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harperskele · 1 month ago

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The Subversion of Expectations

A gift for @mmmilkweed, inspired by this post.

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Shadow Milk can't remember the last time he felt regret. Has he ever? Fear, certainly. Rage? Countless times. But regret? He can't seem to recall a time he ever had, until now.

Floating lazily above Pure Vanilla's bed, he quietly hums a tune. A small doll, half-complete, dangles in the air as he works on adding its vanilla petal hair. Beneath him, Pure Vanilla slumbers, unaware of his presence.

It's the middle of the night, and the palace is quiet. Moonlight streams through the windows, casting his muse in a gentle halo. It’s far better than the sunlight, unabashed and loud in its presence; yes, moonlight is far better. Darkness is best, but that isn't an option right now. There is work to be done, and redecorating his new abode isn't a high priority right now.

Stealing another glance for reference, he stitches the petals to the doll's head with a reverence that would disgust him if it were anyone else. Here, in the quiet and the calm, he can relax the chaotic energies that drive him and focus on his craft. Certainly, he could simply create a doll with his powers, a meaningless puppet that would dissipate at will. But this, something tangible that he's made with his own hands? This gives a sense of satisfaction unlike any other.

Getting to watch over Pure Vanilla is a simple bonus, a small treat for his hard work.

He's just finished stitching on the final petal when Pure Vanilla stirs. He jolts, drifting into the shadows like second nature, and silences his little tune. Fortunately, his quarry doesn't awaken. Unfortunately, he does something worse.

Pure Vanilla groans, clutching at his chest through his pajama shirt. His legs kick aimlessly under the covers, and his face grows strained. Even his staff, leaning against his bedside table, begins to twitch and shudder.

Shadow Milk drifts out of the shadows, floating closer and tilting his head. A dream, perhaps? Certainly not a good one.

Pure Vanilla whimpers.

Shadow Milk jolts, floating backwards a few inches. He'd never expected such a pathetic, weak sound to come from such a man. He's seen his tears before, but he's never heard such a sound come from him before.

Already, he can see the tears beading on Pure Vanilla's lashes, and his struggle grows more frantic.

“No… No, no…”

Shadow Milk drifts down and plops himself next to Pure Vanilla, figuring it's better to wake him up now instead of let this nightmare play out. He reaches out to shake his shoulder, and--

“Please, not this- Don't- Don't show me this-!”

He pauses, a frown tugging at his own face. A nightmare about him? He withdraws his hand, crossing his arms.

Pure Vanilla is pale now, gasping frantically. “I won't ignore-- I'll listen-! Please-!” He chokes on a sob, writhing in what seems like pain.

It feels like he's been punched in the gut. He knows now what he's having a nightmare about. An instance early in their meeting, when Pure Vanilla - at the time, Truthless Recluse - had refused to acknowledge him and his incredible hosting skills. He was crueler then, far less patient and completely unempathetic.

He can still remember Pure Vanilla's face when the gore of seeing his maimed friends had caused him to vomit. He had laughed then, laughed at his suffering and his tears. Laughed for how easily he caved under the suffering of others, and laughed at how much work was to be done to teach him.

He can't find any humor in the memory.

He reaches out once more, frantically shaking Pure Vanilla's shoulders. “Hey, ‘Nilly!” He calls, brushing some of his hair out of his tear-stained face. “Wake up! Hey, hey! Come on now, get up!” He tries to smile, but it's strained. His voice grows high and brittle with growing panic. He can't let this keep going. He's made so much progress, gotten so much better. What if he doesn't want him around after remembering what he did?

Guilt feels like ice water pooling in his insides, but also like acid burning in his heart. He almost wants to stop, to run away. But he'd learned, from Pure Vanilla nonetheless, that it wouldn't fix anything to run.

Pure Vanilla shoots up with a gasp, still grasping at his crumpled pajamas. Unfeeling eyes snap open, as does the eye on his staff. His arm is tangled in the sheets, and he lets out a frantic cry as he tries to get free.

“Hey! You're okay! ‘Nilly, calm down!” He pleads, easily slicing away the sheet. Shadows answer his call, pressing Pure Vanilla's staff into his hands. He just hopes it's enough to help anchor him. He rests his hand on Pure Vanilla's heaving back, but he flinches away.

“No, please, I--” Pure Vanilla clambers backwards, closer to the edge of the bed, and stops just short of falling off. Suddenly, his hands fly to his mouth with a grunt, and Shadow Milk barely has enough time to usher a bucket into place before Pure Vanilla vomits. He gropes for the edges of it, and Shadow Milk pats his back once more. This time he doesn't flinch.

“That's it, get it all out. It's okay.” He murmurs, forcing an uncharacteristic softness into his voice. Once Pure Vanilla stops, he dismisses the bucket and grabs a rag through a small portal, beginning to clean up his face. “You're safe now, you're not-” He stops short, clears his throat, and tosses the soiled rag aside. “Not in that place.”

Silence consumes them, and Shadow Milk cringes at the awkwardness. Pure Vanilla just had a nightmare about his time in the Spire, his time being tortured at Shadow Milk's own hands. And here he is, helping him recover from it. He ushers Pure Vanilla back to his former spot, fishing out a softer cloth to dab at the sweat on his forehead.

Again, neither of them speak, but Pure Vanilla doesn't ask him to leave, doesn't shudder at his very presence. So he cleans him up, then pats his head.

“All done. I'll leave you be now--”

A hand darts out and grabs his sleeve. “Stay! Stay. Please.” Pure Vanilla begs. His eyes are closed again, but his staff's eye is fixed on Shadow Milk. “I don't- I don't want to-”

“It's okay. I know. I'll stay.” He sits at the foot of the bed, facing Pure Vanilla. He wouldn't have wanted to be alone after that either.

I'm sorry. The words are on the tip of his tongue, but he can't force them out. They're the right words, the only words he can think to say, and he can't make himself utter them. Maybe it's his pride, maybe it's his shame.

Pure Vanilla's deep, meditative breaths are the only sounds that fill the room. It stays that way for what must have only been five minutes, but it feels like an eternity to Shadow Milk.

He opens his mouth to say something else, anything else, but Pure Vanilla beats him to it.

“It was you this time.” He whispers.

Shadow Milk scowls. He knows it was him. It's always him. He's the one who did it.

“They- You-” Pure Vanilla sniffles, rubs at his eyes once, and exhales. “You screamed so much.”

“I… what?”

“There was so much blood, and you were just… Calling out to me. And I couldn't move. I wanted to help, but I couldn't.” Pure Vanilla lowers his head. Seeing his face like this, twisted in pain and guilt, when he should never had felt that way, tugs at Shadow Milk's chest. “I'm sorry. I'm such a coward, I should have--”

“Okay, pause. ‘Nilly, what are you talking about?” He interrupts, scooting closer. He reaches out, takes Pure Vanilla's chin in a gentle hold, and lifts his head. Deftly, he swipes under his eyes with his thumbs, coaxing more tears into falling so that he can brush them away. “You were having a nightmare, right? About… About the Spire. What I did to your friends, what I made you see… Right?”

Pure Vanilla melts into his hand. He sets his staff aside with practiced ease and shuffles a bit closer. His arm brushes Shadow Milk's leg and stays there, seeking its warmth. He can feel Pure Vanilla's hands tremble, but doesn't say anything.

Pure Vanilla shakes his head, loosing a wet laugh. “No, it was you. You were dying. I don't know how, but-” His smile drops in an instant, and his lip wobbles. “I couldn't help you. You were in so much pain, and I--”

“I'm fine, ‘Nilly. Everything is okay. No one can hurt me, ‘member?” He pats Pure Vanilla's cheeks. “It was just a nightmare.”

“I know, but-”

“No buts.” He smiles. “Dreams are crazy. Don't read too much into it. I've even had crazy dreams, like one time I had this dream where--”

He rambles on, spinning tales of whacky adventures and strange phenomena, refusing to let Pure Vanilla talk about his nightmare again. It'll fade with time. Memories are fickle like that, especially dreams.

An hour later, as he glances at Pure Vanilla again, he sees that the man has grown still amongst his pillows. He smiles, tugging the blankets up to his chin. “Sleep tight, sweet ‘Nilly.” He whispers. He pauses for a moment, double checking to make sure he's really asleep, before he leans down and presses his lips to Pure Vanilla's forehead.

He drifts upwards, floating above his bed again, this time to keep vigil.

He'd tortured him. There was no other word for it. He'd tried to drive him insane, and here he was, having nightmares about Shadow Milk suffering. He grabs at his chest, where his soul jam sings at its proximity to its other half. Maybe it's just because they share a fundamental piece of themselves. Yeah, that's probably why. If Shadow Milk dies, it's probably going to affect Pure Vanilla. It makes sense that he would be scared of Shadow Milk dying.

It's a lie, and he knows it, but it's easier than accepting the truth of the matter.

Pure Vanilla cares about Shadow Milk just as much as anyone else, probably more, and he's starting to feel the same way.

He huffs, grabs his doll, and begins work on it once more, stealing glances at Pure Vanilla more often now. He tells himself he's not checking on him, he just needs a reference, but that's a lie, too.

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yanderes-galore · 15 days ago

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This is completely self-indulgent... I'm not on Beast-Yeast Episode 7-8 so this will just be my general ramblings about the insane jester. I might make follow up HCs if I need to add anything.

Maybe I'll do one for Mystic Flour Cookie when I finish Episodes 3-4? Waiting for stamina takes forever, even when I AFK farm in Town Square :(

Yandere! Shadow Milk Cookie Concept/HCs

Pairing: Romantic/Platonic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Manipulative, Possessive, Jealousy, Isolation, Murder, Blood (or whatever the equivalent is), Kidnapping, Clingy behavior, Gaslighting, Stalking, Forced relationship/companionship.

Shadow Milk, like most of the Beasts, would be an overwhelming yandere.

This is because of how he works as the Beast of Deceit.

SM would definitely mess with his obsession regardless of his intentions.

He loves to toy with others and cause chaos within their minds.

He'd probably torment you in a similar way to what he does with Pure Vanilla.

Except while SM wants to torment PV for revenge at the fact that the pitiful hero has his Soul Jam...

He wants to toy with you because you've caught his eye...

Erm... many eyes?

He's associated with quite a few eyes.

He picks you out and manipulates you originally because the Beast finds you fun.

Since his time out of that silver prison he's been looking for a good source of entertainment.

Luckily you happen to be right there for him.

Oh, he loves torturing his counterpart's fragile mind for fun...

But you entertain him for different reasons.

As a master of deceit, it's nearly impossible to read SM.

He's skilled in manipulation and will leave his obsession always guessing.

If you think about it, he'd probably have the easiest time isolating his obsession.

SM knows how to get in the heads of others.

He knows how to knead and form your mind like it's dough.

With a few well placed lies and whispers... He can make you think your friends hate you.

He can sabotage any relationship you have, no matter the nature.

SM is no doubt a possessive being... Safe to say he has his fair share of jealousy.

SM watches your every move like watching a show.

You're never not in his sight.

Even when he's busy putting down a few heroes... He always has at least one conjured eye around to judge you.

You're under constant surveillance with him.

Then, if he doesn't like something going on, he quickly sets out to remove it.

SM is perfectly capable of murder, like many of the Beasts... others feared him for a reason.

But a fate that's much more fun would be... corrupting your friends into puppets, right?

He'll have your friends or loved ones made into puppets and performers to entertain him in his shows.

He'll even have them perform a few acts for you!

Although... afterwards...

He'll no doubt crumble them.

He doesn't need them around, after all!

Not if it takes your attention away from him!

SM loves to overwhelm your sweet little mind.

He appears out of nowhere to scare you and clings to you.

I imagine it's nearly impossible to leave his hugs, listening to him whispers small lies into your ear to make you more reliant on him.

He smothers you in affection and often performs for you.

All of his performances include real people... all made into puppets for him to make stories about how much he cares for you!

He hasn't felt more passionate about anyone before.

It's... odd...

Yet who knows, maybe that's all a facade too?

He keeps spinning lies around you, hissing in your ear like a snake.

Why trust anyone other than him, hm?

How do you know anyone is genuine?

The world has never liked the truth, they always want it with a sweet sugar coating.

He's simply here to make it all more bearable.

He swaps his behavior so often, too.

There's times he's overly sweet, pampering you and everything... Essentially he's love bombing you

Then later he's destructive and jealous, yelling about the fact others get your attention yet you neglect him.

Even when he successfully isolates you, he gets paranoid of others taking you.

Especially Pure Vanilla.

Then there's other times he's cruel and teasing, tearing down your insecurities just ti build you up to need him.

All using lies, of course.

SM is the definition of a toxic relationship.

It's all built on lies, him wearing constant masks like a performer should.

You may even be yet another puppet on one of his many performances.

Except... He'd never crumble you.

You're too entertaining.

SM never plans to let you go.

The Ancients would have to pry you from his claws, even then, this wolf in sheep's clothing doesn't plan to let go.

SM would no doubt kidnap you.

He loves your fight and tries to keep it as long as he can because he knows it's pointless.

If he was really worried about you running... He would've corrupted you to be his favorite puppet long ago!

But... That would be no fun.

In terms of how he'd treat you in captivity, you'd definitely be used as a doll or puppet.

He keeps you tied to his side by his strings, often forcing you to dance and perform with him in private.

He wants you to understand your role.

Even if it means getting rid of your friends... and puppeteering you like the cute puppet you are.

You are a toy in his toy box... and he will keep you on a pedestal where no one else can touch you.

Only he can.

Now, if I were to give rivalry ideas that would work well with him...

I'd say I can see him being rivals with Pure Vanilla the most, of course. After that maybe Burning Spice? Yet that's a bit of a stretch.

Then there's Elder Faerie... Which could be fun with a Faerie obsession?

Overall, I see Shadow Milk as being one of the worst CRK yanderes due to the fact he'd fabricate your entire life once he has his claws in you.

By the time you feel you understand your situation... He messes up your perception again...

He'll cherish you in his world of lies... One he made for just the two of you....

#yandere cookie run #yandere cookie run x reader #yandere cookie run kingdom #yandere shadow milk cookie #yandere shadow milk cookie x reader

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heliosunny · 2 months ago

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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.

#yandere x reader #yandere #bsd x reader #yandere bsd #bsd x you #yandere fyodor #dazai yandere #yandere dazai #dazai x reader #bsd x y/n #bsd fyodor dostoevsky #fyodor dostoyevsky bsd #bsd dazai #bsd fyodor #dazai osamu #bungou stray dogs dazai #dazai x you

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heartfullofleeches · 2 years ago

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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.

#yandere imagines #yandere headcanons #yandere scenarios #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere blurb #yandere insert #yandere oc #yandere emperor #yandere harem

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chessboredom · 26 days ago

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Hey hey! Yeah ive noticed when it comes to actual toxic shadowvanilla (or even closer to cannon) they dont get in depth of it. It feels like theres something MISSING! Ackkkkkkk i am a beliver of them being mutually toxic to each other (especially tr) If TR did for some reason truly became a cookie of decite, it would not end well for either of them! Think about it, shadow milk wants someone who understands BUT how he wants Pure vanilla to be a cookie of decite. And and shadow milk so caught up in his joy didnt even notice the cannon betryal, then take that and up it with truthless recules. Tr would 100% be lying for his own gain, probably notice shadowmilks emotional weakness and twist it like a KNIFE! The roles would be reversed! Shadowmilk is the puppet now, yet he doesnt KNOW it! So blinded by his loneiess, and the need to have someone to understand him! That he allowed himself be used (quite ironic if you think about it) cuz PV normally is not one to show his emotions in his sprites (other than his staff and well shadowmilk meddling) AND HE ISNT A OWO MAN!!! Sick of the owo man treatment! TR is that but UPPED!! A cookie of decite who doesnt express his emotions, able to twist it however he likes. Like i can see this as a Sm thinks hes the puppet master, while being the puppet. Tr lets him think that!!! Its easier to maulipate someone if they think their in control. Its MESSY! (I cannot put into words how messed up this situation would be) shadow milk you FOOL! Youve created your own MONSTER! One who sees you as a means to a end, a PUPPET. False fluff, fapse happiness, false LOVE! What TR gives you is a LIE and even if theres truth in it YOU DONT KNOW IT, YOU COUNDNT EVEN TELL WHEN HE PULL OFF A LIE! (In cannon) YOU are now in the web of lies of your own creation, Tr is your spider!! Anyway uh thats a little bit of what this dymatic makes me go crazy over (i have more ideas....)

ANON YOU FUCKKING GET IT OH MY GOOOOD!!!!!!!!!!!!!! THIS IS REAL!!!!!!! I LOVE TOXIC YAOIIII!!!!

I'm gonna fucking yap about PV characterization (AGAIN.) (I just love him so fucking much.)

Very Long LONG post. XP

I'm so happy right now because you UNDERSTAND that PV isn't just some fucking UwU bean guy. Like, this is why he's so fucking good at being a leader because of his EMOTIONAL INTELLIGENCE and that he DOESN'T get caught up by his emotions and focuses on the problems even if it's stressful. Like a scene in Odyssey where Dark Cacao gets MAD when Clotted Cream had the idea of wanting the powers of the Soul Jam but Pure Vanilla remained calm as ever(And all of the sprites used this scene have his eyes open. He is SERIOUS.) Out of the WHOLE Ancients, despite his youthful, brighter amd unchanging appearance (and that's why his Korean Va is a girl to convey his youthfulness) he is the nost mature because he tries to Understand the situation and not diving head first. He isn't a warrior, but he is skilled involving emotions BUT he keeps DOUBTING himself at first like "I can't believe I did that! But I'd do anything for my friends to protect them."

AND THEN SHADOW MILK COOKIE COMES IN!!!! Omg Shadow Milk Cookie, DO NOT unlock the full potential of that Skill Pure Vanilla- I man Truthless Recluse has(Emotional Intelligence😇 LEVEL UP! ➡️ Emotional Manipulation😈) that he made you look stupid by making YOU think that YOU are the one IN CONTROL!

LOOK AT HOW HE DOES IT BY MAKING SMILK THINK HE'S IN CONTROL!!

En got "You and I... were meant to be together."❌️ The shadowvanilla shippers are really feeding on this line omg.

Kr got "I guess I have to accept you... Or become a part lf you."✅️ THAT'S WHAT I WANTED TO SEE!!!! EMOTIONAL MANIPULATION AT IT FINEST BAYBEEEEEE!!!!!!!!! MAKE HIM THINK HE'S THE ONE PULLING YOUR STRINGS WHEN YOU'VE ALREADY SLITHERED YOUR WAY THROUGH HIS MASK!!!! UUUGGHH SMILK YOU MADE HIM BETTER THAN YOUUU

That's why I kept mentioning that PV is KIND, and not Nice and he is pretty much capable of incredible violence. Does anyone even REMEMBER PV having enough seeing his friends suffer when he was the last one standing that he tries TO KILL DARK ENCHANTRESS?? He does a lot of things that involves he SACRIFICING HIMSELF in the process. UGHHH!! FUCK!! PURE VANILLA COOKIE IS NOT NICE!! HE WANTED TO KILL SHADOW MILK COOKIE!!! Remember the "Crash Out" scene? That's his true emotions having throwing a suprise party. He had ENOUGH. Then the scenery changes that made him remember that he wasn't supposed to be a violent person. He's an angel! 😇🙏 Silly Vanillyyy, why would you say "I'M GOING TO DESTROY YOU!!" that isn't like you at all!! [sarcasm](He is literally holding back the rage every single fucking day of his life.)

As much as people love to draw PV hugging Smilk closing to the end of the Ep, he literally beats him up and people seem to forget that over thinking PV is nice Uwu It doesn't have to be this way Shadow Milk Cookie. Meanwhile in the Korean version, Awakened PV had a dialogue that went, "I like helping people but I had enough of your shit Shadow Milk Cookie.☺️" Pure Vanilla Cookie said calmly. (Link to the video I made with this line.) And then made shooting stars of Truth descend from the sky to attack him. He did say he wanted Smilk to be his friend, but he wouldn't back down in a fight anymore. That's why his Awakened "Compassionate" or "Comprehender"(in Korean) form finally showing his real role that he is a MAGIC TYPE all along who has been disguised under the role of a HEALER.

Anyway TR ♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤ SMILK. TOXIC YAOI REAL!! Two Cookies of Deceit. One emotional and one empty. Smilk may be the best at psychological warfare and torture, but he got himself an emotional manipulator. Tr easily takes advantage of his emotions because he acts like a child!! Just give him what he wants then he'll be satisfied in no time. Take it away from him, he's gonna have his tantrums again.

Noe I couldn't add more tbh. You explained it well and all I could do is smash the TRUE over and over.

Even with my interpretation of canon that Tr won't last long with Smilk because of the Friendship Gang and "the universe couldn't allow this! One of you turn "good" now!", I like to think the toxicity still lives through Awakened PV since he's both Truth AND Deceit. Like a bright star from light years away that's actually dead, he could still act as of he were still TR to make Smilk more paranoid and obsessed with him in a more fucked up secretive way that other people wouldn't even notice because PV is already good! He wouldn't do evil things again, right? Hehe.

Also sharing this twt post of Tr ripping Smilk's eye as well. 🥰🥰🥰

https://x.com/41n4v15/status/1896085874628087843

#asks stuff #shadowvanilla #chess' analysis

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pollen-blogs · 3 months ago

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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.)

#tbhk #toilet bound hanako kun #yugi twins #yugi tsukasa #yugi amane

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tadc-harlequin-au · 8 months ago

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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-

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thejakeformerlyknownasprince · 1 month ago

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could you please do a Beauty and the Beast au with Jake and Cassie, I love your content!

The day he came of age he went forth, as all younger sons must, to seek his fortune. For his parents had no other heir, his only brother having disappeared many years before.

They sent him with what they could, his parents. A few days' meat, wrapped in preserving cloth. A sturdy bow and a hunting knife. The warmest fur-lined cloak they owned. "Return to us," they told him, "make your fortune and return."

The younger son walked, all that day and into the night. He knew this forest well, having lived at its edge all his life. But as he continued on, always with the sun at his back in the morning and ahead in the evening, the trees grew dense around him. Their trunks were so thick around that three men holding hands could not have encircled one, and their topmost branches blotted out the sun. Many days he walked. Many days he ate and shot. Many days he waited for his eyes to grow used to deeper darkness and deeper still, and then for many days he walked on.

One morning, as the days grew warm and the first spring roses unfurled, he awoke to a howl of pain echoing from somewhere far in the distance.

Hand on his knife, cloak drawn back, the younger son moved toward the sound. It was strange, the sort of howl he had never heard before despite living near these woods his entire life. As he drew closer he at last understood why: it lacked all harmony, and a single voice on the wind. As if a jackal were out there, and yet speaking with the voice of a much larger dog.

When at last he found the wolf, he found her caught in a snare.

The ropes were drawn tight around the beast's legs and snout, tying her to the ground and to the surrounding trees. It was like no snare the younger son had ever seen, far too many knots and anchors for any single animal. The wolf howled hoarse and heaving in her despair.

Just for a moment as he looked upon her, the younger son thought of his hunting knife, and of his empty satchel. Then he looked not to the wolf but to the forest around, and he felt unease dance across his skin. "Where is your pack?" he asked aloud.

The wolf lifted her head to look at him. "Where is yours?" she answered, in his tongue.

Again they stared, looking each other over with care.

"We have a saying, among men," the younger son said. "About wolves who are alone. A lone wolf is a dead wolf, we believe."

"We have a saying about men who are alone," the wolf said. "That a man alone is easy prey."

"I come to seek my treasure," the younger son said. "For my family has no other way to provide for me. What brought you so far from your kin?"

"I know of a treasure," the wolf said. "For the taking, for any man bold enough to take it. Among the enchanters far to the north. The journey is far, but the reward is great if you can brave the cold. It is said the maker of puppets will grant a boon to any man brave and diligent and clever enough to reach his inner hall."

The younger son took off his cloak, and showed her that he wore the skin of a great striped cat from the lands on the edge of the world, one who stalked through snows deep enough to bury a man alive and yet never lost strength. It had been passed through his family for many generations, its origin lost to time, but he knew that it would shelter him through the long nights to come.

"Very well," the wolf said. "Let us go, then."

He cut her loose, and together they walked the forest. She was a skilled hunter despite being alone, returning with rabbits and squirrels. In return he dug them roots and used nimble fingers to remove blackberries from the vine once he had paid the price in blood for such sweetness. They slept each night curled beneath his cloak of sunset and shadow-colored fur, and they woke each morning to put the dawn at their right and journey on.

"What is your name?" she asked him, one night as they sat before the fire feasting upon a deer they'd worked as one to kill.

The younger son looked at the wolf, their eyes lit gold from the fire. "How do I know that you are not fairy folk?" he asked. "For I know of no other wolves who speak men's words."

The wolf considered. "Cassie," she said. "My parents call me Cassandra, but my true name is Cassie."

If she was fair folk, then she would not be able to lie. And it would be a dangerous thing indeed, to give a human her true name. "My parents call me Jacob," the younger son said, bowing low despite his blood-sticky hands. "But my true name is Jake. What story underlies your name? An odd name indeed, for a wolf."

"It's an old story, where I'm from," Cassie said. "Of one who sees far, but cannot speak of the truths she sees. She knows of what's to come, but she is the only one who does, and thus even if she did speak such truths she would be dismissed as a liar. A strange name, not one oft-chosen."

"What truths do you know, Madam Wolf?" the younger son asked.

"That the roses are beautiful tonight," the wolf said.

Strange words, for there were no roses visible around them. But the younger son remembered the power of her nose, and contrary to her name chose to believe her. The beauty she spoke of must be one beyond human senses.

"Jacob," she said. "Jake. What story explains your name?"

"A man saved my ancestor's life. He was called Jacob, and thus so am I." He did not ask the wolf the question upon his tongue that night, nor all the next day.

They spoke in those following days of the younger son's hopes for his parents, once he had enough money of his own to make them proud. They spoke of the wolf's skill with hunting, and the things she heard through the trees that no mere human would. They did not speak of the past.

A figure stepped into the road before them, shrouded and cloaked. The younger son nonetheless recognized his stride, and moved toward him straight away with open arms and open smile. "My brother!" he said. "It has been too long. We thought you lost."

The figure did not speak, only drew his bow.

The first arrow whispered past the wolf's left ear, even as the younger son cried out in protest. The second struck solidly into her shoulder.

"Stop!" the younger son cried once more. "Don't hurt her!"

In response, the figure turned and fired on him as well.

The younger son ran forward even as the arrow pierced the flesh of his arm, and tore through. "Stop!" he called again, and "Please!" to no avail. Desperately he drew his knife, and — when the figure notched another arrow and drew back to fire at the wolf — the younger son drove his blade through flesh and lung.

A terrible silence filled the glade, when at last only two bodies breathed there.

"Jake?" the wolf dared to ask, once her breathing had slowed.

The man stared down at the familiar face revealed by the cloak's fall, pointed toward a sky that now gave no light to those eyes. "This was not my brother," he said. "It could not have been. Some fairy trick, some illusion."

The wolf looked at the figure, scented its clothes. She considered for a span: he had saved her life. "Yes," she told her companion, her gaze on the sky. "It must have been."

When the sun began to lower between the trees, they were forced to walk on. They built a small fire far enough from the glade that they could not longer see the crumpled form, and the wolf explained to the man how to tend their hurts. Under her guidance he drew out the arrow from her flesh, then packed both their wounds with a paste of leaves that would draw out infection before binding them with tight linens to make the skin heal smooth.

"You know a great deal of medicine, for a wolf," the man said as he boiled willowbark to a tea, at her instruction.

She heard the question that had lingered in his heart, for all that his tongue was too kind to give it voice. He saved her life, at great personal cost. "I was not born a wolf," she confessed. "I was as human as you, until three days before the day that you found me. That was no mere trap which held me, but the remains of a spell to bind me in this form. I committed a great transgression, and now I am exiled in this shape until..." She met the man's eyes, which were steadfast and kind. "Until the end of my life," she lied.

"What could you have possibly done to deserve such a fate?" the man asked. "For you are selfless and wise, Madam Wolf."

"Perhaps too selfless," the wolf said bitterly. "I gave shelter in my home, to one I should have turned away. I was fooled by appearances, by the surface seeming of innocence and candor, and thus I am cursed to look like that which I am not."

"Giving shelter is no great sin," the man said. "Quite the opposite, where I am from."

"She was a slaver."

The man's cheek grew pale, but he did not speak.

"The child with her was not her daughter, but one she had kidnapped to replace with a changeling. Concern for the child fettered my eyes, so that I let them pass freely through our lands." The wolf stared into the fire, ears flat to her head. "The slaver claimed that she had come to regret what she had done, and that she was on her way to return the child to its family. I chose to believe her, for all that she had no proof. And for that, I am to live out my days as you see me. A hideous beast, human no more."

The man knelt on the ground before her, so that they might look eye to eye. "There is beauty in your poultices, I find," he said. "There was beauty in the steadfastness you showed in joining me on my quest. There is, I believe, even a beauty to be found in choosing the care of a child over revenge on one's enemies."

The wolf scented the wind, as she considered his words. "The days grow shorter once more," she said. "Soon only the marigolds will bloom."

They slept that night underneath his warm sunset cloak, and did not look back as they walked on the following day. That day was indeed shorter than the one before, the spheres turning on and the blackberries turning forth smaller fruit.

Many days on, the man shot a rabbit as the sun rose, for meat was more precious with each passing day. But as he drew near to his quarry, a hawk dropped from the sky and sank talons through the neck of the wounded creature, killing it in a trice. The hawk tossed the arrow aside, tearing into the open flesh underneath.

Hawk was no chicken, but game was scarce. The man nocked a second arrow, and took aim.

"Wait!" a voice rang out. And despite all that had happened these past weeks, the man's heart raced in surprise as he understood it was the bird who spoke to him. "I should not have stolen your prize," the hawk said. "But we hunger too, for meat above all."

Slowly the man lowered his bow. The wolf ran to his side, her eyes upon the hawk as well. "Sir Hawk," the man said, "are you also a human under a curse? If it is so, then do you know how such a curse might be broken?"

"He is no human." The figure who stepped out from the trees then looked human enough, but the light behind his eyes had a sharpness that drew up the hair on the wolf's hackles. "We are the Wild Hunt. You are a curiosity, little man." A smirk danced at the corner of his mouth as he spoke.

"I answer to Jake, and she to Cassie," the man said, before the wolf could stop him. For he had not heard tell of the Hunt. "What are your names?"

A third creature stepped forth then, this one with no resemblance at all to human or hawk or any other beast the man had ever heard of. An elf, perhaps, if an elf could also be a blueberry and a scythe and a deer with the eyes of a snail. "It would please me," the elfen creature said, "to answer to Ax."

"Tobias," the being with the light behind his eyes said, tilting his head at the bird, "means 'one who speaks with angels' in your human legends, does it not? And what are angels but wings and eyes? As for me..." He smiled more, behind the dark veil of his hair. "Marco, I shall call myself. As they say, you are what you eat."

The man did not drop his bow, and the wood drew tight under his hands. He did not ask why the wolf's teeth showed between her lips, not where the Wild Hunt could hear, but he did not fail to notice.

"Dine with us," said the one called Ax. "You provided the meat, thus it is only fair."

"We eat only that which we provided," Cassie said. "Thus, it is only fair."

More creatures drew around, as the man made fire and drew water to stew the rabbit over the coals. Some were from the human legends: tunnel-makers, tree-herders, three-fingered apes. Some looked like the one called Ax, some like nothing more than tiny soft fish. Some, most frighteningly of all, looked as human as the smiling being that called itself Marco. One dropped herbs into the stewpot, another a rasher of fat to season the meat. Roots went into the pot, and fragrant grasses. Soon the smell grew so delicious that it became impossible to think of anything else.

"You are too kind," the wolf said, when Marco handed a bowl her way. Her mouth watered, but she swallowed hard. "We have just eaten a large meal, and could not take another bite. Not one single crumb. Neither of us could have so much as a drop of broth, for we are fit to burst."

Jake stared at her in surprise, for they'd had only bitter lichens to chew for nearly three days. But he kept his mouth shut, and he did not reach for the proffered bowl.

"You refuse our gift?" the one called Marco said. His smile remained, but so did the light in his eyes. "Our food will not suffice to sate you?"

"You have showed us great kindness already," Cassie said. "We would not want to grow greedy."

"There was a frost last night, Madam Wolf." Marco's smile grew. "Did you know that? The roses are all dead."

These words struck her like a blow, Jake could see, for all that he knew not why. Cassie drew into herself, ears flat and tail stiff, but her next words came out clear. "I care little for roses," she said, staring the fae creature in the eye. "Though their scent is sweet, their flesh does not nourish me. And I prefer not to bleed for no reason. Far better to plant cabbages, far better to harvest peas. Give me ordinary and serviceable flowers, not beautiful and cruel."

"You asked my friend about curses," the one called Marco said, looking now to Jake. "If you will not take our food, let me give you a different gift: the way to break the curse that transforms a human to a beast."

Jake knew to be wary, but his arms betrayed him in leaning him closer to hear every word and his heart betrayed him by growing faster in his breast.

"A human must swear fealty to the cursed one forever," Marco said. "This human must abandon the family of their birth and dwell forever in the home of the afflicted, never once returning to the hearth of their youth. The human must swear an oath to obey the afflicted in all things, to honor their every whim, and to love them from the depths of their heart. That, Sir Human, is the way to break the curse."

"But this is wonderful news!" the man cried, turning to his companion. "I will gladly swear such an oath." The joy died from his voice as her tail lowered still further, its plume trailing the ground.

"One thing more," Marco continued. "The oath must be sworn before the last petal falls on the last rose of summer. Otherwise, the curse takes hold forever. But then, your companion would have known all this already."

Jake had seen as much already, from Cassie's demeanor and the soft whine of her breath. "Cassie," he whispered, caring not who heard, "Why did you not tell me? I would have sworn this oath, abandoned my family, obeyed you and loved you forever."

"Such a thing would be monstrous," Cassie told him. "And you are kind. Your family cares for you, and they depend upon you. I do not want a bondsman or catamite, and I will not become a slaver to save my own skin. Wolves are swift and strong, hearing much and scenting more. I chose, my beloved friend, and I do not regret my choice."

The man stood, then. He bowed deeply to each person around the fire. Side-by-side he and the wolf walked away from the beautiful and bountiful fete. They'd walked only the span of the clearing when a voice spoke his name. His full name, the name he had not given.

His kinswoman stood there, when he turned to find the voice. The kinswoman he had long since given up as dead, for she had gone into battle and never returned.

"There is another way to save your beloved," she told the man. "Eat of their food. Drink of their wine. Thus you will be young forever, and both of you as beautiful as the dawn."

She spoke truly. There was no chance of a lie, for she was one of the fae now. And she was beautiful, the most beautiful woman either the wolf or the man had ever seen. Forever she would be young. Forever she would hunt, and fight, and dance. Never would she see home again. Never would she leave the circle of the Hunt.

"Be well," the man told his kinswoman. "I will speak of you, when I return home. You have not been forgotten, nor will you be."

Then he embraced her, before he and the wolf walked on.

The following night the frost came again. What few flowers may have remained curled up their leaves, and bare bulbs littered the bushes. The man and the wolf spoke little, and only of trivial concerns.

At last they came to the gates of the enchanters' castle. The guard who stood outside had the seeming of a child with wide eyes and missing teeth, though the man knew enough by now not to trust such things. "Why do you seek to enter?" the guard asked.

"I seek treasure," the man said. "I will not be turned away."

"You will die if you enter," the guard said. "Most men do."

The man straightened his spine. "I will not be turned away."

"And you?" the guard asked, looking to the wolf.

"I am no man," she said. "And I seek to enter for love."

The guard stood aside, then. "There will be three trials. If you turn back, you may. If you go on, you die. If you go on and you do not die, you may ask our leader for a boon."

The first trial lay before them, a dark cavern. Together they walked into the dark. The air grew cold around them, and colder still. The man drew his cloak around himself and his companion, and as one creature with six legs they crept onward.

No speck of light was visible no matter where they looked, no tiny glimmer to relieve the blackness. It mattered not. They followed her nose, and onward they went. The cave continued until they were sore of foot and trembling in every limb, but they dared not stop to rest in this cold. The cave continued until his eyes conjured phantom sights and her ears drew forth imagined sounds, but they drew closer still to each other's warmth and walked ever forward. The cave continued until thirst swelled his tongue and cracked her nose, but they staggered onward.

At last it ended in a lush garden, trees dripping with fruits. A mark of their trust, that the man looked to the wolf and waited for her nod before he tore loose a soft sunrise-pink orb and bit into its flesh. Together they supped on the fruits, leaving a trail of stones behind them as they went.

The second trial sprawled before them at the far side of the courtyard. The pile of grains was nearly the height of the man's shoulder and would have taken half a day to walk across, each one as golden as the gold that locked the door they would need to go on. Once again Cassie's nose served them well, as did Jake's clever fingers. Though it took all that day and into the night, they found a gleam of real gold amidst the grains.

One part of a key revealed itself. One part, of perhaps a dozen, from the look of the lock.

They started at each other in new knowing, amidst the tiny fragment on the ground between them. "Perhaps it is for the best," the man said after a time, "that you have no time limit awaiting you anymore."

Despite her sore feet and weary heart, the wolf laughed with him. Then they set to their task.

The sun rose on their search, and it set once more. Twelve winter-short days they sorted grain, twelve winter-long nights they drew forth fragments of the key. From sunup to sundown they searched, and when the light failed they went on by touch. But the time passed lightly, for all the while they spoke to each other of all they had seen on their journey there and all they hoped to see on their way home.

When at last all the pieces fit into one whole, they constructed the necessary device and placed it into the lock. With a twist, the man unlatched the door and let them forth into the courtyard beyond.

The third trial fell upon them like a thunderclap. The guardian was human-shaped but fought like no human, arms around the man's throat, legs around his chest, strong as an entire team of oxen. The man wrestled and fought, outmatched but not beaten, even as the guardian drove him to the ground and the wolf sought any tender place for teeth or claws.

The man cried out in pain, exactly once, as the guardian's hand landed upon his hip and the joint was wrenched forth from its socket. His eyes met those of the wolf, through the cage of the guardian's arms, and once again new knowledge passed between them.

Cassie ran on, leaving him. Heart-heavy but sure of foot, she ran on. The far portcullis was aloft, and she passed through the final door to confront the head enchanter who lay beyond.

There was a smile on the puppeteer's face, when she burst forth into his antechamber. He was many, and he was all alone. He had the same eyes as the guard at the door. "Very well," he said. "You have proven you are brave enough to face the unknown, diligent enough to work beyond weariness, and clever enough to win against a stronger foe. Thus you will use a boon well, if I give it to you. What boon would you have?"

"For my companion to be brought to this room and given his wish," the wolf answered, "and for him to be hale and healed when he arrives."

The puppeteer laughed. "Clever indeed, my little friend. It shall be done."

And the man stood among them, pale with surprise but unharmed. "Once again you have saved my life," he told the wolf.

"Once again you have saved mine," she told the man.

Kneeling before the puppeteer, the man spoke his wish aloud.

Thus she was transformed, into a maiden strong of arm and callused of skin. And the younger son took her hand, and thus with his fortune did he at last return home.

#animorphs #beauty and the beast #long post #animorphs au #beauty and the beast au #jake berenson #cassie animorphs #cake #hope op doesn't mind i borrowed from other celtic and judeochristian and classical myths beyond the original fairy tale #and that i couldn't get myself to use the original ending with its Unfortunate Implications through a modern feminist lens #plus it'd be wildly out of character for cassie to lock jake into a bargain to save herself

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mokie-bleh · 1 year ago

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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!”

#cookie run kingdom #shadow milk cookie #crk #crk x reader #shadow milk cookie x reader

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felmonth · 24 days ago

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Hello neighbors!

Ahh! I'm very happy because @frillsand is back with new drawings of Wally actor.

I'm happy because before the contest, I was remaking the design of Tom Actor because it didn't make sense to me anymore and I also didn't like his design anymore.

So that's it! Here is the remake and my attempt for Frills' contest.

Which is "Puppets on the set" (I already told guys I'm not sure if I'm going off-topic for the contest because I've only focused on Tom's remake. I feel that now Tom is much closer to Wally compared to the previous one.)

Let's go with the new Tom!

Meet Tom Sweetheart! The stunt double who has to 'replace' Wally! This concept was born through these videos:

Scene 1

Scene 2

I came up with this character sheet idea because the AU is about actors, so I thought it would be a good idea to take inspiration from "behind the scenes." I'm not sure if you guys like it. Oh! here's the character sheet if you want to use it, it's just for now ^^

Tom's Remake!

Tom Actor's Story:

Tom Sweetheart grew up in Titirilquén with his brother Chris and his grandmother Pettitil. Despite being an orphan, Tom found comfort in his new family, especially in Chris because he ran away from his parents to be with him, Chris always protected him from discrimination towards puppets. From a young age, both brothers dreamed of being actors, Tom wanted to be an interviewer but part of acting, Chris an actor, both inspired by what they saw on television. Chris quickly excelled in school in the art of theater while Tom, although talented, went more unnoticed, which made Chris uncomfortable.

When Chris received an offer to work at a studio in Titirilquén, he decided to bring Tom along. At first, Tom was treated as a someone secondary with tasks that weren’t related to acting, but he never complained. Over time, his effort was recognized, and he began to gain popularity, though he always remained in Chris’ shadow. The brothers became more known thanks to their show, where they also started learning sign language and refining their vocal skills.

However, the situation at the studio changed when Tom experienced a traumatic incident. While working on a recording, some coworkers, seeing Tom as a mere object, mocked him and treated him cruelly. Tom was emotionally affected, feeling useless and fearful of returning to public life. His boss, who saw him as a "son" (not really), supported him greatly and decided to transfer him to another studio in Welcome Home, where he could rest and start anew.

Tom traveled with his grandmother Pettitil to the new studio, but he soon realized that the change was even more challenging than he had expected, as he no longer had his brother’s protection. There, Wally’s assistant, Janet, hired him for an unexpected job, he would be Wally’s stunt double, replacing him in scenes that required lifting or in dangerous situations. Janet, who "hated" puppets, initially increased the work out of necessity but soon began to see Tom in a new light. As she taught Tom to imitate Wally perfectly so the children wouldn’t notice the difference, a connection began to form. Janet realized that Tom was not just a silly puppet now she saw him as a puppet with feelings and her perspective began to change.

Although Tom still struggled with fear and insecurity, this new job helped him overcome his trauma, as his role didn’t involve suffering, but rather working as an actor, being treated with respect. Additionally, Tom began to feel more independent, as although his brother Chris still didn’t know what had happened, he sent him messages offering support and wishing him luck in his new phase.

Meanwhile, Chris continued his career in Titirilquén, where it was difficult for him to accept that his brother was no longer by his side, but he was happy for Tom’s success at the new studio.

Over time, Tom found a balance, learned to fend for himself and developed a professional relationship with Janet, who began to respect him as an equal. Although Tom never stopped missing his brother, he found in his new job a way to heal and continue pursuing his dream of becoming an actor, now with more self-confidence.

The end!

Now, the character sheet but with different types of clothing:

Now... his sweet home!

Curious facts about Titirilquén:

Lately, I've been hooked on a series called "31 minutos," so I included some things from that series. I highly recommend it, it's in Spanish but there are English subtitles available. Titirilquén is from that show.

Titirilquén doesn't have hospitals because literally no one gets sick there. However, there are places like Mrs. Juanita's service, who takes care of the damaged puppets in this town.

Titirilquén was a town of only puppets but tired of being anonymous and as an unknown town, they decided to include people in their town, building a civilization, the negative of the town only benefits the humans that its own puppet inhabitants.

Facts about Tom:

Tom's birthday is when spring arrives in Chile, September 22, 1997 (It's not my birthday x'D close but not)

He speak spanish but he learned English thanks to Janet.

He is very naive and that works against him, as he decides to trust everyone.

When he first arrived at the studio, the studio people confused him with Wally, so since that day, some just call him "Pink Wally." (This is due to his height, skin tone and hair shape, so Tom changed his look to messier hair to not look like Wally)

Tom is a very good worker but he always hides after finishing his work and Janet forces him to socialize so that Tom can regain his self-confidence.

Alongside his brother, they worked on a children's educational program called "Sing until Counting to 3." They taught children songs that included sign language.

Tom usually wears makeup, always in pink or fuchsia, which is his favorite color.

About Tom's brother:

Tom in this Au has a human brother, in the style of muppet protagonists. His name is Chris Lucky (or Sweetheart) and they are both very close and have achieved many things together by working as a team. Chris is very attentive to his puppet brother, caring for him and trying to understand him as best he can.

THE END!

Sorry! it's been a very long blog, I was inspired and wanted to change Tom's character sheet for a long time qvq! but I hope you like it guys!

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fanged-fanfics · 4 months ago

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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

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cursedcanon · 1 month ago

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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.

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synthetickitsune · 4 months ago

Text

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.

#seventeen scenarios #seventeen x reader #joshua x reader #joshua scenario #svthub #seventeen imagines #seventeen angst #joshua angst #svt angst #svt x reader

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