and follow me," Splendorman's grin widened.

"What kind of surprise?" You ask him.

"Oh honey, it's a surprise. If I tell you, it wouldn't be a surprise anymore," he puffs both of his cheeks playfully, making himself look like a squirrel.

"Alright, fine. Just don't give me a poisonous candy like that jerk, Laughing Jack," you told him

"I promise I won't," he gently put the blindfold over of your eyes before tying the end of the cloth.

His large and cold hands gently held both of your smaller hands before gently pulling you, "Follow me..." he whispers. Believing your boyfriend, you began stepping forward and following his voice as well as his lead, wondering what kind of surprise he is going to give you.

‿︵‿︵＼ʕ •ᴥ•ʔ／︵‿︵‿Timeskip

It was quite a long walk and (Y/N) could feel both of their/her/his feet began aching in pain after a long stroll together with Splendorman. His voice reaches out to your ears once the two of you stop together, "Now, you can open the blindfold." Your heart began beating like crazy as if it was just gonna pop out of nowhere but you knew Splendorman will never endanger you in any way.

Lowering the blindfold carefully, both of your eyes widen in surprise to see several boxes laid on top of the tables with a pair of chairs facing each other. Of course near the table, there is an enormous teddy bear holding a red heart with a written 'I love you.'

(Y/N) could not help but the smile across your face brightens seeing all of the surprises that Splendorman gave you before you jump up to your boyfriend, squealing in happiness and wrapping your arms around his torso, nuzzling your head on the crook of his neck and hugging him as if he was a soft teddy bear.

The smiling man could not help but he was utterly surprised seeing your reaction but it did not last long as a chuckle escapes from his throat, wrapping his tendrils and arms around you and hugging you closer before his lips placed on top of the crown of your head, "I'm glad you like it, (Y/N)."

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Laughing Jack

Laughing Jack might be one of the tallest proxies in the mansion among the killers after Splendorman and Slenderman but he's also a little bit shorter than them.

Thus, he is also can be climbed like a tree and hugging him like a koala when you are getting bored. Unlike Slenderman, he did not find this strange.

He also did not find it annoying either. Just like Splendorman, he thinks this sight might be really amusing because he did not think you are going to pull this kind of stunt.

However, he is not as nice as Splendorman who he just gonna let you be hanging onto him like a koala peacefully. Nope, Laughing Jack can be a little bit of an ass.

The reason I am saying this is because he will in fact gonna swing your pretty hard just to scare you off and pretend he will gonna drop you just for shit giggles.

Oh, you are still not getting scared by that prank that he just pull out on you? he will do so much worse than just swinging you hard. Laughing Jack would even try to tickle you out of nowhere until you laugh your ass off and let him go.

He's not going to be ass forever though so don't worry about him keep being an annoying piece of shit. WHen he was nice, he would offer you a candy that is not poisonous and save for you to eat.

Sometimes would let you hang onto him while he is watching his favorite shows and would be sweet enough for cuddling you closer to his arms

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it was never a boring day having Laughing Jack as your boyfriend, he always had a bright idea to make the day more fun and enjoyable despite it can be sometimes really chaotic and could make Slenderman angry because of the mess. But it did not last long until recently.

Today there's supposed to be a mission given by the faceless man to you and your boyfriend by killing people who found out about their secret but those people already got handled by Jeff and Eyeless Jack on the day beforehand so the two of you had a free time after all of those dramas.

(Y/N) and Laughing Jack currently sitting on the couch together with the middle of the sofa are a bowl of wrapped hard candies that Laughing Jack had made for you and himself while watching whatever in front of the TV.

Both of the lids of (Y/N) eyes were getting heavy and heavier with each second, the boredom slowly going to kill them/her/him and going to make (Y/N) fall asleep at any second whereas the certain clown enjoys the horror show about a clown dismembering children. It's not really a TV show, it was a recorded video of him torturing children.

But it did not last long as your eyes opened once again and both of (E/C) eye colours landed on the monochrome clown who keeps giggling like a madman and an idea popped across your mind. The clown did not notice that you were moving very slowly, getting closer to him with each second.

BAM!

Laughing Jack yelped and then his eyes shited at the certain (H/C) hair-coloured killer who already tackling him down. Both of her/his/their arms wrapped around the monochrome clown torso and a smile danced across of (Y/N)'s face. Instead of getting angry, Laughing Jack laughed out loud, seeing what (Y/N)'s just did was hella hilarious.

"HAHAHAHAHA! YOU LOOK LIKE A KOALA!" He pointed out.

"I'm aware of that," you retaliate, popping the tongue out from your mouth.

"Hehehe, were you bored? I'm sorry my little kitten getting bored," he said before one of his fingers took one of the candies and put the sweet inside of your mouth. Accepting his gesture, your lips parted away and let the sweet glide inside of your mouth with a lemon-like flavour covered your whole mouth.

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Jason the Toymaker

Just like Laughing Jack, Jason the Toymaker might be a little bit calmer than Laughing Jack but that doesn't mean he hates physical touch, especially by you.

He might be not as tall as Slenderman and Splendorman but his height is almost the same as Laughing Jack (Which means, he is quite really tall).

So seeing you hanging onto him and cuddling him like a a koala latching on the tree makes his cold heart box melt seeing you like this.

Although he does finds it a little bit weird you're doing this because just like 'Am I really climbable? Why is (Y/N) clinging to my arms like a koala?'

Cuz he never sees adults doing this, he only sees kids doing this and his ex-friend too but that girl was when she was still a kid too although he did not mind it in the end.

He's less of a jerk like Laughing Jack because he's not going to scare you off on purpose just for shit and giggles but he does find it annoying if you do this when he is trying to make a doll.

Just don't hang onto him like a koala when he's working or he will give the scariest glare at you before he kicks you out of his room for distracting him from his job.

Overall, just like a Splendorman and Laughing Jack but much calmer than the two of them. Loves you when you're clingy like this, especially when the two of you hanging out together.

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Tonight was the day after all of the children he had brought turned into a doll and the certain doll maker finally had free time to hang out together with his S/O. Sweats have been trickling down from the scalp of his forehead and those dolls got sent away. Jason the Toymaker is definitely tired after all of the missions that Slenderman has given to him.

He could not wait to just hang out with you and spend the rest of the time together doing something relaxing or maybe going out to ease his upcoming headache. The certain red-haired killer trudges slowly from the abandoned hallway and leaves the dark hallway before he went to the closest room which is the living room.

Inside the living room, he can see the certain killer with (H/C) hair colour with a (H/L) Hair length, the particular person also has a pair of (E/C) eye colours as well as (S/C) skin colour on the screen in front of them/her/him. (Y/N) could not help but yawn as their/her/his finger keeps pressing on the button of the remote TV, keep changing the channels to find an interesting show but none of them made you get excited enough.

Jason could not help but silently chuckles as he sees your condition, he found it was a little bit funny but also a little bit sad that you're bored out of your mind. Even the news that shows the recent kill that proxies had done did not make (Y/N) giddy at all. Instead, it makes (Y/N) yawn harder than before.

Jason slowly approaches you as your ears pick up the sound of his footsteps getting closer to you and your eyes shifted to the certain toymaker. Despite he was grinning creepily, it was just his happy smile as he sees you, "Are you bored, darling?" Jason the Toymaker asks.

You did not say anything to him but to answer his question, you gave him a brief nod before you shifted your butt away from the couch, letting your boyfriend sit next to you. But your next action made the poor red-haired killer startled a little bit. Both of your arms wrapped around his shoulder with legs also wrapped around his waist, gently placing your head on his cold shoulder and nuzzling your head on the crook of his neck.

"Uhh..darling? What are you doing??" he asks, raising his eyebrows a little bit but also smiling a little bit, finding this scene to be amusing.

"Hanging to you like a koala...now shut up," you mumble.

Hearing your answer, Jason could not help but rolls his green eyes playfully at you before he places his long slender fingers on top of your hand, gently giving a soothing rub on the back of your head. He's glad that you're acting a little bit clingy today despite you look like a koala hanging onto him.

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[pasta-in-the-pudding]

Warmly greet!🫰 I just came across your blog today and I'm already in love with it!🖤🖤🖤 Could I leave a request here where Puppeteer, Jason, Candy Pop and LJ have a S/O who has insecurities about not being good enough for them? Because, come on...they're supernatural, not quite human, and their S/O is a regular, weak human, at least from the S/O's point of view...

Oooh thank you, friend! Also, i never get to write for Candypop or LJ so i am excited to do it!

Thank you so much for requesting!!

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Puppeteer

He will just kind of stare at you when you tell him those feelings

Like??? Are you kidding???

He is so obsessively in love with you that the thought of you feeling like you aren't enough for him is wild to him

Instantly he will assure you that you are more than he could ever dream of, and how much he loves you

He doesnt love you for supernatural abilities or powers, he loves you for you

Again, the thought of you not being enough for him doesn't even really comprehend in his mind

it's so insane to him that you, his most favorite person in the world who he couldn't live without, thinks that they aren't enough for him

If anything, he isn't enough for you, in his opinon

you are a literal deity walking on earth, and he is lucky enough to even witness your beauty and you think you arent enough???

Yeah, those thoughts are snuffed out rather quickly by him

He will spend the entire day going over every little thing he adores about you if he has to

Jason The Toymaker

He is just kind of confused when you express your feelings to him

"Now, what's this all about?" he asks with a pitiful look towards you

He honestly thinks that it's kind of weird that those feelings are even something humans are capable of feeling

What does he care that you don't have any weird abilities?

"Even when you are old and grey I will still love you. I will love you when you are in pain, and I will love you when you are happy. You being human makes no difference to me, because I love you. Even when you breathe your last breath, your soul will live on with me in the form of my favorite doll I will keep on a special shelf, pristine and upkept"

He's kind of a helpless romantic lol

Bro gave you a whole essay

anyways, he literally could not care less if you are magical or not, he's just thinks you're neat <33

CandyPop

He kind of thinks its funny that you think that

He will snort and look at you like you're joking "why??"

"You shouldn't feel that way. It's pointless to. Because you and I both know that no matter what, I still love you. I wouldn't be with you if I didn't like you at least a little bit"

He will joke around with you and make you try to feel good about being human

You are allowed to go pretty much wherever you please without being called a demon, he can't

Your squishy flesh human body is quite sustainable on its own, being able to morph and adapt to extreme situations, which he thinks is neat

And his personal favorite about humans, specifically you, you have such a wide array of expressing yourself! You have emotions, art, studies, etc

He loves you being human and you not liking being human is strange to him

Laughing Jack

He understands the insecurity

He can't say he's ever felt it, because he gives literally no fucks, but he understands

He will do whatever you want him to do about it, really

Lord knows he doesn't know what to do

If you wanna rant, he'll listen

If you wanna just be doted on, that's what he'll do

Whatever makes you feel better

Honestly, he does find it a little peculiar that you don't like being human

Like, if he could be 5'10", wear whatever he wants, do whatever he wants, go whatever he wants, etc, he'd be soooo happy

His 7'6" ass could never

[crxshed-skxlls]

Omg hello!! Can i please have aftercare headcanons with Jason & Laughing Jack?? (AFAB reader, if that matters 😵‍💫) Love the way you write🫶🏻

Thank you for your kindness Anon. It is very much appreciated! Your sins are my command 🙏

— ❝ Jason the Toymaker + Laughing Jack x Reader Headcanons

NSFW tags: Mentions of sex toys, nothing much after. Pretty sfw regarding to aftercare

Viewer discretion is advised. Headcanons below the MDNI.

— ❝ Jason the Toymaker Headcanons

Jason loves to give you bubble baths after your nights of passion. Mostly he gets giddy because he likes to show off his own rubber duckies or cute trinkets he has for his bathroom.

Jason is a cuddle bug. He is big on cuddling or spooning your figure as you sleep in his arms. You remind him of a plush teddy bear, and its comforting to him.

Jason likes to help you clean any wounds inflicted during sex. He likes to clean whatever scratches you have, or the particularly harsh bite wounds he may have landed on you.

Jason can get pretty possessive, clutching you in his grasp as you both converse about your feelings on what previous went on.

— ❝ Laughing Jack Headcanons

Jason's favorite form of aftercare is tucking you to sleep. After he helps you get back into some sleepwear, he loves to tuck you in for bed as he curls up around you.

His heart always flutters as you nuzzle into him and mumble your soft praises to him before you go to sleep. He often holds you a little tighter those nights.

Jason always gives you head kisses before bed, always. He makes it his nightly tradition as you go to bed, mostly because he makes sure your comfortable and safe before he leaves in the night.

Jack loves to put music on to help you sleep, particularly nursery rhyme tunes and music box songs. He likes to hum as you peacefully fall asleep.

You and Jack often converse about what you both liked about sex. You always found it interesting the way Jack excitedly talks about how curious he was about the human body.

Jack's favorite aftercare is showering with you. He has a particularly favorite body wash you use that he loves. He adores washing you in all the places you can't reach, only for you to pass out on the bed later.

Jack always makes sure you are okay after any intense activities. He always has a small concern that he may had broke his favorite toy, but you always end up being fine in some mysterious fashion.

Jack is also very possessive over you. He loves as you confirm his affirmations of how you are his. He loves to talk about how much he loves you, and how you were his forever.

Jack likes teasing you in a playful manner about your reactions after sex. You and him giggle and tease each other about small things, only if you have energy of course.

Jack is usually the one to help you wash any sex toys that you guys played with prior. He likes watching the soapy bubbles and your playful banter about the whole thing.

[myloveismuichiro]

Why The Creepypastas Are Afraid Of Y/n ! PT. II

Characters: Ticci Toby, Jason The Toymaker, X Virus, Homicidal Liu !

a/n; Konnichiwa! Feel free to message me requests or stuff! Jaane! ⁠♡

Ticci Toby ⁠♡ • He went into your room to ask for something, and you gladly let him borrow it. • But when he went to get it from your drawer (because you're lazy af), he accidentally knocked down the flower vase, and it shattered into pieces. • Now, it wasn't the flower vase breaking the thing that made you angry, but it was the fact that a broken shards got into your bed and you sat up on it. • You two just stared at each other, and it started to get really awkward. • Then, you started seeing red, grabbed several broken shards of glass from the floor, and started aiming them at his head. • The poor bby got hit on the forehead when he tried to run out of the room, and became Harry Potter, but with a lot more blood (Ily if you get it).

Jason The Toymaker ♡ • You two were arguing about a previous mission that was failed, and he was blaming you for it. • Then, he suddenly started hitting you with wooden scraps that he kept on himself (just in case). • You were just ignoring him, when suddenly one of the wooden scrapes stabbed your eye, and it started bleeding. • While covering your eye, you turned slowly towards him (for dramatic effect). But surprisingly, you just marched up to your room without saying a word. • He was relieved, until later that evening after dinner. He went downstairs to his room/workshop, and was shocked to see all of his creations either shredded, torn apart, or burned. • He heard a faint chuckle from up the stairs, and he looked up to see you standing there menacingly. • "Don't even try to attack me." You said, glaring daggers at him while smiling devilishly.

X - Virus ♡ • He was snooping around in your room, for God knows why, while you were out on a mission. • He found your pet hamster, and suddenly had an idea. He brought it down into the basement/his room, and injected some type of poison into it's back. He sneakily went back up into your room and placed the hamster back, acting like nothing happened. • When you came back from your mission, you immediately ran up to your room to feed your hamster. But when you got up there, you started screaming. • Your hamster was still in it's cage, yes, but it was laying upsidedown and frothing at the mouth. • You immediately knew who did it, and started marching down to his room. • "CODY!!!!" You screeched, and barged into his room while he was changing. • You grabbed one of his graduated cylinders, smashed it, and started to throw the shards of glass at his naked upper torso. • Thank God he had sweat pants on. • Let's just say that he wasn't able to go on missions for a long while.

Homicidal Liu ⁠♡ • You and Jeff were having a staring contest, which was really ridiculous since the man had no eyelids, but you were really bored so eh. • Anyways, while you were losing (terribly), Liu accidentally suddenly threw a piece of cake into your face. • Jeff started laughing, and you glared at Liu for a moment. At first, he thought he was safe, since you were normally a very forgiving person, but you were in a bad mood. • You grabbed your weapon and started chasing him around the house, yelling hurtful words at him as you did so. • Thank God that you easily cool off when you get mad, and, realizing what you had just done, apologized profusely to your terrified lover. • "Gommenasai, Hani!" You said over and over again, bowing to your trembling boyfriend. • I mean, who wouldn't be scared after being chased by someone for several hours? We're only human ¯⁠\⁠_⁠༼⁠ ⁠•́⁠ ͜⁠ʖ⁠ ⁠•̀⁠ ⁠༽⁠_⁠/⁠¯

a/n; That's all! Aishitemasu! Sayonara! Want a PT. III? ♡

[lexi0widow]

Hhnnnrrg- hoodie with a girlfriend who likes being recorded by HIM only? Like, if someone else records her, it’s instant hands. But if he does it, she fuckin mELTS-

like “Aw babe- you love me enough to record me?? ;v;”

I LOVE YOUR GUYS’ REQUESTS

HOODIE x READER

Hoodie has absolutely no problem recording you

In fact he prefers too

Its so he can keep a hold of the memories you two make

Really he just likes to watch through them to see your smile

You’re beautiful Y/N

But then one day someone else tried to record a video of you and you ask them not too

Hes confused af

So he asks you about it

‘How come you didnt like (name) film you today?’

‘I don’t really like when people other than you try to film me 🤷‍♀️’

Hes lowkey honoured

Flattered as well

So from then on he films you even more

Now you’re the one whos honoured

‘Why do you need all these videos of me?’

‘So I can see your beautiful smile when i’m away.’

‘AWW BABE-‘

Hes head over heels

He has a hard time saying it to other people but you’re the only thing he loves

And he plans to keep it that way

I hope thay was okay!! Thank you so much for the request🫶🏻

[homicidal-slvt]

Jason the toymaker, and Candy Pop with taunting and teasing ghost! S/O.

Jason The Toymaker & Candy Pop Head-Canons

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Creepypasta SFW Head-Canons

Teasing!Ghost S/O with: Jason The Toymaker & Candy Pop

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Warnings: None.

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Jason The Toymaker

Jason doesn't necessarily dislike your teasing but occasionally it gets on his nerves, he loves you dearly but please stop jump scaring him-

"Love- where are you?" You pop out of the wall "Boo!" "JESUS-" "Hahah! You're so cute Jason!"

Expect to find him in his workshop working on his dolls after that

"Are you pouting?" "No." He's definitely pouting and it's just so hard to resist teasing him about it

Don't do it too much though or he'll actually get angry and- that isn't as cute

Candy Pop

Candy Pop absolutely thrives on having an S/O who enjoys playful teasing and messing around

He never misses a chance to tease you back and sometimes will also often play along with your teasing feigning offense

"My sweet little, sugar cane! You have wounded me! How may I ever recover!" Dramatic theatrical performance mode

You may can phase through walls but he can also be shockingly sneaky "Boo!!!" "AHHHH! Oh my god, Candy! How'd you get up there???" He's hanging from a ceiling support beam

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{Hope this is okay. I often just do Head-Canons when it's multiple characters. <3}

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{More Content}

[dr-arasaka]

As you enter the hall of splendor, Toymaker invites you to dance. Why don't you put your fingers in a photo frame and leave the best moments with each other?🌹📷✨

[starleska]

The moment you enter MR EMPORIUM'S TOYSHOP, you are accosted by the most wonderful, impossible man. He dances into view with a grin on his face, his teeth gleaming and his blue eyes atwinkle.

"Ein Rose für mein beautifool customer!" Mr Emporium declares in a voice oozing pantomime German. He produces a crimson flower with a flourish.

He's simply dazzling. How could you not be charmed? So you reach out to accept—but you pause, studying the petals. There's something…off, abut the rose. You peer closer, wondering if your eyes are playing tricks on you.

Is that a face…?

[thecorsairstardis]

Chase

It was one of the oldest games: chase. The Toymaker had described the rules of play with great satisfaction. "You run, and I…," he lingered, enjoying the sound of the words, "…catch you."

You felt your face grow warm. You lifted your chin, defiant. "Do I get a head start?"

The Toymaker tapped a finger to his lips. He nodded sagely. "Three."

"Three? Three what? Three minutes? Three doors?"

The Toymaker smirked. "Two," he said. You caught on, wide-eyed. You scrambled for the workshop door just as behind you, the Toymaker chimed "One-!"

You slammed the door, back flat against it.

There was a knock at the door, close to your ear - the classic shave-and-a-haircut rhythm. The doorknob began to turn. Okay. Okay. Run? Run.

You threw yourself forward and fell into the first door in front of you. Then another, and another, sticking with forwards, forwards, forwards.

Four corridors down, you stopped and looked around. Endless doors ran either side of your left, and endless doors stretched on for infinity to your right. Okay. Pick one. It didn't matter which.

You opened a door. It shut behind you. You opened another. And another, weaving and choosing at random, each time ending up in a corridor identical to the one you had left. You ran back and forth, choosing left and right, forwards and backwards at random hoping to confuse and put as much distance between you and your pursuer as possible.

Even if the thought of getting caught did give you a secret little thrill.

"You can't hide from me-ee~" The Toymaker's voice rang out, clear as day, through the corridor. You dived through the next four, five, six doors, sometimes choosing left, sometimes choosing right. No matter which way you weaved, you knew that, somewhere, somehow, he followed. You knew this game could last forever; you knew he wanted it to. The Toymaker was patient. He had all the time in the world. And this one was a favourite of his. There was something traditionally indulgent about a game of chase, as he'd told you: the hunter and the hunted, the cat and the mouse. The suspense. The thrill.

You couldn't help it. You had to stop and give yourself a minute to catch your breath. You closed your eyes, taking slow breaths in through your nose and out through your mouth. Your breathing was becoming less laboured when you felt breath tickle your ear.

"Boo."

You let out a yelp and opened your eyes. There was no one there. Still, not ready to take any chances, you hurried on into the maze. Door door door, left right left left left right left. You opened the next door--

--and ran smack into the Toymaker.

You bounced off his chest, stumbling back-- and he caught you by the arm, drawing you back in. He was smiling, full of mischief and delight. "Meine kleine Liebling, how much fun you make for me!" he said, as his other hand finding and tapping a rhymth at your waist.

You couldn't help it. You giggled. You clapped a hand to your mouth and took a quick step back. The Toymaker raised his eyebrows.

"Fraulein, are you tickle-ish?"

"No," you said, far too quickly. The Toymaker was not convinced. He smiled, cat-like, and took a step towards you.

"Oh, but I zink you are ly-ing," he chimed. His hands were out, fingers wiggling. Nervous laughter bubbled inexorably up out of you; you cursed silently at your body's betrayal. You twisted, ready to run again, but gentle hands caught one of your own. You turned, and the Toymaker smiled with such innocence as he touched his fingertips to the palm of your hand. He drew a swirl with a leisurely touch. You pursed your lips, determined, refusing to break eye contact with him. He winked, and his fingertips slid up over the soft skin of your inner wrist. You bit your lip, smiling. Then he walked his fingers up your arm to your shoulder, travelling along your collar and up your neck--

You couldn't fight it any longer - you giggled, squirming at the delicate touch to sensitive skin.

"Oh," he said, and the German delight was gone, replaced with mischief, "someone's in trouble now."

A scream of laughter split the corridor as the Toymaker pounced.

You never stood a chance.

[sanityshorror]

I attempted to make another hyper realistic Julius with art breeder, but it was being very fuckin stubborn so I wound up taking it in procreate to fix it and polish it up, then used picsart for the final touches. Anyway. TADA. (Kinda) Realistic Julius

[carrinth-nsr]

IT’S TIME!!!

What if Neon J was the Mariah Carey of Vinyl City??? Watching. Waiting... to be unleashed!

Also, long suffering White to his chaotic captain is my jam 😙:

[wyverber]

Imma just let that slip-

Pussy eater for ur Pleasure:

Ben/Jason/Tim/Nina/Kate/Trenderman/Helen

Eats pussy for their own pleasure:

Jeff/Jane/Brian/Offender/Splendor/Eyeless jack

Never ate Pussy before:

(But wants to try it)

Slender/ Dr. Smiley

(I'm gonna do one with Blow jobs next-)