#this is a strange shaped teddy bear

[n4rval]

i love the way you draw gaster, hes so shaped and huggable

How To Care For A Human

Chapter 1 - Humans are obsessed with anything soft. To lure in a human, find a really big teddy bear or a warm blanket and place it in a safe, secluded area.

[spittyfishy]

I think this is the most I’ve drawn Monokuma ever lol, but I am largely happy with it!

[xxbimbobunnyxx]

pleaseeee write some more rafe x weird!reader 🙏🏻🫶🏻

How about some Weird!girl headcanons?🤭🪞🥀

Weird!girl and Rafe met at the cemetery about a year after Ward died. Rafe was there visiting his grave, boasting to his deceased father about his success when he heard the prettiest little voice. He never expected to find the most beautiful, yet most strange girl he’s ever met sitting by her mother’s grave with a little orange cat.

Weird!girl absolutely adores animals of all kinds. Her family owns one of the most successful dairy companies in the country so she’s spent a lot of time around farm animals. She absolutely adores baby goats and bunnies the most though.

Weird!Girl’s mom died when she was young and her dad was never around so she was raised by her eccentric kook grandma. Everyone in the OBX always thought there was just something a little odd about her entire family.

Weird!Girl is a passenger princess through and through, she tried to get her permit when she was 15 but failed the test twice and honestly just gave up after that. Her grandma always had a driver for her growing up and once she gets with Rafe he happily takes on that position.

Weird!girl loves pretty things, but not in a classic diamond way. She loves random opal rings and pretty lace dresses found at vintage shops. And chunky chokers from flea markets. Rafe can’t stand this. He finds loopholes by buying her custom bat shaped jewelry and expensive platform shoes from her favorite brands.

Weird!girl has never really had a lot of friends. All the other kooks either looked down their noses at her or straight up belittled her. She was written off by Pogues just for being a kook, even if she didn’t feel like one. Rafe is her first real relationship, friendship or otherwise.

Weird!girl has a little white bunny named Lydia who she treats like her actual child.

Weird!girl wasn’t a virgin when she and Rafe met, she lost it to a band geek in high school and has had a few random hook ups as an adult. Rafe likes to pretend those didn’t happen.

Weird!girl smokes cigarettes and weed but she’s really girlie pop about it with her little vintage ashtrays and cute little custom bongs off Etsy. She also loves to hit the pen.

Weird!girl has tons of cute little tattoos. Baby deer, lambs, teddy bears with too many eyes and their stuffing coming out.

Weird!girl collects dolls, some porcelain but mostly Monster High and Bratz dolls. Rafe teases her about this at first but when she gets genuinely upset he realizes how much it means to her and now he’s buying her every single doll she’s ever wanted no matter the price.

Weird!girl absolutely loves horror. Rafe isn’t the biggest fan at first but once he sees how much she loves it and how happy rambling on about it makes her it makes him learn to appreciate it more.

Weird!girl is constantly making Rafe take pictures of her. She will dress up in little costumes or outfits and drag him out to the middle of the woods for an impromptu photoshoot. He’s a well trained Instagram boyfriend at this point.

Weird!girl has Rafe wrapped around her little finger and she doesn’t even really realize to what extent. She says jump and he says how high. He’s very in tune with her needs, before she can even ask him for something he’s already doing it.

Weird!girl is an absolute freak in bed. She’s submissive for the most part but sometimes she straddles Rafe and rides him so hard all he can do is hold onto her hips for dear life and take it. She loves marking him up. Scratches, bite marks, bruises she sucked into his skin. But she wants the same from him, she has a huge ownership kink.

All things Rafe & His weird!girl here

[jeonsbabygirlsworld]

SUMMARY: In which you teach your daughter a very important life lesson.

PAIRINGS: Husband Jungkook x wife reader

WORDCOUNT: 640

WARNINGS : Fluff fluff !!

A/N: A very small Drabble while you wait for other Fics in my Wip…… and @jungk97kwife to help me with this Drabble ❤️….. I hope you all will like this one 🩷 . Inspired from this .

Exhaling a sigh, you see a very giggly Na-Eun in front of you sitting in her pink teddy bear-shaped cushion chair with a small Sanrio plushy in her hand and some heart-shaped marshmallows, it's been a while since you have taught your girl a very needed life lesson, but your baby seems in a very naughty mood.

Trying again you deepen your voice and speak “If a strange man says, Na-Eun lets go eat cookies, what will you say?” Hoping her to say “no” a loud cheer of "I like it" resounds the Hall. “No baby, you have to say no!”You tell her again and she beeps out a loud “No”.

Giving her a kiss on her cheek of praise continuing you then ask her to return to the deep voice… “If he says, let's go eat ice cream, what will you say?”wanting her to say no she wiggles on her seat which makes you a giggling mess at her antics she says “Good”

Face-palming you tell your baby to say no and a cute NO resounds again, hopping she will get the next one correct you go ahead with the next question “What if a stranger asks, let's go swimming?”eager to hear her a loud “No” is heard.

High-fiving her you move on for the last round before you both practice, taking out your phone, you get her ready and start asking her the same questions again and she answers them correctly until when you tell her you are going to send it to her dad, messing on the last one you don't stop recording and think you will just type out her being camera shy at the end.

“Good! Tell him, go away”Again teaching her something new she follows perfectly behind you and tells her to make a “whuh,whuh”action which she ends up raising her hands and making a “shoo away” motion.

Jungkook on the other hand amid an important meeting, felt his phone vibrate. He glanced at the screen, and upon seeing your name, he excused himself. He held onto the message just to reply with a ‘👍’, hoping you’ll understand that he wasn’t able to check it out   As soon as he was done with his meeting which stressed him out enough, he opened the video and the sight of his daughter on the screen immediately softened his expression. 'Maybe it was a great idea to leave the message for later’ he thinks in between himself as he admires the video, his heart-melting the second he senses her giggles.

He couldn’t help but feel full of pride, his little girl was growing up, learning important lessons, and handling them with such grace and confidence.

Of course, he was in awe of your patience too, something he was missing sometimes such as earlier during his meeting, and he felt a wave of appreciation for having such a wonderful companion in raising their child.

He quickly typed a response back, his fingers barely able to keep up with the rush of his thoughts. KOOK❤️: Cute, so proud of her . KOOK❤️: Doing an amazing job love ❤️ KOOK❤️: Don't teach her everything without me though.

He couldn’t help it, he shook his head in disapproval at himself, at the way he was feeling sarcastically jealous at the thought of you taking over the teaching. KOOK❤️: Can't wait to get home to you.   And with that he’s back to his work, motivated again just because he wanted to leave this place as soon as possible and come back to his family; cause every decision he made, every effort he put into his exhausting work was for his family only. And knowing he’s got an amazing companion at home who’s making sure his princess is growing up healthy, made him realize that all his hard work was worth it.  

MOODBOARD

In which your about to give birth and jungkook won’t stop panicking

TAGLIST: @kimmingyuswifee @jksgirlhere @httpjeonlicious @bunnykoos @ohsweetmimosa @dragonflygurl4 @lovingkoalaface @snow-strawberry @jungkooks21 @jklvrs-world @aloverga @vsr4197 @skzthinker @kpop-nct @--xxchrissyxx-- @sarai-ibn-la-ahad @olimpiiaa @cassies-cookies @angelbiaa09 @ravynnn-12 @lovebtsforever24 @yuyupie @100butterfliesinthesky @starcandysstuff

Tag lists are still open send ask to join. :0

[rea-grimm]

Sleep protector Mihawk

You have suffered from nightmares since childhood. But you had a cure for that. After moving to college, the nightmares returned. If it was from a new school, new high and meaningless demands, or from a hostile cantor, you had no idea.

However, with each passing day, your sleep was getting worse and worse. This also affected your results in school and it created more stress. You got into a vicious circle from which there was no way back.

Well, you could certainly have finished school, but that didn't feel right. Especially after all the effort to get you there at all. Talent shows, tests, interviews... You were glad you got through it all. However, you had yet to learn how you would even make it through the exam period at this rate.

You finally got home for the holidays. Your family was quite shocked by your appearance. When you called them, you told them how good everything was. But now that they saw your giant circles under your eyes and your troubled expression, you had to come out with the truth.

However, your family understood you and wanted to support you as much as possible. You had to admit it was nice to be home again. Especially when you lay down in your old bed. It was like meeting an old friend.

That night you finally slept peacefully, without any nightmares. But despite that, you had the impression that you saw a pair of golden eyes in the dark shadows of your dreams, watching you every step of the way.

When you got out of bed in the morning, Mom had a surprise for you.

"Teddy bear?" you asked in amazement as she handed you a stuffed animal.

"That was your favourite stuffed animal, when you didn't have it, you didn't want to go to sleep. And you had nightmares without him," she replied happily.

You only vaguely remembered him. The teddy bear had a black dusty fur coat, a red and black coat, a large hat with feathers, a small gold cross around his neck and a sword on his back with golden eyes. His eyes were still shiny against his dirty fur. Despite all this, it makes you feel calm.

When you got back to your apartment, you started unpacking your things. However, as soon as you opened the suitcase, a teddy bear peeked out at you with a small note from your mom. She believed that it would bring you good sleep even now and good luck with it.

You were moved by the whole gesture, but you had to admit that the teddy bear was really dirty. You ended up putting it in the washing machine along with your clothes.

That night you dreamed about water. You walked through the harbour and saw all kinds of ships. Small and large in all sorts of strange shapes.

Here, too, you had the impression that someone's eyes were digging into your back. You turned around and saw him at the end of the pier. A man in the same outfit as your teddy bear. He even had the same hat.

But now he looked like a waterman because his clothes were completely soaked and water was still dripping from him. You felt quite sorry for him and so you decided to help him.

You had no idea where the towel in your hand came from, but at least you could dry him off. The golden-eyed man was grateful for the gesture.

You watched as he stripped down to just his pants and began to dry off. Meanwhile, you were holding his coat, shirt and hat, which had dried in your hands.

The man finally dried his hair and you had to admit that you liked his tousled look. After getting dressed, he followed you around the harbor. You felt like you were walking with a friend.

When your nightmares finally ended, troubles appeared elsewhere. A bunch of bullies appeared at school. They all avoided them in an arc and unfortunately for you, they chose you as their next target. Or you were in the wrong place at the wrong time.

You had just left the last lecture and wanted to take notes from the locker for the test that was coming up in a few days.

You spotted a group of them along the way when they tripped your leg and you fell. They took the opportunity to take your backpack and dump its contents on the ground next to your head while taunting you.

Notebooks, a pencil case, a few small things and a teddy bear fell out of your backpack. With horror in your eyes, you saw them take the teddy bear and start tossing it around. At the same time, they taunted you about how childish you are and what kind of ugly and twisted freak you are.

"Put him back!" you ran at him as you scrambled to your feet and grabbed the teddy bear's head. But it would be very easy if they just returned it to you. Instead, you tugged on them until you felt something give way.

Before you knew it, you ended up on the ground with the stuffed animal's head in your hands. The bullies laughed at you one more time before tearing the teddy bear apart and walking away laughing.

You collected his pieces and hid them in your bag. You then tried to sew it back together at home. However, no matter how hard you tried, it didn't go the way you wanted. You couldn't even wear it to bed anymore because you were afraid it would fall apart again.

Although you were no longer suffering from nightmares, you were starting to get the impression that you were seeing the man with the golden eyes from your dreams in the real world as well.

You saw him when you went to school in the morning, sitting on the concrete railing watching what was going on. You had the impression that your eyes met for a moment. But when you blinked, he was gone.

This is how you saw him several times and later in various places. At the markets where he was looking at fresh produce, across from the bus stop and the like. You had the impression that you saw those golden eyes in almost every corner.

You were lying quietly in bed, on the verge of being awake and asleep, when you heard a thump. You sat down and listened. You didn't hear anything else so you lay down again.

You were slowly falling asleep again when you heard footsteps slowly approaching you. You opened your eyes in panic as someone covered your mouth with a hand. Above you, you saw the figure of an unknown man. He put his other hand around your neck and started choking you.

You've never been so scared in your life. You tried to get out of his grip, but it was futile. You gasped for air that you couldn't get.

You slowly passed out as someone pulled him away from you. In the confusion, you briefly noticed the golden eyes. You were more focused on the feeling of air in your lungs.

Once you caught your breath, only then did you register the screams and pleas from the next room. You had no idea what was going on there, but you didn't like it at all. You curled up in the corner of the bed and chose the blanket you were covered with as cover.

The screaming stopped and nothing happened for a long time before you heard footsteps heading towards your bedroom again. You curled up more in the corner and you had the impression that this time it was someone else from the footsteps.

A man with golden eyes entered the room and sat on the bed next to you.

"Did he hurt you?" he asked, looking to see if you were injured.

“No,” you shocked your head, even though you could still feel his fingers on your throat. You gave him a hurt look before hugging him. You felt much safer in his arms.

“Thank you Mihawk,” you said and you felt him hug you too, caressing your back.

“I swear to always protect you from any danger. Both from nightmares and from the danger that can meet you here. I promise nothing will happen to you,” he said honestly as you finally calmed down enough to pull away slightly. He was holding your hand, which he then raised to his mouth and kissed you on it.

He let go of you and caressed your cheek before leaning into you slightly. But he was waiting for you. You completely put the criminal who wanted to hurt you out of your mind and you were completely absorbed by him. You closed your eyes and kissed him.

It was a short kiss, but full of such tenderness and feelings that it was the best kiss you've ever experienced.

Mihawk then got into bed with you and you automatically snuggled up to him. Now you weren't afraid to go back to sleep knowing that he was there for you and that he would protect you.

Sleep Protector Masterlist

Mihawk Masterlist

For @mihawksdemoness

[coldfanbou]

Relaxation

Sowon's birthday fic is here. It's short and smutty...also mommy kink.

Length 1.4K

Sowon x Mreader

Aphrodisiac? Check. Oils? Check. You ready yourself for Sowon to show up. You planned to give her a nice little present. She had mentioned being stressed the past few days, and with her vacation beginning when she got home, you were ready to have some fun with her.

You don’t have to wait long as Sowon opens the door to your apartment. You hear her footsteps come closer to the bedroom. You hide behind the door, waiting for her to walk in and see your little surprise. You can see the smallest glimpse of Sowon’s shocked expression when she sees the teddy bear on the bed with other gifts. You sneak up behind her and wrap your hands around her breasts, squeezing them gently. Sowon moans lightly before turning her head to look at you. “You got me all this?”

“And more Mommy.”

“Mommy? I just got home, and you’re already calling me mommy?” You squeeze Sowon’s tits and hear her coo. “You-You’re really excited, aren’t you, baby?” She moans as you begin groping her. 

“You’ve had a long day, mommy. Let’s get you out of these clothes. I want to give you a massage.” You begin to work the buttons on her coat, undoing them one by one. Under that was a tight tube top that did little to hide her now hard nipples. The next piece of clothing to go would be her skirt. You find the zipper and slowly pull it down. As it loosens, it drops to the floor by itself. Sowon places her hand on your cheek and pulls you in for a kiss. Her soft lips open for you, allowing you to explore her mouth. Small moans escape her lips as your hands wander her body. “Let me get some things ready. You just take off the rest and lay back.” You leave Sowon for the moment, grabbing the oil and mixing the aphrodisiac into a drink. You turn around to see Sowon finish stripping down. Her tits bounce as she turns around, attracting your attention.

Sowon notices and places her arms under them, lifting them up slightly. “Does my baby want some of Mommy’s big tits?” Sowon cups her tits, squeezing the soft mounds between her fingers. Her exaggerated moan still manages to turn you on.  You walk toward Sowon, drink in hand. “Oh, for me?” She says, noticing the drink. Sowon happily takes it and drinks it slowly. Her mouth is full of the drink when she beckons you closer. Sowon kisses you, sharing the aphrodisiac-laced drink. She makes it a show for you as she pulls back. She turns around toward the bed, crawling onto it. Sowon’s slit is already wet; her juices are running down her thighs. Laying flat on the bed, you get next to her. You look over her body, taking in how nice her skin looks. As your eyes move downward, you spot her ass, it’s shapely, and you can’t take your eyes off it. You grab the oil bottle and pour some on Sowon’s back, giving her a nice massage. Sowon coos as you move down her body. When you reach her ass, you spread her cheeks for a moment. “Don’t get any ideas.” Sowon teases. 

The aphrodisiac was starting to take effect; you felt your cock become rock hard.  You climb off the bed for a moment and strip down. Once you’re ready to continue, you can’t help but stare at Sowon’s ass. You spread her cheeks again and press your finger against her puckered asshole. “Hey, I said don’t get any ideas,” Sowon says, turning her head to look at you. You stare back at her as you push your finger inside. Sowon gasped, it was a strange sensation having your finger in her ass, but she was getting off on it at the same time. She was getting wetter and began to moan as you moved your finger in and out. “M-Mommy is going to punish you for, ah,” Sowon’s moans grow louder as you add another finger. Sowon finally notices your cock and reaches for it. “Stop playing with Mommy’s ass. If you’re a good boy…” Sowon’s words trail off as you start to move your fingers faster. She strokes your cock quickly, feeling the veins as her hand glides up and down your shaft. “You can… shit.” Sowon continues to moan. “Eat mommy out, baby.” Sowon rolls over onto her back, forcing you to pull out your fingers. Sowon tries to regain control by forcing you onto your back. She climbs over you and plants her pussy on your face. 

You drag your tongue along her slit before she has time to adjust herself. She groans and continues to stroke your cock, slowly inching closer to it. Sowon’s moans become muffled as she swallows your cock. The pleasure makes you stop for a moment. Sowon’s lips are tightly wrapped around your shaft as her tongue lashes against the tip of your cock. In return, you invade her pussy with your fingers while lapping at her clit. Both you and Sowon moan constantly, the pleasure flooding through your bodies. Sowon bobs her head quickly, trying to match the pleasure you’re giving her. Both of you are barreling towards your climax. The aphrodisiac seemed to have made your body more sensitive. You begin bucking your hips and forcing your cock down Sowon’s throat. She holds down your hips, allowing herself to breathe. “Not so rough, baby. Mommy’s going to take care of you.” She says before wrapping her lips around your cock once more. 

Neither of you last much longer. As your cock begins to throb in her mouth Sowon pushes your cock into the back of her throat, allowing all your cum to shoot down her throat. Her muffled moans become louder as she reaches her climax. Her juices squirt out as you finger her, and you manage to drink some of it, but for the most part, it coats your face. 

Sowon licks the sides of your shaft, cooing as she recovers from her orgasm. Sowon turns around and straddles you, placing your cock between her lips and your pelvis. “Baby, your cum was so good. I need more…but I want it somewhere else. Do you think you can fill Mommy’s pussy?” 

You nod your head, “yes, mommy.” Sowon rocks her hips; it forces some cum from your cock. She smiles and scoops it up with her finger, sucking it clean as she presses your cock against her entrance. Sowon slowly sinks onto your cock; you feel her warm walls hold your cock as you slide deep inside. Sowon places her hands on your chest and holds herself up as she adjusts to your cock. In the meantime, she grinds on your cock. You groan, enjoying the feeling of her walls moving around and rubbing your cock. “I want Mommy’s tits.”

“You want Mommy’s tits, you can have Mommy’s tits.” Sowon holds one of her breasts up for you. Leaning up, you take her nipple into your mouth and have your tongue dance along her nipple. “That’s it, baby. Suck on Mommy’s tits.” Sowon grunts as she begins to bounce on your cock. Her other breast bounces each time she comes down on your cock. Sowon’s moans fill the room as she enjoys the way your cock stretches her cunt out. Sowon is slamming herself on your cock, letting you fill her. To give her more pleasure, you play with her other tit, squeezing it and using your thumb to flick her nipple. “You’re making Mommy feel so good,” Sowon repeatedly groans as she speeds up her movements. Her hair is covering parts of her face as she moves up and down your cock. 

You feel a tightness in your core; you’re nearing your climax. Placing your hands on Sowon’s waist, you guide her along your cock. Sowon begins to whine, her voice becoming high-pitched as she impales herself on your cock. You both orgasm at that moment; your warm cum floods her pussy. Sowon holds you between her tits, their softness surrounding you as you’re milked by her cunt. “You filled Mommy with so much cum.” Sowon says as she runs her hand through your hair. “You’re still hard too. I think we can keep going.” You nod along; this was just the beginning of your night.

[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?

[epinebleue]

maniac (m) | lee taeyong

when you try to summon your older brother, things don’t go as expected.

pairing: evil spirit!lee taeyong x reader (female)

genre: horror!au, mature, angst.

warnings: heavy depiction of death and blood, possessive behavior, explicit sexual content.

author’s note: i suck at writing horror, i’m so sorry. happy halloween!

You’d always remember that night.

How the moonlight sneaked through the white curtains, how the shadow of the naked trees in your garden formed strange shapes that stretched across the floor and walls of your bedroom.

Not a sound could be heard, as if the world itself had gone mute.

You moved in bed to press your back against the wall behind you, wishing you could blend with it. That way, you would be safe from the horrors of the night.

You squeezed your teddy bear to your chest, looking for comfort. You had tried everything, from counting sheep to mentally singing lullabies, and all your efforts had been useless: you just couldn’t sleep.

And suddenly, there were lights.

You snapped your eyes open, glancing at the blue and red lights dancing around your room.

It took you seconds to realize that they weren’t coming from the inside, but from the street. Curiosity had always been a personality trait of yours, so you got out of bed to look through your window.

The lights belonged to a police car that had parked right below it, from which a man and two women came out, the man fixing his hat as he walked.

You watched them turn around the corner, disappearing. Seconds later, the doorbell ricocheted around your house. Once, twice. The third time, you heard your father's voice in the hallway. When you opened the door, he was walking past it.

“Stay in your room.” He said, rushing to the staircase with bed hair and struggling to keep his eyes open, still sensitive to the sudden light. Your mother followed, putting on her thick, blue robe.

“Mom?” You called, the teddy bear still caged in your arms. You didn’t know much, but you knew that police officers coming to your house in the middle of the night couldn’t mean anything good.

“Don’t worry, honey.” She patted your head on her way to the stairs. “Matt, stay with your sister.”

But once your parents were on the ground floor, you exchanged an accomplice look with your older brother. Matt kneeled at the end of the stairs and signed you to join him in the rebellious act of peeking through the bars.

One of the women spoke, addressing your parents by their last name. Each of them showed their credentials.

“I’m Officer Walker. This is Officer Gallagher, and she’s Doctor Edwards. May we come in?”

As your parents allowed them in the house, the doctor looked up, catching you red-handed. A soft smile appeared on her face, but you went stiff, like a rabbit caught in the headlights.

“Hello.” The doctor waved in your direction. “I’m Doctor Edwards. I’m really, really thirsty. Would you mind giving me a glass of water?”

Your brother frowned at the doctor’s request. He thought about it for a moment before grabbing your hand and walking down the steps, heading to the kitchen. You locked eyes with your mom on the way, encouraged by her quick nod. 

You took your usual seat at the table, the doctor sitting right in front of you. Your brother grabbed a glass and poured water into it, then handed it to her.

“Thank you very much.” Doctor Edwards took the glass to her lips. She drank a little and spoke again. “May I ask for your names?”

Your brother answered so quietly that she had to ask him again. When it was your turn, you spoke louder.

“Those are so pretty.” She left the glass on the table, away from you. “And what’s your other brother’s name?”

“Jackson.” You answered. Matt was distracted, looking towards the kitchen door as if something had caught his attention. “He’s in high school. He’s really smart, he’s top of his class.”

“Well, there’s something I have to tell you about Jackson.”

You could see right through the doctor. She wanted to say something but struggled to find the words. It happened to you weeks ago when you couldn’t tell your parents that you had lost your brand-new pencil case.

A sob reached your ears, followed by the heart-breaking cry that only loss could cause. Your little brain started to connect the dots as you jumped off the chair and ran to the living room and straight into your father’s arms.

The sudden realization that you wouldn’t see your brother ever again punched you in the gut.

You closed your eyes and wept, hoping it was all a nightmare that would end soon.

You would discover that, even though it was indeed a nightmare, you would never escape from it.

There had been a time when you thought you would never place the last box on the floor of your new home.

For two years, you shared a house with other students. However, you were at a point in your life where you desired full independence and privacy. All it took was a little help from your parents and brother to find a cheap but cozy apartment on campus.

“This is pretty nice.” Matt said, poking his head through the kitchen’s pass-through window that connected with the living room.

“I know, right?” You rested your hands on your hips, glancing at the empty space. “I’m so looking forward to decorating it, maybe painting the walls. What about white with an accent? Yellow would fit…”

“I’d prefer green or blue.”

“No, I like yellow.” You shook your head at his recommendations, pressing your lips together. “It reminds me of the sun.”

“Only you would choose the ugliest color ever.” He teased. The kitchen supplies clinked as he shoved them in the drawers.

“You’re wrong. Red would be the worst.”

“Red’s cool.”

“It’s cool if you’re going for the “somebody died here” vibe, that’s for sure.” Your brother kneeled to store a pair of pots inside your oven. “I’m going to need your help for one last thing.”

You grabbed the biggest box and opened it. The vintage gold frame was the first thing to catch your brother’s attention, but you saw his eyes shine the moment he noticed what it surrounded.

It was a photo your dad had taken during Easter at your grandparent’s farm. You were a year old, wearing a green dress with tiny yellow flowers embroidered all over it that your grandmother had knitted. On your left, Matt, who didn’t like having pictures taken, frowned with his arms crossed. He looked tall for a five-year-old, but then again, he had always been taller than the average. At your right, Jackson, ten, smiled brightly as he bent over to hold you by the waist, preventing you from falling headfirst.

According to your mom, you had seen something moving in the grass and you were trying to grab it with your little hand.

The picture had been the family’s Christmas postcard that year.

“We looked adorable.”

“Talk about you, look at me!” Matthew pointed at his younger self in the picture. “I was so grumpy then.”

“Just then?”

“That’s pretty bold, given the fact that I’ve helped you move in.”

You decided to hang it right next to the entrance door. That way, your brothers would be the last thing you saw before leaving the house and the first when you arrived.

The wave of nostalgia caught you off-guard.

Living alone was another milestone you had hit, one Jackson would never witness. You were getting closer to yet another graduation he would miss.

At some point, you had stopped grieving your brother to start grieving those things that would never happen. It made the overcoming of the trauma much more difficult.

Not only were you sad, but also angry. Out of the people in your family, you had been the one to know him the least.

Matt could look back and reminisce on the good times he spent with Jackson. He had been the one who taught him to play sports. You had also shared meaningful moments with him, of course, but the connection hadn’t been strong yet.

Yet.

Three letters that set your insides on fire. His time on Earth had been so brief, his departure had been so unfair. Many times, you found yourself wishing it had happened to somebody else.

Four people in that car, but your brother had been the only one to not make it out alive.

“Are you okay?” Matt muttered. You didn’t answer, simply rounding his waist with your arms. He stroked your back, letting you hug him and hugging you back.

“Thank you for helping me.” You said against his shoulder. “Thank you for always being there for me.”

“I’ll always be.” Matt glanced at Jackson in the picture. He missed his older brother, the person who had been his hero, so damn much, but it wasn’t the right time to tell you so. You needed a rock, and he would be it. “And he’ll always be, too.”

You had absolutely forgotten how big the campus was.

Your brain had told you that assembling your new bed at midnight was a bad, bad idea, but you weren’t known for being rational.

You were running a spicy four hours of sleep when the sound of your alarm hit your head like a hammer, a reminder that you had to be in class in less than half an hour.

By the time you made it to class completely out of breath, the teacher had already explained the final project and grouped students in pairs. So you sat there, waiting for someone to adopt you into their group, aware of the fact that you had made a horrible first impression.

“Professor?” A girl at the back of the class raised her hand. “She can do the project with us, we don’t mind.”

God bless you, you thought as you stood up and walked over to the girl and her partner. You sat beside them in silence, only speaking to thank them.

For the rest of the class, you took notes and paid twice the attention you usually would, trying to make up for your late attendance.

The clock struck noon, signaling the end of the class. As you put your stuff inside your bag, one of the girls called your name.

“Do you want to go to the cafeteria to speak about the project?”

“Yes, please.” You nodded, hanging your bag over your shoulder. “I’m so sorry, I’m usually on time!”

You proceeded to explain the pain and suffering you had gone through at 1 AM after losing a screw in your wooly rug. Several hours later, you were able to sleep on a bed instead of on a mattress on the floor.

“It happens to the best of us.” The girl who had invited you to the group laughed, showing her perfect set of teeth. You couldn’t help but notice how stunning she was. “My name’s Heejin, by the way, and she’s Mihyo.”

The girl beside her waved at you, shyly.

“It’s nice to meet you, guys.” You said, opening a blank document on your tablet as soon as you sat on an empty table at the café, ready to commit to the project.

“So, you live alone?” Heejin took the spot in front of you, placing her things on the chair next to her, forcing Mihyo to sit by your side. “God, you’re so lucky. I’m tired of sharing my oxygen and personal space with horrible people.”

“I totally get it.” You replied, tapping the pockets of your jacket to check that your phone was still there. You had a bad habit of leaving your stuff everywhere, and your parents had made clear that they wouldn’t pay for another phone if you lost your current one. You had to be careful. “I grew up with two older brothers, so living alone has been a pretty big step for me.”

Mihyo and Heejin exchanged looks, a mischievous smile on their faces, before looking at you again.

“You have two older brothers?”

“How old are they?” Mihyo spoke for the first time. “Are they cute?”

“I think so?” You laughed, awkwardly. “Matt’s twenty-four.”

“What about the other?”

“Oh, he…” Even after all those years, you struggled to say the word. “He died.”

It slapped the smiles off their faces. As they rushed to cover their mouths in shock, you couldn’t help but be glad. That would teach them not to be so nosy when it came to other people’s business. You would excuse them, though, for the sake of your education.

“I’m so sorry.” Heejin said, attempting to grab your hand as if comfort from a stranger was exactly what you needed. You rushed to place them on your lap, avoiding any kind of physical contact.

“It’s fine, it happened years ago.” You rose to your feet, grabbing your bag. “I’m going to get some coffee and a muffin, do you want anything?”

You walked over to the queue, checking your messages in the meantime. Being away for some minutes allowed you to forget about the conversation and gave them some time to gossip about you. Two birds with one stone. You texted Matt about the weird interaction, promising to tell him everything over the phone that night.

Shoving it down your back pocket, you looked around as you waited.

There were students on their way to class passing by or just chilling with their friends on the grass. A certain someone caught your eye, a boy you hadn’t seen in months, only getting updates about his life through Instagram.

Qian Kun was sitting underneath a tree with an open book in his hands. By his side, you recognized two familiar faces: Lee Haechan, a computer major, and Na Jaemin, a fashion student. Haechan turned around to check out a boy who walked past them and whatever he told Jaemin and Kun about him made the pair laugh.

Kun had the most beautiful smile you had ever seen, and you would’ve spent the rest of the afternoon admiring him if it hadn't been your turn to order.

During the first project-related session, which took place at Heejin’s apartment, you realized that she wasn’t joking when she said her roommates sucked.

One of them, who greeted you with a growl as soon as you came in, had brought their boyfriend to the dorm, and the echo of the headboard hitting the wall was, to say the least, fucking annoying.

The other didn’t seem to understand that people were supposed to talk when working together, and she knocked on the other side of the wall every time you, in her opinion, were too loud.

No wonder Heejin wanted to run away.

“I’m so sorry about that.” The girl apologized to you and Mihyo once you were at the door, in the hallway, ready to leave.

“It’s not your fault,” Mihyo said, her backpack hanging from her shoulder as she struggled to shove the notes she had taken inside, “but we’ll need a different place next time.”

“You can come to mine.”

You were quick in your suggestion, refusing to go through that hell again. Heejin waved you goodbye as she closed the door, and you walked along with Mihyo towards the staircase, the air around you tense and heavy.

“Have you ever tried to speak to your brother?” The question took you by surprise, almost making you stop dead in your tracks. As you went down the steps, you allowed yourself to think about it.

“You mean like praying?”

Mihyo shook her head. “I mean like summoning him. One of my friends did it in high school with his dad, and he sent him a message from the grave.”

The want to laugh was so strong that you couldn’t help but snort as you opened the entrance door of the building. “That’s bullshit.”

“It’s not!” Mihyo snapped. “He told my friend something only he knew.”

“Yeah…” You cleared your throat, making Mihyo roll her eyes at your skepticism. “I’m sorry to break it to you, but they were totally pulling your leg.”

The girl shrugged. “Don’t believe me, then.���

And you waved at each other before parting ways.

The idea of summoning your late brother was ridiculous. It would be a stupid thing to do and totally wouldn’t work. It sounded like the start of every bad horror movie. 

You repeated it to yourself, trying to vanish that what if that constantly showed up in the back of your mind, slipping through the cracks of your most rational thoughts. What if it worked? What if you got to speak to your brother even for a minute, tell him that you loved and missed him so much?

Trying wouldn’t hurt anyone.

Mihyo and Heejin rang your doorbell at exactly 7 PM three days later. Mihyo was carrying a rectangular board under her arm and a plastic bag from where she took out six tall, white candles.

“Are we really going to do this?” Heejin asked, throwing you a look of concern, shocked that you had accepted to participate in the nonsense.

Mihyo scoffed, surprising you. She had been so quiet when you first met her, Heejin having the upper hand every time. Now, she behaved like a different person.

“We haven’t even started and you’re chickening out already?”

“I am not chickening out!”

“Then come here and help me light up the candles.”

Not convinced at all, Heejin walked over to the center of your living room, kneeling beside her friend, who handed her a lighter. You observed the scene from behind, your arms crossed, biting your lips in hesitation. But curiosity had taken over, and there was nothing your rationality could say or do to stop you.

Embarrassing yourself once you realized that invoking spirits wasn’t possible was the worst possible outcome you could think of. More than half of the world’s population had used an Ouija board at least once in their life, you were sure.

The sun began to fall and darkness covered every surface of your apartment with its black cloak. The only light in the room came from the candles. You felt chilly all of a sudden, the tiny hairs on your nape bristling.

“Everything’s ready.” Mihyo announced, placing the Ouija board on the floor, in the middle of the circle she had formed with the candles. “Come sit.”

You sat beside them, careful not to knock any candle over. The last thing you needed was burning the whole building down.

“Just in case you don’t know how this works,” Mihyo grabbed a triangular pointer with a hole in the middle and showed it to you, “we place this on top of the board and ask a question.”

“And then?” Heejin’s voice was incredibly shaky.

“Then, we wait.” Mihyo’s dark irises fell on you. “Ready? Oh, and don’t you dare remove your fingers until we properly close the session. It would be a disaster.”

Trying to swallow the knot in your throat, you placed your index fingers next to Minhyo’s on the pointer and waited for Heejin to do the same. You pitied her a bit. She had been shoved into this mess for no reason other than friendship. Eventually, the girl had no other option than to add her index fingers, too.

“What was your brother’s name?” Mihyo whispered after a few seconds of silence in which you questioned your sanity.

“Jackson.”

“We want to talk to Jackson, her older brother.”

The girl spoke loud and clear, with no trace of hesitation. It made you wonder how many times she had done this, as she seemed so familiar with the procedure. An empty hole was starting to form inside your stomach, growing bigger with every second. You felt dizzy and sick.

“Jackson, are you there?”

Anxiety crawled into your skin. By the look on her face, it was crawling in Heejin’s skin, too. She reminded you of a statue, with her eyes fixed on the board and her fingertips glued to the pointer. You couldn’t even tell if she was breathing.

“Jackson, we would like to talk to you. Are you there?”

You had to blink twice to believe what your eyes were seeing.

The pointer had started to move, slowly, to the side, as if pulled by an invisible string. With wide-open eyes, you looked at Mihyo. The girl had gone speechless. The pointer’s hole reached the letter H, then I, and stopped.

“Hi.” Mihyo said, trying to remain calm. “Are you Jackson?”

This time, the pointer moved even before Mihyo could finish the sentence. It slid to the right, stopping on the word No.

Who are you then?, you thought, following the pointer as it moved again.

“C, A, R…” Mihyo chanted out loud. You stopped bile from reaching your mouth. “E, F, U, L…”

“Careful?” You frowned, glancing at Mihyo. “Wh-”

A screech ripped your throat, only drowned by Heejin’s screams.

The pointer had been lifted and thrown across the room as if someone had launched it. The object hit the wall to your back, then fell to the ground.

You couldn’t move, you couldn’t breathe. Half-lying on the floor, you couldn’t look away from the static item lying on the floor.

You missed when Heejin, who was a crying mess, got up to turn on the lights, the yellow glim flooding your living room.

You definitely missed the figure that hid in the darkness of the hallway, watching the scene with amused eyes.

Two weeks had passed and you still couldn’t find a reasonable explanation for what had happened.

There were too many options on the table: a bad dream; a joke from Heejin and Mihyo, or even just Mihyo. But the dent on your wall proved it hadn’t been a dream, and Heejin’s reaction had seemed too genuine to be staged.

The three of you didn’t address the issue during your next meet-up, but Heejin refused to go to your apartment anymore, forcing you to book one of the rooms the library offered for group study sessions.

Weeks passed by, and you started to forget the event. Everything felt back to normal; everything, except for one thing.

You felt more tired than usual and it had reached a point where, sometimes, you even fell asleep without noticing. It was starting to become a problem. You had things to do and assignments to turn in. You couldn’t afford to lose that much-needed time.

“I’ll send you a photo of some really good vitamins.” Your mother insisted over the phone. “I’ve been taking them for months now and they work wonders.”

“I’m not a fan of pills, mom, you know that.” You closed the front door behind you, leaving your bag in the hanger next to it.

“Yes, but these are like gummies… Are you there, honey? I think the line died.”

“Send me the pic, yes. Mom, I’ve got to work on my homework, so I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”

“Oh! Sure, baby. We love you!”

“Bye, mom. I love you, too.”

You ended the call, eyes glued on the dark, still hallway. Homework had been just an excuse to hang up on your mom. You swore you had heard something in your room, similar to footsteps. Your mind, trying to ease your nerves, told you it probably was the neighbors upstairs.

Even if you wanted to go and check, your feet stayed rooted to the floor.

And then, the sound of glass shattering made you run to the front door, holding onto your phone for dear life. When you opened it, a figure in front of it made you scream.

“Wow!” Qian Kun was holding his hands up, as scared as you. “Are you okay?”

“I think there’s someone in my apartment.” Your heart pumped like crazy inside your chest, close to suffering an attack.

“What do you mean you think?”

“I don’t know! I just got here, I was on the phone with my mom and heard footsteps in my room and then…”

“Calm down, calm down.” Kun gently pushed you to the opposite wall of the hall, away from your door, and leaned in a bit to peek at the inside of your apartment. Then, he turned around and whispered. “Is there anything I can use as a weapon? An umbrella, perhaps?”

“My dad gave me a baseball bat but it’s in the kitchen, under the sink.” You whispered back.

“Where’s the kitchen?”

“On your right.”

You watched Kun disappear behind your door. Anxiety was eating you alive, you could barely breathe and there was a possibility of falling if you stepped away from the wall, but you couldn’t leave him alone. So, walking as softly as possible, you got in on time to watch Kun grab the bat.

“Which one’s your bedroom?”

“The door at the end.”

“Stay behind me, just in case.”

“Wait!” You looked around the kitchen, trying to find something you could use as a weapon. A knife would suffice to scare off whoever was in your room. “Alright, let’s go…”

The boy made his way out of the kitchen and into the hallway. Your trembling hands held onto the knife, so hard that your knuckles turned white. You could hear your heartbeat in your ears.

He stopped in front of the door, glancing at you over his shoulder. He grabbed the handle before opening it abruptly, the wood panel hitting the wall. Kun stepped in, swinging the bat, trying to catch the person inside by surprise.

But it was empty, and you stood there holding the knife up, dumbfounded.

Kun lowered the bat. “Are you sure you heard footsteps?”

“I am!”

You brushed his shoulder as you walked past him, having noticed something missing. You rounded the bed to see what you were looking for lying on the floor: a photo your family had taken in Canada while on holiday, a few days before Jackson’s death.

Pieces of broken glass fell as you lifted it by a corner to leave it on your bedside table, where it usually was. 

“That must be what you heard.” Kun supposed, leaving the bat on your bed.

“I guess so.” You muttered, glancing around to check if something else was broken. Weirdly enough, everything seemed in its place.

“I don’t want to come off as nosy, but,” Kun scratched the back of his head, “do you have any idea who would want to break into your place? A toxic ex-boyfriend, maybe?”

“I’ve never had a boyfriend, so I doubt it.” You picked up a piece of glass from the floor and left it beside the picture. You would throw them away later. “I’m so sorry about this. You have places to be and I just… kidnapped you for nothing.”

“Don’t apologize, you seemed on the verge of passing out.” Kun opened his eyes as if remembering something very important. “I’m Kun, by the way.”

“I know.” You tried to fight the smile that was about to appear on your face. “You’re the golden boy of campus.”

“I thought people had stopped calling me that.” You told him your name when he asked. “You should change the lock, by the way, just in case.”

“Yeah, I better do that.”

After a few seconds of silence, Kun spoke again, with genuine worry. 

“Do you want me to stay a bit longer? I don’t mind.”

Letting out a sigh of relief, you thanked him. Your heartbeat seemed to have gone back to normal, but you were still shaken. And confused.

Maybe you were lacking sleep, but you weren’t making up stuff. Someone had been in your room, someone had broken the picture.

But who? And why?

“Do you want anything to drink?”

“Water’s fine.”

A pair of orbs followed you both as you left the room, the pieces of broken glass, the bat, and the knife long forgotten. He clenched his jaw.

He hadn’t expected an obstacle.

Thanks to the cozy lighting of your lamp and the smell of lavender coming out of your diffuser, you truly relaxed for the first time in weeks.

You didn’t even flinch when the footsteps in the hallway approached, slowly. The moment they reached your door, they ceased.

You didn’t have to wait much for the visitor to reveal himself.

In front of you, there was a boy. A pair of black sweatpants was the only garment he wore. It allowed you to admire his pale skin, which contrasted with his charcoal hair. 

He stood by the door, admiring you from afar. Then, he spoke.

“Are you scared?” To your surprise, you shook your head. “Why not?”

“I like the company.” You replied, giving him a sad smile. “I feel lonely.”

“Do you want to tell me about it?” Again, you shook your head. The boy walked towards the bed, his gaze on you the whole time. “What do you want?”

On all fours, you crawled to the edge of the mattress, hands going up to touch his neck. The skin was cold. It made you shiver, but you didn’t find it uncomfortable; quite the opposite. You craved more contact.

“I want you.”

The boy looked down, getting lost in your eyes. He smirked, realizing that kneeling like that in front of him made it seem as if you were worshiping him. In a way, you were. You just didn’t know it yet.

He caressed your cheek with a stone-cold finger. You closed your eyes at his touch, mouth falling open.

“What’s my name?”

And although you didn’t know, it rolled out of your tongue naturally.

“Taeyong.”

You heard him hiss.

“Open your eyes.”

You obeyed. His skin was no longer pale, but it still felt cold against yours. You swore his eyes had gotten darker. At the sight, you pressed your thighs together.

“Now, lay down.”

You did as you were told, falling on the messy covers of your bed. Taeyong’s hands found your ankles. He caressed the skin with his palms, all the way up to your panties. Your breath hitched as he hooked his fingers in the elastic band, pulling down and letting them fall on the floor.

What followed was your pajama shirt, and soon you found yourself naked in front of Taeyong. No one, except for your mother, had ever seen you naked.

He scanned your body for a few seconds, his eyes finally landing on your breasts.

“You’re a beautiful creature.” Taeyong whispered, placing one knee on the mattress. Your stomach tingled in anticipation as he settled in the space between your legs. “Have you been touched before?”

You avoided looking at Taeyong’s face out of embarrassment. However, his breath hitting your wet core kept you well aware of his position. “No.”

Next thing you knew, he was pressing his open mouth against your entrance, sighing at the taste. You gripped the blue sheets beneath you, getting lost in the foreign but amazing feeling.

His tongue was warm and soft. He licked you eagerly, as if he had been waiting for this moment for years. He dragged his tongue from your folds to your clit, closing his lips around the sensitive bud. 

Something cold pressed against your entrance, and the contrast between it and your burning walls had you squirming away, only for Taeyong to grab your thighs to keep you in place.

Taeyong inserted a long digit inside you, your velvet walls especially welcoming. The tightness of your pussy reminded him that he was the first person to ever stretch you like that. It made his dick twitch in his pants. He was greedy, and the way you swallowed him served as an encouragement to pull out, shoving two fingers instead. He heard you curse as his mouth released your clit.

You were a sight for sore eyes: moans spilling from your mouth, holding onto the sheets to ground yourself. 

“Does it feel good?” He asked, already knowing the answer.

“Yes.” You sighed, licking your dry lips.

The boy pumped his fingers slowly, enamored by the way they disappeared into you and the noises your arousal made each time. Soon he found himself setting a faster pace that had you arching your back, hands falling on his dark hair.

It didn’t feel like your first time at all.

There was no pressure, no doubts. Taeyong knew how and where you liked being touched. There was a connection between the two of you, something difficult to explain.

Taeyong’s tongue found your clit again, and you grabbed a fist of his hair. The growl he let out made you grind against his face. Taeyong stood still, letting you fuck his tongue, but never ceased the movement of his fingers, pushing them further.

Your orgasm wasn’t far, you knew even though you had never felt anything like that. It was like a wave that hit you hard, bruising your skin.

Taeyong, amazed, watched as you came. Your walls hugged his fingers so tightly, you tasted so fucking good. He couldn’t stop, he just couldn’t.

But the overstimulation was unbearable and, eventually, you moved away.

Under your attentive gaze, Taeyong took off his pants. He was thin enough for his hip bones to stick out. His biceps flexed as he grabbed your thighs once again, sliding your body down the bed. His pale skin glowed under the light in an iridescent effect that got you hypnotized.

It was easy for Taeyong to slip into you, being fresh out of an orgasm.

You had seen a lot of movies about first times, fantasizing about your own. Not in a million years would you have imagined all the sensations it would bring.

It hurt a little, but you bit your lower lip, not wanting to look like a loser who couldn’t take dick. Taeyong caressed your frowned forehead in an attempt to ease your pain, but he kept on pushing, only satisfied once he was balls-deep in.

The sting of pain was an open wound that Taeyong tried to stitch up by leaning down to whisper words of encouragement in your ear.

And it worked.

He had barely been inside you, but you wanted him to move. You wanted to know what sex felt like. You wanted the pleasure, the passion, all of it.

Moving your hips made Taeyong understand. He pulled out slowly, only to thrust back again roughly, making you gasp and whine.

Taeyong leaned down, pressing his bony chest against yours, and took the opportunity to make you round his hips with your legs. You fit together perfectly, like pieces of a puzzle.

“You take me so well.” He confessed, quietly, as if the walls could hear. “You’re made for me.”

And, for the first time, Taeyong grabbed your face with his long digits and kissed you. It was passionate, messy, needy. His lips and tongue, once cold as ice, were like a spring day now.

There was a subtle change in the mood. Taeyong was well aware that something had shifted inside him, a change of priorities. You were top on the list now, and he would treat you as such.

He increased his pace with every thrust. You embraced his shoulders, further pressing him against your chest. Not once did Taeyong stop kissing you. He would swallow your noises like the most expensive wine.

“You’re close.” Taeyong said at your walls trapping his dick. You simply nodded, eyes shut, looking for his lips in the dark. He sat up, grabbing a handful of your breasts and squeezing them.

Your hands flew up to grab his wrists.

“Taeyong…”

“Yes.” That proud tone was such a turn-on. You wondered if you were losing your mind. “Say it again.”

Your voice barely made it out as he pounded mercilessly into you. There was a weird feeling in your tummy.

“Taeyong!”

An electric shock crossed your body from top to bottom. Taeyong exploded into you, letting out a grunt that covered your skin in goosebumps.

You were awake. Strands of hair stuck to your sweaty forehead, and the sheets beneath you were uncomfortably damp.

You touched your entrance with your middle finger, moving your hand away the moment you felt the wetness.

What the hell had just happened?

Forming a friendship with Kun wasn’t on your bucket list for the year, but you guessed it was bound to happen.

Ramen nights on Fridays became a tradition and meeting up to study in the library was mandatory.

Everything you have heard about his persona before actually knowing him turned out to be true.

He was the kind of person to choose his words carefully, speaking his mind with the utmost respect towards everyone. Always the smartest person in the room, you couldn’t help but stare at him with tender eyes, amazed by the knowledge he carried.

Falling in love with him was bound to happen.

“I’m choosing the movie next time.” Kun grunted at your words, putting his coat on.

“It wasn’t as bad as you’re making it seem!”

“I literally predicted the ending as soon as it started.” You smarted, your only purpose being as annoying as possible. “It was bad.”

“Fine.” He walked over to your door but didn’t open it. “Should I bring candy next time as an apology?”

The fact that he knew you loved sweets made you smile.

“It’ll do.”

None of you moved. Kun glanced at the picture by the door, giving you the feeling that he was trying to stick around a little more.

You wouldn’t complain.

“I want to ask you something, but I don’t want to look stupid.”

You quickly responded.

“You’d never look stupid.”

“Do you have feelings for me?”

You wondered if your sincerity would take a toll on your friendship. But if Kun was asking, there had to be a reason.

“Why are you asking me this?”

“Because,” Kun sighed, “I have feelings for you.”

You couldn’t help it. You tiptoed and crashed your lips against his. They were soft, just like him.

The kiss was a dream come true. You held onto the collar of his coat and he grabbed the sides of your face, both pulling each other closer, and giggled when you had to break it off to catch some air.

He left shortly after, having set a day for your first official date. You had wondered if you should have invited him to spend the night, but Kun was a gentleman.

He would never.

That night, Taeyong burst into your room like a hurricane. He threw every single item on your vanity to the floor. He punched the mirror, which broke under his fist, yet not a single drop of blood stained his skin.

There wasn’t an ounce of fear in your system, deep down knowing the reason why Taeyong was so mad.

He locked eyes with his disfigured reflection in the mirror before turning around.

“Do you love him?” He asked, his nostrils flaring up.

You shrugged. “I like him.”

“Do you love him?” Taeyong repeated. Finding no answer, he straightened his back. “What’s my name?”

“Taeyong.”

“Do you love me?”

“I desire you.”

He wasn’t satisfied with your answer, though knew better than trying to change your mind. He told you to turn around, his dark voice sending shivers down your spine. You got on all fours and waited.

Where Taeyong had been kind and gentle the first time, he was rough and violent. He ripped your underwear in half, making you gasp, and he grabbed your hair as he forced his way into you, ignoring the whimper you let out.

His thrusts were erratic. You knew he wasn’t chasing his high or yours, he just wanted to cause pain, inflict dominance. He wanted you to know who was in charge, who you belonged to.

And you allowed him to have you his way, equally drown in pleasure and worry. You weren't yourself when you were with him, he unleashed a side of yourself you couldn't recognize.

Taeyong freed your hair, but his hands soon closed around your neck. Air got stuck in your throat as you desperately tried to inhale.

He wasn’t playing.

“If you bring him here again…” He growled, his demonic tone ringing in your ear. “I’ll kill him.”

You lurched awake, gasping for air.

There was no way that had been just a dream. It had felt too vivid, too real for it to be a figment of your imagination.

The hairs on the back of your neck stood up, adrenaline still pretty much flowed through your veins.

Something felt off. 

The light coming from the streetlamps was dim, yet it allowed you to scan the room. 

The door was open, but you couldn’t put your finger on whether you had left it that way before crawling into bed. Your eyes moved towards your vanity and mirror; nothing out of place. You caught movement from the corner of your eye in the wall beside your window. Squinting, you tried to make out a figure in the darkness.

And you found it.

He had been observing you way before you saw him, inhaling your fear like the best drug ever made.

With no reason to keep hiding, Taeyong took a step into the light. He looked at you with the intensity of a predator about to kill, but you couldn’t move.

Taeyong opened his mouth.

“Hi.”

You jumped out of the covers, falling to the floor because of your numb legs. You looked back to Taeyong, who had taken a step closer, and crawled towards the switch on the other side of the room.

His footsteps were light, but his presence was strong. You knew where he was even if you couldn’t hear him.

You punched the switch before turning around. Under the lights, everything seemed perfectly fine.

But your uneasy heart and shaking body knew better. They knew that Taeyong was still hiding in the darkest spot he could find, observing.

Waiting.

Your apartment was haunted.

Nothing else could explain all the things that had been happening ever since the Ouija session went wrong.

Getting help was urgent, and you knew exactly where to find it.

That’s how you found yourself knocking on Mihyo’s door eagerly on the morning of the next day. A wave of surprise washed over her face as soon as she saw you.

“Oh…” She muttered. “Hey.”

“Hi.” You hesitated for a moment. “I have to talk to you. Can I?”

Mihyo took a step to the side, letting you in. You sat on her couch, drying your sweaty palms by rubbing them against the rough fabric of your jeans. Mihyo sat on an armchair, in front of you, and waited.

You didn't know how or where to start. Although Mihyo was familiar with the paranormal world, you feared she would think you were losing your mind. Hell, even you did!

“So, what’s wrong?”

“Please, don’t think that I’m crazy.” You began, aware that the phrase would set a difficult start. “Ever since the… incident, weird things have been happening in my apartment.”

“What do you mean by weird?”

You breathed in, trying to calm your nerves. Recalling the events gave you chills.

“Some weeks ago, I heard footsteps in my bedroom, and even though no one was there when I came in, a picture I had on my bedside table was on the floor. But the worst thing is that I’ve been seeing someone, a man, in my dreams. And not only in my dreams. I think he’s haunting me.”

Mihyo bit her lip throughout your confession, finding it hard to make eye contact with you. During the few seconds in which nothing, not even your breath, could be heard in the living room, you thought that perhaps you were a little bit crazy. You definitely sounded like it.

“I’m going to ask you something, but don’t take it the wrong way.” Mihyo spoke. “Have you, like… had sex with this man? In those dreams?”

The fact that she was asking gave you goosebumps, because it meant she knew something that you didn’t, and judging by her tone, it wasn’t good news.

Slowly, you nodded.

“Are you a virgin?”

Awkwardly, you switched your position on the sofa, playing with your fingers. “Yes.”

Mihyo straightened her back, sighing.

“Well, the good news is that you aren’t insane. The bad news is that you’re right.” As you rubbed your face, unable to form any coherent sentence, Mihyo continued. “Apparently, there are some ghosts that prey on virgins, using sex as an energy drainer. Have you felt more tired lately?”

“I have, but I thought I was just burnt out.”

“He’s feeding on your energy to get stronger. That way, he’ll be capable of crossing the threshold and stepping into our world. If he does so, he’ll be able to do whatever he wants.”

You blinked twice, speechless. The situation was simply overwhelming.

“So, basically, I’m fucked.” Mihyo couldn’t even disagree. “But if we were invoking Jackson, why did he appear?”

“An Ouija board isn’t a phone, you see? The person answering might not be the one you were calling.” You cursed under your breath. “I guess he has been waiting for someone to open the door, you know?”

“What do I do, Mihyo?” Your lip trembled, and upon seeing you on the verge of tears, Mihyo sat down next to you, patting your back. “Should I move out?”

“The apartment isn’t the problem. He’s stuck to you. He’ll follow, wherever you go.” A sob ripped your throat. If only you had known better. “But don’t worry, we can fix this. We must open the session again and close it properly this time. The only problem is, those who were there the first time should be there again.”

Obviously, it was Heejin Mihyo was referring to. To be honest, you wouldn’t blame her if she refused.

“How’s she doing?”

“We barely speak now.” Mihyo admitted, rather sadly. “She’s been avoiding me, but her roommates told me she has been acting weird: she can barely sleep, she’s having nightmares, and she’s not doing well in class.”

The burden of guilt felt right on your back.

“God, how could we’ve been so stupid?”

“I’ll convince her.” Mihyo took your hand, trying to give you the illusion of safety. “Don’t worry. We’ll fix this.”

Much to your surprise, you found them both waiting at your door.

Mihyo was right, she looked terrible. She had bags under her eyes and had bitten her nails to the point of gnawing on the skin. Although the wounds had been tried to be covered with bandaids, you could still see them. It looked like she hadn’t washed her hair in weeks. Heejin muttered a low hello to you, and nothing else came from her mouth.

A blast of cold air hit your face the moment you stepped into your place, making you shiver, but not from the cold. It came from a window that you didn’t remember leaving open, but you knew better than to scare Heejin to death. You simply walked towards the window and closed it.

Just like the first time, Mihyo lit up candles and placed them on the floor, forming a circle with the Ouija board in the middle.

You couldn’t shake the eerie feeling of something possibly going wrong, very wrong. But, if you wanted your old life back, you had to suck it up and solve it, so you were the first to sit in front of the board and place your index fingers on the pointer. Mihyo followed and, after a moment of hesitation, Heejin.

“What’s his name?”

“Taeyong.” Mihyo nodded, letting you know that the session was about to start.

“We want to talk to Taeyong.” She said out loud. “Taeyong, are you there?”

He didn’t take long to answer, the pointer moving to the word yes.

“It’s not you that we wanted to contact, Taeyong. It’s time to go back where you belong.” The pointer remained in its place, and you allowed yourself to fantasize about the idea of him being gone. “We’ll close the session now.”

“No.”

That familiar voice ricocheted against the walls of your living room, turning your stomach. You thought you had just heard it in your head, but as you glanced at the girls before you, you understood that it hadn’t been the case. Heejin was white as paper, on the verge of passing out. She made the pretense of separating her fingers from the pointer, only for Mihyo to scream at her to stay where she was.

“Taeyong, you don’t belong here!” Mihyo screamed. “You have to go!”

It happened in the blink of an eye.

Taeyong appeared where the Ouija board was, stomping on Mihyo’s hand. The girl let out a gut-wrenching scream as she held her hand, eyes fixed on her crooked, broken fingers. Taeyong slapped her with the force of a thousand men, and she fell limp on the floor.

Your first instinct was to grab Heejin and drag her up with you, making a run towards the door. You tried to be quick but Taeyong was quicker, grabbing Heejin’s hair and yanking her back, causing you to fall. Pain spread from your shoulder to your wrist.

You looked up in time to watch Taeyong slam Heejin’s head against the wall, the noise of something cracking flooding the room, and watched in horror as he threw her away as if she was nothing, a string of blood sliding from her forehead down to her cheek.

The apartment fell silent.

“You.” His black eyes fell on you. You were paralyzed. “How could you do this to me?”

You opened your mouth, trying to say something, but nothing came out.

“I tried to be understanding. I allowed him in here, thinking that fucking you like a bitch would make you develop the slightest loyalty towards me. And what do you do?”

Taeyong took a step forward, snapping you out of your trance and forcing you to crawl back.

“You try to send me back. As if I meant nothing to you.”

For every step he took, you moved away. Eventually, there was nothing but a wall behind you. You pressed your back against it, thinking that if you pushed enough you would go through it.

“I’m not a monster.” He said. Then, he crouched down and pointed at the girls. You couldn’t bring yourself to look. “This is your fault.”

A single tear rolled down your cheek as you opened your mouth once again. Struggling to find the words that got stuck in your throat, you ended up whispering.

“I’m sorry.”

Taeyong tilted his head to the side. For a second you thought that you would get away alive. He looked at you with nurturing eyes, the way you glance at a child who has said something incredibly innocent and naïve.

“I know you are. I am, too.”

You didn’t have time to process his words as he straddled your lap. Desperation and fear flooded your mind as Taeyong closed his long, bony fingers around your neck, stopping any air from getting to your lungs.

But you wouldn’t go without a fight. You kicked the air, you scratched his face, his eyes, but it was like trying to catch vapor.

You thought of your parents, of Matt. Losing another kid, another sibling, would break them. You thought of Heejin and Mihyo, who had lost their lives because you didn’t know better. You thought of Kun, lamenting not having said something sooner.

As you slowly lost consciousness, you came to terms with the fact that you were going to die. Through your half-closed eyes, you took your time to take in the face of your murderer.

He was insanely beautiful, like the fallen angel.

You breathed in so quickly that you choked, coughing as you got up. You jumped over Heejin’s dead body, repeating to yourself that there was nothing you could do for her or Mihyo other than find help.

You left the door open and ran down the empty hallway. When you turned around the corner, you found yourself inside your apartment again, in your hall. You could see your furniture from your position.

You swore you had left your apartment. You tried again, and again. Yet every time you turned around the corner, you appeared in your hall.

No rational explanation could make you understand what was happening. It felt like a sleep paralysis experience: knowing that you were dreaming but unable to do anything to wake up. Except this was real life, and you were trapped.

Then, you saw it.

It hadn’t been Heejin’s body the one you had jumped over. It had been yours. Your open eyes pointed to the ceiling, devoid of any life.

Your body collapsed and you fell to the floor, on your knees, weeping like a child. You called for your mom, your brother, Kun.

“There’s no need to cry.” Taeyong’s words were sweet like honey, but they made you want to vomit. “It’s not as bad as it seems.”

“Why are you doing this to me?” You cried. “Why, why?”

“You told me you were lonely.” His faked innocence didn’t go unnoticed. “I was lonely, too, but now I have you.”

“Please, please, let me go…”

“Now we have each other.” The smile on Taeyong’s face was prominent but never reached his eyes. “For eternity.”

No reposting or translations allowed.

© epinebleue 2023

[irradiatedsnakes]

Have you thought about furry designs for protocol characters yet? I'd love to hear your thoughts on what animals they might be, yours are always top tier (though I understand if you need more time to get vibes from everyone lol)

yes i have!! given we're so early on they're all subject to change (and i haven't chosen one for lena given we don't know anything about her Whole Deal yet) buuut

sam: common raccoon

he really strikes me as a cute, fluffy sort of mammal. i chose raccoon for their curiosity and intelligence, and tendency to get into places they maybe shouldn't be.

alice: great blue heron

this is one of those "entirely vibes based" choices. she feels like a bird to me, and her shapes feel sharply-angled. great blue heron struck me, and i vibed with the design so much it cemented pretty quick.

gwen: lesser sooty owl

given the bouchard connection, i wanted to make her a tytonid (tytonidae, the barn owl family, separate from all the other owls which are family strigidae) given elias is a western barn owl. i chose sooty owl specifically for visual/design reasons, since many tytonids just look.. almost exactly like western barn owls, and sooty owls are quite pretty.

colin: northern pike

one thing you'll notice going through my furry choices is that, while i have a lot of lesser-represented taxa in furry aus like invertebrates, extinct animals, and strange birds, i don't have ANY fishes, at least not since switching martin back from being a nurse shark. that's sad. i wanted to choose at least one fish for the tmagp cast, and i think the northern pike, being a grumpy-looking, solitary animal worked well for colin. (also, i think a clearly carnivorous animal deadpan saying "i'm a vegetarian." is funny)

teddy: sloth bear

i just wanted to choose a fun bear for him. he's there for like three minutes. his name's teddy. Bear

celia: golden alpine salamander

for celia, i wanted to choose something that goes through a metamorphosis, as a reflection of her changing name/identity from getting her name stolen during the fearpocalypse. i chose a terrestrial salamander specifically due to the mythological connotations of salamanders being able to walk through flames unscathed, with her having escaped the apocalypse.

[thesovereignsring-if]

She hides it well, but there is a softness in her usually hard topaz gold eyes. There is a wistfulness to her and something else- something more vulnerable and precious.

Wordcount: 2.3k+

It's out! This monster that has consumed my life and every waking thought for the past few days. (T﹏T`) This started out as a funny and simple idea that ran away from me and that's how we got here. Honestly it's kind of spoilery and I honestly don't know if I'm releasing it too early or not, but I don't care!! Take this horrid plot bunny and enjoy it. I'll answer any questions to the best of my abilities without spoilers! It's angsty to me because I've been with these characters from the beginning, but I have no idea how you guys will take it lmaoo.

AO3 Link

Yearning

Nephilim Palace is easy to infiltrate if one knows her deepest secrets- and he knew all of them. The traveler spent a few of his boy years running through Nephilim’s hidden passageways. 

He’s dressed in a navy blue uniform with gold tassels, white trousers and brown boots. The standard issue attire for imperial officers. He had swiped the uniform years ago and still manages to fit into them today. Like all things in the empire- nothing changed. So no one had batted an eye when he slipped into the palace and joined the bustling rush of knights, officers and servants. It helps that his figure has not changed much over the years. He takes care of himself. 

The empress is in the gardens, which is strange for her. Maeve never had a love or interest in such frivolous things like flowers- well, except for standing next to them to enhance the beauty of the garden with her presence. She is vain in that way. But it was endearing. 

Today however, the traveller thinks that is not the case. Today, the gold tiara she typically wears is not sitting on her pretty head. 

Maeve is dressed in a simple white blouse and trousers. Her thick blonde hair is pulled up into a ponytail,reminiscent of her days as a Shield Maiden. It’s been five years since Maeve Nibel Astrea ascended the throne and during that time, that stylish chair with the fancy cushion had not softened her slender, but toned figure. In her fitting attire, the traveler could admire the hard curve of her biceps, the slope of her thighs- and, of course, her shapely, supple round ass. Yes, she was still every bit the warrior queen she was when they had first met. She takes care of herself too. 

She is leaning against a stone pillar draped in a swirling mess of vines with her back facing him. The traveller can tell she is fiddling with something in her hands and is getting frustrated, tapping the toe of her boot against the marble tiles incessantly. 

Curious, the traveler leans over her shoulder. 

“Aren’t you a bit too old to play with teddy bears?” He says. 

“Spite the Herald!” The empress jumps and swerves around to face him, slapping his chest at the sight of him. “Lugh!” Maeve rasps, looking absolutely winded and ravishing. “By the Light of the Alfather- what are you doing here?” 

Lugh shrugs his shoulders with a wolfish grin, “I got your missive a fortnight ago and decided to visit.” 

Maeve cocks a brow, “aren’t you supposed to be running your own kingdom, Lugh?” 

“Is that not what my wives are for?” 

“Last I recall, your job is to ensure they don’t kill each other.” 

“Well,they do get along when left alone in their own territories,” the king chuckles, “they can play nice for a full moon's turn…I think?” 

Maeve juts her hip out crossing her arms, “that sounds very reassuring, Lugh.” 

“Humor me, Maeve. I traveled all the way here by boat thinking you’d like a shoulder to lean on. Let’s not think of civil war invoking hypotheticals,” Lugh laughs, guiding the empress away to a nearby bench in the shade. It’s behind a large bush of hydrangeas. Here they can have some time together away from curious eyes. 

Lugh pulls out the heavy wooden basket from behind his back, tugging back the lid, revealing an assortment of small fruits, cheese and most importantly Brigian Wines- her favourites. 

“I wouldn’t necessarily say this is an occasion worth celebrating,” Maeve says dryly as Lugh hands her a cup of wine. She swirls the glass, raising the rim to her nose so she could smell its sweet and fruity aroma. “I’m not as active as I used to be, Lugh. I’m going to get fat eating all this.” 

“Live a little, Maeve. A little cheese isn’t going to kill you. I’ll get you to work it off afterwards.” Lugh chuckles warmly as Maeve rolls her eyes, murmuring something akin to real smooth, Lugh.

Together, the king and empress enjoy the silence of the garden and Lugh’s basket of goodies. At some point, Lugh decides it was time to break the silence. He hums, plucking a grape from the basket and dropping into his mouth. “Murder or natural causes?” He asks. 

There is a thoughtful pause before she speaks, “Neither, surprisingly enough. ” Maeve stares grimly off into the distance, “she took it herself.”

Lugh nearly winces as the acidic sweet-sour wine splashes on his tongue. “Shit,” the king swears, turning to his companion, “Ledea had kids, didn’t she?” 

Maeve nods mutely, “the youngest one is but a babe. Five years old.” Lugh’s heart sinks. Thea, one of his own babes was five years old as well. She was a precious thing. “And the eldest turned thirteen last fall.” 

“The cripple?” The king asks, recalling Prince Vayne's eldest child. 

“Yes,” Maeve nods, sipping her wine. “He has a good head on his shoulders- he had everything under control by the time I got there. 

Which is impressive for a child. He was running the duchy and taking care of the little one with great ease. He had assistance from his retainers and the middle child, of course, but he was more put together than I expected. I was impressed. The little one was clinging to him the entire time I was there.” 

There is a sweet wistfulness to Maeve’s voice, a tone Lugh doesn’t hear much from the usual high and mighty empress. 

Lugh’s eyes wander to her thighs, which are supple, but tone with muscle and stare at the flimsy brown teddy bear. Looks like an old thing, a relic from Maeve’s childhood that she must have loved dearly. It’s barely holding together at the seams. The thread looks frayed and ratty, but Lugh can see the glossy shine to the new thread she was attempting to sew in. The stitch work was pitiful at best; uneven and slanted in every direction. Spirits, she was terrible at needle work. 

“Is that why you were fixing up that little bear?” Lugh asks kindly, stifling a chuckle with his hand,”are you planning to send it to the babe?” 

Maeve shoots him a dirty glare as her cheeks turn pink. She’s so pretty. Then takes the teddy bear and hides it behind her back, away from his line of sight. She squirms in her spot. “I’m not sending Joseph anywhere. He’s going to be a gift. The children are coming to the capital to stay with me.” 

Oh, that was a surprise. “All three of them?” Lugh blinks, “and the Duchy is fine with their new lord living so far from home?” 

“I’m not going to separate the children after their mother died and I wasn’t very keen on the idea of having them away from family,” Maeve says hotly, furrowing her brows. “Look. I may hate Ledea, but I’m not going to let my blood suffer so far away from me. They’re all wards to the Crown now, so I can do as I please. I’d like to see anyone try to stop me.”

Lugh could relate. His little brood of children stayed with their mothers, but they were never far from his reach, they were, at most, a day's worth of travel from the castle. 

But there are more Maeve’s words than just that, Lugh realizes, watching the empress as she sips her wine with flushed cheeks. She hides it well, but there is a softness in her usually hard topaz gold eyes. There is a wistfulness to her and something else- something more vulnerable and precious. A softness he’s only seen under the soft glow of candlelight. 

Lugh chuckles to himself, feeling a sharp tug in his gut. He understands what it is. It draws Maeve’s attention, but he says nothing. Instead, he reaches into his basket, pulls out a round pomegranate and cracks it in two, presenting a bountiful cluster of bright red and juicy seeds. The king takes a ruby seed and rolls it between his index finger and thumb before slipping it into his mouth and crushing it against the roof of his mouth with his tongue. 

It tastes bittersweet. 

Lugh swallows. “You know, I could have given you a babe years ago if that’s what you really wanted.” 

“The only babe I’ll ever have would belong to my lord husband,” Maeve says quietly, averting her eyes the moment they met his, but in that brief moment, one no shorter than a breath, Lugh saw a flash of pain behind her golden eyes. 

Lugh drags his tongue along the blunt rim of his teeth, revelling in the sour-sweetness of the pomegranate. “Your great Empire would never tolerate their empress being one of many wives to a foreign king,” Lugh shakes head, his lips straining to smile. “Well, you never liked sharing to begin with.” 

“I wouldn’t have been your first choice anyway- and more than sharing, I hate being second place,” Maeve says quietly. It stabs him like a hot knife to the chest. He hates hurting her. He’d rather claw his eyes out before any harm comes to her first. 

But…he could not deny it. Horrible as it may sound. He loved Giselle, she left an imprint on his heart that no one could usurp, but that did not mean his feelings for Maeve were any less than true. Giselle was gone. Their time together was over. And yet, her ghost still sits between them.  

“…Perhaps in another life, where we met and married first, we’d have our own gaggle of children to coddle- but that’s not reality,” Maeve says, throwing her head back and downing her glass of wine in one go. When she finishes she sets the glass aside and plucks a few seeds from Lugh’s pomegranate and tosses them into her mouth. 

That’s a surprise, Lugh thought. The pomegranate was for him. Maeve usually had no taste for tart and sour things. 

“I don’t know what it means to be a mother,” Maeve says to the sky, rising to her feet with her teddy bear in hand. “Mine died giving birth to me. I have no real frame of reference- but I want…I want to try. Ledea’s little babe…When I first laid on them, I never thought I’d ever feel this way towards someone else in my life. There’s a connection, a pull that I can’t help but feel.” Then she sighs, looking down at the ratty teddy bear. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to replace Ledea as a mother…but if I could be there or look after the children in her place…I think that will be enough.” 

“You’ll be a good mother,” Lugh says firmly, setting the fruit aside to stand next to her, cupping her face, flushed and rosy from wine, with his hands. “Even if the children won’t say it to your face, even if they ignore your efforts or appreciate you. I know you, Maeve. That child will know nothing, but love.”    

“...You’re not angry with me?” She asks softly. Her gold eyes flickering with a soft, fragile light. Her voice is so small… 

It hurts. It hurts so much he feels like drowning. There is nothing Lugh wants more than a child with her gold woven hair and sparkling topaz eyes. A babe with her bright, all consuming smile.. but Lugh’s made his peace. He’ll take whatever she gives him and he’ll accept it gladly because it’s better than not having her at all. That would be death. 

“I’ll love any child of yours, Maeve,” he says instead. And that is the truth. “Even if it’s not a babe of my own. I’ll love it. I won’t be able to physically be there every step of the way, but my spirit, my light, will be with you, my love. I mean it.” 

Her lips taste bitter, tart and sweet all at once and he doesn’t mind. Such is life. He swallows it all without protest and if he drowns he’d welcome it gladly. There is no place he’d rather be than right here, with her in his arms. 

When they part her golden eyes are shimmering with a hint of tears, but her smile is brighter than the sun. Then she laughs, bright and fluttery, then pries his hands from her cheeks. “Your hands are sticky! I’m going to get pimples, Lugh!” 

“You’d still be pretty, don’t worry,” Lugh apologies with a small smile on his face as she smacks his arm in protest. He’s glad that she’s happy. It’s all he’d ever wanted for her. Perhaps with the children with her, Maeve will be less lonely in the palace. Nephilim was a lonely place to live alone. 

“Come on, let’s go inside and wash up, then maybe you can put me to work like you promised,” Maeve says coyly, tucking the teddy bear away in one hand and reaching for his own hand with the other. 

“So soon, Maeve?” Lugh asks, “it’s hardly midday and there’s still so much food to eat. I don’t think there’ll be a lot to work off. ” 

“I’ve had my fill. And…I’ve missed you,” Maeve confesses with a bashful, hooded stare. 

Ah, well, Lugh is definitely not going to argue against that. 

The king takes the empress’s hand, enjoying the way her slender fingers wrap around his own and takes the heavy basket in the other. He likes the way her thick head of hair feels on his shoulder and how her smile lifts his heart. 

They leave towards the palace hand in hand. Lugh wonders what the servants and the guards will think when they see him dressed in a simple officer’s uniform. There is no way to hide his identity when he’s next to her. He thinks it’ll be funny. 

“Oh! That reminds me,” Maeve pipes up, “the little one’s birthday is coming up in a few moons. If it’s not too much trouble, I was thinking…” 

[bluerose5]

Hmm how about Halsin and Iron Bull (in whatever relationship dynamic you like!) commiserating after a fight with some goblins?

The kind of ship that snuck up on me out of nowhere. These two 100% took control of the fic and made it longer than what I intended, although I'm not complaining. 😌

...

One thing the Iron Bull never expected was for Halsin to admit to being a lightweight of all things.

While the tieflings' party was in full swing, he made his rounds throughout camp, took note of where everyone else's minds were at, his companions' especially, and he drank.

That was, until Bull realized the liquor on hand was some of the weakest shit compared to back home.

Still, it was a celebration, so he accepted drinks when offered, disgruntled by the fact that he was barely breaking a sweat over it.

Sobriety aside, he waited to speak with Halsin last, mostly because he wasn't quite sure what to make of him yet.

For one, he was big. Probably a little shorter than your average Qunari, but bigger than any elf Bull encountered in Thedas at least.

Secondly, he wielded magic different from most that Bull was familiar with, and the fact that majority of spellcasters in Faerûn didn't have to struggle against demons and possession in order to control their power...

Strange. Reassuring in a sense, but very strange.

When all was said and done, Bull figured no harm could come from getting to know the newcomer. This esteemed, knowledgeable "Archdruid" of theirs.

Who happened to be easy on the eyes —well, eye, singular— as well, but that was neither here nor there.

The Iron Bull sauntered up to him with a friendly smile, his head held high in a show of confidence.

"Well, it looks like I saved the best for last!" Bull greeted. "Settling in okay?" Before Halsin could answer, Bull interrupted. "Wait! Wait." He gave a dramatic pause. "I couldn't bear it if you said 'no.' Haha!"

He beamed at Halsin, who couldn't resist a snort of amusement, the corners of his eyes crinkled in delight.

Bull could practically hear Krem grumbling from there.

"Do not concern yourself with me. I am settling in just fine," Halsin assured him. "Of course, it always helps to have a host as gracious as yourself."

"Let's see if you still think that by the end of the night," the Iron Bull joked. He stood at Halsin's side, giving him a playful nudge with his elbow. "Seriously, though, that fight at that temple was great, yeah?" His heart raced at the memory. He leaned in, his voice low, appreciative. "You were incredible."

"Oh, come now," Halsin said, brushing off the compliment. "I don't know about that. You and your companions did most of the heavy lifting, after all."

"Don't downplay your role in our victory," Bull told him. "The sheer amount of goblins alone would have proved a challenge for anyone, but you cut through them like it was nothing." Try as he may, Bull couldn't help it, his eye trailing up and down Halsin's body. "All of that fury and rage, unleashed, directed at our enemies. You were a sight to behold, but tell the truth. You enjoyed it, didn't you?"

Halsin glanced at him, not even bothering to hide how his eyes raked over his frame in return.

"Perhaps," he allowed, taking a second to clear his throat. "I must admit, I have come to expect at least a hint of fear from outsiders in response to my wild shape."

"Heh," Bull chuckled. "I fought dragons before, pal. It's gonna take more than a big teddy bear like you to scare me away."

"Is that so?" Halsin raised an eyebrow at him, surveying the area around them. "Maybe I should work on that then. Everyone should maintain a healthy balance of fear and respect for nature."

"Trust me, I respect it plenty," Bull said, "but by all means, do your worst."

Halsin shook his head, smiling to himself.

"Tempting as that is, you surely have others to go mingle with. Don't let me keep you."

"Nah." Bull waved off that concern without second thought. "I've done more than my fair share of mingling for tonight. I want to get to know you better."

He gave him a playful poke to the arm.

"Hmm..." Halsin hummed in contemplation. "I wouldn't want to be selfish and rob others here of your company. I can wait until morning to speak with you at the very least."

"Which is fine, if that's what you want," the Iron Bull whispered, "but what if I want you to be selfish?"

Halsin searched his expression for any sign of deceit.

When such scrutiny proved fruitless, his entire demeanor shifted, more open to the idea compared to before.

"In that case," he responded, "will you tell me about one of your dragon hunts then?"

"Fuck yeah, I will!" Bull exclaimed, his excitement radiant like a flame.

He clasped a hand onto Halsin's shoulder, giving it a warm, companionable squeeze.

A small shiver shot down his spine, one that Bull was quick to watch with keen interest.

The Iron Bull reckoned that Halsin didn't know many people who towered over him. It was almost funny how often his gaze would level with Bull's pecs or wander farther below before darting up to his face yet again, as if he had to constantly remind himself that he was the shorter one for once.

Then again, maybe he just liked the sight of his chest. Bull couldn't fault him for that.

"Let's see. Let's see," Bull said, rubbing at his chin while he thought it over. "I could go simple. The first dragon I ever hunted alongside the Inquisitor was terrorizing the countryside we were in at the time. It was a Fereldan Frostback."

Already, his eye was glazing over at the tale, his voice taking on a tinge of admiration that bordered on reverence. Or as close to it as he could get.

"Extremely territorial, those ones, and damn if she wasn't a beauty. All of that raw, untamed power, but unfortunately for her, her territory happened to include a few defenseless villages that couldn't ward her off on their own. That's where we came in."

He wrapped his arm around Halsin's shoulders, drawing him in closer as he spoke, staring off towards a faraway land that was well beyond their reach for now.

"That sharp burst of air that rushed past as she swiped her tail at us. That loud ringing in our ears when she screeched at the skies. That molten heat that radiated in the air when she snapped her teeth at us, so close that we would have been her next meal, had we not rolled out of reach in time."

He bared his teeth into a grin.

"That was a good day," he all but growled. "A good day, indeed!"

Halsin shifted in place. Of course, it didn't escape Bull's notice how he eased closer to him in the process.

He stared at the Iron Bull with a mixture of heat and shock.

"You almost sound excited," he said, hesitant, not wanting to overstep his bounds.

Not that it deterred Bull in the slightest.

"That's because I am," Bull stated, unashamed. "Even now, something about it gets my blood pumping and my heart racing, more so than any other fight." He grunted loudly as he lingered on the memory. "Maybe it's in my blood."

"Your blood?"

"Yeah," he said, "rumor has it that there might have been some dragon's blood mixed into the Qunari's somewhere along the way." He shrugged. "No one knows for certain. Would be pretty badass, though, wouldn't it?"

"Definitely."

"Okay, now it's your turn."

"My turn?" Halsin questioned.

"To share. Come on," Bull encouraged. "You can't tell me that you don't have some wild stories stashed away."

"Well," Halsin launched into his tale without missing a beat, "it's not too different from yours. Back in my youth—"

"Nuh-uh, none of that," Bull interrupted. "You're not that old."

"I'll have you know that I am three hundred and fifty years young."

"Hot."

Bull smirked when that got a laugh out of him.

"I can admire anyone who is so open with their desires," Halsin said, "but shall I continue the story?"

"Oh, alright, I'll behave."

"Somehow I doubt that," Halsin teased, "but as I was saying, I was young and impulsive at the time, traveling and exploring the world to my heart's content. After indulging in nature's gifts on land for so long, life led me to the sea. Throughout my journey, I heard about a string of pirate attacks, led by a rogue band of water genasi. Their greed had already impacted several coastal villages by the time I caught wind of it."

Bull made a mental note to ask more about the race later, too intent on listening to the current story to venture off on another tangent.

"People were being taken from their homes, everyone from their children to the elderly. Those who relied heavily on fish as a staple found themselves on the brink of starvation. Resources were being drained. Their valuables were looted. Any who fought against the genasi were executed or enslaved, made an example of."

"But you stopped them?"

"Eventually," Halsin sighed, it obviously taking a toll on him that he couldn't save more than what he did. "I studied their movements, their tactics. At first, I would rally others behind me, wait until the genasi tried for an ambush, and attack then. But there were still too many deaths for my liking, so I went on the offensive. The locals provided me with a vessel of my own, and I sailed out into the open waters. I took the fight to them, grew more and more cocky with each ship I took down. I believed myself to be invincible, and that made me reckless."

"What happened next?" Bull asked, although he already had an idea.

"You clearly survived, though."

"I was taken prisoner. One of my attacks went exactly as I planned, but I didn't know that the genasi had others lying in wait, holding back until they saw the perfect opportunity to strike. They outnumbered me, enough so that they were able to overpower me, and that was that."

"That, I did. With me as their trophy, the band that captured me left the coastland for quite some time. About a year and a half passed, give or take a few months, but I forced myself to be patient throughout that time of servitude, difficult as it was. I earned the trust of the crew. And later, the captain.

"Then one day, I felt it. There was something stirring in the water, restless, massive in size. I could sense it, and part of me knew that it was my time to act.

"I convinced the crew that there was treasure, worthy of the gods, in some nearby wreckage. I made up a lie, said I recalled the area from my studies, and they believed me."

"You led them right into a trap," Bull said, impressed.

Halsin nodded.

"It was a kraken's territory," he explained. "A sea monster of great power and might. It rose up from its dark depths to confront us. The waters turned rough and formed a large, gaping vortex that threatened to consume us all. The winds whipped at blinding speeds. Storms formed that spewed lightning everywhere you looked. The kraken even managed to charm some of the crew into fighting under its thrall, so you can imagine how everything turned into a bloodbath from there."

"Damn." Bull released a low whistle, recalling a few stories he heard of dreadnoughts encountering an aban-ataashi —a sea dragon— while out on their patrols.

He imagined this creature must have been similar to cause so much destruction.

"Nothing against you or your skills, but I'm surprised you survived."

"You and me both," Halsin agreed. "I was so weak that I couldn't switch forms all that much at the time, but I managed to rely on some basic spells to keep me safe long enough to escape. I fought alongside the crew for a while to discourage any suspicion, but I stole one of the ship's work boats the second it was clear that the crew and the kraken were going to go down destroying each other. Through the gods' mercy alone, I managed to make it out of there. I watched both ship and kraken sink into the sea from afar, and I somehow survived until I found land once again."

"Okay, now that story deserves a drink," Bull said. "Or several. Care to share one with me?"

"In truth, I rarely imbibe," Halsin answered. "The stuff goes right to my head."

The sounds of the party returned to them then. Voices rose and fell. Squeals of delight and the clink of tankards greeted their ears.

People danced and swayed, stumbling around without a care in the world.

"Wait, really?" Bull asked, incredulous. "You're telling me that you can't hold your liquor?"

Somehow, that was even more unbelievable than him fighting a kraken.

Halsin laughed, holding his hands up in surrender.

"All I'm saying is that it won't take long before I'm breaking into song or declaring love to the first person I lay eyes on."

"Well, I mean, if you need a target to focus that energy on..." Squeezing him up against his side, Bull flexed his free arm, waggling his eyebrows at him. "I'm your guy."

"A tempting offer, I'll admit," Halsin said, admiring him openly.

"Plus, I've also been known to break into song here and there."

"Now, that, I have to see."

"Find me something stronger than the swill they serve around here," Bull challenged, "and you're on."

"Ah." As understanding dawned on him, Halsin flashed Bull a secretive smirk. "You thought that I meant that I can't handle the spirits such as those at this party." At Bull's confused look, Halsin clarified. "I keep a, uh, personal flask on hand for special occasions."

"No shit," Bull said, watching him closely, unable to keep his curiosity at bay. "You have your own recipe or what?"

"Something like that, and I have my pipe on me too, if you're interested."

"Don't have to tell me twice. Let's go make a little music, yeah?"

Amused, Halsin readily agreed.

They didn't even try to hide it as they ditched the party in favor of the surrounding forests, neither of them the type to sneak about in such a manner anyways.

They spent the rest of the night in high spirits under the stars, drinking, smoking, trading stories. And yes, singing rather terribly as well.

They fell asleep bathed in moonlight, and only when the rising sun bid them to wake did they return to camp together to discuss their next move.

[undiscovered-horizon]

Imagine the Riddler being your secret admirer.

Valentine's Day was one of those occasions that were fairly easy to forget about when one did not make plans for the day. Busy with your mundane, daily life you realized the date only when passing a store that advertised a "buy one get one free" sale on bouquets.

Some time ago maybe you'd felt lonely or insecure but having grown up, you learned that it was just another day. Not even all couples celebrate it. So you just went home, thinking about the discounted flowers and chocolates you'll be able to buy tomorrow or the day after tomorrow.

The apartment building was quiet as usual - no one unexpected coming in, no party-goers leaving. Sometimes it felt like you were living in a ghost town in the middle of Gotham City, as strange as it may sound.

At the end of the hallway was the door to your apartment. To your surprise, something was placed in front of them as if a package of some sort. You didn't remember ordering anything... Maybe the delivery guy couldn't get ahold of one of the neighbours?

Approaching the door, it became clear to you that it wasn't just a misplaced package; somebody meant to place it there:

Your first thought was that some lovesick fool got the address wrong but you had to change your mind upon further inspection of the envelope taped to your door - there was your name written on it.

"Weird," you calmly whispered to yourself. You weren't sure what to make of it so far.

Having ripped the envelope away from the door, you opened it to see the secret it held and it wasn't in any way surprising, especially in the given context: a card.

Its front was about as typical as Valentine cards get: red colour, a teddy bear holding a heart-shaped balloon and a cringy rhyme.

"A love so precious, a love so true, a love that comes from me to you," you read out loud. Why were supermarket cards always so cheesy? "What on Earth...?"

Naively, you looked around the hall in hopes of catching the smallest trail of the secret admirer. However, the corridor remained as before - quiet, deserted. Ghosts don't leave gifts for the living, so whoever left the flowers and card for you to find, must have done it shortly before your arrival.

Inside the card was another rhyme, although that one was actually a riddle:

"I have freedom from hate, but not from lies. I'm usually seen through clouded eyes. I come unexpectedly, though you wait for me all your life. I can't be bought yet some people try. What am I?"

"Wait all your life?" you repeated quietly to yourself. There was only one thing that fit the fairly vague description. "True love?"

With a weirdly mixed feeling in your chest, you put the card back inside the envelope and picked up the beautiful bouquet that lay at your doorstep:

Fresh sunflowers, gerberas and carnations - an array of warm colours that reminded one of the unbearably carefree lightness of summer days. Taking into account that it was Valentine's Day, roses would have been the more obvious, if not stereotypical, choice so whoever bought those flowers for you wanted to come off as thoughtful.

Among the orange, yellow and powdery pink flowers was another card, although this one was much smaller and had only one sentence scribbled on it in shabby handwriting:

"I can't fight this feeling any longer," you read. "REO Speedwagon fan, huh?"

A smile crept unto your face. You couldn't decide whether the mystery was creepy or heartwarming. Maybe both? In any case, you opened the door to your apartment and went inside, the flowers and the envelope in hand. Then, you couldn't help but quietly giggle to yourself - since when was your life a chick-flick?

He watched the whole scene play out, hiding in plain sight and none could be the wiser. It was a great risk on his part, really. Had you just looked out the window adjacent to your door, you would have been staring right into his dreamy eyes, clouded with an obsession for so long. You could have thrown out his gifts but no, you took them with you. Goodness gracious, you smiled at them! You obviously loved his offering of devotion! Now he knew he was able to have your heart the same way you've had his for weeks.

Eddie was gloating, triumphantly laughing at the unbelievable notion: that someone like you accepted love from someone like him.

__

[Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5]

[justbreakonme]

Whumpee who knows it’s messed up, it’s toxic and not right and logically they shouldn’t feel like this but sometimes…they miss the whumper.

Maybe they weren’t always that bad. Maybe something happened, a blow to the head in just the wrong place, the introduction of a drug or new person, a shift in the fundamentals of their personality. And now, even though they know that the person they loved and loved them is essentially gone, they can’t help looking for them within the monster wearing their face.

Or maybe they weren’t bad all the time. Maybe some days they were sweet, they were gentle. They might have even apologized, promised to do better with flowers and teddy bears and heart shaped boxes. Maybe the sword it was for whumpees own good, that they did the things they did out of love…

Maybe whumper wasn’t nice, maybe they were just predictable, and the caretaker isn’t. It’s strange and foreign to be treated as a person, as a friend. Behaviors that used to bring comfort no longer do, because caretaker sees them as they are.

Or maybe whumper was a family member, a parent or sibling, and Whumpee can’t stop looking for what was supposed to be there. Like when you have a tooth pulled, and your tongue always finds the empty gap.

They don’t tell anyone they feel this way. After all, how could they? Who would understand? They don’t even understand themself.

[wine4thewin]

you’re so incredibly talented and i am in love with every inch of your work. with such phenomenal writing i’m extremely curious to know what your writing process is like and how you even come up with some of your plots/au’s in the first place. and have you made any hard or challenging writing/story choices as of late?? it’s such a treat to read your work and you’re so so so amazing.

☺️☺️☺️ I’m so utterly flattered, thank you x1000🥰 I’m glad my writing has been a source of entertainment!

My writing process has changed so much over the years and it’s always developing. I used to fly by the seat of my pants, but I realized that wasn’t what worked for me 😅 I couldn’t finish anything without a real plan!

~

Let’s start with ideas. That’s where things begin, right? I’ll be struck by a plot bunny or a character (usually spawned by a setting, like Zombie Apocalypse, Creepy Fairytale Vibes, Medieval Magic, Space Opera Horror, or Modern Very Dark Problematic Romance) and then I’ll try writing out a “book summary” to see if that idea might sound compelling. I think in terms of: what is the core drama, who is the main character, and who is their villain? (lol but make it enemies to lovers)

I want to know:

Where does this idea start? Why does a reader care?

Where is it taking us? What are turning points in the plot along the way?

How does it end?

✍️

I always think in terms of beginning middle end. 3 simple parts of an idea that make the idea a possible story. Sometimes, it takes me time to see the ending, so I start writing scenes to look deeper into the plot, waiting for an ‘aha’ moment.

I have written & completed massive fics just thinking in terms of 3 chapters. The starting drama, the middle crisis, and the final drama. Magically it grows from there as scenes appear 🤣 I think the 3 chapters is wishful thinking on my part.

~

It took me a few years to figure out I’ve always been a scene writer. This means I mentally work through a story in moments of time. I write out scenes that are important to me, even if they are completely out of order. It helps me shape the story as more scenes appear and I begin to place them in the beginning middle or end.

I sometimes outline in Excel, chapter by chapter. I notate time passing, what happens in each chapter, and what The Goal of each chapter is. I also try to incorporate character arcs. I do this mostly with my Original Fiction, because those are works upwards of 120,000 words.

If I outline in Word, I will bluntly write out a dry summary of what happens in the chapter and also any dialogue that I know off the bat is going to be critical. I mean, literally just write out what happens in each chapter in one doc. It feels strange, because you will want to elaborate, but this gets you writing without worrying about being perfect! Get the idea out there. The scene. The key moments. This helps find pace and purpose to each chapter. Every chapter must have a point!

Feelings: I want my reader to feel when they read. I will note in outlines what the goal is for the chapter, but also how people should feel. Are they disgusted by a choice the character has made? Or are they falling in love right alongside the character? Are they full of hate for the antagonist and whatever act they’ve just committed?

I consider the relationships and how they will change. Where they begin and how they end in the outline. I’m aggressive about seeing change in characters and their relationships…and it must make sense. I despise instant love and I hate when a morally grey character suddenly becomes a teddy bear after a few chapters and is “actually really nice” 🙄 That’s fake and unsatisfying. I will find ways to drag characters through emotional trials so that when they come together, the reader is like, “they feel like real people”.

I edit like crazy. Sometimes it takes hours. I will look at a chapter and determine if the emotional impact has been met or not. Does the change present look organic? Etc. very stressful shit and my eyes get so tired.

I will reiterate…there must be A Goal for each chapter. Do not ever write filler shit. No one likes it and you either lose readers or they skip it.

*

For inspiration and fun, I love finding pretty journals to use for anything that I want to work deeper on. This is for my original fiction. I’ll dedicate sections to a story and just work on what the story is about, who the characters are, dedicate entire pages to characters and their past, decorate everything with cool washi tapes and art stickers. I might draw out the rising drama diagram to visualize plot. I’ll even draw maps. It makes for a beautiful body of work to look back on and be like, ‘wow, I should go write that story!’

~

I like Masterclass for learning tips and tricks from different authors. For instance, I learned some interesting things from Neil Gaiman’s class a few years back that made such an impact. While I do not share the same writing process as NG at all, I took to heart a few key things:

*Dialogue & Voice: speak your lines of dialogue out loud. If it sounds unnatural, it’s probably something no person would say, therefore making your dialogue flat.

*Brainstorming: In your journal, write down everything you know about the story. Words. Places. Themes. Relationships. Symbols. Worldbuilding. Points of contention.

*“What happens next? And then what?”: Keep the reader turning the page. Do not write a chapter that does not keep your reader thinking. If it’s boring even to you, then you probably lost readers.

I always suggest at least doing a trial of Masterclass! There are so many great writers and you can find new ways of thinking just by listening to them. Some things are useful, some things aren’t. While I like Neil Gaiman’s class, I actually resonate with James Patterson far more, especially in process.

~

As for recent challenges, that usually revolves around my original fiction. I have projects I need to finish and I get distracted by writing fanfiction, which is fine because fanfiction is relaxing and less high stakes 🤣

As for fanfic, I have one project I’ve been stewing about doing and it’s something literally no one has asked for but me, so we’ll see if I ever post it lol. I had an ‘aha’ moment thinking about it last night. It was for the key turning point to reach an ending and it was diabolical. That character does not want me to bring them into the story, but oh well.

[monsterfloofs]

Muir (Male skelly creature) x Anonymous Reader (Sfw)

(There is this old oc of mine that likes to resurface once in a blue moon and whisper in my mind. “Hey, you’re a writer, you like telling stories, yes? Well, there’s this story that I would very much like you to weave, if you’re up to it.” The idea fades, and the character too, as new things spring into my thoughts, but Muir is a pretty persistent fellow, and as this is maybe the fifth time the idea has bounced back into my mind, I think it’s about time I do a little writing for them. This is Muir, a demigod-like creature who served a death goddess. However he lives among us now, and fills his time with collecting macabre little trinkets, things soaked in curses, and to the foolish that stumbles into his accursed shop, they might bring one of these items back home unknowingly. But don’t worry! He can get rid of that nasty curse. . . for a price <3

This is a story about a human who became his assistant.)

It was the crack of dawn, and you sat bleary eyed with your head bent over a warm cup of tea. The steam curling up to waft heat over your cheeks. You rotate the mug in your hands, trying not to nod off.

“Not much of a morning person, are you?”

You scrunch up your eyes and blink to focus your vision. Raising your sagging head with effort to look across the round table in the parlor. Muir sits patiently across the table from you, his hands neatly steepled together. Their smooth boney face unreadable except for the little flicker of light that appeared in one of their eye sockets. The glow forms an amused half moon shape in the murky depths of the skull. His skull resembled something like an elk with pronounced fangs on either side of their muzzle. Muirs dark bramble of spiraling antlers hung a manner of different trinkets that dangled and clinked when the great skeletal head moved. Some of the paraphernalia were ribbons with strange things written in unknown languages, keys, little charms made of precious metals and stones. In the right light you could barely make out a ghostly golden glimmer, an outline of feathery wings. A peculiar creature you had found yourself in the thralls of. A peculiar creature that happened to be your boss.

“So. . . why did you need me up so early?

Muirs gloved hands are the first things to move, his tone of voice hinting at excitement.

“Wait, until you see,” Their hulking shape turns, pulling out a satchel bag that had rested beside his feet. Muir pulls out a jar, and you tilt your head curiously. The jar's lid is wrapped with twine, flowers and plants carefully weaved over top of the lid. The contents of the jar looked like black ink. You tilt your head, leaning closer but jump back almost immediately. Eyes like boils starting to pop up in the swirling liquid. Bright eyes blinking and swirling around to look around before they glare suspiciously at you. Muir shakes the jar for good measure, and you watch in horror as the eyes swirl around and around, clearly dizzy from getting shaken.

“A demon!” Muir chirps as if merely he had shaken a very entertaining snow globe, rising from his chair.

“It will be perfect for my collection,” He chortles, you hastily scoot out of your own seat, following him out of the sunlit parlor. Watching the translucent wings fade from sight as he moves to the dark corridor with its many shelves. Many of them are filled to the brim with strange atrocities. A skull of a human, an eerily ticking pocket watch that grows steadily louder, pickled things, a black plush teddy bear with a big red bow, a drying gnarled hand or something you would rather not know the source of.

“You— if that thing ever escapes it’s going to kill you,” You observe.

Muir chuckles evenly, setting the jar on a high shelf. “It can try, I suppose.” The trinkets on their horns tinkle like windchimes as they turn around.

“Now!” The skeleton creature cheerfully exclaims, clapping their hands together. “I need a certain wonderful apprentice to sweep the floors for me,” They reach over, grasping the broom that was propped in a corner, holding it out for you. You scowl for a moment before you take the wooden handle with a defeated sigh.

“Sure, sure. . .”

“It will keep you out of trouble!” The demigod chuckles again, before they walk around you, quickly disappearing into the recesses of tall dark shelves.

“Keep me out of trouble,” you mumble, “Who will keep them out of trouble? Honestly.” You resign yourself to sweeping, keeping your head down and focused on your work. The air around you was still, a few golden flecks of dust float around you, illuminated by the rays of early morning sunshine that seep through the window. It isn’t until you wander back towards the corner to fetch a dustpan, that you hear a voice above you.

“Human child~” The voice hums, you pause before slowly looking up, the creature in the glass has it’s eyes locked on you. A few of the eyes floating closer to where you stood, pressing against its glass prison.

“I didn’t know you could talk,” You mutter faintly,

“Oh, I can do so much more than that,” The voice took on a poisonous honeysuckle tone, a frown forming on your lips.

“. . . I am sure you can.” With that, you turn on your heels.

“Wait! Wait. . .” The voice falters, just for a moment before resuming a cool and unbothered tone. “Clearly you’re not here because you want to be,” which has you pause midstep, “Lost at love,” They sigh, a feigned sound of empathy, “But I could help you with that, help you reclaim what you lost.”

“I. . .” You take in a short shaky breath, turning back around, watching the swimming pools of eyes light up triumpantly. Your lips crack into a bitter smile, and you shake your head.

“No. Something like that could never be reclaimed. I loved them, but they didn’t feel the same way. . . Besides, I’m already indebted to someone else.”

The eyes widen, blinking a couple of times, before they shift towards the direction of where your keeper had gone. The jar rattles, giving a frustrated sound before the eyes shift away from you. The contents of the jar turn solid black as the creature turns its back on you.

“You’re useless to me then,”

You give a surprised sound of laughter and shake your head in amusement. “Sorry to disappoint,” You joke, your tone light as you grabbed the dust pan. Continuing on with cleaning as the jar gives you the silent treatment.

[undertale-writing-times]

"can't believe you really got me all of this, you didn't need to!" With King?

This one took me so long ;3;

When you woke up this morning, it felt strange because King wasn't in the bed beside you. Normally, even if he woke up before you, he would be there snuggling up against you and would argue about getting up because he was comfortable. You knew that it was just because he wanted to cuddle with you more.

Cute dork.

So yeah, waking up without him in bed was... strange. "King?" You mumble, looking around. What the heck? You push yourself to get out of bed and shiver when your feet hit the ground.

Cold.

When you walked down the hallway to see exactly what was happening, you heard King talking, "Yes! I will gain Y/n's approval with my wonderful gifts. I know that they will love it." Then his normal laughter. Alpha makes a hum sound, which was just loud enough for you to hear.

He got you gifts? Aww, he remembered what day it was! How cute. You got him some gifts too. You knew that he said that he didn't want anything, but you also knew your datemate and knew that he would be upset if he didn't get a single thing. He just wanted to say that for whatever reason.

You and King have been datemates for a while now; he was the one to ask you out, which was a little funny. Sometimes he wasn't the best at being in a relationship. You've found out a lot of ways to get around it, though, so you weren't too bothered.

"King?" You say, walking into the kitchen. You saw him at the stove, making pancakes, and he looked over at you with big sockets.

"Ah! Y/n, I did not think you would be awake yet." He puts his hand to his chest, smiling as he spoke, "As you can see, I am making you breakfast. I have already finished a few things. Brother, do the thing." Alpha pulls the string on one of those party poppers, which blasted out red and pink confetti. Then King looks at you, smiling. He seemed excited for your reaction...

He always had a knack for overdoing things...

"You're so cute." You respond and laugh, walking over to kiss his cheek. "I love you so much." He chuckles, leaning into the touch, his cheeks flushed with his magic.

The two of you had breakfast, with Alpha doing his magic shortcut away to go and most likely hang with his 'girlfriend' as he called it. "Now! Gifts. You should go first," King told you. You laugh and nod, going to get the gift.

It was a silver chain necklace with a picture of you and him together in the heart shape, as well as some chocolate and a stuffed teddy bear. He seemed to REALLY like the necklace, putting it on right away with his tail wagging, and he looked at you, smiling, "Thank you for the gift..." His voice was shockingly soft. You liked it whenever he acted like this; it was like a thing that only you were really allowed to see.

"Now!" He stands up and starts to walk off, pointing forward. "Wait here for my return, Y/n!" He shouted back, and you heard the door open and close. You look down and sip from your tea.

He was nice to make you tea, too.

Honestly, King wasn't the best cook! Even if he wasn't, however, he was still kind enough to do it, so you weren't going to say anything about that. You wondered how Alpha felt about you? He seemed kind of weird.

"I am back!" King hurries back in, carrying a bag, and he sets it down in front of you. "I told you that I would get you a gift. There are so many things that I wanted to get you, but I had to deal with this." You look at him, then down at the huge bag that he gave you.

"Uh..." you let out a little laugh. "I can't believe you really got me all of this; you didn't need to!" You shake your head, holding up your hands. "I don't think I deserve all of this." He gave you a look and stuck out his tongue, which he literally had to summon to do so. "Don't say that. You are worth everything that I do for you! Now gift." he points at the bag, which makes you roll your eyes, smiling.

Man...

You really had the best datemate.