#all the puppet designs are adorable

[divineyetinpain]

Rivals? NOPE, JUST GAYS #lovewins

Marri belongs to : @mayo-wap

I just thought this was funny, theyre both poly and pan and in love with the big bug man.

(note: Clementine is not a welcome home oc, she is a character from my personal project, Sunshine Avenue🐞)

Alt version where they both call Howdy babygirl instead:

[sst4rdst]

synopsis : genshin boys and their red flags. pairing : childe, scaramouche, xiao, diluc x reader (no gendered pronouns used for reader) warnings : yandere tendencies, unhealthy relationships, mention of controlling and manipulative behavior, each red flag is a warning by itself. author's note : “i don't have favorites” then there's scara part.

overwhelming affection and attachment issues – childe.

childe was not ready for love. maybe he was never meant to love. at least, not in the way that softens his edges and tugs at his heart. and yet, the moment he met you, his world shifted. you were his before you even knew it.

he courts you with unwavering determination. flowers, grand gestures, breathtaking views, mora—he gives and gives, always one step ahead, always ensuring you are left breathless. but then you falter. you worry. you question if a harbinger can truly love, if he can truly stay.

oh, my love, he laughs, voice honeyed with something far too sweet.

his arms are around you before you can pull away, his lips ghosting over your skin in soft, adoring presses. do not doubt, do not fear. if you need reassurance, he will give it. in gifts, in words, in the quiet promise that you are his and he is yours. he will take you to snezhnaya, introduce you as his betrothed, whisper vows of eternity until the words are carved into your very soul.

he loves you. he loves you. he loves you.

and yet, as his devotion smothers, as the weight of his affection grows unbearable, you cannot help but wonder—when he swore to love you forever, did he mean it as a promise, or a threat?

anger issues/violence – scaramouche.

where were you even supposed to start with him? the balladeer, the sixth of the fatui harbingers, the puppet who had carved his own place into history with bloodied hands and a twisted grin. you sighed, arms folded as you leaned against the balcony of the grand estate he had forced into your possession. a mockery of a home, nestled in the land of inazuma—the place of his so-called birth. no, not birth. creation.

he had mansions scattered across teyvat, all under your name. because you were to be wherever he wanted, whenever he wanted. a doll didn’t get to choose where it was placed.

you flinched when the cloth brushed against your shoulder, the sting of the lightning-shaped scar sending a nauseating wave of sensation through you. still healing. still burning. you didn’t have to look to know what it resembled—something eerily close to an electro vision, elegant in design, delicate even. the thought made your stomach churn. he had called it a claim, a permanent engraving on your body, mind, and soul. you belonged to him. he wanted the world to see it.

scaramouche was flawless, sickeningly so. apologies fell from his lips like honey, each word perfectly crafted, a voice dipped in false sweetness. he touched you like you were something precious, fragile, irreplaceable. and yet, it was his hands that had carved this mark into you. love. if he was even capable of such a thing.

you cursed the day you fell for him. but it didn’t matter anymore. not when he had already made you his. not when he had already decided you were never leaving. to him, this was love. a lover’s touch. a lover’s proof. a lover’s possession. what was a little pain, a little blood, compared to the unwavering devotion he had for you? he had never abandoned you. he had never let you go. and that—wasn’t that enough?

of course, he lashed out sometimes. hurt you, left bruises that bloomed like violets under his grip, spat words that cut deeper than any blade. but no one was perfect. he certainly wasn’t, but neither were you. and if you ever dared to point that out, dared to tell him he was flawed, he would laugh—sharp and condescending, gaze slicing through you like a weapon. you? telling him he was in the wrong? how amusing.

had you forgotten every little mistake you made? every time you disobeyed, every moment you disappointed him? he would remind you of them all, recounting each one with that knowing smirk, every slip-up, every failure. yet despite it all, he still kept you by his side. he still loved you, still held you close, even when you were ungrateful. he had never truly hurt you—not on purpose. he had only made sure everyone knew what was his.

you had given yourself to him first. whispered those sweet words before he ever did. you started this. and he was going to make sure you never forgot it. his lips brushed against your scar, his breath warm, reverent. a devotion so twisted it bordered on worship.

overprotectiveness – xiao.

xiao does not understand human fragility. he has spent centuries watching them crumble beneath the weight of time, has witnessed their fleeting existence burn away like paper in the wind. when you stepped into his world, he warned you to leave. you did not. when he told you it was dangerous, that he was dangerous, you only smiled. and so, against all reason, he let you stay. you are the first thing he has ever wished to keep.

he touches you as if you are made of glass, eyes scanning your skin for the smallest of wounds. he does not know how to soothe, only how to watch. and so he does—silently, relentlessly, unblinking in his observation. you tell him he worries too much, that you are fine, that you are not as fragile as he believes. but then you fall ill, and his voice sharpens into something cold. you should have worn warmer clothes. you should have listened to him.

and when harm comes from another, when someone dares to insult you, to lay a hand on you, his restraint shatters. the yaksha is feared for a reason. you whisper his name through clenched teeth, hands grasping at his own in desperate plea. he does not hear you. he cannot. and as the air grows thick with something suffocating, something violent, you wonder—how do you stop a storm that exists only to protect you?

possessiveness – diluc.

diluc has always been protective. of his home, of his people—of you. his love is fierce, a fire that burns not to destroy, but to shield. to him, you are something precious, something fragile, something that must be kept safe at any cost. and he tries, oh how he tries, to remain composed. but love and fear are two sides of the same coin, and as his devotion deepens, so too does his paranoia.

are you safe? are you warm? are you happy?

he is willing to break himself apart for you, to strip himself down to nothing if it means you will never know pain. and yet, the more he loves, the tighter he holds. he sees danger where there is none—a lingering gaze, a friendly gift, a name spoken too fondly. do not speak to them, he tells you, they do not have good intentions. do not take that, it could be poisoned. do not stray too far, let me watch over you.

you need not think, you need not worry. whatever it is you desire, whatever it is you require—let him provide, let him be your everything. he loves you, after all. and love, surely, is meant to protect.

[the-halloween-jack]

Déjà Vu ✢ Jason Todd

Synopsis: When the reader's comms grow suddenly silent, Jason Todd's worst fear takes shape — not just the possibility of losing someone, but the cold, inescapable echoes of a past he could never bury. As he fights his way through the grime of Gotham City, one truth becomes undeniable: some nightmares never cease, they resurface. Jason Todd x Reader, female pronouns.

Warnings: Angst, graphic descriptions of violence, mentions of death, mentions of past domestic violence. Masterlist

Notes: This is my first Jason Todd piece after many years of reading them. Hopefully, it is the first of many <3

Words: 3,181k

The first hit split her lip.

The second sent her to her knees.

The third stole her breath, left her gasping, hands splayed in the warmth of her own blood beneath her.

‘Oh, sweetheart.’ He drawled, ‘I have to say—I love the symmetry of this.’ 

The Joker laughed, one hand gesturing to her, the other twirling the gruesome crowbar between his gloved fingers like a baton. Y/N spat red onto the warehouse floor, teeth bared with something akin to a smile, though it was distorted with her wrath. ‘Go to hell.’

He tutted, shaking his head as though he were a disappointed teacher. ‘Now, now, don’t be like that, darling. You should be honoured! Not just anybody gets a starring role in one of my reruns.’

Her knees remained on the glistening crimson concrete as she forced herself upright, muscles shrieking with the exertion. Y/N could feel the blood seeping into the fibres of her clothes; it was quickly turning cold. She was trembling. Weak. But she refused to stay down, to yield. She knew what this very situation had done to Jason — witnessed the wreckage it left in its wake. The man it had turned him into.

She would not grant Joker the satisfaction of her fear.

He sighed dramatically. ‘Honestly… I was hoping for a bit more fight from you; after all, I did a number on you.’ He waved the crowbar, a looming threat. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll keep the rest quick. After all, we wouldn’t want lover boy to catch the show.’

Jason.

Her heart slammed painfully against her ribs. She could not comprehend how he knew what Jason was to her. They had always been so careful.

He was coming. Y/N knew it; she could feel his pending presence like a tempest looming in the ether. But he would not make it here in time. That was the whole objective. The Joker had planned this, crafted it. It had all but nothing to do with her, he stitched it together like a grotesque puppet show designed solely to torment him.

Just as he had before.

Her whole form rattled with each sputtered breath; she swore she could feel her fragmented bones shift within her, but she forced herself to move, to push forward. There was something she yearned to tell him, something he needed to know; it was long overdue. If she could only stall, draw out this awful night, but she could only stretch so far before it would splinter. She could feel it; her life was drawn like a string, taut and thrumming. She feared with one more blow, it would snap under the strain. 

Y/N could not bear the thought of him finding her like this, discovering her body; it left a bad taste in her mouth, it burned bitter; she choked on it. 

The Joker noticed this. His wicked grin stretched wider, more daunting, eyes alight with sick amusement. ‘So you do have some fight left in you. That’s adorable.’

Then, he swung and her vision erupted with stars, they burned with a white-hot agony.

She barely felt herself hit the ground, as though her body was not hers anymore — it was something distant, something leaden, she could already feel reality receding. A small, bitter part of her recognised the poetry of it. Saw what the Joker was trying to achieve, the symmetry, as he had called it.

Y/N had spent so long learning how to crawl her way back from death. This could not be the exception. 

The Joker crouched beside her, his shoes shifting against the concrete, she watched them from her new place on the floor and stared as the newly shed blood glistened from his soles. 

‘Aw, don’t check out on me just yet, peaches. The real fun hasn’t even started.’

He reached out for her face as if in a caress, his gloved fingers grazing ever so gently down her cheek as though he had not just beaten her within an inch of her life. Bile rose in her throat at his touch; it burned like acid. 

She could barely see him now. Her vision was oscillating, black setting in at the edges. But she could hear him. She could feel the suffocating weight of inevitability settle over her like a burial shroud.

Jason was not going to make it, this realisation settled like a cold, unforgiving weight in her chest, smothering each breath she took. The fragile threads of hope she had held onto retreated into the abyss. Her heart ached, as the cruel truth settled over her — Jason would arrive too late. He would never hear the words she so desperately longed to convey, the unspoken confession burned in her chest, restricted by time.

She was not going to survive this, the Joker would never allow it. Jason would find her like this, broken, derelict. She would not get the chance to explain. 

He leaned in close now, breath hot against her ear; it sent a shudder down her form. ‘I adore the symmetry I’ve created thus far, there’s only one thing left to do; I want him to see the damage I’ve done.’

‘Y’know,’ he murmured, still close to her face, voice low and sweet like the whisper of a lover, ‘he’s never gonna forgive himself for this.’

She ached to tell him he was wrong — that Jason would endure. That she would be okay. That he would not be unmade by this. But the words curdled in the warmth of her throat, thick with blood, the murk coiled around her like a patient tide, she was already ebbing from the world, conceding to its darkness.

Joker pulled away, sighing. ‘Ah well. C’est la vie.’

He stepped aside, allowing a red glow to seep into her stunted view — steady, unrelenting, and ominous. Her wavering vision had the numbers mangle into indistinct shapes, but she required no clarity. Y/N already knew what they meant. She braced herself, eyes fluttering shut. 

Jason could feel it like a thrum, like static in the air, like pressure boring into his skull. He grew tense, as though a spectre gripped the back of his neck in an unrelenting grasp. The comms had gone silent. Her comms. She never went silent.

His fingers wreathed tighter around the throttles of his bike as Gotham blurred past him, neon lights receding into its gloom as he tore through the streets. The city was too loud, too alive, too unaware of what was festering beneath its surface.

His mind clawed at the last words she had said before the line cut out, ‘I’ve got it, Jay. Don’t worry.’

But he did worry. He always worried. And now that worry had shifted into something sharp and breathless, twisting deep in his chest; he fought for air.

A crackle in his ear. Tim. ‘Jason…’ 

‘Where is she?’ He did not like the desperation in his voice, but he could not quell it.

A pause. Too long. Too weighted.

Then, a sigh. ‘An abandoned warehouse off of Dock 52.’

He was already turning the bike. Already forcing the engine to its limit. He ran red lights and tore through intersections, deaf to the horns, blind to the people, heedless to everything but the address burning itself into his mind, searing to his vision.

A warehouse.

His stomach plummeted. He knew what that meant.

He knew what would happen there.

He knew what Joker planned to do.

His pulse pounded in his ears. His breath turned shallow, quick and useless. His grip on the handlebars was white-knuckled, and his mind — his mind was a reel of tainted memories, a horror film of times gone past. This was not happening. This was not happening. This was not —

‘Jason.’ Dick’s voice this time. Steady. Trying to ground him. It only made it worse.

‘We’ll get her.’

But the problem was —

Jason already knew he was too late. It could never be that easy.

The flames licked and devoured the crumbling ruins around him, their heat pressed against his skin, yet somehow — he had never felt colder. It was the awful crimson that had first caught his eye; her body, once so strong and sure, now lay in a heap, decrepit and ghastly in a pool of her own blood. He did not recall making his way to her beaten frame, but abruptly, his knees had hit the concrete, a hollow, sickening sound swallowed by the vast emptiness of the desolate space. With trembling fingers, he reached for her and pulled her into his embrace.

Blood crept up his knuckles, stark and seeped within the crevices of his pale, illuminated skin.

It crept beneath his fingernails.

Her blood.

His hands shook violently with this foul revelation. The warehouse smelled of rust and rot, of soot and smoke, of something macabre. Shadows stretched against the walls, twisted structures caught in the flickering light of bare bulbs, but Jason could not see them. He could not perceive anything beyond her.

His breath was trapped somewhere in his ribs, clawing at his throat, fighting its way out as a broken, trembling sob.

No. No, no, no, no —

She was still warm.

That was the worst part.

Her body had not yet caught up with the brutal finality of her death. He had been close, so close. The blood that seeped from her skull was fresh, staining the floor, staining him, sinking into the creases of his clothes, into the cracks of his skin, imbibing itself into his very bones.

He glanced unwillingly to his side and saw a joker card weighed down by a battered crowbar. It was left there to taunt him; he felt a stinging pain rise in his throat.

He already knew this story.

He had lived this story.

Jason pressed a shaking hand to her cheek, fingers skimming over the torn skin of her temple. Her head lolled, lifeless, into his palm. His vision blurred. The world was shattering around him, the air closing in too fast, too tight.

This was not supposed to happen. Not again. Not to her. Not her.

A choked sound wrenched itself from his throat, raw and brutal. He wanted to tear the world apart, wanted it to burn, wanted to take everything Joker had ever touched and reduce it to ashes, bone and dust.

But there was no world left to destroy. His world lay broken in his arms.

‘Jason —’ a voice called from somewhere behind him. Distant. Muffled beneath the rush of blood pounding in his ears. ‘Jason, we need to —’

‘No.’

It came out hoarse, a ragged snarl carved from the wreckage of his throat. Hands were on him now — Dick’s, maybe Tim’s, he did not care— they tried to pry him away, tried to separate him from the only thing that mattered. He wrenched free, curling over her like a shield, as though if he were to hold her tightly enough, he could put her back together, force her into place, will her soul back beneath her skin.

He loved her.

And he had failed her.

Jason felt something unravel within him, something fragile and irreparable. The grief inside him was not humane. It was raw, feral — a grief that gnawed at the edges of reason, hollowing him out until only the cavern of what he had been remained.

‘Jason,’ Bruce said, he did not remember him arriving. Bruce was quieter than the others, as if his words would be enough to stop the sky from collapsing, as though it would be enough to salvage what had already been destroyed. ‘We need to bring her home.’

Home.

The word felt like a mockery. 

He swallowed back the scream rising in his chest. She was his home. His arms curled tighter around her, his forehead pressing against hers, his breath shuddering as it ghosted over her cooling lips. He wanted to wake up. He wanted to rewind time. This could not be real.

But there was no waking up from this.

Joker forced her from him in the same manner he had taken him from Bruce. And this time, Jason had been the one who arrived too late.

History had repeated itself.

And she had fallen victim to it.

He was still holding her hand.

It was cold now, sickly. She looked like stone under the low light of the cave, sculpted into something reverent, something holy. If he were any weaker, he might have prayed. But there was never a god in Gotham, only ghosts, only graves.

His grip tightened.

‘Jason,’ Dick had murmured from over the threshold. He had the tone of someone who knew he had already lost his battle but was too stubborn to walk away. ‘You need to rest.’

Jason did not answer. What was the point? None of them understood. Not Bruce, who had watched him succumb to the same fate, but had seemingly not suffered the same. Not Dick, who had watched on. Not Tim, not Damian. They had not been shattered and put back together wrong. They had all known loss, but none of them — none of them — had lost her.

They tried again, in softer voices. Even Alfred, placing a hesitant hand on his shoulder, spoke to him like a wounded animal. Jason did not move. He did not blink. He barely breathed.

They would not take her from him.

Eventually, they left him with her. Hours passed, or maybe minutes, or maybe lifetimes. He did not know. He just stayed, his thumb running absently over her knuckles, tracing circles into the skin. He should have been there sooner. He should have known. He should have —

Her fingers twitched.

Jason flinched, tearing his gaze from the blank, hollow of her face and down to their hands laying connected, both now dried crimson with her blood. The movement had been so slight he almost thought he had imagined it. His chest was hollowed out, a cavern scraped raw, and his mind was cracked wide with grief. He must have been seeing things.

Then it happened again.

Her breath hitched. Her shoulders jerked. A sharp inhale wrenched her back into her body, into the cage of her skin, into the cold and then to him.

Jason scrambled to his feet, the gurney rattling with the force of his pushing away. The world tilted, his stomach plummeting because this was not — this was not possible. His hands shook as he pulled away, as he stared down at her, heart hammering like a war drum in his ribs.

‘What —’

‘Jason,’ she whispered, barely audible, as though she was speaking through water, through a fog, through the thousand miles that should exist between her and life.

He stumbled back. No, no, this was not — it could not —

She pushed herself up on her elbows, slow, deliberate, blinking the haze from her eyes. Her gaze swept the room before settling on him. He looked wrecked, as though he were unravelling at the seams.

‘I… I don’t — ’ he choked out, but his voice barely worked. ‘I held you. You weren’t breathing. You were dead.’

‘I was.’ Her voice was solemn, yielding. 

He took another step back, shaking his head, trying to force this into something he could make sense of. But there was no logic here, no reason. Only his own past being referenced before him.

She watched him for a moment. Then, gently, she reached for his hand.

‘Let me explain.’ Her voice was soft, pleading.

Jason moved, did not resist, just let himself be drawn back in. The contact burned through his clothes, through his skin, down to the bones that had once shattered against the Joker’s crowbar, just as hers had.

She exhaled, steadying herself, and then began.

‘I was seven the first time I died.’

Jason felt something splinter in him, he drew in a quick breath.

‘My father…’ she trailed off, lips pressing into a thin line. A flicker of something old and ruined crossed her face before she buried it again. ‘Though he didn’t mean it. He was by no means… kind. And he…’ 

She halted her words a muscle in her jaw twitching.

Jason’s fingers tightened in hers. His heart was still hammering, still trying to keep up with a reality that had seemingly stumbled sideways.

‘My… return shocked him.’ Jason did not like the implications behind her words, they made him sick, but he let her continue. 

‘He needed to know how I survived it; he hated the uncertainty. So he…’ She paused again, eerily composed. ‘— experimented. I always woke up. I always came back.’

Jason’s stomach twisted, nausea creeping up his throat like acid. This was too vile. Too raw. The thought of her helplessness, her fear, and the cycle of pain she had been subjected to was enough to debilitate him. The air suddenly tasted like metal, sharp and bitter, but it was nothing compared to the taste of rage searing through his veins. 

He stepped back and stood still, his fists clenched so tightly that his nails bit into his palms, but still, his breath remained steady, almost serene. The world around him felt muted, like a muffled beat, the edges of his vision fading to red with the sudden weight of this truth. He could not believe that someone meant to nurture and cherish her could cause her such anguish. Anger, raw and relentless, rose, it begged for vengeance. Wherever this foul man resides, he must pay; but not yet. 

He watched as she sat pouting, she was not happy that he had drawn himself away from her, so he stood forward once more and grabbed her still outstretched palms.

She quickly enveloped his hands, grounding him. ‘I was afraid to tell you,’ she admitted, sheepish. ‘I thought you might look at me differently.’

Jason let out a hollow, humourless laugh. ‘Differently?’

Her lips twitched, almost amused, almost sad. ‘I know it’s ironic, if anyone would understand, it was you. I know, it’s a lot.’

A lot. Right. That was one way to describe the phenomenon. All Jason knew was that his world had imploded, that the grief that had so recently shifted him into something unrecognisable, was chased away with relief coiled so tightly in his gut he thought he might shatter beneath it.

But all he did was drag her forward, arms closing around her so tightly he could not be sure where he ended and she began.

‘I was going to bury you,’ he rasped against her shoulder, shaking. ‘Bury you.’

‘I know,’ she whispered, fingers curling into the leather of his jacket. ‘I’m sorry. I should have told you sooner.’

He exhaled shakily, pressing his face into her hair, trying to anchor himself to the warmth of her; the solid weight of her in his arms. Alive. But the moment ended too soon as light flooded suddenly into the room. Jason and Y/N turned, eyes narrowing begrudgingly toward the interruption, only to be met with a group of gaping faces that stood shocked beyond the threshold.

Every comment and piece of advice is welcomed and appreciated <3 On a side note, the reader's ability to come back from the dead and the father's experimentation that then follows was inspired by a character from a different source material. I'm not going to say who because it is a spoiler for anyone who may end up watching the show, but I wonder if any of you picked up on the allusion.

[lynk-zee]

Their Children…

DISCLAIMER: Can be taken as science babies if you so need ☺️

Zayne would want to name your daughter Jasmine, after his favorite flower. Next to you, she is the light of his life. Jasmine looks like a mini version of you but with Zayne’s black hair and green eyes. The perfect combination of your love. She would share his love for sweets, and his disdain for dentist visits. On his days off, Zayne would take her to the bakery to indulge in macarons, bringing home a dozen for you when you get back from your missions. The sweetest thing of all is when she saw the “MD” on his lab coat, she said proudly that it meant “my daddy”. Vacations to Snowcrest are a must. He loves teaching his little girl how to ice skate and sled with the dogs. Zayne would debate getting a sled dog for her as a pet when she’s older. After a day out on the snow, all he wants to do is cuddle up with his family in front of the fireplace whilst drinking hot cocoa.

Rafayel would have some sort of light-hearted rivalry with his son. He and Arael both just want your attention. When Arael sends him a smug look when you gush over his finger painting, it’s war. The little snot looks just like him too— except he has your eyes. Something Arael rubs in Rafayel’s face whenever he can. Their “rivalry” is nothing serious. If you ever feel like they’re going too far, just ignore the both of them. They’d end up presenting you with a painting they worked on together as an apology. Despite their strange dynamic, Rafayel adores his son as the next prince of Lemuria. So of course he spoils the shit out of him. Designer everything. He’s even gotten Arael and himself matching outfits for aesthetic photos. Your bougie boys.

Xavier absolutely adores his twins. He rounds up the plushies for playtime, creating daring missions for his little hunters to complete with their foam swords. Gently, he’ll correct their posture, reminding them that good technique starts with the back, as they wobble on their chubby little legs. Sometimes you’ll find the three of them passed out in the library, a fairytale book slipping out of Xavier’s hands as the little ones join him for an impromptu nap session. Xander and Lexie both have his blonde hair and blue eyes, complete replicas of him. When it’s time for bed, you and Xavier make shadow puppets using his light evol to tell them stories and put them to sleep.

[amarynthian-chronicles]

Rulemaker AU

Manager Y/N, given the task to supervise the recently renovated Plex after it had burnt down under mysterious circumstances several years prior, deals with the precarious and dangerous legacy of the location. Monsters linger underground and spirits wander the halls by night.

The Daycare had been transformed into a theatre area, where Sun and Moon reign supreme as separate animatronics, finally enjoying the thrill of being adored by an audience once more. Various performances are given, from sublime and serious classical pieces, all the way to innocent puppet shows to entertain the children.

Sun relishes the opportunity to enchant thousands each day, making the audience wish for more. Moon plays a wonderful and devilish villain in many plays, a frightening and charming presence, descending onto the stage from wires or silken ribbons

They call Y/N their "darling rulemaker", teasing and taunting their cute little manager at any given moment, placing ridiculous complaints and demands, compensating for having been so neglected by management during the old Pizzaplex days. The two jesters are amused with how Y/N does their best to remain unphased by their nonsense, even when Sun sneaks a hand kiss or when Moon playfully places flowers in Y/N's hair as he passes them by. After all, a jester should be gallant with their aristocrat.

A security protocol pulses in Sun and Moon's inner systems, designed to awaken each time the two sense danger or a threat to both the Plex and those within it. Their minds forge a telepathic bond and together they think as one, forming a consciousness known as Eclipse. Intruders and robbers meet their gruesome fate at the hands of cackling jesters, eyes of silver and eyes of crimson glowing in the darkness as the celestial animatronics chase down their prey. Y/N is definitely not in a good mood when they find the walls smeared in blood in the morning. Not even when little hearts and stars are drawn around various unhinged messages such as "have we served our rulemaker well?" Fortunately, Y/N has plenty of coffee to keep dealing with such nonsense.

[borkunlimited]

Take Your Time, Miss Deer (Sylus x Reader) - Ch. 2

In a tailor shop tucked in the calmer side of the N109 zone is a little room where all clothes of many different designs come together under the delicate hands of an unassuming deer living in the den of all sorts of beasts and sitting on them is the dragon who wears your clothes.

Your many interactions with Skye, Mr. Sylus’ messenger or-

-Sylus is waiting for you to finally figure out he is playing his own messenger.

A Deer Hybrid! Reader x Dragon Hybrid! Sylus Fic

Tags: Sylus x Reader, Hybrid AU, Suggestive Themes, Fluff, Predator/Prey

AO3

Ch. 1 / Ch. 2 / Ch. 3 / Ch. 4 / Ch. 5 / Ch. 6 / Ch. 7 / Ch. 8 / Ch. 9 / Ch. 10 / Side A / Side B

2: My Dearest, Cherished

Daisy hopped about, shifting through the box of your growing collection of hair accessories opened in front of you.

“Oh, you want me to wear this one?”, you asked the little bird holding out its chosen hairpin towards you using its beak.

The crow gave you a small nod and you studied the accessory before putting it on. It is the most recent gift Mr. Sylus gave you, the one brought by his bodyguard, Skye, and a small giggle escaped your lips, a faint blush on your face on how the small accessory is almost realistic, and reminded you of a stray butterfly deciding to land on your hair.

As always, Mr. Sylus seemed to select the perfect gifts.

It almost makes you feel that you are pretty.

You bit your lip at the thought and looked at the side, avoiding the gaze of your reflection on the mirror silently judging you for even thinking of such and for a moment, a hint of embarrassment and guilt filled your mind.

Mr. Sylus is just being kind to you.

Daisy peered at you curiously, as if confused by your sudden change of demeanor, watching you absentmindedly play the end of your braid and look at your shoes.

“Good afternoon, Miss Deer!”

A cheery voice called out to you and your eyes immediately landed at two pairs of pointed wolf ears poking out over the ledge of the studio’s window, each holding up almost identical wolf puppets.

“Your favorite twins are here!”

“Mr. Sylus’ most loyal henchmen at your service!”

The thoughts bothering you awhile ago were put aside, your steps quick with Daisy taking perch on one of your antlers while you put yourself in front of the window on this makeshift puppet show held by Mr. Sylus’ twin messengers, Luke and Kieran.

Luke quickly took a peek to check if they managed to get your attention and he had to stifle a chuckle upon seeing your deer ears perked up, clearly excited, with Mephisto (or as you call the boss’ crow, ‘Daisy’) peering curiously at them. He gave his younger brother a thumbs-up and Kieran’s tail wagged.

They have always been fascinated watching you put together colorful fabrics every time they drop off the boss’ gifts to you and perhaps video games have become boring recently that they decided to pick up another hobby to pass time in between planning pranks and doing the dirty work on the boss’ behalf.

After a few band-aids around their fingers and repeating stitches, the time has come to finally show off their handiwork to you.

“Oh, looks like we have an audience, Kieran.”

“Is that so, Luke? We shouldn’t disappoint them then.”

“You must be wondering why we are here on this beautiful afternoon, aren’t you, Miss Deer?” Luke asked through the little puppet he is holding, using a high and false voice.

They have grown to also look after you willingly, the object of their boss’ affections, having interacted with you directly every time they deliver Sylus’ gifts to you. Despite multiple visits, their adoration grew further on that fateful visit when they came out of a sudden skirmish on their way to you with small tears on their coats.

Who felt it first anyways? 

Luke? 

Kieran? 

What each twin knows is the surge of warmth, unfamiliar but certainly welcomed, while they sit on their haunches, observing you while you sit by the window of your studio, fixing their clothes for them under the warm glow of the lamp.

They each received a kiss on the forehead through their masks after that and ever since then, it was not only Sylus’ approval they sought but yours as well.

“Did Mr. Sylus asked you to deliver a gift again?”, you asked, tilting your head curiously at them, or at least their little puppets, and the sound of their tails thumping against the hardwood floor of the balcony grew louder.

“Mr. Sylus did not ask them to deliver a gift.”

All of you turned towards the source of the voice and you smiled, immediately recognizing your latest visitor.

“Good afternoon, Skye. What brings you here?”, you greeted him, and Sylus walk beside you, a bouquet of daisies in his hand that he set on your work table and a look of satisfaction crossed his face upon noticing you are wearing the one of the hairpins he gifted you.

You look so charming wearing his gifts as usual.

His gaze moved towards Mephisto and he had to resist the urge to roll his eyes when he saw his creation using your antlers as a perch. 

A. Perch.

It did not help that you don’t mind at all.

“Good afternoon, sweetheart,” he answered, and he turned towards the twins who were conveying their curiosity towards his sudden appearance by tilting the heads of their wolf puppets. “And to answer your question, I am the one that Mr. Sylus sent today to deliver your gift, not these two wolf cubs.”

And also not the crow who also has the audacity to also tilt its head towards him, as if surprised its master is here.

All of them (aside from him, of course) don't have any reason to be in your studio but here they are.

“Oh, just passing by, boss,” Kieran spoke, standing up together with his brother and jumping inside through the window.

“We’re not slacking off, we swear!”, Luke added.

Right and he isn’t the most wanted man in this country.

“And yet here you are,” Sylus answered, clearly amused at how the two are showing off their work to you, “Holding a puppet show for miss seamstress.”

You are clearly having fun shaking hands with their little puppets from the looks of it, your attention fully directed towards the twins.

Cute.

You are absolutely cute right now.

Sylus isn’t angry at all.

He finds it endearing, in fact. First it was Mephisto parading the ribbon you tied around its neck back at the base and now these two are joining in the fun, wearing neck scarves you have also sewn for them. A gift from you because you said you are having a difficult time identifying who is who according to them.

“We’re actually delivering our own gift this time, boss,” Luke answered and he pulled out a deer hand puppet from his coat, handing it to you.

“Made it ourselves, Miss Deer,” Kieran added, watching you slip on the puppet on your hand, a wide smile on your face and then made it tilt its head on the twins’ own puppets.

If Sylus thinks you shaking hands with the wolf puppets is absolutely cute, then this is another level.

“You did very well,” you praised the two boys and you can clearly see the dedication put into it. You assumed they learned on their own based on the stitches and it takes you back during the time you first learned how to sew by making your own plushies.

“Don’t worry, boss, we haven’t forgotten about you,” Luke spoke, and Sylus let out a huff of amusement but accepted the gift from Kieran.

A dragon puppet. How fitting.

Now all four of you can actually stage a puppet show at this point.

They have really outdone themselves this time, haven’t they? (and he is actually proud of them too).

“I’m honored,” Sylus answered dryly, slipping on the hand puppet and letting you examine it, “Are you going to start handing us the script as well?”

“Oh, we haven’t thought about that,” Kieran mused.

“But that is certainly a good idea, don’t you think?”, Luke nudged his brother and his twin nodded, a silent agreement passing between them. Would the boss participate in their little puppet show? They don’t know but he surely will if you are in it and-

-One quick look is enough for them to know you are more than eager to do so, your eyes twinkling as you gaze fondly at the puppet they made for you, your fingers gently running on its ears.

Back to the drawing board it is.

Sylus does not have to see the expression beneath the masks they are wearing, their wagging tails alone is a dead giveaway and he let out a silent scoff when the the twins raised their puppets, using it to kiss both of your cheeks.

Not only did you allow them to do so but you gave each of them a kiss on the forehead too.

“See you at the base, boss!”, Luke gave him a mock salute before jumping out of the window with his brother. Mephisto also took it as a cue to leave after quickly preening your hair and receiving a kiss from you on the top of its head.

All of these things happened. Right in front of him. Their boss. He quickly pushed the jealous thoughts about to resurface aside, his annoyed expression replaced by a lazy smirk.

“Enjoying your gift, sweetie?”, Sylus asked, looking down at you and he arched his brow when he noticed you were studying him.

Did you finally figure it out?

You didn’t answer his question, instead, you raised your deer puppet inches from his face, and then asked, “Why did they call you ‘boss’, Skye?”

“Why indeed,” he mused, raising his own dragon puppet to face yours, “Do you need a hint, sweetie?”

No, you don’t need a hint. His towering figure is enough for you to realize that he is the someone who issues out orders. His clothes clearly point out that he has sufficient budget to dress up nicely and it only means one thing.

How could you not realize it sooner?

“You’re-”, you started slowly.

This is it. His tail swishes side by side, and he is almost surprised at how excited he is right now, eager to end this charade and to finally hear you say it. 

To say his actual name.

“I’m...?”, he encourages, almost holding his breath in anticipation.

The beating of his heart seemed to grow louder, his eyes trained on your lips, your expression bright which he assumed was because you realized that the beloved client you have been wanting to thank is here, right now, inside your studio.

“You’re the boss henchman of all Mr. Sylus’ henchmen!”, you proclaimed.

And there it is.

How? How is it you are capable of figuring out how to sew the intricacies of the clothes he requests from you but it is taking you so long to piece together his real identity?

He had to stop himself from letting out a frustrated sigh at your answer, his smirk straining a little slightly and then he let out a chuckle.

So close. You are so close but it looks like he needs to drop more hints, to let you figure out this mystery on your own.

“Is that so, sweetie?”, he replied, tapping the nose of your deer puppet with the snout of his own puppet, “I supposed I am.”

“Do you see Mr. Sylus everyday then, Skye?”, you asked him, your puppet now posing as it is thinking, wondering about the identity of your mysterious (and shy)  patron.

Of course, he does. Every morning and evening, in fact. He just had to look at any mirror  to see himself.

“I do,” he answered casually, then he leaned forward with his puppet who looked like he was about to share something private, “Do you want to know a secret, miss seamstress?”

You nodded eagerly, your puppet reflecting your action and he chuckled in amusement. Perhaps you have been around the company of beasts that reside here in the N109 zone for so long that your little deer instincts have now faded. 

It is certainly alarming to see you not fleeing from a fiend like him but then again, that is why he is here to make sure no other beasts in this place or anywhere for that matter would sink their fangs on that neck of yours.

Except him, of course.

His smirk grows, your ear twitching due to his proximity and your soft fur grazing his nose for a moment. It was so tempting to take in your scent, to bury his nose on the slope of your neck to savor the aroma of cotton and wildflowers. 

Your expectant gaze at him made him chuckle before speaking. Your eyes reminded him of a deer who is a few steps away from leaving her meadow and into the dark forest where the dragon resides.

“Mr. Sylus is very, very fond of you, sweetheart,” he whispered.

You suddenly took a step back away from him, blushing at the secret he just shared to you.

If he walks towards you, would you take a step back?

“Why so shy all of a sudden, little doe?”, he asked playfully, observing you hide your face behind the puppet you are holding up, “Do you like him back?”

Of course you like Mr. Sylus. You like his gestures of gratitude and how he looks after this tailor shop even when he has never set foot here, and because of it, this place has become one of the few neutral zones scattered across the N109 zone where any disputes or fights are not allowed.

Yet, Skye seemed to imply something else but maybe you are just reading into it too much.

“No, I don’t,” you shook your head, hoping that your blush would disappear when you do.

“Such a bad liar,” Sylus tutted, thoroughly amused to see you taking another step back as he closes the distance between the two of you. He could hear the beating of your heart and you shuddered when his tail wrapped around your ankle while you used your puppet to cover your face from him.

“I am not lying.” “Oh, I think you are.”

Instead of moving your puppet aside, he raised his to hug yours instead and just the thought that it is him and you is enough for his tail to tightened its hold.

“Terrible liars aren’t cut for making good excuses, sweetie,” he said, closing the distance between the two of you and it was so amusing watching you shift back and forth.

“I don’t like Mr. Sylus.”

“Do you? And here I thought you wanted to meet him.”

Beneath his playful answer was a hint of warning. He isn’t going to accept any other answer aside from what he wanted to hear but he waited patiently, his eyes narrowing slightly towards you who is looking at anything else but him.

Why is Skye teasing you so much? Sure, you may have had a crush slight admiration towards Mr. Sylus during the early days of the shop but that all went out of the window when you heard that the man is a hundred years old.

A hundred years old.

It is then you realized the gifts must be him being a polite and kindly old gentleman.

“I do want to meet him!”

“Didn’t you say you don’t like him? Best to choose a side, sweetheart.”

“I like him as a friend. Not the way you think.”

“As a friend?”, Sylus repeated, his tail uncoiling itself from your ankle, flicking in annoyance with your answer. “All this time, you think all of his gifts are tokens of friendship?”

You are more oblivious than he thought or maybe he should step up his game to spell it out for you.

“But-”, you stammered.

“But what, little doe?”, he replied, his eyes slightly. Why do you look so terrified? Did you finally realize that a dangerous man is infatuated with you? Took you so long.

“He’s a hundred years old, Skye!”, you exclaimed.

There was a moment of silence after your outburst.

Of all the rumors circulating about him, the speculation about his age is the one that reached your ears and you just had to believe the most ridiculous one. Not that he is a dangerous man who leaves no survivors in his wake or eats his enemies.

No, you chose to believe he is a dusty, old geezer.

You thought he was an old gentleman all this time who is just being polite

That does it. After his visit here, he will look for the smart person who spread lies about his age.

“Sweetie,” he chuckled softly, amused at the little frown on your face when he pokes your cheek with the snout of his puppet, “He’s not even close to his thirties.”

Perhaps you can take his word for it because he does work for Mr. Sylus. If Skye is already imposing, for sure, Mr. Sylus is as well. Every client of yours that happens to also be his business associate all claim his presence commands the room. That one look from him is enough for you to know your place.

They make him sound mean but then again, you did tailor his business attire with dark fabrics.

Would he be angry when you assumed he was a very old man? You really hope Skye won’t tell.

“What does he look like then?”, you asked.

He looks like me, sweetie.

Sylus had to bite the inside of his cheek to blurt out his initial answer and the hopeful look on your face almost cracked his resolve on keeping up with this charade. Instead, he sighed dramatically, making his puppet shake its head.

“That’s for me to know and you to find out,” he answered and your ears drooped miserably. “Mr. Sylus is a very private man.”

Your sad gaze made Sylus decided that teasing is done for today. Not when his sweet deer is looking at him as if he shooed her away.

“Don’t give me that look, darling deer,” he sighed, reaching for the bouquet of daisies he brought with him and tucking a flower near one of your antlers.

You didn’t reply, your eyes averted at the side with your ears still drooping.

“Mr. Sylus wouldn’t be too happy to see his favorite tailor all sulking now,” he chided, adding another daisy on your hair. 

“Don’t tell him I thought he was a hundred years old,” you said quietly, shifting back and forth anxiously and hoping that Mr. Sylus’ tall bodyguard would be as kind as his twin henchmen.

Sylus huffed, chuckling softly at your innocent request as he reached out to gently still you so he could tuck another daisy on your hair.

“Don’t worry, sweetie. Your secret is safe with me,” he answered, setting the bouquet back on the table and you laughed softly when his puppet’s mouth playfully pinched your nose and he grinned when he saw your short tail wagging in response.

“Thank you, Skye.”

“Anything for you, miss seamstress.”

────────────────────

Initially, your father dismissed the first time Sylus visited.

He did not mind the tall dragon hybrid taking a look around the shop because Sylus is the reason why he was able to build this place in the first place.

The second time Sylus visited, well, that is something your father knew he should keep a closer eye at.

Especially when Sylus himself is personally giving a bouquet of flowers to you.

Your father is glad no one was at the shop today or else the other clients who saw that will talk and the last thing he wants is you, his sweet daughter who has dedicated her life to sewing clothes, be the center of gossip.

He heard your soft laughter behind the closed door of your studio and oddly enough, it was surprising to hear Sylus speak to you so fondly.

What he doesn’t understand is why you are calling Sylus using a different name.

“Mr. Sylus,” your father greeted him as he stepped back at the receiving area of your shop, “I hope you enjoyed your visit today.”

Sylus gave your father an easy smile, all of his affectionate demeanour reserved just for you hidden behind a polite mask. One look is enough for him to see the older deer hybrid’s suspicion towards him.

This is the look of a deer who had caught the scent of danger.

“Good afternoon,” Sylus greeted, inclining his head, “Yes, I did.”

Sylus’ gaze lingered towards the door to your studio and oh how he is already looking forward to his next visit, to simply watch his sweet tailor caught up in the world of cloth and needle. So clueless, ignorant on the meaning of his gifts.

“I am glad to hear that,” your father replied politely, “Please do take care on your way back.”

Your father is afraid but it wouldn’t be wise to show Sylus his fear. This isn’t the look of an investor who is simply interested in how his many ventures are fairing.

No, he will always recognize this look everywhere.

Finally, the gifts had made sense. Those gifts are not gestures of gratitude. It is so much more personal.

Those are Sylus’ subtle attempts to win your heart.

“Thank you, I will,” Sylus gave him one last nod, a polite smile before making his way outside the shop, the chimes announcing his departure.

Oh, Sylus will keep coming back here, again and again. It does not matter how many times and he will keep doing it-

Until finally you will recognize him.

Until finally you call him by his real name.

Until finally you are his.

────────────────────

AO3

Ch. 1 / Ch. 2 / Ch. 3 / Ch. 4 / Ch. 5 / Ch. 6 / Ch. 7 / Ch. 8 / Ch. 9 / Ch. 10 / Side A / Side B

[threepandas]

Bad End: In Bad Faith

Summoning spells hurt.

Reality? It doesn't want to let you go. Whether you see it or not, you are attached. Part of the very fabric of the universe. Your atoms blending into the mess that is creation, on a level so small, that the human eye can not possibly catch it. Where you begin and end? Doesn't. Not really.

We are part of a tapestry, incomprehensible in scope. Mere designs. Details. Parts of it's ever sprawling beauty and horror. And? Woven in as we are? Part of it, as we are?

It does not want to let go.

Will, in fact, FIGHT not to let go. To Summon? Is an unnatural act. Many, foolishly, believe it's not. But... that is because they mistake Transportation magics with Summoning. With swapping a design's location upon the weave... with ripping it OUT.

In one? You take what is not yours. In the other? You're just rearranging what's there.

Nature (and indeed, the very Gods themselves) abhor Summonings, along with the vacuums they create. So, one must ask; How could they be called "Holy"? Such a painful, unnatural, divinely detested thing? Who in their right mind, would EVER do such a thing? Would cross the very Gods, as Summon in Their Name?

King's of course.

High Priests of the Holiest of Temples. Rich in gold and jewels, power and influence. Full of decadence and the surety of their own pure, pure souls. So much BETTER then the masses. So much HIGHER then the rabble. Poisoned on their own twisted faith. When given the choice between their God and Power? Faith and Fortune?

They would not be able to hear their God screaming, were he to stand right in front of them. But of course, they act in HIS Name.

I can feel it. Day in and day out. He looks upon his so called "Chosen" and is SICK.

Summoning hurts. My body, my soul, torn and stretch between to places. Until something gave. Were it not for the mercy of My God? I would have arrive at this end in chunks. A paste! Shredded beyond comprehension, killed beyond even mortal flesh. My very SOUL would have-!

The Universe SCREAMED as I was torn out of it. Like a fist full of fabric, made of person, of living flesh and bone, was gored out of a living thing. It was a disembowling. A calculated mauling. All burning light and tearing void. Chanting voices that dragged like hooking chains.

I... I can't even remember what I was doing that day. The sheer pain of it all? Overwhelms everything else in my memories. Left me delirious and weak. A puppet to be hoisted up and declared holy. A success. Stripped of my old clothes and anointed in oils and silks, finery and holy things.

A Holy Maiden.

In response, of course, to the King's Holy Maiden. Which was supposedly delivered by the God of Shining Light. She is very... perky, I am told. A plucky and endearing child. For all she is treated as some woman grown. She... she means well, even as she blunders through messes of her own creation. It is easy to tell. But all told? Anyone can tell you. She sounds... young. So very young.

Gods, what is she even DOING here? What are either of us? Every day, I can only pray the girl is safe. Because? I know. I know, I can not help her.

I am trapped.

She is trapped.

Whether she realizes it or not. Can see past the pretty smiles and fancy set dressing, to the unrelenting iron bars she can't escape. Though her chains are gilded and far longer then my own. She is a prop, a tool, in the hands of power. We both are. And neither of us asked to be, were given a choice. No... no we were simply taken from our homes.

Sometimes...? I catch the edges of something familiar. Beyond the Temple that is my cage. Hints of news or bits of gossip. When Worshipers or servants don't notice me nearby. I think? Possibly. We may have landed in an Otome game, her and I. But I can not be certain. It may simply be the only framework I have, for situations like this.

I wonder what my role is, in all this. If I even have one. Since I am kept like a trinket and holy trophy. Adored but not obeyed. No purpose beyond my supposed Holiness. Worshipped AT in the place of the God they know damn well they have angered. Though, through out all this? And, out of all of them? Worst, of all of them? Is the man who... who covets me.

There really is no other word for it, with the way he behaves. What else could it one call it? As he haunts the gilded cage he has created. The way his eyes track me, obsessive and cataloging, predatory and hunting. Picking apart my every action for meaning, for preference.

Trying to pry from me, my every thought and desire. As if to crack open my mind and read it's secrets. As though observing some sweet little creature, in it's natural habitat; And not his prisoner, in the pretty little cage he had made.

Forcing me to choose, again and again, between pretending not to notice? And engaging once again with my captor. Knowing all the while, if I so much as smile? Dared to so much as soften my expression?

I would be flooded, by whatever had caught me eye.

A lovely flower? Every room would be choked by them. Buried by them. The gardens filled and filled, until I begged for change. A good meal? I would get nothing else. Over and over, until all joy was stripped of it. Until I was sick of it. Could no longer stand the sight of it. Clothing, books, or paintings? Piles fit to beggar nations.

But the gods forbid, I EVER smile at people. Oh no. They were unworthy, you see.

The Grand Priest? Did not like when the filthy, unworthy, sacrilegious masses, dared to touch HIS Most Holy Maiden Of The God's. Or when I noticed them. Looked at any of them too long. Was "forced" to acknowledge they even existed. Gods forbid speaking to them! A sermon to the faithful was one thing! That could be allowed, if they purified themselves throughly, but the unwashed masses?

Gods, No.

Absolutely no such sacrilege would take part on HIS watch! By his word, his decree from on high, it was verboten.

It was...

Unquestionably, I knew, it was the antithesis of the Gentle Dark. That very God that had held my soul together. Through his unnatural summoning; That Very God, he SUPPOSEDLY swore too? Worshipped? Everything I prayed too. Reached my soul out too, in His kindness? For just a moment's escape? That very God.

From my God, to whom I prayed. Who anchored me, in these uncertain waters. All I could feel was His concern. For me, whom he could do little to aid. And His disgust. At what was being done in His name. As though rot had been smeared upon His flesh, vile and abhorrent. He recoiled, sickened, reaching for the safety of distant, faithful halls.

"Praying again, most Holy?" Came from the shadows, cool and soft. A pleasant voice to match a pleasant appearance. As though that was all that held meaning. "Even in your diligence and purity, you can not live on prayer alone, most Holy. I am afraid we will have to end you prayers for the day. So that you may eat. This humble servant has brought you offerings to choice from..."

He trailed off meaningfully. Wanted me to ask. A favorite game of his, this little trick. A verbal set up. Prompting you to ask this or that, engage him just a bit more, here or there. Get dragged into talking to him, dispite not wanting anything to do with him. He dangles bait. Shiny and enticing, just within reach. Hoping you'll take it.

Like a fishing lure.

No, actually, I don't want to know what dinner is. I, in fact, SHALL ignore why you call them "offerings". Yes, I DO plan to refuse to engage. Grey wall. Nonresponse, just all the way down. Boring, really.

You may be able to keep me here? But by the Gentle Dark, I CAN make this as miserable for you as possible. There shall be no Happy Little Family charades. No "content within my cage." No playing along to appease you.

(Quitely, but with FEELING, I say onto you! Get FUCKED.)

"A night of contemplations, I see. Understandable. Heavy are the shoulders that hold the heavens." That's Blasphemy, you heretical BASTARD. With a capital "B". To BOTH! No. NO. Do not engage. It's what he wan-! "You will be relieved, then, to know we are one step closer to disposing of that heretical whore."

I twitched. Hands squeezing each other until they were a white knuckled grip, to keep me from lashing out. Breathing in deep and slow, to try and fill my lungs with patience. The strength needed, not to not lash out. My jaw clenching hard as it battled the words snarling to escape.

(You leave that CHILD THE FUCK ALONE, YOU CREEP. She is sixteen! Seventeen AT BEST! She SHOULDN'T BE HERE! Should be safe. Meeting up with friends or chatting about interests. As she lounges, safe, at HOME. Going to school! Not getting dragged into politics! Tarted up and told to play soilder! Made a FUCKING RELIGIOUS LEADER!!!)

(Inside me, the Gentle Dark seethes and howls. Who is this man? To try and kill a Protected Child of The God's own Brother? What is Dark without Light? Light without Dark? Who are THEY to suggest the gods want anything but Balance?!)

Rising to my feet, I can not stay here. If I do, I may try and bludgeon my captor with an alter bowl. Desperately careful not to take my rage out on the alter before me, I run through the steps to finish my prayers. Gently. Gently. My God does NOT deserve misdirected wrath. Through gritted teeth, I force my breathe to be even. With tense muscles, I refuse to so much as look at him.

I DESPISE.

"How beautiful."

Like vile spiders and the sweeping prick of claws, his foul admiration sweeps over me. Disgusting. Hateful. Abhorrent and unholy. It is as though, the colder I become? The angrier and more disdainful? The more captivated, he becomes.

Twisting and twisting me, into some sort of disdainful god for him to worship. Abusing this soft house of benevolence, to make his self-harm somehow Holy. Coveting the Divine even as he refuses Them. It is... horrifying. A soul deep wrong.

A kinder woman would seek to understand "WHY?"...

I am not that kinder woman, I think.

"You are angry that I failed you, when all you ask of me is worship. Unity." He declares to my back. Once again projecting what he wants to believe, regardless of what I do or do not say. I have already given up trying. He lives in his own delusion, prefers it really. "Forgive me."

Ignoring him, I begin to walk away. Let him monolog in peace. Talk to the Idea of me, if he's so desperate! He can paint my face upon a wall, for all he needs my ACTUAL input. Sadly, however, I do not get far. With a swish of silks, knees hitting marble, my skirt train is caught in covetous hands. Jerking me to a stop. I turn.

"Ah..." He is kneeling, as though praying at my feet, my skirt's edge pressed to his face. His voice is... almost a sigh. Monotone, yet dancing the edge of obscene. "Oh, Most Holy, forgive your most loyal dog. Look only at me, I serve only thee, does my worship not please you?"

"Do you want more?"

He looked up, eyes meeting mine. There was fire and death there. Madness and burning. Religious zealotry churned and twisted into obsession, with his self made God. What did he even see? When he looked at me? It was almost... ironic. That the Grand Priest of the Gentle Dark, would BURN with such Scorching.

The Priests of the Shining Light would have noticed. Would have warned him. Helped him. No doubt why he avoided them. The monsters of their Gods, clouded his mind... and yet? And YET?

He was a Grand Priest.

No beast could take his soul, that HE did not ALLOW.

He was a monster of his own becoming. I wondered... in this moment... was THIS how he gained the power to Summon me? What damned DEALS did he MAKE? Does he seek to corrupt me? Turn me from the Gentle Dark to the Endless Dark? Something crueler? Colder still?

Disgust. Refusal. Rage.

"Oh." His voice wavered, obscene as he sucked in air, even as his eyes widened up at me. Hands reflexively clenching at my skirts. A jagged grin, of too many teeth, slowly carved its way across his face. Transfixed. Unhinged. As he shuddered.

"Magnificent, my Goddess. So Pure. So Clean. Mine and mine alone. I alone, am Worthy. Your most loyal soldier. Your most DEVOUT worshiper. I will give you the World. Everything, my queen. My lady. My Master of the heavens. Ha ha ha! Mine."

"All mine!"

"Amen."

[ohnoitstbskyen]

I know you made shorts for Sora, Riku, and Kairi, but do you have any other thoughts about Kingdom Hearts?

Ik this is kinda vauge and you get these kind of asks all the goddamn time, but I hyperfixated on those games for most of elementary and middle school and its always cool to see your favorite Youtuber talk about stuff you really like. Not to guilt trip you into answering this one or anything, just. . . I'm very tired and it would be very cool lol.

Again, saving my character design thoughts for some more shorts, but I adore Kingdom Hearts. Like, the first game really ISN'T much more than a cross-promotional branding exercise for Disney and Square, same as any of a dozen other similar crossover centric franchises; it's a Saturday morning cartoon show that wants to get you invested (or keep you invested) in a bunch of fancy IPs to buy toys of, but it's a really good one of those.

And it's a game that understands that the central thing that's going to hook people IN to that kind of thing is characters that are willing to believe in what they've got going on with one thousand percent sincerity. Which I think is the thing they nailed more than anything. Sora cares SO MUCH, and he wants to find his friend and his love interest (Kairi and Riku, respectively) SO BADLY, you can't help but root for the poor kid and want to believe in it.

Then, with the first game successfully managing to hook a solid fanbase, the creative team went "hey what if we had even MORE extremely earnest cool anime people getting deep in their feelings?" and now we're off to the races with Organizations and Oblivion Castles and fractions of 358 days.

And the thing that makes all the hyper-convoluted wheels-within-wheels plot machination nonsense WORK is that down, deep down, right at the core of what the franchise is always trying to say, is that love will save us. Yeah yeah hearts and darkness and unversed and nobodies and keyblades and blah blah blah (to be clear: I adore all that nonsense), but all of it is top-to-bottom in service of that singular central thematic clarion call.

Love will save us.

What holds Ventus together after Xehanort tears his heart apart? The love of Sora. What keeps Roxas the nobody from fading into Sora? The love of Xion and Axel, and Hayner, Pence and Olette. What brings Xion back? The love of Axel and Roxas. Hearts ring together and resonate and bind themselves to each other and there is no darkness so deep, no tragedy so absolute, no villain so foul that the cry of a loving heart cannot defeat it.

Roxas is a nobody doomed to darkness? Fuck you, Kingdom Hearts is love, no he isn't. Xion is a mere replica puppet, a failed experiment that nobody will remember? >>EXTREMELY LOUD INCORRECT BUZZER<< get seasalt icecream'd on top of a clock tower at sunset, IDIOT.

Over and over again characters sink into despair and loneliness, they fear that their connections are fake or fading, they fear being forgotten or left behind (Riku in the first game, the breaking of Ventus, Aqua and Terra, Roxas thinking nobody would miss him, Aqua in the Realm of Darkness), and over and over again they are proven beautifully wrong. There is always a hand reaching out, there is always someone who will miss you. Love will save us.

And this absolutely gets hokey, of course it does, it's a saturday morning children's cartoon. It's a bit simplistic, maybe a bit naïve, but honestly in a world where you can't walk two steps without bleak-minded doomer cynicism forcing the assumption that nothing truly good is possible and that the worst will always happen, Kingdom Hearts is a story so absolutely drenched in hope, sincerely held, that it feels like a fucking balm.

Also, LITERALLY where the fuck else are you going to get Woody from Toy Story reading an edgy anime villain for absolute filth? Nowhere, that's where. ONLY Kingdom Hearts.

None of this is to suggest I don't have criticisms of the franchise or that it's faultless. I could talk for several hours unbroken about all my gripes and problems, chief among which is LET KAIRI DO THINGS OH MY FUCKING GOD the franchise is low key misogynistic towards its female characters sometimes but I am talking about the things I love here let me just be happy for a second.

[noodle-is-unstable]

The JJK Characters favorite toys

(Head Cannons)

Ft ~ Satoru Gojo, Suguru Geto, Kento Nanami, Toji Fushiguro, Ryoumen Sukuna, Choso, Takuma Ino, Shiu Kong, Uraume, Yuki Tsukumo, Shoko Ieiri, Mahito Synopsis ~ What the JJK Characters favorite sex toys are Content Warning ~ 18+, sex toys, idk bruh 18+ things

Gojo ~

Prostate Massager

Gojo is a sucker for pleasure and seeks out the most he can. Loves being overstimulated, and what's a better way than having his prostate bullied while being buried in you. He'll be crying, drooling and babbling nonsense by the time you're both done

Geto ~

Spreader Bar

Geto enjoys bullying you in the name of pleasure. Keeping your legs spread wide so he can do whatever he wants between them is just all too fun. Will also push the bar behind your head so you're on full display and there isn't anything you can do about it

Nanami ~

Vibrator

Nanami is a sucker for your pleasure. He could get off hands free from watching you enjoy yourself under his touch. Anything that can give you more pleasure drives him wild but seeing you squirm under a full blast vibrator while he fucks you is like nothing else

Toji ~

Nipple Clamps

Toji loves some pain with pleasure play. Even better he'll attach one end to your nipple and the other end to his, a chain connecting you both as you fuck. He loves to see how hard he can pull between the both of you before it snaps off. Whoever lost the clamp has to go on top

Sukuna ~

Rope

Sukuna is a slut for Shibari. He loves how the intricate rope designs frame your body and will even let you tie him up with it as long as he isn't restrained. He finds Shibari to be a calming art that also drives him wild. He will pull the rope to control you like a puppet

Choso ~

Sounding Rod

Choso is a sucker for pain meets pleasure. Putting in a sounding rod deep enough to stimulate his prostate will have him crying in pleasure. Watching you stretch out his cock hole will have his tongue hanging out and pleasure filled tears spilling

Ino ~

Cock Cage

Ino loves cock torture when its in your hands. An all too tight cage containing his cock while you hold the key. Won't even beg you to unlock it, he'll just press it against you so you can feel his cum drooling out

Shiu ~

Cock Ring

Shiu loves the extra sensation a cock ring gives. The almost painful way it makes his veins pop and makes him impossibly harder. The sensation of blood being trapped in his cock with have his eyes rolling back upon entry

Uraume ~

Electrostimulator

Uraume loves foreplay toys like electrostimulation (electric current). Watching the electricity dance from the rod to their body gives them goosebumps. Their favorite though is when you run the current through your hand then use your fingertips to leave a trail of electricity through them

Yuki ~

Strap On

Yuki won't even go on vacation without one. Her collection is so vast there is every size, shape and creature available. Every day will be a different dildo but it'll always be strapped to her

Shoko ~

Sex Swing

Shoko enjoys the free, floating feeling of a sex swing. Whether its her being rocked on it or you, it doesn't matter. She just adores the different positions and free floating feeling it gives

Mahito ~

X Cross

Mahito wants to be restrained and used. An X cross is his dream. Spread completely out and unable to move while being totally exposed? Sign him up. Lock him down. Use him like the toy he wants to be

No real Kink just a Lube Safety reminder. Though silicone lube is most common it should be used with caution. Silicone lube is long lasting, and great for use in wet places like the shower or bath but it has its cons. Silicone lube is dangerous for vaginal use and can cause bacterial build up. It can also damage silicone toys and may not be suitable with all condoms. It may also stain clothing or sheets. It should also not be consumed orally. Water based lube is a fantastic option but doesn't last as long and may need multiple applications. It is easy to clean up, safe to use with toys and condoms, and comes in more flavors and texture/feel options. Some water based lubes can contain glycerin which may cause yeast infections in some. Always read the label carefully Choose the right lube for each situation and always use caution before just picking the first lube you see.

[konpeito-water]

Hidden Hands AU Fanart (1990s)

Just a cute drawing of Charlie braiding Henry's hair before a long day.

I absolutely adore Puppet Charlie's alternate outfit so much!!! And of course the bit about one of the Henry designs having braided hair, which was the inspiration for this drawing. All of their designs are cool, but I like how they have their signature "thing", as Charlie is always wearing something green and Henry is always wearing something flannel.

I've also been imagining how they'd get along with my new AU versions of the two. My Charlie would probably think HH Charlie was cool even as the Puppet, and would like being carried around to see everything up high. My Henry would probably hold back asking HH Henry a lot of questions (that he probably didn't even have the answers to)! ;-;

Here is the Hidden Hands AU, go check it out!!! It's by @north-noire and the AU and designs are theirs!!! :0

[maiios]

My Rainworld AU: Dried AU!!

This au takes place after five pebbles' collapse but instead of endless snowstorms, the skies turn blazing hot and the once heavily rain filled terrain make for a heated wasteland in which all creatures (and iterators) have to learn to adapt to this new type of environment.

After gaining a second chance from being washed up ashore on the, once in tact, shaded citadel for cycles and saved by a familar explosive slugcat, he searches on a much contemplative and obligated journey to find his big sister, Looks to the Moon. He, begrudgingly, plans to apologize and try his hardest to make it up to her, if he even finds her alive, but first and foremost, he must learn to forgive himself, if he ever could.

A wandering iterator on the lookout for her lost brother, she has searched high and low for his puppet with companionship of the one who had repaired her systems with a, presumably stolen, rarefracture cell. Firstly, she has repaired her damaged puppet at her, once beautiful and flourous, city that laid on top of her submerged structure, which was currently easier to roam because of the water that covered the facility had since evaporated.

A gatherer and his companion, a hunter, with many purposed, deceased, organisms in their posession. He scours the land searching for objects and the like that spark an idea for whatever it is he plans to create for the iterator populace's benefit to give them a second, livelier chance at life that the anciets had stripped away from them.

Farther from the west of the outer expanses give way to one of the most dedicated researchers, set on find what else the world that they have been trapped behind in a can has hidden from them. Exceptional with the crossbow and spears provided by their trusty messenger, given the name Dusk, they set off to record and document everything about this new world. They seem to keep pearls containing poetry and artistry, with seemingly no interest in the matter, for unknown reasons that they refuse to share with anyone.

if anyone is interested and would like to learn more about my au, feel free to ask away in my askbox! id be willing to draw doodles/art for specific asks too :>

credit and thank you to my partner, @basilirl for helping me with the scug designs!!! <333 (i cannot design animal patterns at ALL)

credit to @lyss-butterscotch for the gjinka inspiration for the designs!! i was very inspired to many elements i absolutely adore about her designs to be able to make my own au!!!

[monbons]

Stitch Sunday

Happy Sunday all! Although it seems quiet on here today, I did want to share my most recently completed stitch projects. I’m super proud of them, and who doesn’t like a behind-the-scenes post? Everything is below the cut because the first is smut and the second is my Valentine's Day card for the Discord exchange. (I agreed to do the full list, so if you haven't received yours yet, stop reading after naked Simon!)

I am so pleased with how my first submission for EGF turned out. If you haven't seen it yet, find the post here. I created no less than FOUR body designs for Baz while trying to find one where he looked good naked from every angle. As promised, here is EVERY angle.

One of the unexpected challenges I ran into was that once the harness arrived, it was not the perfect fit I'd hoped for. Baz's angle made it so that there was a sizable gap between his back and the leather straps, so another skill I have now added to my repertoire is leather-working! I bought a kit, cut the straps down to the right size, poked new holes where they were needed, and hammered new studs in myself! Progress pic below.

Once I nailed Baz and his harness, I made my Simon pattern. The biggest difference is how exaggerated I had to make every curve in order to give Simon the fluffy body he deserves. Here are his angles!

Look at that little fold of felt where his thigh meets his torso. I love it so much!

As for my valentines, I knew I wanted to lean into my reputation as "the doll artist" somehow, so I sent everyone a Baz finger puppet! While you may have seen a version of this puppet before for COC, he got a slight upgrade for the exchange. I lined his jacket to make it sturdier, developed a better pattern for his widow's peak, and his shirt now boasts three hand-sewn seed bead buttons. (I grew more confident with the later models, so some of those puppets also boast real lapels on the jacket.)

Overall, I am super proud of myself for making just shy of 40 of these adorable puppets and spreading a little bit of the doll joy to as many people as I could!

Until we meet again, hellos and high-fives from the doll factory.

@alexalexinii, @argumentativeantitheticalg, @aristocratic-otter, @arthurkko, @artsyunderstudy

@best--dress, @blackberrysummerblog, @brilla-brilla-estrellita, @bookish-bogwitch, @bookishbroadwayandblind,

@confused-bi-queer, @cutestkilla, @drowninginships, @emeryhall, @facewithoutheart

@harrie-leithillustration, @hushed-chorus, @iamamythologicalcreature, @ic3que3n, @ileadacharmedlife

@katatsumuli, @larkral, @letraspal, @martsonmars, @messofthejess

@mooncello, @noblecorgi, @orange-peony, @prettygoododds, @raenestee

@rbkzz, @rimeswithpurple, @roomwithanopenfire, @run-for-chamo-miles, @shrekgogurt

@skeedelvee, @stitchyqueer, @supercutedinosaurs, @talentpiper11, @technetiumai

@the-beard-of-edward-teach, @twinkle-twinkle-up-above, @theimpossibledemon, @thewholelemon, @valeffelees

@whatevertheweather, @you-remind-me-of-the-babe, @youarenevertooold

[p-gio]

"I found this in a chocolate shop, the owners must have run away when the puppet frenzy began," Pinocchio explained, holding a heart shaped box of fine gourmet chocolates, adorned with a red silk bow, in a trembly hand. "I've seen people giving these to others around Krat today, so I wanted to give one to you."

Though obviously trying to will himself confidence, he seemed a bit shy of doing so. Like many things the sly brunette kept inside, perhaps he knew more than what he let on about the meaning of Valentine's Day, the notion of which stirred the butterflies in your stomach all the way to your fingertips as you accepted his gift.

"How kind of you! Thank you, P." You said with a grateful smile, trying to calm your swift beating heart.

He smiled back in that sweet way he does, gave a polite bow and began to take his leave before you stopped him. "Wait!" You called hastily, and he obliged, turning to look at you again, his head tilted in interest as he waited for what more you had to say. "I made something for you too." You admitted and showed what you'd kept hidden behind your back. It was becoming easier to understand his shyness, your nerves akin to a rabbit in the road as you revealed it.

His eyes lit up at the intricate metal box of chocolates, moulded into the shape of a heart, painstakingly crafted by your own hand at your bench whenever you knew he'd be away long enough for the surprise not to be spoiled by a glimpse of it. The project had taken every bit of talent you've built over years of practice and working with metal, and the care you'd put into it showed that very well.

The box was a work of art. A shining antique gold finish, accessorized by little iron gears soldered in clusters onto the top and sides of the heart. A pattern of roses melted in rose-gold, the most difficult and time consuming part of the design, starred at the center, with the words 'For Pinocchio, with love' etched daintily above the symbolic flowers.

The shock on his face was rather cute in how genuine it was, and it filled you with pride to have been such a successful sneak, it was clear he'd never expected you to reciprocate the gesture. "You...made this? For me?" He asked, the surprise that you'd go to this amount of effort apparent in his voice as he carefully took the box from your outstretched hand.

"Of course I did silly boy, do you see anyone else I'm handing it to?" You chuckled, amused.

"So there's...no one else you'd rather give it to then?" The question was quiet and tentative now, seeking confirmation that you intended to celebrate a day for lovers with him alone, that there wasn't another vying for your affections, he most certainly was aware of what this day meant. Your heartbeat all but roared in your ears once you realized that.

With courage you weren't aware you had, you stepped closer and kissed his cheek softly, placing your hand on his to feel it tighten around the precious metalwork he held. "No one else, that's why I put your name on it."

If the puppet possessed the blood required to blush, his face may rival the bow tied to the confections he'd given you. An affliction that would only worsen as he leaned forward and returned the kiss to your cheek.

"Thank you, ____, I'm fortunate to receive such a thoughtful gift from one so lovely as you." He said, his expression tender, a look of pure adoration velveting his eyes.

And just like that, it was you who matched the red bow almost too perfectly, right down to the knots your nerves were so skillfully tied in.

// Happy Valentine's Day, from a puppet to you. 🦋

[doughguts-art]

OFFtober Day 9 - "Fangames/AU" So many fangames I love, so little time! I decided to doodle up some characters I particularly enjoy from just a handful of the fangames I've played. Wish I could draw everyone tho

Tate and Cinnamon Glaze from RISE The villain and the hero! I like how they both are wearing their ties weird. Tate is wearing a t-shirt and just has the tie directly around his neck. Cracks me up!

Buttons and Doux from ONE The living toy and it's owner! I find it so funny that Buttons often tanks more enemy attacks since it's the second party member, and RPGmaker is just like that. In my head it's because Buttons would do anything to protect Doux in Zacharie's absence ;0;

Puppeteer and Seneca from UNKNOWN The hero and the villain! I just adore these two's designs, they're classic. The design is the only thing I like about Seneca tho, diabolical little thing XD

Daren and Danny from START The scarred twins, I love them so much. They deserve to be happy, and I get all teary-eyed when I think about Daren specifically. I like that they both use knives as their weapons, so I included one in the drawing that Daren's holding.

Pilot and Navigator from CONFINIUM These two,, lord do I adore them. CONFINIUM is such a gorgeous game, and the care put into Pilot and Nav's designs and dynamic is obvious. I enjoy these sillies and this game so much.

Anthony and The Mechanic from ALIVE Just obsessed with the creativity involved in making these two characters. Mechanic is so fun to draw, and I really enjoy Anthony's story. I wanna give the shy guy a big hug.

[daemon-in-my-head]

Bout that essay titled 'A study of Gortash's twisted love of humanity'- yk what fuck it here goes nothing. Back into a facists megalomaniacs mind we go. Spoiler; this is long.

But first of all; let's do a thought experiment. Let's just assume, for shits and giggles, Gortash's position would've somehow been swapped with any other the other chosen or another Banite:

Let's start with the Banites: if we had gotten anyone except for Gortash Baldur's Gate would've been fucked. Like genuinely. Banites are cruel, vicious, unashamedly gaudy (they suck ass at infiltration missions) and they exploit loopholes perhaps even better than fiends. Any other Banite would've simply reveled in the fear caused by rampant myrkulites and bhaalists and probably stoked that fire by employing some of their own forces. And depending on whether the Zhents join the winning side or not they would've probably used and abused the black network to absolutely dominate trade and potentially choke out every non desirable in the city itself by fun activities such as grand scale slavery, starving an entire city, or simply employing enough mercenaries and some Bhaalist to get the job done. Banites fuck everyone over so hard they usually don't even stop at themselves, and prideful cruel beings who know absolutely no bounds in their desire for power commonly don't hesitate, especially not Banites who thrive in backstabbing. So the other chosen and the grand design are fucked cuz they will most certainly get removed for the sake of someone more desirable the second they somehow irk Banes favourite toy. Which in some specific cases (all of them) would be in 5 minutes flat. If you thought the local nobility was bad just wait until you see a Banite in their natural environment.

Ketheric: Yeah Baldur's Gate is fucked. Ketheric cares about one thing and one thing only; Isobel. And he employs a bunch of sadistic necromancers who have no concept of personal boundaries or consent for that matter, so chances are he'd let them roam freely in Baldur's Gate, making the streets a huting ground for his followers to find prime subjects to perform inhumane experiments on all while he turns a blind eye; either busy trying to get Isobel under his (mind-) control, reviving her or treating a brainless puppet that looks and once was his daughter like his one true solution to decades of grief and fucking up. He wouldn't care about what happens to the city, to the other chosen or even the grand design. He'd follow his gods orders but thats about it and no matter whether that's still Myrkul or Bane; everyone's fucked cuz surpringly the guy who adores lichdom more than life and the other guy who'd rather 'burn everyone's fields than loose' aren't about to give out any orders that will benefit anyone but themselves.

Orin: Another great case of 'yeah Baldur's Gate is fucked'. Orin wants one thing and one thing only: recognition. Preferably from Bhaal but she'd take anyone at this point. The problem about this whole thing is, she's been conditioned and instilled with so much self-loathing my dearest murder princess can't even begin to realise when she's getting shown any sort of adoration anymore and immediately understands it as mockery, see, for example, her butler. Is what I would say if their corpse wasn't chilling in Durges old bedroom. All Orin would do is stage ever grander and more elaborate public massacres and involuntary 'anatomy displays'. Baldur's Gate wouldn't simply be fucked; give her a week, and the majority of it would be dead. This works well for Bhaal, but for anyone else, it would kinda suck. Including the other two of the dead three. And the cult would probably still loathe her simply due to her not being a true Bhaalspawn, so cue Orin's madness reaching an absolute boiling point. She doesn't and would never care for any of the other chosen or the grand design. Unless she's reigned in, she's a utterly loose canon, even more so than she was already, with Gortash or Durge at the helm, respectively.

Now time for my favourite of the reckless murder hobos; Durge. Given the few in game notes we have Durge had a thing for obliteration. Including but not limited to every living being + themselves. So let's just assume Gortash’s cocky upstart charm and Orins assassination attempt didn't work out as planned and they are still the de facto leader but now without any leash. Baldur's Gate is probably obliterated. Alongside whatever else remains of the sword coast. Or Troil. They'd probably also have some weird ass fuck relationship with the brain cuz they already did without being the undisputed leader. And the brain would probably discard the grand design themselves cuz somehow Durge has that effect on things (might be the innate charm magic of Bhaalist priests that they use to convince people to join a literal murder cult). Either way, with Durge not giving a single damn about the other chosen, any plans but Bhaals (or their misunderstood version of it) and a dramatic love for self-obliteration, it may finally be time to remedy the elves' mistake and rip Abeir-Toril apart properly. Ao hates this trick, alongside everyone else, probably including Bhaal himself.

Which is all my longwinded way of saying; Gortash is the lesser evil. In any set of circumstances he displays enough leniency, monster fucker vibes and rationality to somehow keep this ruined, sinking ship from hitting the sea floor immediately. He has enough of a twisted love for humanity left, compared to the others, to a degree that he doesn't blindly follow orders or actively seeks the destruction of everything, let alone 'true' domination the way Bane intends to have it.

But yes, indeed, Gortash performed fucked up and cruel experiments. No doubt about that. And yet it was still on a lesser scale than a mad massive hoard of necromancers could, and his experiments, for the most part, actually yielded results, didn't they? Presumably, the Coginator and the remote control brain mechanism used for the Steelwatch. After all, there are zombies(?) in there, controlling that shit. However, the experiments on loving families were probably one of his selfish indulgences and his sorry attempt at figuring out if he was just born loathsome and his family sucks ass or if that's normal and humanity doesn't deserve a second chance. Or a 30th. FR lore is fucked up.

This is also a great transition to exhibit B of my thesis why Gortash does in fact love or is at the very very very least heavily intrigued by humanity; the sole existence of the Steelwatch. Listen, my guy serves Bane. Bane hates planning. He likes immediate results. So much so he actively pisses off his situationship Bhaal for it. Repeatedly. And he likes fear and tyranny. So what do you think the chances are that the black hand would actually enjoy the thought of a mecha army patrolling the streets of Baldur's Gate, keeping them save, and worst of all, instilling hope in the hearts of the populous, peasants and nobles alike? Yeah, absolutely fucking none. And yet Gortash did that. And he's not even just a regular banite. He's Banes chosen. He carries a part of Bane's divinity within himself. He has the de facto highest position in the local faith. He's Banes favourite toy rn. He's the centre of attention and he still goes out of his way to use things that could 1000% inspire fear and hatred to sow fucking hope and a sense of safety of all things in plain sight? I bet his adorable wrinkly ass that Bane wasn't happy and that even a thousand rituals to redeem his leniency won't save him from getting tortured extra hard for this fuck up. And considering the state of the Banites scriptures we found, and his entire character, Gortash is smart enough to know this is something Bane absolutely loathes. And yet my guy did that.

Another thing is the hive mind. Bane would probably not hate it outright, as its still 'burning the fields' by turning souls illithid, but it's wasted potential. Because there's so many great things you can do with a hivemind and the remote control over people's thoughts and emotions, for example instilling fear and terror the very things Bane loves. But that's, once again, not Gortash plan. If the notes and one of the evil endings is anything to go by the hivemind doesn't trap people in a state of torment, it does the polar opposite. People are happy, enjoying a better, simpler and nicer life. Enjoying an idea of what their life could've been like. They're smiling, happy, enjoying a casual market stroll and the bountiful rewards of the fields. Which is all things that a good Banite should hate and never inflict on someone. AND YET that's presumably Gortashs plan. Create a hivemind where everyone can dream happily and do soulless labour without noticing it while the world goes to absolute shit but the people do not. It's basically noah's arc. It's paradise in hell. The people are 'saved' while the gods continue to fight their petty games, and Gortash alone lords over this perfect dream. Protecting it answer using it to advance further.

Now, about the busts found in his office. Most of them depicted rather unsavoury, cruel people. Except for one. Which honours a self made person who took pity on those who had less. On those considered lesser by the upright and honourable citizens of the Gate. It's weird how, between all those symbols and testaments to cutlery and tyranny, there's still a sliver of empathy, renegade justice and even care for fellow humans imbued, isn't it? And what's even weirder, all of them are found in Gortash's most private place? His own little office hidden far above the grandeur of the throne room and the Fortress, where he sits at the helm, lording over his subjects and scheming his little plans? This is an excellent example of show, don't tell btw. It's hitting you over the head with the implications. But just in case, this might very well be a reflection of Gortashs mind itself and the visible expression of him being incapable of letting go of humanity as a whole, still carrying it somewhere not even that well buried between the resentment and cruelty but out in plain view for everyone curious enough to touch it because what others reason would he have tob'play the benelovent ruler' in a place where no one sees it? Where only his most trusted and fellow Banites mingle?

And, ofc, as I am a durgetash truther, another exhibit. Him fucking Bhaals gore baby and putting a leash on it prematurely. You see, I've already talked about Banes likes and dislikes plenty so it should come as no surprise that the Edgelord Surpreme wouldn't hate carnage wrought upon foolish mortals by idiots who follow lesser gods than himself, since it would still somehow contribute to people being scared and panicking. But Gortash, being the ever faithful fuck up of a Banite, reigns in the Bhaalist and even the Myrkulites enough for that to kinda never really happen. He stopped the carnage from happening altogether, in fact, by giving the others enough scraps to keep them satisfied and from acting out but not enough freedom to fuck up his plans. I mean, heck he was apparently so convincing he managed to get Durge, again, biggest fan of self-obliteration, from going on an apocalyptic rampage cuz 'daddy I like his brain and I don't mean for dinner'. Him doing that actively contributed to preventing another Bhaalspawn crisis, which could've very well happened with Bhaals resurgence and revival, 2.5 loose canons and no ward of a random old guy in sight. But also him providing a clear goal and orders for Ketheric kept the lich from giving in to the sweet release of just not caring at all whatsoever. Everyone had their designated roles and boundaries and that was perhaps the only thing keeping this group of mentally unstable creatures from unleashing an apocalyptic nightmare; which again would've worked in their gods favour and technically didn't need any prevention.

And about the Gondians... Yeah this is gonna sound fucked up, cuz it is, but Gortash is actually treating them exceptionally nice. Their families are actually still alive and its not just a lie he's telling them, we don't actually see anyone getting flayed, strung up or tortured in some other way outright, they actually get to wear clothes and presumably they're fed enough to a degree that most of them can still somewhat work and the collar and the threat of your head exploding does suck but he could've also simply chained them to their work stations but they aren't. Let alone use charms or other beguiling and fucked up magic to force them into complacency. And they're not being resold or redistributed or forced to serve some random ass guy. The Gondians are, from a Forgotten Realms and probably Bane's perspective, treated exceptionally well. As are their families. Still undoubtedly fucked up and kinda sadistic with the whole explosion collar but objectively speaking he's one of the nicer slave masters. And they do allow him to produce the Steel Watchers en mass which once again contributes to the overall safety of Baldurs Gate and its other citizens. Still the lesser evil.

Though to be fair; Gortash also did some things Bane would really celebrate. Like somehow cheating his way into obtaining the Iron Throne, fucking Bhaals favourite and most fucked up """"child"""" and of course, keeping his parents alive and in agony to eternally fuel Banes fear kink. Except, it's only Sally who's afraid. Dravo is basically a blue screen of death personified at this point. He's a hollow, numb husk, isn't he? So somehow this once again doesn't align with Banes goals and Gortash's duty as a Banite. He's fucked it up again. But Gortash could've also simply killed them if all he wanted was revenge. Why go out of your ways, program elaborate scripts into them, keep the very place that testaments his fucked up past in good condition? Because a quick death would be too merciful? But then why is he so quick to turn on Durge if they betray him in a much smaller scale than his parents did. Well, perhaps he chose not to simply kill the very people who prepared Belladonna in the kitchen when he came to visit because he himself still needs them. Because underneath all that rage and spite there's still a broken boy who wants to hear his parents, albeit empty praise, and who wants to prove to them that he can be better? That his useless playing around actually helped better humanity, that he himself helped countess people and made lives better when all they thought he'd be useful as would be a pawn?

So, is it twisted? Yes. Is it rotten? Absolutely. Is it anything you'd consider to be 'conventional'? Absolutely not. But he does hold some wildly fucked up 'love' for humanity, if only as means to a grander goal (that being himself, ofc) or perhaps cuz he's genuinely incapable of letting go. Whether it's that, to spite Raphael, Bane and his parents or someone else, who knows. Probably nobody. But the shit he does is unorthodox and oddly self-sacrificial in a way where I just can't go, 'yeah no he absolutely loathes the sheer existence of the concept'.

I still think it's a missed opportunity he's not trying to build a spelljamming port though. I feel like he would absolutely do that somewhere down the line, if only to limit the black networks influence.

[house-of-slayterr]

Arcane x Little Reader:

Jinx:

Jinx is overjoyed to have another little around. Now she’s not the only one that gets it. Violet was her go to when she was younger and still regressing. But now that she’s older, she relies on Silco when she’s regressed. She doesn’t do well being little and alone.

But now she has you, a friend she can share this experience with. Jinx isn’t known to share, but yorue the exception. She loves drawing with you, sketching so many designs for her next projects. Or she’ll just straight up draw you in cute little outfits she thought up. She loves to draw all over your arms to give you temporary tattoos.

She loves to play and run and explore when she’s little. She’ll drag you everywhere with her, like you’re her favourite teddy bear. Depending on how young you regress, she’ll treat you more genetly. Baby regressors get to see the softest side of Jinx, and get the most of her attention.

If jinx is big when you’re little, she gets highly protective. Nothing hurts her little firecracker. She’s not as good as Sevika as shielding your from danger and trauma, as she was never shielded when she was younger. But she’s good at helping you deal with the after. She’ll even let people go if you’re scared enough, just to come check on you quicker to make sure you’re ok. The only person jinx shares little time with is Ekko, he’s the only one she trusts to look after you when you’re like this.

Silco:

Silco wasn’t new to this, as he already has Jinx. But he knew better than to treat the two of you the same. Jinx was fragile in a sense, but you don’t have to be so delicate with her. Jinx has seen his outburst, even when small, but you, he never dared to lash out near you.

If anyone made you cry or hurt you, lord help them. Their end would come violent and swift, no hesitation. He doesn’t mess around when it comes to your safety and wellbeing. If you’re upset enough, he’ll stay with you and send Jinx to deal with it.

He loves to hold you in his lap, if you’re quiet, he enjoys the peace. But if you’re a talker, he doesn’t mind that either, so long as it’s your voice, he’ll listen. He’s tender with you and doesn’t care who sees or if it “hurts his reputation”. He made some mistakes with Jinx that he doesn’t want to risk with you.

Safe to say you have everything you want with Silco as a caretaker. He’d give the world to you if he could.

Isha:

Isha adores you so so much. She’s so happy to have another friend to play with, especially if jinx is busy. She loves to play with your hair and paint your face. Depending on the age you regress to, if you’re a little older she loves to play games.

You’ll run and play tag, or hide and seek, or try to pull little pranks on Jinx or Sevika. But if you regress younger than her, she’ll act out stories for you, or make little sock puppets to keep your attention.

Isha is the best if you get hurt, because she knows how to stop your tears. She’ll crawl into your lap and try to get you to rock with her. Which usually ends up with the two of you asleep wherever you are, cuddled up together.

Isha loves to match you during little time. She’ll play dress up or copy your actions playing mimic. You’re her best friend ever, and she loves regression time.

Sevika:

Sevika was surprised at first. It took some explaining on your part for her to understand what was happening. You were worried at first it would creep her out, or make her think less of you. But all it did was make her more protective and jealous.

If anyone steals her baby’s attention, she’s fuming, she hates to share. She’s gotten into fight over you, some just small verbal spares where she’d try to hold her tongue to not swear infront of you. She usually tries to keep her tone low around you, especially when talking directly to you. But sometimes she still loses her cool. If anyone dares to speak bad about you, or worse, hurt you, well let’s just say you never see them again.

She’ll ask you to put on “eye covers” if she has to hurt someone so you won’t have to watch, and get more trauma. The thought of you being scared or sad, makes her skin crawl.

She’s ALWAYS carrying you when you’re big or little. As a caregiver it makes her feel safe to know you’re so close, and it makes her feel strong. Doesn’t matter what she’s doing, she will not reject an Uppies request. And she loves to sleep with you cuddled on her chest. You’re the most important thing in her world.

Viktor:

Viktor was quick to learn about your regressor tendencies, he’s a very observant man. When he isn’t working on his Hex Tech, he’s watching you. His best friend and the person he loves more than anything.

He started noticing you got cranky when you were tired, a trait you shared with Jayce, but he quickly realised it was more intense than that. It was a simple crankiness and a good nap always solved it. You’d be back to your normal self like nothing was wrong.

Then he’d notice you get quiet, your usually chatty self would withdraw as you got sucked into your own daydreams. Or how you’d get excited if something you liked was mentioned. He found most of your quirks quite adorable.

But the first day you fully regressed infront of him he understood, everything about you made sense. He sees you so small and fragile and wants to do anything to keep you safe from the scary things in the world. He’ll hold you close in the lab, or if you have to sit in the corner because something him and jayce are working on isn’t safe, he’ll give you his lab coat or let you play with his cane if he’s seated.

He takes more breaks if you’re little for a while, coming to check on you and play with you and your plushies for a few mins, or ask you engaging questions to keep your brain stimulated. He thinks you’re the smartest little he’s ever met.

A few times jayce has had to warp a blanket around the two of you because Viktor stayed late in the lab and you refused to leave without him. He’d sleep so peacefully with his little one safe in his arm.

“Little miracle” is what he calls you, because he finds it amazing how strong you can be despite your regression.

An: I know these are short, but I’m still getting back into writing lol

Tag: @mothmans-kingdom @kados-of-chaos