#and his shadow puppet skills

[cup-o-stars]

Last part for old GF sketches

(Actually, most of these aren't old at all, but their average is brought down by the last picture, which I drew back in August and kept forgetting to post)

[nicoscheer]

Me too Miles me too 🤣🤣

Tlsp used to be my girl @ øyafestival 2016

Nothing has really changed between 2005 and 2016 🫶🏽🥹❤️(Miles watching Alex in 2005 when the little flames were the monkeys support act vs Miles watching Alex in 2016 when they are co frontmen of their own supergroup)

Osheaga Festival

Coachella; Alex’s little twirl 🥺 and the absolute fondness in Miles’ eyes he’s like yup that’s my idiot and I love him very much

[snackugaki-jestsjapesjokes]

In commemoration of this

Let us remember what Frida can do canonically

gave her the ol' Shikamaru's Kagemane no Jutsu treatment for ninpo which is fitting really since

And what's more ninja than shadow manipulation?

Just y'know, from a 90s weeb standpoint who saw how fucking obsessed U.S media was with ninja in the 80s and 90s, the earlier TMNT could have stood to be MORE ninja. The newer iterations kinda sorta have gotten "more ninja" instead of generic milk chocolate martial arts with a shiny ninja candy coating

[brokentoys]

The Riddler in Batman: The Animated Series artbook

[heliosunny]

Yandere!Fyodor x Reader x Yandere!Dazai

You never meant to get caught between two devils. Working as an informant in Yokohama, you kept a low profile, selling scraps of intelligence to those who paid well. You were careful—until you made the mistake of crossing paths with Dazai Osamu and Fyodor Dostoevsky.

Your skills caught Dazai’s attention first. He was amused by your sharp mind, your ability to maneuver through the city’s shadows without detection. But it was your kindness, your ability to see past his suicidal jokes and masks—that made him obsess over you.

Then came Fyodor. He saw you as something purer—untainted by the filth of the world, an angel caught in a web of sin. He believed fate had delivered you to him, a soul meant to be saved… or broken until you belonged to him completely.

At first, you didn’t realize you were being watched.

Then, the strange occurrences began:

Anonymous gifts appearing at your doorstep—your favorite book, a dress in your size, a single white lily.

Cryptic notes slipped into your coat pocket: “Don’t trust the demon in bandages.” “I’ll cleanse you of all your sins.”

Shadows moving in your peripheral vision, lingering touches from a certain detective that lasted too long, the soft brush of fingers against yours when you handed a document to a mysterious Russian man.

Dazai plays with you like a cat with a mouse, keeping you close, wrapping you in sweet words, always smiling—but the glint in his eyes is anything but kind. He drowns you in attention, teasing, coaxing, watching you squirm under the weight of his affection.

Fyodor, on the other hand, operates like a puppeteer, orchestrating events from the darkness. He speaks in riddles, whispers promises of salvation, warns you against Dazai’s lies. But his version of love is no less suffocating.

Then, one night, the balance shatters.

You wake up in an unfamiliar room, doors locked, windows sealed. A soft melody plays from an old record player in the corner. A chair sits in the middle of the room, a neatly folded note on the seat.

“Choose.”

Then—footsteps. Slow. Deliberate.

Two voices murmur beyond the door.

“I wonder what they’re thinking right now.” Dazai muses, voice lilting with amusement.

“They are realizing their place” Fyodor answers, his tone smooth, inevitable.

A cold dread coils around your spine.

The door handle turns.

Dazai steps in first, the ever-present smirk curling his lips. His brown eyes, usually playful, glimmer with something darker. He tilts his head, scanning you with quiet satisfaction. Behind him, Fyodor follows, a stark contrast of elegance and eerie stillness. His violet gaze is unreadable, piercing straight through you.

“Oh, belladonna,” Dazai hums, hands tucked in his coat pockets. “You look terrified. Have we really given you reason to be afraid?”

You take a step back, but the wall presses against your spine. No escape.

Fyodor moves closer, hands clasped behind his back, his voice a quiet hymn. “Fear is unnecessary. You will see soon enough. We only wish to guide you.”

Dazai leans in, his presence overwhelming. “You’re special, you know that?” His fingers ghost over your cheek, featherlight yet unyielding. “And special things don’t belong in the hands of just anyone.”

His touch burns. You shove his hand away.

Dazai merely chuckles. “Feisty. But that’s okay.”

Fyodor watches, his gaze like a dagger at your throat. “This resistance is temporary.”

They are cornering you. Pressing in.

You won’t let them win.

You inhale sharply, forcing your pulse to slow. Your mind races, sifting through possibilities. This isn’t just about brute force—this is a game.

Your eyes flick toward the chair. Then to the door. A normal person would run. That’s what they expect.

Which means you won’t.

Instead, you laugh.

Dazai stills. Fyodor’s eyes narrow.

You drag a hand through your hair, exhaling as if relieved. “God, I was worried for nothing.” You glance at them, lips curling in mock amusement. “For a second, I actually thought I was in trouble.”

Silence.

Dazai raises a brow. “Oh? Do enlighten us.”

You step forward—toward them, rather than away. Both their eyes sharpen, watching, calculating.

Your voice is steady. Confident. “I should’ve known you two were smarter than this.” You let out a light scoff. “All this effort? The letters, the gifts, the cryptic warnings? You were testing me, weren’t you?”

Fyodor’s expression remains unreadable, but Dazai’s smirk twitches, intrigued. “And what conclusion did you come to, belladonna?”

You exhale, feigning exasperation. “That you never intended to keep me here.”

Silence stretches, tense and uncertain. You continue before they can speak.

“If you wanted me trapped, I wouldn’t even be conscious right now. If you wanted me compliant, you would’ve used fear—threats, restraints. But no. You left the door open. You left me awake. You let me think I have a choice.”

You tilt your head, watching their reactions like a predator sizing up its prey. “Which means this is a test.”

You cross your arms, feigning frustration. “And if I try to escape, that means I fail, doesn’t it?”

Dazai’s smirk falters for a fraction of a second. Barely noticeable. But you see it.

Fyodor’s fingers twitch behind his back.

Got them.

You push further. “I see it now. You wanted to see if I could figure it out. If I was smart enough to be worth your attention.” You let out a breathy laugh. “Damn, you two are good.”

Dazai chuckles, but there’s something sharper in his gaze now. “A fascinating theory, truly.”

Fyodor hums, his head tilting in careful scrutiny. “Then tell me, dear…” His voice is slow, deliberate. “What happens now?”

You step past them, toward the door, your body loose, relaxed—as if you aren’t walking the razor’s edge between victory and doom.

“I walk out of here” you say simply. “Because if I belong to you, then you don’t need to hold me prisoner, do you?”

Silence.

The room is thick with tension, the weight of your gamble pressing against your ribs.

Then—

A laugh. Low, soft, edged with something unreadable.

“Oh, Y/N…” Dazai exhales, shaking his head. “You are just… delightful.”

A flicker of something dangerous flashes in Fyodor’s eyes.

But neither of them move to stop you.

Your pulse is deafening as you step through the open doorway.

One step. Two.

And then... Nothing. You’re outside. You won..

You walked out of that room unscathed, weaving a lie so convincing that even two of the most dangerous minds in Yokohama let you go.

But you know better than to believe it’s over.

Days pass.

You’ve changed hideouts twice already. Used burner phones. Scrubbed your digital footprint clean.

And yet, the feeling of being watched never leaves you.

You wake up to a single red camellia on your windowsill. Dazai’s mark. Longing.

A queen chess piece is left on your pillow. Fyodor’s symbol. Checkmate is inevitable.

Every step you take is shadowed by something unseen. A presence you cannot shake.

And then, one night, the game truly begins.

You never take the same route twice. You never use public transportation. You never stay in one place too long.

But tonight, despite all your precautions, a familiar voice reaches your ears.

A whisper, right behind you.

“I was wondering when you’d notice me, belladonna.”

Your blood turns to ice.

Dazai.

You whirl around, only to find nothing. No one is there. The alley is empty, the streetlights flickering dimly overhead.

A trick. A hallucination? No. You know him too well for that. He’s toying with you.

You force yourself to keep walking. Do not stop. Do not react. That’s what he wants.

But then—

A hand catches your wrist.

Your breath stops.

A moment later, the touch is gone.

Your hand trembles as you lift it, staring at your wrist.

A red string is tied around it.

Thin. Delicate. Tightly knotted.

Dazai’s voice echoes in the wind.

“Fate always brings soulmates back together, doesn’t it?”

You rip the string off and run.

The next day, you receive a letter.

No return address. No stamps. Just a neatly folded page slipped under your door.

You hesitate before opening it.

Inside, the message is written in elegant Russian script.

“You are slipping, my love.”

Your fingers tighten around the paper.

Fyodor.

Beneath the words, there’s a photograph.

Your blood runs cold.

It’s you.

Taken from across the street.

Taken yesterday.

Taken while you were running from Dazai.

You stare at it, your pulse hammering in your ears.

They aren’t just watching you.

They are closing in.

You try to leave the city.

You book a train ticket under a fake name. Buy clothes from a second-hand store. Leave your phone behind.

You take no risks.

Yet, as you step onto the train platform, a voice murmurs beside you.

“That color suits you, darling.”

Your stomach drops.

You turn—but no one is there.

Instead, something rests on the bench beside you.

A music box.

Your fingers shake as you lift the lid.

A soft, haunting melody spills out.

The same song that played in the room where they held you.

And inside, nestled among the gears, is a tiny note. “We will always find you.”

The train hisses as the doors begin to close.

You barely make it inside before they shut behind you.

As the city disappears in the distance, you clutch the music box to your chest.

You escaped.

But deep in your gut, you know the truth.

They let you go.

Because to them, this isn’t about catching you.

This is a game. And they are enjoying it.

You don’t remember when you last slept.

You don’t remember the last time you felt safe.

The train took you far—but not far enough.

For days, you ran. For days, you evaded them. But no matter where you hid, no matter how carefully you erased your trail…

They always found you.

It started small. A flicker of a shadow in your peripheral vision. A whisper that wasn’t truly there. A glimpse of brown eyes in a passing crowd. A soft chuckle behind a locked door.

Then, the exhaustion set in. The kind that seeped into your bones, turning your limbs heavy, your mind sluggish. You stopped eating properly. Stopped resting.

Because if you stopped—if you let your guard down for even a second—they would take you.

And still, despite everything, despite how much you fought, how much you ran—

You lost.

You wake to the sensation of silk.

Soft. Cool. Wrapping around your wrists, your ankles. Not too tight—but unyielding.

A bed beneath you. The scent of something faintly familiar—lavender, old parchment, and something darker, like the lingering trace of ink and blood.

Your head feels light. The room is dim, hazy.

You shift, and a voice murmurs.

“Finally awake?”

Your breath catches.

He’s beside you, perched on the edge of the bed. His expression is unreadable—for once, there’s no teasing lilt to his voice, no playful glint in his eyes.

Just quiet satisfaction.

The weight of another presence lingers in the air, colder, sharper. A deeper gaze settles on you from across the room. Fyodor.

He sits in a chair, legs crossed, fingers interlaced beneath his chin. His violet eyes gleam with something final.

“Where…” Your voice is hoarse, dry. You swallow hard. “Where am I?”

Dazai hums, tracing a finger along the delicate silk around your wrist. “Far from anywhere that matters.”

You yank at the bindings—they don’t budge.

A soft chuckle. “Ah, ah, belladonna,” Dazai murmurs. “That’s adorable, really. But you must know by now…”

His fingers ghost down your arm, featherlight, possessive. “You can’t run from us.”

Your breathing quickens. “Let me go.”

Fyodor tilts his head. “Let you go?” He sounds genuinely amused. “My love, haven’t you realized?”

He rises, slow, deliberate. “You were never meant to leave.”

“Bullshit,” you snap, voice cracking. “You let me go. You let me run.”

Dazai laughs, and it’s too soft, too cruel. “Of course we did.”

You freeze.

Fyodor steps closer, his presence a shadow of cold logic. “You believed you had won. That was the most entertaining part.”

Your heart hammers.

No. No, they’re lying.

“You were playing with me?”

Dazai smiles—not his usual smirk, not his lazy amusement. This is different. Darker. “Oh, belladonna. Of course we were.”

Your stomach churns.

“The train. The music box. The notes. The whispers.” Fyodor’s voice is patient, unhurried, as if explaining something simple to a child. “Did you really believe those were mistakes? That we weren’t in control from the very start?”

Your breathing is too fast, too uneven.

They’re lying.

They have to be lying.

“I got away,” you whisper, but the words feel weak, fragile. “I—I won—”

Dazai leans in, close enough that his breath brushes your ear. “No, darling.” His voice is softer now, gentle, almost… affectionate. “You only ran as far as we let you.”

The realization sinks in.

And now—

Now there’s nothing left.

Your body trembles. Your vision blurs.

Something inside you shatters.

“There it is” Fyodor murmurs, his fingers brushing your temple as if to feel the moment you finally break. “That’s what I wanted to see.”

Dazai exhales, pleased. “You fought so beautifully, belladonna. It almost makes me sad that it’s over.”

Your body feels heavy.

Your mind blank.

There’s nothing left.

Just them.

Dazai presses a hand to your cheek, thumb brushing away the silent tears slipping down your skin. “Shh, it’s alright.”

Fyodor’s lips curve into something soft. Almost kind. “It’s time to rest, my love.”

The last thing you hear is the quiet, rhythmic ticking of a clock in the distance.

You are not chained.

Not bound. Not locked away.

The silk restraints are gone, but the illusion of freedom is meaningless.

Because there is nowhere to run.

The food is always warm. Always carefully prepared.

Dazai brings you breakfast some mornings, smiling as he sets down a tray—soft eggs, steamed rice, miso soup. “You need to eat, belladonna. You wouldn’t want to make me sad, would you?”

Other nights, Fyodor sits beside you with a steaming cup of tea, his fingers grazing yours as he hands it over. “Drink” he murmurs. “It will help.”

At first, you refused.

At first, you fought.

But hunger is a cruel enemy, and thirst is merciless.

And so—you ate.

You drank.

And then—things began to change. It was the drug they gave you.

It starts subtly.

A soft buzz beneath your skin. A warmth curling in your limbs, making them heavy, slow.

The world around you seems… hazy. The days blur together, slipping between your fingers like sand.

Your thoughts—once sharp, quick, yours—become muffled. Softened at the edges.

Sometimes, you forget what you were saying mid-sentence.

Sometimes, you can’t remember what you were thinking at all.

And the worst part?

You don’t care.

Dazai loves to test you.

“What do you think, Y/N?” He leans in close, elbow propped against the arm of your chair. “If you were me, how would you dismantle an underground smuggling ring?”

Your brow furrows. There’s an answer—there should be an answer—but your mind moves so slowly. Like wading through molasses.

You shake your head. “I… don’t know.”

Dazai hums. “Ah, what a shame. You used to be so clever, belladonna.” He taps his fingers against his lips, eyes gleaming. “But that’s alright. You’re much cuter this way.”

Other times, Fyodor sets a book in front of you, its pages lined with elegant Russian script. “Translate these for me” he says, voice as smooth as silk.

You stare at the text, but the words won’t hold still. The letters twist, rearrange themselves, slipping from your grasp like water.

Your breathing quickens.

Fyodor watches. Waiting.

Finally, you whisper, “I can’t.”

He smiles—soft, indulgent. “Of course you can’t, my love.”

He presses a kiss to your forehead, murmuring in Russian—a prayer, a promise, or a spell, you do not know.

“You don’t need to think anymore.”

Dazai is the worst.

Not because he is cruel—but because he is kind.

Because he teases, touches. Plays with your hair, traces patterns against your wrist, presses against your side when he speaks.

And you let him.

You let him because it is easier.

Because fighting feels like trying to hold onto a dream that is already slipping away.

Because when Fyodor brushes his fingers along your cheek, when he speaks to you in that gentle, reverent tone, when Dazai hums a lullaby as he runs his hands through your hair—

You feel safe.

You feel wanted.

And one day—

One day, you wake up.

You sit at the breakfast table, cradling the tea Fyodor made for you, listening to the low murmur of Dazai’s voice.

And you realize—

You don’t want to leave.

The thought of the outside world—the chaos, the danger, the loneliness—fills you with something cold.

Dazai notices your expression, tilting his head. “What’s wrong, belladonna?”

Your grip tightens around the cup.

You search for the answer.

But the truth is simple.

Nothing is wrong.

For the first time in weeks—maybe months—everything feels right.

Dazai smiles.

Fyodor’s eyes darken with satisfaction.

And you—

You lower your gaze, exhaling softly.

You belong to them.

[heartfullofleeches]

Yan arena beasts/fighters + handler reader. Reader is an average human working at a zoo/shelters abducted and thrown into a life of caring for a galactic tyrant's playthings due to their experience with animals. Not an idea choice for the job, but with everyone who's had the job before being maimed, killed, or worse they were running out of options. Reader does the best with what they're given. They find solitude with the other captives to an extent and some of the more feral creatures remind them of stray cats and dogs they knew back home. They treat those who allow as those same poor creatures out of habit and to cope with their new life. Others are so aggressive they have to be blindfold and sedated to even get close. Reader still tries to comfort them despite the many scratches and bites they receive

A little mix up happens where a warrior meant to fight the big bad of the area had already been slain by the beast. With no alternative, reader gets sent out instead as sacrifice to appease the blood hungry masses. They cower in the corner as the beast's mask is removed, praying their battered body at least gets shipped home so they have a proper burial and their family has some clue to what happened to them. They cast their small dagger away still unable to defend themselves against what they only see as a frightened animal protecting its own skin. The beast lifts them off the ground like a ragdoll holding them high for the crowd to see as its fangs draw from its scarred lips - breaking the band around its wrist that would seal reader's victory.

The beast ties the rope around reader's neck as the announcer declares them victor by default. The crowd boos, but as the beast snaps the neck of one of the guards and throws the limb body into the arena their demands are met. Reader quakes from the sheer disbelief of the whole ordeal, and still being trapped in the beast's arms as it coos. It takes over a dozen guards to get them to separate the two. They try again with another beast reader has care for and the same thing happens. Watching the live footage closely it's clear to experts the skilled fighters allow themselves to get injured to be coddled and tended to by reader. When rations are given they try to feed reader a share of their meals. The number of casualties skyrocket when reader's taken away or new caretakers are introduced. The beasts demand their head pats and ear scratches for their winnings and they want it from one source alone.

-

The emperor is quite amused by this revelation. It perfectly masks his paranoia in the case of his pets rising against him for whatever reason and choosing the earthling as their new overlord which few have spoken of in whispers. He's torn between killing them to null his fears and befriending them to puppeteer his pets craftfully from the shadows. He decides on the latter since getting rid of them would only anger his pets. That and it would be so easy to trick the human with his charms. Few can resist the words and body of a king, after all.

"Y/n, darling, it's so good to see you! So glad you could make it. How have things been, hm?"

"I'd like to go home, please."

"Hahaha! Oh, you're so cute with your little jokes! You may enjoy your meal in due time, but I have a favor to ask of you from a friend to a king. In the case of I don't know - my pets slaughtering my entire legion and storming my castle walls to behead me and crown you ruler - would you pretty please ask them to - not do that?"

"That....sounds like it would be out of my hands."

"Right. Changing subject, you are aware I have been topless this whole conversation and my bed is right behind me. Why haven't you attempted to have your way with me by now? Not saying you could - but you can always try."

The emperor upgrades their room to one right next to his, but they hardly sleep there favoring their time caring for the others and because they'd rather stay there than see him in a state of undress on their mattress. The emperor mimics the cooing that gets wounded beasts extra smothering from their handler, but reader mostly ignores him. He grows jealous seeing them fast asleep in a cell kept warm by the body heat of the battle scarred creatures around them. He's been scarred by attempted assassinations in the past - why doesn't he get cuddles too? Combats this jealously by making a royal decree that reader has to sit with him during every battle and on his lap if they wish to stay out of his sight afterwards. Requests for reader's fredom and hand in marriage and when a champion is chosen are banned almost immediately.

[pollen-blogs]

Original Timeline Tsukasa VS New Timeline Amane

This post is to talk about the differences and similarities between the Yugi brothers in their possessed states

Similarities:

Both brothers work as hosts, in a parasitic relationship

Their strength and overall skills are greatly heightened

The entity possessing them can easily speak through them (we don't know however if it still can after 'Tsukasa' went back to his family, because we haven't heard it talk since.)

They both have the imagery of holes/bottomless pits to symbolise the hole that Kannagis + Tsukasa fell into

Differences:

While it is unclear as to how much of the original Tsukasa remains, it's always been shown that he shares his body and consciousness with the God. Meanwhile, Amane has moments of full autonomy over his body. Whenever he isn't however, he completely blacks out and can barely remember what happened (-> He was medicated, because he thought he had some kind of memory disorder, most likely FCD, Functional Cognitive Disorder judging from his "symptoms")

Similar point as the previous one but this is still worth saying: Tsukasa seems to have more agency than Amane. He technically wasn't allowed to leave the Red House but he managed to get the God on board with it, maybe because it wasn't really in a position to deny him anything but oh well. Meanwhile Amane is completely at the God's mercy, using him as a puppet to help catch prey.

The pit in Amane's face is different from Tsukasa's as it is clearer and shows the God's tentacles. (And also it's on his face and not his torso but yeah...)

Tsukasa can easily dodge attacks, which means that he CAN get hurt (not destroyed since he's a Yorishiro, but hurt), while Amane chooses not to, which means that he CAN'T get hurt, at least not for long. This could imply that maybe Amane's connection to the God is stronger than our Tsukasa's. 'Amane' also seems to have more likeness to the God than Tsukasa in terms of powers and appearance. (-> Since people never stopped believing in Gods who demand sacrifices, the God under the well most likely never was sealed away and is just as powerful as it was back then, not a shadow of its former glory.)

[tadc-harlequin-au]

If this was a game, I think a fun gameplay mechanic would be like a friendship meter. The friendship meter is affected by how you interacted with others. And if you have a higher friendship meter with people, they'd be more willing to help you. For example, companions with higher friendship do more damage when pomni takes them with her. Or another example is because ragathas kinda like the shopkeeper if she has a higher friendship her prices will be cheaper but if her friendship level is low they'll be really expensive. You can raise the friendship meter by going on side quests with the others or using positive dialog, and negative dialog makes the meter go down. Idk I just thought that it might be fun.

I like this idea. And you know what, FUCK IT.

AN AU OF AN AU!!!!!!! WHICH IS ALSO CANON-DIVERGENT FROM THE HARLEQUIN AU LMAO I TRULY AM AMAZING /j

THE AMAZING DIGITAL SOULS-LIKE!

I CAN"T seem to avoid the concept of "What if the Harlequin AU was a game instead", THE UNIVERSE KEEPS PUSHING IT TO MY FACE LIKE MY YOUNGER SIBLINGS WHEN THEY SEE A COLORFUL THUMBNAIL sighs....... back to my Shadow of the Colossus boss osts bullshit..... (affectionate)

The Amazing Digital Souls-like is a Non-canon compliant Alternate Universe (that's also a game rather than an actual fantasy world) of the Harlequin AU, where a stylized souls-like VR game called "The Marvelous Mechanical Harlequin" came out at some point during the rise of souls-like gaming.

Waking up in a well-lit main lounge of a manor, the new, amnesiac Harlequin player is met by "Bubble", a Butler Blimp, and "Caine" The Puppetmaster (whom is VERY VERY LOUD btw), claiming to be the only one who can "help her" in her current predicament.

As to be expected, she's very much on the verge of a mental breakdown, barely keeping it together while attempting to make sense of the world around her. (seriously, who thought pitching this game who sucks people inside of it to the public was a good idea??)

The Puppetmaster then proceeds to infodump everything the Harlequin player should know:

That this is a souls-like game;

she is a Harlequin Puppet in the middle of a TERRIFYING ROBOT apocalypse!!!!!!!!!!!!!! SCARYYYYY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

and that she has to go on a boss-rush type of playthrough IF she EVER wanted to have a chance at getting out!

He'll also be the game's official guide, to which the player is having trouble digesting all this information (not surprising at all.)

When asked what's her name, she can't remember and begins crying onto the floor again (lmao skill issue). The Puppetmaster then picks one at the top of his head; "Pomni", which she reluctantly takes because it's better than having nothing.

From there on out, Pomni undergoes through a series of hardships as she dies (in a video game!!!!!!!!!!!!! MIND YOU, SHE DOES NOT DIE IN REAL LIFE!!!!) over and over again, attempting to defeat various bosses, who are the NPCs. She gains more and more confidence in the battles, but she's still quite the nervous wreck otherwise.

But hey, at least she's getting quite close to Caine, right? He's so nice, and sweet, and very caring of her, careful to reassure her that she's doing a great job with the tasks. There's also a deja vu in her head that's telling her this is somehow familiar, and his presence is a comfort to her.

Surely, everything's all fine and dandy, right?

... right?

Little did this Harlequin know, there is a DARK secret to all this.

And that is the fact that the late bosses aren't just regular boss AIs, they're OTHER PLAYERS trapped in a boss's body, for some goddamn reason. She finds this out when she accidentally does a good chunk of damage to a boss's heart, making them able to speak to her for a bit before going back to being hostile.

With that in mind, Pomni has to DELIBERATELY hit their very durable hearts, if she wants them to be reform as normal players as the hearts imprisoned the ACTUAL avatars of the players.

The Puppetmaster is taken aback, but seems to let Pomni do her way reluctantly.

Once they are freed however, they become Pomni's allies, but they seem... unnerved by the Puppetmaster and tend to avoid him. Every time Pomni asks them why, they're just quiet and looking away. Otherwise, they seem to be grateful and helpful to Pomni about anything else.

This of course, raises Pomni's suspicions of the game's advisor, but she still needs to comply with the rules of this world and thus, has to keep throwing herself to the wolves over and over again.

By the time Pomni frees the Maddened Princess of the Theater, The Puppetmaster declares her ready to face with THE FINAL BIG BAD HIMSELF, The Patriarch of Puppets, an "evil entity who transformed everyone into horrible Puppet monsters". Everyone scoffs silently.

Pomni, according to him, must defeat the Patriarch as the final step to video game freedom.

But by the time Pomni arrives to the final arena, The Patriarch attempts to have a conversation, and seems to be struggling with himself.

The Patriarch explains that his boss body contains "Able", someone who was close to Pomni in real life, who entered in the hopes of making his brother leave the confines of the game. He was able to remember details due to his admin access. Caine only agreed to leave IF he was capable of defeating all the bosses without using his admin abilities, "just like old times".

It was only until his late game run when he figured out (after a heated argument) that the original AI gamemaster, the very heart piece on Caine's chest, took over Caine and was making him act like a manipulative monster. When he tried to pry the heart piece away, he got sealed in the Patriarch's body as punishment.

The Puppetmaster may be unable to revoke his admin access, but it can be sealed off.

Able's been stuck ever since, but still secretly had a bit of access to the game codes if he did it on the low, an oversight by The Puppetmaster, and thus, managed to gain some semblance of control over the Patriarch's otherwise very hostile and bloodthirsty AI just in time for him to talk to Pomni.

The Puppetmaster denies these accusations, and advises Pomni not to believe the boss's manipulative words.

Pomni now has two choices.

>Kill The Patriarch of Puppets, or >face The Puppetmaster.

"Kill the Patriarch of Puppets" ending:

if Pomni decided to not believe Able, he loses his control over The Patriarch and the final boss fight begins. Once Pomni is victorious, The Puppetmaster then congratulates Pomni, but reveals a secret: That there was never an exit.

Pomni simply passed the final test, and now, she's ready to become a boss herself. Try as she might, she cannot escape this and she becomes "The Mechanical Jester of the Circus", the new final boss of the game. All her movesets are reconfigured to become the boss' attacks.

Able resets to normal, now forever trapped to be The Patriarch as The Puppetmaster corrects the previous oversight. The others are reset to become bosses again.

A new player joins, unaware of the horrors that awaits them.

Sad ending :((( How very tragic....

"Face the Puppetmaster" ending:

if Pomni decided to believe Able, a boss fight still ensues but this time, The Patriarch of Puppets is only the Penultimate boss instead of the final stretch. Pomni frees Able, who reforms into his original 'card deck' avatar and regains administrative access to the game.

The Puppetmaster accuses Pomni of breaking his heart and breaking game rules, and thus, has to battle with him IN ONE GO. There is no more reset button for her.

But Able comes in clutch and ensures her that HE will be the one to make sure Pomni can come back as many times as possible to finish the fight and free Caine.

Once Pomni is victorious, The gamemaster heart piece breaks, and Caine is knocked out. All the blocked out memories return to the players.

(Able's design belongs to sm-baby btw!!!!)

Apparently, the VR game was revolutionary. Players could physically enter the world and be immersed in the game's astounding graphics, creative boss rushes and open world exploration aspect. It did VERY well initially, but not well enough to stand the test of time.

Player numbers eventually dissipated when the brothers moved on to greener pastures (so the game didn't have updates), and the AI gamemaster was heartbroken for essentially being abandoned. As a result, any new players that entered the game could not escape, simply because they all forgot they had access to the menu from the very beginning. lmfao

When Caine rediscovered the game and wanted to replay it for old time's sake, the same fate befell him. The gamemaster recognized one of his creators, and took over his entirety, becoming The Puppetmaster.

Able followed suit, wanting to let Caine out but he was sealed into the Patriarch's body before he could succeed.

Pomni, who's actual name is "Penelope", was Caine's significant other in real life and got worried that Caine wasn't responding to her calls while she was on a business trip. She tried contacting Able, no response either.

When she finally arrived to their apartment, The Marvelous Mechanical Harlequin game was on, and recognizing it to be the brothers' old souls-like game, she put on the headset. And from there on out, the story begins.

The other players are able to forgive Caine's actions, and not pass lawsuits once they are able to go back to the real world. Now, with the gamemaster gone, the game has become somewhat active again, though this time, it was the others (and additional new people) hopping in back into the game just to hang out and maybe do some DLC boss rushes implemented by the brothers.

It's pretty epic, y'all. Happy ending yippie!!!!!!!!!

Now if you'll all excuse me... OWIEEEEEEEEEEEEE MY ARM AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-

[mokie-bleh]

I have a request: How about Shadow Milk Cookie with a reader who makes a play for him? Could be a play about him, reader's adventures or anything else in general, you decide!

This is a whole fic omg

Shadow Milk Cookie has always been doing plays for you on his stage, so you thought it would be nice if you did one yourself and showed it to him. You went to the little craft store 10 blocks away from your house. When you got there, you looked around for a bit and saw so much crafting material. You didn’t need much though, so you left with some cardboard, color paper, markers, and other fancy stuff for cool effects.

Once you get back you immediately speed walk into your room. You plan on making this a surprise for him. You wrote down on paper a whole script on things he might enjoy. You cut out cardboard, glued paper together, and worked as hard as you could being as precise as possible. In the end you had a cardboard stage and a bunch of paper figures. You sighed and looked at your work “I wonder if my acting skills are any good….”

Now that everything was ready and you memorized the script, you began setting everything up and waited for his arrival. When he did show up he was so excited. When he heard that you made a play just for HIM?? He wasn’t used to it, since he was always the one putting on a show. He felt much appreciated. 

You told him to sit in front of your mini cardboard stage while you get everything else ready. While he was waiting for you he stared at your set up. He giggled a little to himself. He thought it was adorable how much effort you put into the props.

When you came back you sat behind your cardboard stage and started your play

“This is a story about an ordinary cookie but little did you know their life was gonna take a whole different turn!”

The story goes one day a cookie named y/n decided to be a bit more adventurous than they normally are. They decided to go explore the dark forest, for they heard rumors of big beasts and strange creatures that roam the dark land. However this cookie wasn’t truly aware of the extreme dangers of the forest. “This forest is pretty. I should explore this place more often!”   

(Imagine during the play you lean on the cardboard stage a bit too much and it ends up flopping onto the ground. You're looking straight at him while he’s laughing his ass off)

The clueless cookie ended up going deeper into the forest, more than they should have. They didn’t notice a group of spores trailing close behind. Luckily someone had pulled them aside. Looking at who grabbed them it was none other than Shadow Milk Cookie! “What is a cookie like you walking around this forest? Don’t you know how dangerous it is here, have you not heard of the rumors?”

Before the cookie could respond back to him they both got attacked by a group of spores. He quickly pulled them behind him and started defending against them, getting a good strike on them every so now and then. He then grabbed the cookie’s arm and ran past them as fast as possible. Eventually they ended up near the end of the first, safe from any other creatures. “Omg when I heard of the rumors I didn’t believe they were true”

The End.

You ended your quick story and took a peek behind your stage to see if he actually enjoyed or was disappointed. You saw him with a big old smile and cheering and clapping for you saying how amazing you did. You stood up and bowed like what he would do. He ran up to you and gave you a big squeeze. “You know? Me and you should start doing plays together! Wouldn’t that be fun?”

–bonus shadow milk’s reactions during your play–

He was most likely silently laughing at your bad impression of him and the funny movements you gave the paper puppets.

You did make some noticeable mistake during your play like forgetting the script and forgetting which puppet you were holding, which he found hilarious 

Other than that he genuinely thinks you did amazing and praises you for your creativity telling you “You’re almost as good as me!”

[fanged-fanfics]

Hello! I would love to request Macaque x cub reader where he raising them and the reader is a little jewelry and appearance obsessed sweetheart who also views Wukong as a uncle (after Wukong imprisonment they were caught and put in a sleep that stopped their aging and after the LBD Wukong found them and gave them back to Macaque! Platonic of course

💜🌙 To Raise a Cub — Macaque & Cub!Reader HCs 🌙💜

Genres: [platonic/familial] fluff || they/them pronouns for reader || No warnings needed

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁⋆˚｡⋆୨🌙୧⋆˚｡⋆✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖

- Macaque initially found your gravitation towards jewelry to be amusing. Seeing you coo and babble at shiny gems and ornaments made him smile to no end. He'd frequently snatch artifacts from Wukong's dojo whenever you two visited so you'd always have more to keep

- It only really became worrying when he started to be super conscious about how small most jewlery is, constantly making sure you're not trying to eat a ring or small chain. He eventually only started giving you super chunky jewelry that you couldn't possibly swallow instead, but he still watched you extremely close

- He liked to talk to you while you looked in a mirror so you could happily babble to yourself as he gently told you many soft compliments, about how you were the most perfect cub he could've ever had and how he was always so proud of you

- He was slightly less enthusiastic as he noticed how close you were to Wukong. He still allowed you to visit him, of course, but not without snarking at the king endlessly and being petty towards him

- Wukong loved introducing you to every single Flower Fruit Mountain monkey that would come up while you hang out, which is usually pretty easy since they tend to cling to Macaque whenever he's outside

- Macaque always lectures Wukong very thoroughly when it comes to taking care of you. Wukong can't help but mentally log how intensely protective Macaque is, but he can understand the angle. He was secretly proud his old brother managed to be responsible enough to take care of you so well

- Macaque knows that he likely feeds into how much you tend to be focused on appearance seeing as he's constantly calling you the best cub he's ever seen and letting you have all the (safe) jewelery you could ever want. But he doesn't plan to stop that anytime soon. Ever since Wukong gave you to him and he saw your fuzzy face and wide eyes, he knew immediately he'd never seen anything more adorable. His heart melted seeing you well and vibrant, and he felt his love grow back tenfold

- He'll always let you use some of his clothes to do little modeling shoots, especially his scarf that he's fond of swaddling you in. He even offered to make you mini leather armor to mimic his own so you could match

- He's mostly good at shadow puppets that he conjures with his powers, but eventually he did pick up a small habit of making felt toys for you to play with. He used the sewing skills he learned to make you all your own outfits, including letting you pick the colors and patterns

- Macaque is a kinda vain guy himself, so he's got absolutely no problem with showering you with as many gifts and trinkets that he can steal find for you. Anything for the kid that gave him a new life, to make sure you always feel safe and loved no matter what

[cursedcanon]

JJK men as dads.

Characters: Gojo, Choso , Sakuna, Geto , Toji and Nanami.

Gojo Satoru – The Ridiculously Over-the-Top Dad

Gojo as a father would be chaotic good. He’s the kind of dad who shows up at parent-teacher meetings in designer sunglasses and acts like a celebrity. His kid? Spoiled beyond belief. Need a new toy? Boom, you have the entire toy store. Want dessert before dinner? He’s already handing you ice cream.

He’d be super playful, letting his kid ride on his shoulders at high speeds (terrifying for bystanders), randomly teleporting them places, and making everything a game. But when it comes to protecting them? No one is touching his kid. Ever.

Pros: Funniest and most entertaining dad, will literally bend reality to make his kid smile.

Cons: Probably lets them get away with way too much, so discipline? Who’s she?

Overall: The "best friend" type of dad but still a powerhouse of protection when needed.

Choso – The Overprotective, Gentle Dad

Choso would be so soft with his kid. He’s been through so much loss that once he has a child of his own, they become his entire world. He’d always make sure they feel loved and protected, constantly checking if they ate, if they’re warm, if they’re happy. If they so much as get a scratch, he’s holding them like they’ve been mortally wounded.

His bedtime stories? Legendary. He’s the kind of dad who will sit for hours telling stories and making shadow puppets on the wall. But if someone dares to harm his child? They’re dead. No hesitation.

Pros: Incredibly caring, super protective, and patient.

Cons: Might be too overprotective (his kid is not allowed to climb trees, ever).

Overall: A soft, warm dad who will also commit a crime for his child.

Sukuna – The “I’m Not a Softie” Dad (But He Is)

Sukuna as a dad would pretend he doesn’t care, but deep down, he’s got that soft spot. He’d be the dad that grumbles about how kids are annoying, but the moment his child looks sad? He’s casually placing their favorite snacks next to them and acting like it was always there.

His parenting style would be strict, though. No nonsense, no whining. But the second someone else tries to be mean to his kid? Immediate execution.

Pros: Will make sure his child is the strongest, and no one will ever mess with them.

Cons: Tough love to the max. “Crying? Weak. You can fight a bear, I believe in you.”

Overall: The dad who acts like he doesn’t care but would burn the world for his child.

Geto Suguru – The “Cool But Protective” Dad

Geto would be the cool dad—the one who’s got that chill vibe and never raises his voice unless he needs to. He’s the type to have deep conversations with his kid, teaching them about the world, strength, and how to handle things with grace.

But if someone messes with his child? He will destroy them. Effortlessly.

Pros: Wise, calm, and genuinely wants the best for his child.

Cons: Might be a bit too hands-off sometimes.

Overall: The dad who gives solid advice and will make sure his child is respected.

Toji Fushiguro – The “Tough but Soft” Dad

Toji would be a dad who tries to act like he doesn’t care much, but deep down, he’s so soft when no one’s looking. He’d teach his kid how to defend themselves from a young age and make sure they know how to survive.

He’s rough around the edges, but he’d do anything to give his child a better life than he had. If his kid ever got bullied? That bully would mysteriously disappear (coincidence? I think not).

Pros: Teaches survival skills, fiercely protective, secretly affectionate.

Cons: Struggles with showing emotions, might be distant at times.

Overall: The "tough-love" dad who is actually a big softie.

Nanami Kento – The Reliable, Best-Dad Material

Nanami is the perfect balance. He’s the dad who provides everything his child needs—stability, warmth, and love, but also discipline when necessary. His kid will grow up knowing their worth because Nanami will always be there to remind them.

He’s the kind of dad who comes home tired from work but still helps with homework, reads bedtime stories, and makes pancakes on weekends. If his child cries? He’s holding them and reassuring them with that deep, soothing voice.

Pros: Responsible, loving, and will always put his child first.

Cons: Might worry too much about their future.

Overall: The ultimate “Dad of the Year” type.

[synthetickitsune]

To Save The World ✧ h.js

Pairing: Joshua Hong x gn!reader Genre: angst Summary: Joshua made his choice. Now he has to commit to it. The world must go on. And for that, he has to make you go. Word count: 1.6k Warnings: blood, knives, reader dies A/N: inspired by @chugging-antiseptic-dye's post here bcs you can't say "joshua slitting your throat" and expect me to be normal, and also it's highly recommended to read this as well

The night falls. The stars twinkle above, yet the light seems dimmed. The world must be asleep. Perhaps it might be as kind as to close its eyes to what he’s about to do. If there’s one thing the world’s always been good at, afterall, it’s turning away from those who need its help the most. There's a duty to them that he always carried on his shoulders. He’s always tried to make up for what the universe couldn’t do. Now that he’s in need of help, however, who will save him? 

He never thought that burden would eventually end up being his own demise.

Joshua’s breath comes out as thin clouds that soon evaporate into nothingness. Just the same as him. Every breath is a thought, a memory, a part of him. He wills them to be. He needs to send them all off, so that he can at least hope to be saved one day. He hopes the wind can carry all of him far enough that he won’t be tainted. 

He spent what felt like hours standing under scalding water. As if filth can be washed ahead of time. 

Anyway. 

Washed as best as he could make it and free of all scent, he feels naked. A blank sheet. Now all that’s left is to cleanse himself of himself. Not a man, but a hero. A fragile puppet dancing however fate and duty pull its strings. Empty. To be filled again with a different substance. Transformed. A copy of himself only on the outside.

The cold makes him feel frozen in time. If it doesn’t start ticking again soon, he will surely lose his mind. But perhaps that’s an option he’d gladly take. There is little chance of that happening soon enough, though. No, it’s not going to happen until it’s too late.

He hears lone footsteps slowly approaching. Bile rises up his throat. He closes his eyes and takes a couple of long, deep breaths. He tries to keep them even. To keep the tremors out of his breathing at least. He can’t be heard. He has to keep standing but his knees can barely support him. If only the darkness of the alley could swallow him. If only the wall behind his back could turn into goo. Trap him like an insect in tree sap. Keep him trapped in amber so that everyone could witness his cowardice that even outweighs the sin he’s about to commit.

‘Hero’ is a funny world. A joke.

In the end, he couldn’t save everyone. Forget everyone. Just one person.

The sound gets closer. Have you always walked with a skip in your step when you were rushing home to him? The bile again. His stomach twists. He has to force himself to swallow. The street remains empty. Everything else aside, Joshua can’t let anyone see his face ever again. He won’t ever look at his face again. His hands feel clammy. He can’t breathe. He can’t—

The knife almost slips from his hand. He only sees your side profile for a split second. He can’t double over. Not now. He’s already a coward hiding in the shadows. So it feels like a cruel joke, the sight that his eyes let him see. It’s like the clouds part and you’re suddenly bathed in moonlight. Are the stars taking you before he can? He only has fractions of a second to pray it is so. To hope his hands will pass right through you. That the moon saves you and cradles you in its cold silver arms.

It’s with practiced ease that he reaches from his hiding spot. It’s with hard-earned skill and speed that he grabs you and pulls you back into the shadows, away from the light that exposes his weakness. He ensnares you in the darkness with him before you can make a sound or register what’s happening.

With tender strength he holds you against his chest. His arm wraps around your waist perfectly, pinning your arms to your sides. It should be like this. You belong with him. He should always hold you. What does heaven have that lying with you, your head above his heart and his arms around you doesn’t provide? Your body fits against his like you were made for him. And lately he believes you were, just to make your fate that much crueler. To start his punishment long before he knew he’s going to be punished.

You can’t make a sound with his hand covering your mouth. He wishes you could. Blame him. Hate him. (Love him.) Your struggling is useless. He’s always been stronger than you. Could always easily pin you down. Why can’t you pout about it now? (Please hit his chest. Please call him mean. Please laugh and pull him down for a kiss.)

Your efforts double when the glint of the blade catches your eye. He has already messed up. He shouldn’t have held you one last time. It comes so naturally to him, though. Instincts can’t be overridden. He had to. He tries to make his voice deeper, unrecognizable. To his own ears he doesn’t sound like himself when he shushes you. You sound every bit like yourself when you whimper. (Can’t he hold you tighter? Can’t he pull the blanket over you like he’s always done and shield you from the rest of the world?)

In his memories, it’s always your hair, your cheeks that he caresses. Your lip under his thumb. As he moves his hand lower though, he discovers that the skin on the vulnerable column of your throat is surprisingly soft too. (Did he not explore your body enough? Will this be one more regret to haunt him day and night?) Your breathing, your heartbeat, he can feel it all with his touch. It’s so fast. Like the little bunny’s that you promised to adopt with him. The one you won’t make a half-orphan because you never brought it home. Your eyes look like prey animal’s caught in a trap too.

His thumb strokes over your windpipe. You deserve that. You deserve something more intimate. You deserve something warmer than the cold steel of the knife. You deserve him. Not a stranger.

But he can’t. He’s a coward. His strength isn’t as tender now. It’s desperate. He doesn’t want to let go. You don’t make a sound.

(Please whine. Please tell him to let go. Please call him clingy. Please tell him to let you hug him too.)

His hand stops before it can dip under your shirt. His fingertips barely brush against your collarbone. How selfish he can be. You must be so scared - a stranger holding you, a stranger touching you. Joshua knows if it was him you saw holding a knife so close to your face, you wouldn’t be scared at all. 

(Smile at him. See him.)

As if sensing his hesitation, you move. Just one lone, weak attempt to break free. Just a jolt of an animal that doesn’t wish to be pet.

He leans his head against yours. (Hurt him. Do it. Please.) You stay still. For a blink of an eye that lasts an eternity, you settle and relax. Like he’s holding you while you cook dinner. Like he’s comforting you after a long day. Like you’re watching the storm outside from the warmth of your home. Like he’s saying goodbye.

Like you know what’s coming.

It’s with an order, an impulse to his nerves that doesn’t, that can’t have, come from his own brain and free will that the knife in his sweaty palm turns. Your breathing picks up more. The blade presses against the side of your throat and he—

Joshua!

The shriek pierces the silence of the night.

It rains. Crimson splatters on the ground.

But all he hears is your voice.

Did you recognize him and called his name in shock? Betrayal? Understanding?

Were you calling him for help?

Did you want his name to be your last word?

The knife clatters on the ground with echoes of his name, of your voice. Nothing else is real.

His hand clutches your throat and presses against it with force. He’s trying to pull the split tissue together but it won’t listen and the blood keeps pouring.

The warmth encompassing his hands must be your hands grabbing his. Slipping your fingers between his.

You’re just standing in the shower. It’s hot water rolling down your bodies. You’ll laugh. You’ll scold him for simply holding you instead of washing up.

What’s the point if his hands are forever dyed red.

No shower will ever be enough.

And your life keeps trickling down his fingers and pooling under his feet.

He collapses with you.

His head falls, forehead resting against yours.

(Look at him.)

He holds you like you’re dancing. Your silly wish to look at him after he twirls you. To lean back into his arms and look up at him.

So look at him. 

There’s nothing interesting to see at the back of your skull.

He sobs, but he only hears your voice. Only feels the claws of guilt and pain tearing at his throat from the inside.

Did you know? Could you tell he held you? Did you know you’re not alone? That you don’t have to be scared? 

Look at him. 

Tell him.

The world did not end with a bang. Nor with a whimper. The world did not end at all that night.

But there, in a dark alley where blood pools on the cobblestone, a life and a soul were crushed to save it. 

[b-r-i-n-g-x]

Its almost Christmas time so i thought i make a gmod art of almost every single au I have!!

Here comes the close ups!

Puppet Four au that i don't have anything for it bt I made the dupe cause I liked the idea of puppet four dhdhdh the lil creepy fella

Sophie!! Isn't she so innocent, just making a snowman

Ofc the crash au boyos can't be left out, look at them, so gay geez guys, just make out and move on /silly

Despite putting gay ogres on pause i couldn't leave ogre three out of the picture so here he is! Plus Desti from that au of mine when i was thinking of the aftermath of the "what if desti lives" thing

I didn't forget my hlvrai au either, sAI3 made a Christmas tree out of Lucas

And last but not least the Shadow vision crew! Sv4 is so pro he can play on his psp AND have a snowball fight at the same time, he has the skill fr

And thats a wrap! Happy holidays!!

[gethoce]

Can I just say that I LOVE how Marx looks in your art?

All his expressions are just... top notch stuff. I love how expressive he is. He genuinely looks smug in a lot of it and that's just great.

And, uh, if you don't mind, I'ma throw in a question: What do you imagine being some of Marx's favorite prank targets in terms of notable members of the extended Kirby cast?

Explanations under the cut ~

Shadow Kirby: A near impossible task. Whenever Marx tries to prank him, Shadow Kirby seems uninterested, going as far as to taunt him for his lack of creativity. That disinterested stare in the reflection's eyes frustrates Marx to no end! Not a fun target at all, never ended up satisfying that prankster itch.

Gooey: Marx has tried to prank Gooey before, to no success. Gooey seems to simply accept whatever happens to him and move on as though nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. This usually leaves Marx absolutely flabbergasted! He just can't get his head around Gooey, the unprankable. It almost feels like it is him who actually gets pranked by Gooey!

Rick, Kine and Coo: He used to prank them occasionally, but since that Kine Yin-Yarn fake love letter prank somehow ended up bringing these two together he has gone on a hiatus when it comes to pranking all three of the animal friends. To think he would end up causing Kine to divorce Mine and marry some sort of knitting needle duo… He still hasn't told anyone that it was him who wrote the letters.

Taranza: Marx has pranked him many times at first mocking his posh appearance and behavior with glee! That all stopped when Taranza got a hold of him and used his puppeteer skills to parade him around so everyone could see what a jerk he is and mock him in retaliation. Marx has been keeping his distance from the spider since.

Galacta Knight: The old reliable. At this point Marx isn't even sure whether Galacta's surprised face is genuine. Arguably he is the victim of Marx’ greatest prank. If only he had been there when Galacta Knight found out about it… if he ever did. These days he just feels awkward trying to prank him.

Francisca: Marx likes her so he doesn't go as hard on her. He'll play the occasional trick on her but usually the kind that makes them both chuckle. If it was something more serious he'd evoke the ire of Flamberge as well anyway.

Zan Partizanne: It is easy to rile her up, this much is clear. He could prank her with his eyes closed! Whether he is fast enough to avoid the consequences is a different thing… Still worth it for the bit occasionally.

Adeleine: Since he has known way more humans than she ever has he likes to tell her a thing or two about them. Occasionally he may… twist the truth a little bit. She may have thought she could learn how to breathe fire at one point or another. Notably he does not dare to do anything to her art. He did it once and everyone was on his bad side within an instant.

Elfilin: Since he knew Fecto Elfilis personally he likes to take advantage of what he knew about them to unsettle him. In truth he didn't know Elfilis all that well, but Elfilin doesn't know that and Marx gladly uses that to his advantage.

Dark Meta Knight: You'd think he would be an easier target than regular Meta Knight, yet DMK is already frustrated when Marx is simply just in the area. There isn't much he can do in front of him to rile him up even more. Instead Marx came up with a more stealthy tactic… He reminds DMK of his existence by leaving notes in his house to taunt him. A witty remark or a framed Marx selfie on his nightstand, anything that causes the reflection to think of him. The payoff is a little delayed since he usually misses out on the reaction, but he enjoys it greatly to see the knight storm into his direction with murderous intent.

Susie: His normal pranks don't seem to have an effect on her. She'd usually just act all nonchalant and unimpressed or even ignore him entirely. Instead Marx has to resort to different tactics… He likes to orchestrate elaborate plans to make her question her sense of reality and perception. Sometimes he just moves an object from one place to another, other times more drastic changes come into play such as subtly changing the colours of her walls just a little over and over again until they are a different colour.

Kirby: Since direct methods have proven to backfire he had to come up with a different tactic… A tactic that allows him to prank multiple targets at once no less! Simply convince Kirby to take part in a prank and then let him take the fall or at least have him take some of the blame! Either way Marx has the last laugh! Not as fun to prank as others, but he does get enjoyment out of pranking his old nemesis.

Daroach: A fun but challenging target! He always has the most hilarious flabbergasted reactions! Though he is very attentive, Marx has to really prove his skill to not be noticed by a master thief like Daroach. He notices even subtle changes in his environment, unlike Susie. Marx likes to lure him with treasure, something Daroach just can not resist.

Ribbon: Marx’ favorite way of pranking her is jump scares! He can do some excellent screeches and her reactions are the best! It's usually in good fun between the two, they actually get along quite well!

Bandana Waddle Dee: Marx’ favourite prank is to pretend as though he doesn't recognise Bandee as anything but a random Waddle Dee. In his case he also likes to sabotage him in secret to make it seem like he is doing a bad job. Bonus points if the king gets to see whichever mess the Dee has gotten himself into. A very fun target!

Meta Knight: Arguably one of Marx’ biggest pranks was directed towards Meta Knight. He pretended to be just an innocent citizen who needed help and just a few days later Meta Knight tried (and failed) to overthrow the king! Meta Knight also blamed himself for Marx’ “death” when he tried to take over Popstar thinking it was his failure that led to the takeover attempt of the noddy. Meta Knight still isn't fully aware of Marx’ true nature and the jester loves to take advantage of that. Having that vigilant knight stand up for him cracks him up every time!

Flamberge: Similar to Zan she is easy to prank but escaping her wrath isn't as much of an issue, although many fires have been started as she attempted to chase after him regardless, which just add to the fun in his eyes. She isn't nearly as fast as Zan and actually does get along with him on a normal day.

King Dedede: Oh, a favourite of his! Dedede’s big ego and loud personality allows for all kinds of different pranks to work! The only downside really is that the king doesn't have that stoic attitude Marx enjoys to break through. Most reactions are a bit standard. Still a fun target any day of the week! Quick and easy!

Morpho Knight: There is probably nobody in existence Marx despises more than Morpho Knight. He doesn't just prank it casually, he wants to be cruel about it. Is it dangerous to dare prank a bringer of death? Most certainly. Does he fear it even a little bit? No fear can ever overpower the hatred that fills his mind when he sees it.

Magolor: He is both a partner in crime and a target at the same time. Magolor has to endure pretty much everything Marx has to offer and there is nothing more delicious than his reactions! Magolor's huge ego and self-important wizard attitude make him the perfect pranking target! As much as Marx enjoys the sciences himself, he will sabotage Magolor wherever he can even when it has negative consequences for him. Anything for the bit!

[thebiscuitlabryinth]

There is an intimacy to sharing a body with someone. That's an obvious conclusion to make, but to experience it is something else entirely.

Shadow Milk may be adept at controlling people, but he has never possessed anyone before, not like this. He has never had any need to in the first place, because before his unjust imprisonment, he'd had his own body. Even if there hypothetically could have been a need, he much preferred the detachment his puppet strings allowed him. There was a superiority to having full control of a situation while being completely untouched by it, and that aside, inhabiting some insignificant Cookie's body as a concept was irritating, an insult to his own skill and strength.

Unfortunately, the circumstances have now changed. It is a compromise he is willing to accept though, because he'd take anything over staying sealed, and because he isn't sharing a body with just anyone.

No, it is Pure Vanilla Cookie, who is nowhere near as brilliant as Shadow Milk himself, but nowhere near as insignficant as the rest of Cookiekind either. No, he's special, and he has Shadow Milk's Soul Jam, so it is ultimately a matter of efficiency, to latch onto him.

Still, he had expected it to feel odd. Shadow Milk hasn't had a physical body in a long, long time so on principle, he figured becoming grounded and solid again would already be a strange feeling, let alone in a body that wasn't his original one.

But when he settles into Pure Vanilla's dough for the first time, Shadow Milk is forced to reassess his assumptions, because while it isn't familiar, it feels right. Like it is already his, and was always meant to be.

Thinking on it now, it is obvious that it would. Pure Vanilla isn't just anybody – he is the current holder of his Soul Jam, and no matter how undeserving that may be, that must make them compatible with one another. Even now, Shadow Milk can feel the core of his stolen power, so close yet just far out of reach.

That, of course, is the drawback of this little plan. Pure Vanilla is awfully paranoid – though Shadow Milk will admit, he is flattered with how often he crosses his mind – so he doesn't get many opportunities to seize control, and the ones he does get, he has to achingly hold back from jumping at.

Shadow Milk may be a jester, but he's no fool. He understands dramatic tension and build-up better than anyone else, and something like this is only worthy of being a heartstopping cliffhanger reveal, right on the cusp of the show's climax! To be able to do that, he has to play the waiting game for a little bit. It's aggravating, especially since he had planned to be free as a bird by now, but it isn't the worse. More fun than growing stale in a tree, at least.

And Shadow Milk really is fascinated by the intimacy of sharing this body. The inherent closeness, the blurring of lines and the warmth. Pure Vanilla's thoughts run like a river, sometimes churning furiously and other times meandering slow like honey, and he fishes them up effortlessly to marvel at how soft and ridiculous he is.

Pure Vanilla is not aware of Shadow Milk's presence. Well, that isn't quite true, because he obviously has suspicions, with how he mumbles questions and warnings to his reflection with a wary, anxious tone. How could he not, when Shadow Milk entertains himself with whispers and visions and taunts that are intangible enough to be classed as hallucination?

But he doesn't know about Shadow Milk's presence for certain, which means he can't fish Shadow Milk's thoughts out in return. It doesn't seem like they spill over naturally either. Shadow Milk wishes they did, wishes some of his more fun thoughts seeped into Pure Vanilla's brain like syrup, just to see how he would startle and panic.

Ah well. There were other ways to fluster him. It was easy, actually, as long as you knew what to say, and Shadow Milk is a master with words.

Shadow Milk taps their finger lazily against the staff while Pure Vanilla is busy, focused on his conversation with White Lily and those itty-bitty Cookies – and they really are itty-bitty, barely out the Oven, especially not compared to him. It's an easily overlooked movement, but that is exactly why Shadow Milk does it, finding it exciting to slowly push at those boundaries.

Moving the body without full control makes it feel less like his own hand, and more like his hand is laying on the top of Pure Vanilla's and moving it in tandem. It is almost similar to puppeting, if it wasn't for the added sensation of their hands merging together with the movement, warm and cold and heavy with the presence of another person. It feels thrilling, and it feels like two opposite magnets forced together, and it feels like coming home.

Shadow Milk knows it will feel even better when he is in full control. The freedom is exciting on its own, but Pure Vanilla will probably kick up a little fuss too. To press him into surrender under his presence, to surround and suffocate him so thoroughly that he lives in his very dough, that their minds and spirits have no choice but to intertwine – that is the sort of romanticism lovesick maidens would crumble for, truly, to be possessed in all senses of the word, and Shadow Milk is going to offer it all to Pure Vanilla on a silver platter. He should be thankful, he really should!

As for him, to possess Pure Vanilla in every meaningful way possible just feels natural. Again, Shadow Milk finds himself considering how Pure Vanilla really is his, and it is just as true as before. It has been true since the moment Pure Vanilla recieved his Soul Jam, and the moment Shadow Milk first laid eyes on him, which are incidentally one and the same.

It's so unfair, really. That he has to wait even longer when he could take over completely at the slightest push of effort.

Pure Vanilla, seemingly finished with his little conversation, begins to stroll off on his own. He pauses on a bridge, looking over the edge into the clear waters below, and Shadow Milk takes the opportunity to wink at him, Pure Vanilla's mouth twitching into an echo of a smirk, just to tease.

Pure Vanilla jolts, and blinks furiously back, shaking his head. Shadow Milk retreats from the surface to soak himself in the rushing of Pure Vanilla's thoughts.

I didn't– did I? No, no, no, I must be seeing things. The water's surface is quite far away, and the current must have disrupted my reflection–

Shadow Milk hums, pleased with himself, and it translates to an ominous chill down Pure Vanilla's spine.

Shadow Milk still wants his own body again, eventually. It isn't exactly feasible to share one long-term, because even though he is confident in his own abilities, there will always be a non-zero chance of Pure Vanilla stealing control at a vital moment.

For now, though, it's fun. A novelty he hasn't grown tired of yet.

It's only fair, anyway, since Pure Vanilla has his Soul Jam. If anything, it's his right.

[virune]

shadow is the only puppet who knows how to sew, a skill he learned from his creator. normally the human staff take care of repairs, but sonic has a tendency to get rips and tears from running around and flinging himself on a daily basis. when the staff have gone home for the night, shadow is the one popping open the sewing kit to fix up the other puppets (or even himself, although he prides himself on not getting damaged)