#and that these headcanons make sense🙈

[sketch-guardian]

Is it okay to ask if you would ever make a post about your obey me ocs personalities and what they like, they look so cool!!

Hi! I'm sorry for the late reply😖also please don't worry, it's perfectly okay to ask questions and I'm glad that you like my OCs☺that makes me very happy💕especially considering that only a few people are interested in them🙈so feel free to send asks about my OCs, I don't mind and would try to respond as soon as possible✨

In any case, I also read the second ask, so considering that I haven't written anything yet about the personality and likes of my angel OCs, this post will be about them😇I hope that's okay🙈:

"NEW EXCHANGE STUDENTS FROM THE CELESTIAL REALM'S PERSONALITIES AND LIKES"

REMIEL

Remiel is an angel of death, and her true form is as the Archangel of Hope. She's the daughter of Death and Azrael, so she is half angel-half nephilim. Remiel always seems somber, gloomy, quiet, but very caring and cautious, especially with the souls she helps reach the afterlife. She has a very soft voice and rarely gets angry, at most she can get disappointed and she's the type to offer second chances, because she believes in redemption if repentance is genuine. Remiel doesn't know human customs well and is rather dense when it comes to feelings or jokes. She's very literal-minded and straightforward, although gentle, so she often needs help to fill her knowledge gaps and satisfy her curiosity. Remiel likes to learn new things, both through books and experiences, the sky, nature and observing the world she isn't used to, since she deals with the dead

NATHANIEL

Nathaniel is a quite high rank angel, like a seraph, and embodies the virtue of Patience. He has a rather serious, ethereal and calm aura, it seems like nothing can shake his stoic attitude, however he's chiller than he seems and willing to lend a hand and offer important lessons/advice to those who need it. One of Nathaniel's traits is that he almost never speaks, he expresses himself mostly with gestures or nods, however he's able to communicate eloquently. To compare Nathaniel to a character, he might resemble Kris from Deltarune, although more graceful. Nathaniel appreciates quiet places, helping others, butterflies, comfortable clothes and exploring

URIEL

Uriel is a warrior angel and embodies courage and justice, she lives to fight and defend and takes her duty very seriously, she rarely breaks rules and under that armor, there is a soul unsure of her own value. Uriel cares about discipline and is quite serious, stubborn, too proud (tsundere-) to let herself go, even if she can be persuaded. Uriel's a very protective angel and unfortunately she still has prejudices towards demons due to the celestial war, so she needs help to overcome her resentment. Uriel enjoys training with her sword of holy light, feeling useful and appreciated, exercising, and flying. She doesn't have much free time, so she may be pushed to actually find new hobbies

[starleska]

If you're still taking writing requests, could you do possessive Wally headcanons?

*cracks knuckles* oh anon, i most certainly can 😈 yandere!Wally fans (me too 😳), this one's for you! (this is less headcanons and more a oneshot... kinda wanna write the whole thing 🙈)

content warnings for possessive behaviour, manipulation, threats, arson, entrapment and kidnapping!

Possessive/Yandere!Wally Darling x Reader headcanons

👁 it all started so well. Wally was a Darling both in name and behaviour, and you fell hard and fast. such an attentive sweetheart, from the moment you moved into the neighbourhood it was as if he were always at your side. anywhere else, you may have been unnerved, but Wally's simple warmth and easy smile dispelled all of your doubts. while you tried to spread your time equally between your kind new neighbours, you somehow always found yourself in Wally's presence, talking to him for hours.

👁 in time, you found yourself becoming bolder. you start returning Wally's curious glances, and soon allow your eyes to linger a touch longer than they should. curiously (and with a little bit of a thrill), you notice that Wally seems incapable of breaking eye contact - no matter how long you stare, he'll always stare right back, unperturbed.

👁 one day, you find yourself closer to Wally than usual. you're half-pressed against one another on your sofa, Wally's cheek nestled in the crook of your shoulder. he's drawing something in his sketchbook: an indistinct, wobbly shape that you can't make heads or tails of. while Wally's right hand scribbles furiously with his pencil, the fingers of his unoccupied left hand spill at your side, reflexively clenching every now and again with the automatic motions of his drawing.

👁 the closeness imbues you with a newfound confidence. you take a breath, steady yourself...and reach across, brushing your fingers lightly across Wally's own. Wally's eyes snap towards you. for a moment, his pupils blow so wide you think they might just swallow you.

👁 the next day, your house catches fire. such an incident is unheard of in this neighbourhood, and all your neighbours are horrified for you. however, Wally is strangely calm. "I'm sorry you lost so much," he says, still smiling. "Would you like to live with me?"

👁 you're shaken - but accept Wally's offer. the shock of the fire takes a few days to wear off, but nothing could be more unsettling than living in close quarters with Wally Darling. existing within the living, breathing (creaking? squeaking) walls of his Home has an atypical effect on the puppet. Wally's voice is lower, and he moves with more purpose, as if he and Home are one and the same: symbiotic entities which exist in tandem with one another.

👁 to add to your creeping sense of dread, Wally flips the script on your personal space. now he is the one letting his fingers slip easily around your waist, and fixing you with uncomfortable, impossible-to-ignore stares. you try to laugh off his behaviour, questioning him openly if he enjoys having you as a guest so much. for once, Wally doesn't smile when he replies, "I love you living with me."

👁 it isn't until a week has passed that you learn all the doors are locked, and Wally never gave you a key. you try wrestling with the door handle, but it doesn't budge. then you try the windows, but they're sealed shut. 'I'm not trapped!' you think to yourself. 'Wally is just being a good neighbour - he wants to keep me safe.' but that still doesn't stop you from panicking, scouring the house for the heaviest thing you can find and trying to smash the window. the glass does not break. Home suddenly groans with the sound of a thousand old floorboards and overloaded pipes - a dreadful, ear-rending noise - causing the glass in the window to triple in height and thickness right before your eyes.

👁 terrified, you scramble backwards to run out of the kitchen - only to run smack into Wally. you collapse to the floor and gaze up at Wally, standing in the doorway with his hands tucked behind his back, that cat's smile of his holds some private amusement.

👁 "did you try to leave Home?" Wally asks. "Silly, silly." he takes a step towards you, and then another - slow and loping steps, his cute puppet form now moving in a way equal parts unnatural and sinister. he crouches next to you, those eyes now whirlpools of void which obscure all but the slight white rim of his scleras. "Try again," Wally whispers. "I'd like that very much."

[randoimago]

Ahh sorry I was thinking Shadowheart, Halsin, and Astarion for the sick Tav request 💕🙈

Original Request for context: "reaction to reader staying at camp because they’re sick with a fever and cough? (Let’s just pretend no healing powers work shhhshhhhh)"

Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3

Character(s): Astarion, Halsin, Shadowheart

Note: Tbh I like the idea of stuff like Cure Wounds or Healing Word to not work on sicknesses like fevers just because those feel more injury related. That's just my headcanon tho.

Astarion

He sees you being sick and frowns a bit. How can you be sick? Is Shadowheart that pathetic of a healer? Halsin told him something about you being sick due to stress as opposed to an actual illness and Astarion huffs.

"Really? Out of all the terrible things we've gotten through, you're going to let a fever take you out?" He'd rhetorically ask as he sits next to you, putting a damp towel on your head.

"You're lucky I'm mostly immune to sickness at this point. Try not to cough on me, love." He keeps his tone teasing, making small jokes. It keeps him from worrying.

Halsin

At finding you sick, he does worry like a mother hen, but he's helped plenty of sick animals and people to have a good idea of how to help.

"Have you eaten anything, my heart?" He asks as he has your head laying in his lap while his hands work on crushing up some herbs to help soothe your throat. If you hadn't, then he'll conjure up a quick goodberry. While it won't heal your sickness, it'll provide you with any nutrients you need to help fight it off.

"Now, I know this won't taste great, but if you're good then I'll give you a treat." Halsin would say to prepare you for taking whatever medicine he's made. Usually when he'd do this for the children, the treat would be some wood carving he's done or a flower he'd create. For you, well, it involves a bit more than just kisses. But that's when you get better.

Shadowheart

Honestly gets frustrated that her healing is doing much. She supposes it makes sense. She heals injuries, lacerations, and things like that. A fever is more of a druid's specialty, and she already asked Halsin to prepare something for you.

"You better get better. You have no idea how much of Astarion's nagging I've been subject to," she half-jokingly says as she helps you drink water. Yes, she knows you have a fever and can probably still eat and drink on your own, but this gives her an excuse to hold you.

Shadowheart hums a bit, trying to recall things that her parents or someone did whenever she got sick. She's not the greatest at singing, but maybe her humming can help get you to sleep at least. She's sure a long rest is what your body needs to feel better.

[mirensiart]

maybe you should make like a master post with basic info and links on it so people stop asking you the same 3 questions lmao 🫠

I didn't think it was necessary since like, the name and premise of the au is so straightforward 🙈 but you're right, I def should so...

I'll use this instance to say:

1. No, wounds are not transferred, only the pain. If someone gets stabbed, the others won't get stab wounds but will feel the pain.

2. Physical and emotional pain are shared between the chain. Emotional pain piles up, in the sense that if twilight feels heartache over midna, his heartache will trigger legend's marin heartache, making the pain 2x for the others.

3. No, other things like dreams, memories, feelings (other than pain) are not shared/transferred.

4. Every question regarding wild's memories and how they work in this au can be seen here

5. Ravio is part of the curse too, all info about it can be seen here

6. Any other doubts, please look at the #lu pain sharing au tag here in this account, it's most probably that I already answered what u wanted to know

7. About the comic I'm drawing, it's just a fun little thing, I don't intend to make a huge plot or a full-blown comic, it's just a compilation of me fooling around with the pain sharing concept

NEW

8. No, four splitting or shrinking doesn't hurt him, I like to believe that transformations that happen naturally or that are meant to help don't hurt vs twilight's transformations which is more of a curse (and why it hurts) and time's masks (which have pained spirits inside)

9. Same thing about legend's bunny transformation, see above. It's who he truly is in the dark world, so it doesn't hurt him.

10. Yes, sky does have stamina problems and it will appear in the au eventually. I personally headcanon him as asthmatic.

11. Yes, wind does struggle with feet pain cause of so much walking, I hc him to have blisters since he's not used to it

12. No, shadow/dark link aren't part of the curse.

13. Twilight has the highest physical pain tolerance while Wind has the lowest physical pain tolerance. They are opposites when it comes to emotional pain too, since Wind is the most mature emotionally wise while Twilight can't handle emotional pain at all.

14. I hc Wind to have a vagal reaction to pain. He faints a lot in the wind waker during stressing and painful moments, which are two things that trigger vagal reactions (fainting) in people. So he will faint in the comic at some point, yes.

15. Yes, Wild's scar will also be addressed eventually.

16. Yes, warriors has emotional trauma caused by Cia.

17. Yes, legend has emotional pain caused by koholint.

I think that's it? Anyway I hope u don't mind me using ur ask as an excuse to do a kinda masterpost

[jazzyblusnowflake]

OMG hi…I really like your art and was wondering if you wanna be mutuals??????????? Also tell me about your MD ships :3c

honey we are dating- .....okay yknow what- HI PRETTY & TALENTED LADY- yess i will absolutely love toooo 🙈💕💕💕💕💕

also lets see uhhh okay this is an excuse for me to just... expload-

keep in mind not every ship is meant for all of you so dont badger me about stuff that ISNT CANON or YOU DONT SHIP. contrary to whatever you believe, when somone posts about THEIR ships, nobody wants to hear about you NOT shipping it on THAT EXACT post.

hang in there, this gon be a long one >:p

First off we are starting strong with Nuzi- Biscuitbites obviously thats a given- these two just have too much to be said about why and how they make eachother the best version of eachother, whether they ever became canon or not- they fit like puzzle pieces- they lessen eachothers negative traits by being their for eachother.

next is Vuzi- Violentviolet, they are my favorite kind of enemies to lovers 😔 but its also tragic smh. kinda pissed off at how V always does something good in Uzis favor only when she is LITERALLY PASSED OUT- either in the camp ep on the bus or in Alices lab. like damn ofFUCKINGcourse Uzi wouldnt know she cares about her 😭😭😭

envuzi- Violentbitingbiscuits, i love these goobers with all my heart- they deserve the best 😔💕💕💕💕

envy - [does this poor ship just NOT have an exclusive FINDABLE tag name??? im calling them GoldenMemories...], i like to think that if they were in the manor still, and nothing bad had ever happened, these two would be comforting eachother in the healthiest way possible. V needs someone like N and N is just adorable like that uwu

Next we have JxTessa/Jessa- [calling them Fancyblades cuz why not-] J deserves some closure for the shit shes gone through smhhh 😔, its a tragic yuri of J loving and wanting something she probably already accepted she couldnt have, and even then she gotta deal with Ns ass being the favorite one regardless of how hard she tries to be perfect... sighhh i wanna imagine them in a future where Tessa was spared as the only human and J could save her 😭😭😭😭 Tessa might have loved doing mechanical stuff or wore black to hide grease/oil stains on her clothes from her parents and wore gloves to hide her oily stained hands- i want her to have a scene of wiring drones back to life and saving them and saying something like "hey there, you made it! dont worry, ill take care of you, youre my friend now :3" or something //dies//, also before anyone says it- even if Tessa was a teen in the flashbacks- romance is not exclusive to ADULTS, teens can love eachother without having sexual stuff involved. no she was not their MOTHER figure, she was their FRIEND who liked to fix robots for herself to not be alone in a house where her own parents literally chain her up as punishment. i dont even know why im arguing about this, people headcanon or make aus about characters NOT being dead all the time and if Tessa was alive for as long as J thought she was, Tessa would have been a perfectly fine adult either way. so counting this, yes shes canonically considered an adult when Cyn tries to imitate an adult humans body 🙄 makes as much sense as everything else i guess-

next ones i got is NorixYeva/Neva- Solverlilies- i just think theyre neat 😭😭😭 and once again, like everything else in this franchise- they are tragic yuris 😔 damn liam im finding a pattern over here 🤨 anyway, i like to think they either got closer in the lab experimentations or were already close when they were working as WDs in the campsite area for the humans. obviously canonically they were probably straight or just not into eachother romantically- [Nori either u have the worst taste men or Khan just fucking lost it after you died-] but also on the other handddd.... they have 2 hands and they are robots, i want them to kiss like two barbie dolls and im gonna make them do just that-

DollxLizzy/Dizzy- Bloodypink, wost fucking ship names ever, i cant find shit on them with these tags and it makes me angry >:/ at this point 2/3s of my ships are just tragic yuris smh, Doll did not deserve any of the things handed to her, even if she went about doing some things the wrong way i wish Lizzy didnt just abandon her- but then again, Doll did kinda abuse Lizzys trust and Lizzy got scared of being close to a serial murderer so.... morality calls this a draw? 😭 im crying... i wish someone was there to help Doll... sigh... i like to think Lizzy would have waited for Doll to just come back at some point... oh well, thats why AUs exist :"3 //sobs in the corner//

DollxUzi/Dollzi- Bloodybats, this ship is so underrated to me... they could have been... so much more. but why weren't they? did Yeva abandon ever getting close to Uzi when she was a kid after Nori died? did Uzi and Doll just never play around together as kids when their mothers were so close? were they ever close and something went wrong as they grew older? at worst they could have been like sisters together, and at best maybe more than friends. i just dont know what happened here, like Yeva could have tried to keep an eye on Uzi, maybe Uzi could have found Dolls powers so cool before having them too- i dont know theres literally tons of possibilities- but if Doll deserved to be saved or cared for by anyone, at least one of them should have been Uzi... sigh.

ThadxV- Killingblonde, yall this is... the cutest shit... ever???? like from here on out we kinda go into the more or less crackship territory but these two are adorable- Dumbass yet wholesome jock boy that just wants to keep his queen happy 😔👌👌👌 He and Uzi would have so much to talk about on "crushing on literal murder bots that stabbed and almost ate us" its literally love at first stab smhhh 😫💕

ThadxSam- Smokyjock ???? for some fucking reason??? i dont know what my brain did here man- i just like the trope of someone getting under Thads skin- like pair up the healthy sports loving gym boy with the lazy but wholesome dumbass that does drugs or is always just sleep deprived and Thad is always trying to just... take care of his ass and make him take care of himself but he just WONT SMHHH-

okay some more or less crack ships down here:

ThadxN: it speaks for itself. its too adorable and youll go blind from the light of wholesomeness-

ThadxNxUzi: Uzi will die here from the overwhelming wholesomeness... oh bonus if its just a 4s polycule of ThadxNxUzixV i mean i know im pushing my luck but.... random crackships go brr- V and Uzi will complain but love their dumbass golden puppy partners-

ThadxUzi: i think they could have been close and Thad caring about her as a childhood friend turned crush sounds just too cute for me 😔

LizzyxUzi: another random ass rivals to lovers or some shit idk what this is, Lizzy would pay Uzi to kiss the fuck out of her i dont make the rules-

ThadxLizzy: in some cases where they are NOT headcanoned as siblings or cousins, i think they have a good energy of wholesome jock bf and girly queen cheerleader lol, Thad is just a good bf eitherway-

DollxUzixLizzy: the gals would not leave a single second of silence for the small gremlin i swear to God- [Uzi is gay as FUCK for her gfs, absolute girloser unit with her gorgeous but crazy gfs]

okay for the end i have some characters that arent ships but i wish they could have become closer as friends or work out their issues...

J and N- too much abuse and toxicity here, i wish they could talk together more and see they have a lot of things in common- maybe a full line of dialogue from J without threatning N in every sense of the manner would be nice for a change =_=

Doll and V- again, a bit morally ambiguous to ship a character with the murderer of your family, esp when said murderer hasnt expressed regret lmao, but i wish they could at least be friends... Dolls disdain for the murder drones pushed her to end up the way she did. maybe if she didnt do it alone she would have been alive by now. so i like to think what would have happened if she and V could have made up- not necessarily Doll forgiving her- but at least having the space to grow and understand why they did they things that happened.

Cyn and literally ANYONE- i want the solver to be SEPARATE from Cyn- i wish Cyn would have still existed somewhere down there and was savable- i wish this poor child AI had a happy ending to her by connecting with the others as ACTUAL siblings... goddamnit 😔

aaaand thats it for this fine ass day 🫡 yall are welcome to ask about any of these- boy the tags are gonna be.... a lot.

[ballad-of-birdy-lamb]

Hey so I sincerely apologize for the person I'm requesting to write but can u do Coriolanus Snow x reader? ☠️ I know we hate him but damn does he look so good in the trailer that it made all the red flags colorblind to me 🙈😭 GSHEGDGDVSHS yeah I'm in my "I can fix him era" so can u please do one where he isn't really as shitty as he's supposed to be, thank you so much!!<33

I ❤️ evil twinks.

Coriolanus Snow x Gender neutral! Reader (romantic headcanons)

Coriolanus needs to know everything you do. No, it's not a positive trait but he makes you think it is. He's just trying to protect you!

He’s the type of bitch to read through someone's diary and act like he didn't

He would have made a good male wife if he hadn't been a mentor. A boring one at that but not a killer

Coriolanus will grow a partial liking to you if you give him food. You get him a whole rotisserie chicken and he is thanking you. As long as it isn't cabbage soup, he's chill with it

But the bad part about the last headcanon is that he takes it as a challenge. You shouldn't provide him with things! He's perfectly fine on his own (no tf he's not)!

Coriolanus plans all the dates. He likes the idea of planning out the small surprises, he likes that sense of control. He also likes the fact that he has enough money to go on fancy dates with you

His need for control travels into the relationship. It was very small at first. It starts with him getting annoyed at you for not telling him where you're going. And then it travels to hatred for your ex. It doesn't even matter how awful your ex was, Coriolanus will hate them more than you ever will

He will say it's because of how terrible your ex must have been but it's because someone else had you before he did.

__

Not even joking, this took so long to make because when I thought of Coriolanus, nothing positive came to mind 💀

To anyone who doesn't read TBOSAS fanfics and knows how bad of a person Coriolanus is, I'm not condoning any of the stuff he does and I'm not trying to romanticize him as a person. I hate him as much as anyone else!!

[zablife]

I keep coming back to “Ask me why I’m like this.” The way he talks to her on the phone, rubbing the handset with his finger. 🥵 “You know I’ll come for you.” 🥰😩 Carrying her everywhere; and the bath! THE 💕🎀BATH🎀💕 Let me tell you it destroyed my existence it was so comforting and hot. Caged in by his thighs?? 🫠 Her face on his chest 😭 Johnny washing her with a loofa!! Could we get an extended bath blurb pretty please? Or a sequel?💕

Babes, you've no idea how happy it made me to read your kind words about Ask Me Why I'm Like This 🥹 Ty for sending this lovely ask! I decided to write a few headcanons about the aftermath of that evening below the cut. I hope you enjoy! (There's so much soft!Johnny here, but I will warn you, there's also a bit of angst so pls don't be upset with me 🙈)

💙 When you're roused in the middle of the night by a nightmare, Johnny comforts you. His warm body presses to yours and suddenly it ignites the desire building inside you. It's a moment he can't forget bc it seems too perfect, you tugging at his hair and sinking your heels against his back to keep him inside you. It's enough to make him forget the precautions he might normally take.

💙 You cling to him until dawn, needing his weight draped over you to remain calm. Somehow it works and you manage to rest for another hour or two after he makes love to you, a pleasant dream painting the inside of your eyelids just before waking.

💙 Even tho you slide beneath his arm as he sleeps and disappear out the front door, Johnny tries not to worry. He finds other ways to keep watch over you when you stop asking for his help directly. He knows everyone in town so if you buy a stick of gum, he hears about it.

💙 In an unlikely turn of events it's what you don't do that causes him to worry the most. When you forget to visit your grandmother or skip the church bake sale, he realizes something bigger is on your mind.

💙 He wasn’t always a regular at the diner where you work, but now he makes a point to go there at lunchtime, asking to be seated in your section to check on you himself. The exhaustion in your eyes and the slight swell of your ankles confirms what he needs to know before he glimpses the strain of your apron strings or the oversize sweater you've donned before the end of September.

💙 "Baby girl, why didn't you come to me?" he asks, unable to hide his concern any longer. Large hand resting on your shoulder, he rubs your aching muscles slowly as he awaits an answer. "This ain't your problem, Johnny," you inform him.

💙 "How do you know? We been together a few times," he says hopefully, thumb stroking your cheek so gently it could make you break down on the spot. You can sense how badly he wants you to be his. If only you'd allow it.

💙 "I don't," you finally admit. "But what if...?" He silences you with a tender kiss, any protest forgotten as he leads you toward the door. “You can't keep this up with a baby inside ya. Need your rest," he grunts decisively.

💙 Johnny takes you back to his to settle you into a more domestic routine, insistent on caring for you from that moment on. You didn't want for anything as he brings you your meals and tends to you with such attentiveness it makes your heart ache.

💙 A month before your child is born you sit resting against him in the porcelain tub upstairs, his strong capable hands massaging your scalp. "Think it's a boy or a girl?" he wonders aloud, lips brushing your shoulder blade with a kiss. You shrug before confessing on a whispered breath. "Just don't want you to be disappointed..."

💙 You go into labor in the early morning hours, Johnny springing from bed before you even have to wake him. His excitement is palpable as he helps you into your shoes and leads you to the car, eyes shining with pride.

💙 He doesn't leave you for a moment in hospital, encouraging you every step of the way. "You can do this, darlin'," he assures you as he presses kisses to your sweaty forehead. And it's thru his unwavering support that you deliver a healthy baby boy.

💙 After you've rested, you awake to find him cradling the child in his arms, tiny blue bundle nearly swallowed by his large biceps. "Never thought I'd get the chance to do this again," he coos quietly to the infant. When he notices you've roused, he places the baby at your side praising, “He's perfect, just like his mama."

💙 As the child opens his eyes for the first time, you can't help but be struck by the clear blue of his irises and it's like a stab of ice to your heart. "What's wrong, darlin'?" Johnny asks. "His eyes...they're so blue, Johnny," you begin to cry and he knows what you're thinking before you say it.

💙 "Lotsa babies got blue eyes, sweetheart," he reasons. "Don't mean they're gonna stay that way," he nods reassuringly. But he can't help the way his mind drifts toward Benny now too. The resemblance undeniable as he feels his breath catch with the bitter realization.

💙 The next day will be even harder when Benny arrives at your bedside unexpectedly with flowers and heartfelt apologies, asking to hold his son.

[junosmindpalace]

I'm assuming this is where requests go- Idk for sure since I've never done this before 🙈

Erm, May I request Dr. Stone Headcanons (your choice of character?s?) on how they would calm down an angery uh- reader? Could be friend or s/o, How would they calm them down? (Or a reader with anger issues)

a couple of headcanons because, as always, writing inspo for tumblr has been slow </3 + some new characters to add to the masterlist !

TAIJU OKI 

One of the first people I thought up, because you know his method of trying to calm you down is incredibly straightforward, but effective. 

He’s incredibly real and honest; it tends to make him blunt sometimes, but it might often be just what you need for you to snap out of the frustration or sadness or fear that motivates that anger. 

Because Taiju is a person who despises violence of any kind and has a strong sense of justice, he’s quick to step in if your anger gets destructive, whether to others or yourself. He’ll never blame you for it, of course, because he’s sure to sympathize. But sometimes just a comment acknowledging your brashness and reassuring you that things are alright can be enough to ground your emotions. 

If your anger happens to keep flaring-- maybe the subject upsetting you is a deeply personal or offensive one--and no matter what, you can’t seem to shake off the horrid feelings that come with it, Taiju can’t help but step in as a shield. It’s just in his nature. 

He’ll take on the brunt of your frustration with everything he can. He’ll talk with you, he’ll scream with you, he’ll acknowledge that everything you feel is valid and understandable. Yet regardless, allowing yourself to be consumed by anger isn't going to help anything. 

He’ll attempt to reassure you with things that personally motivate him. That he has a community, his ideas of a better future: these are all things that support him when he’s feeling awful.

He’ll also do his best to help you direct your anger into productive action that helps prevent sources of stress. Working to do some good, unwind around people you care about. And of course, Taiju himself will always be there to motivate you when you find yourself struggling with your emotions. 

RURI:

Ruri handles the emotions of others with a similar self-sacrificial mindset as Taiju. She does her best to minimize the sufferings of others by keeping it to herself. 

It’s typically her kind voice and earnestness as she speaks to you that helps calm you when your anger gets to you. Her words are genuine, a hand on your arm or shoulder and smile on her face gentle as she attempts to steady you. For smaller outbursts, this is typically all that is needed.

When your anger is more passionate, however, she might try to give the two of you some privacy so your emotions aren’t anymore agitated by whatever it is that’s fuelling your stress. She’s most sympathetic in these moments, and wants to do whatever she can to help you.

She might ask occasionally if she can play any specific role to help you calm down, but like usual, her kind but firm words are usually all that is required for you to relax.

At your worst, she’ll probably just give you the space and grace needed for you to cool off on your own. If you need the company, she’ll let you vent to her without much input from herself, simply nodding her head, but jumping in wherever she believes is not so sensitive. 

Genuinely just the sweetest; she wants the best for you, and so she’ll always offer herself up to you: as a listening ear, as a form of counsel, and as a grounding presence when the world threatens to erupt your emotions. 

TSUKASA SHISHIO 

If there is anyone who can understand anger, and the sadness and hopelessness that fuels it, it's Tsukasa. 

So much of his life was built on frustrating experience after frustrating experience. At the very least, his career as a fighter helped physically wear out his anger until it was reduced to something weaker and less devastating to the people around him for a while.

So when it comes to trying to help you blow off steam, it might be one of the things he recommends you try, even helping you out by offering to spar or hunt, depending on the era. 

His first means of trying to help you defuse, however, is attempting to understand where your anger is coming from. He encourages you to open up about whatever it is that upsets you, and everything you do share he is completely understanding over. He can resonate with anger of every kind on every level, from microaggressions to heavy emotions to flat out physical abuse. If simple active listening from his end and ranting about the weight on your heart and head isn’t enough, then he’ll probably suggest the physical exertion to sweat out the hard feelings. 

If it's something you find therapeutic, he’s more than happy joining you in relieving your tension if and whenever you ask for him to accompany you. 

Tsukasa knows better than anyone how anger can corrupt a person's conscience, leave them abusive and prone to push people away. Never does he want the same to come out of your anger, and so he does his best to calm you down by attempting to convey just how much he resonates with your feelings. 

It's not always a long winded rant, but rather a melancholic, yet firm, acknowledgement of your feelings, and his very best attempts at advice on coping with it.

Though occasionally he can come off awkward about his means of attempting to help you through your anger, he takes it completely serious as someone who understands the pain it brings, and never would he want someone he cares about experiencing the same if he could do even a little to help push past it.

return to masterlist.

[justanerdy-gal]

An Ascendant’s Love

-> pairing: A!Astarion x Vampire!Tav -> content: fluff, emotional, pro Ascendant Astarion, vampire bride Tav, sfw -> summary: An ascended vampire’s love is obsessive. An ascended vampire’s love is possessive. But it is no less true. In fact, there was perhaps no truer love than that of the Ascendant.

-> notes: My firm belief has always been that Astarion’s love for Tav becomes so intense after his ascension that he does not know how to contain it. That he would go from the heavens to the hells to protect them, cherish them, and keep them by his side. To this end, I wanted to write a fic that briefly expositions how I think (headcanon ofcourse) Astarion feels about his love for Tav after he has ascended. Those who think ascended Astarion is abusive may not like this fic 🙈 But I hope you all enjoy it anyways ❤️

————

An ascended vampire’s love is obsessive. An ascended vampire’s love is possessive. But it is no less true. In fact, there was perhaps no truer love than that of the Ascendant.

Astarion ponders as he watches his love staring out the window of the palace, her skin as radiant as a pearl. As radiant as the day he turned her. He leans against the wall across the hall, enamoured by his consort’s beauty. She was wearing a ballgown he had specifically designed for her. He had made sure to spare no expense - much to Tav's hesitation early on. However, upon seeing Astarion's heady stare when she first put the gown on, she had decided that maybe it wasn't so bad.

It was hard for him to explain the feelings that turmoil through him when he stares at his beloved. Everything had changed when he chose to complete the Ascension ritual - for himself, not for his late master. Every sense, every feeling he had, had grown much more intense. It was almost too much for him to absorb at first. His edges had dulled over the past 2 centuries of slavery that he endured - and to just feel so much at one time - it was a feeling quite overwhelming.

And then there was her. His companion. His friend. His lover in a way that no past lover had ever been for… as long as he could remember.

Oh yes, he loved her before the Ascension - the first real connection he'd ever made in his life. The one who broke through all the walls he had built over the past two centuries, as if they were made with nothing but cardboard.

But it was as if his feelings before his Ascension were… minute. Puny.

They could not capture or describe the essence of what his little love truly meant to him. They could not do it justice.

She was the one who had saved him from his slaver - who had gone through thick and thin to ensure his happiness. Who never pushed him - not with intimacy, not with feelings. She let him make his own decisions. For the first time in his life.

When he first ascended, he had wanted to devour her whole. To devote himself to her, and have her devote herself entirely to him. Anyone else would have been terrified - scared off by the show of such intensity, such need for possession, a need to hold them close - in fear that in the blink of an eye, they would fly away, leaving a gaping hole in his undead heart.

But not her. Not the one who had opened her mind to him - allowed him to see himself for the first time. Who was locked by his side as he carved those wretched runes on the bastard’s back. It was an adjustment at first, but even without the tadpole in their brains, it's like they could read eachother's minds. It was not an intensity born out of control - Astarion had many things he could control, he did not need to control her. He did not ... want to control her.

It was a shock to him as well, to be frank. He was unsure how everything would play out after he had ascended - during that brief amount of time between his Ascension and before he had turned her. His mind was a whirlwind - the world moving too slow, his senses moving too fast. The strength of 7000 souls coursed through him, and his need to dominate was palpable. Intense.

But somehow....somehow she had seen through all that. Through the lust for control, for power, for revenge. She grounded him. Brought him back down to earth.

There was no doubt in his mind that he would have turned to the worst without her there. There was so much he was capable of - and the natural urges he had did not point towards good. But when he held her - when she melted into his embrace - he was reminded of that sliver of goodness, that had been the key to unlocking the world. He remembered their good deeds along their travels, the way he would fuss and fight, but would then softly smile as he saw the ones he helped thank Tav with joyous praises. He was enraptured by it. It made him wonder if maybe it wasn't so bad .... if he could make that smile appear on his love's face all the time.

It would take time, he found. As he settled into his new body, his new powers, his urges settled too. He found it easier to make good decisions over bad. His overwhelming desire calmed to an eternal adoration. Whenever he strayed in his natural urge to dominate, just a little nudge from his sweet was all it took to guide him back to the right path. Except for perhaps in their bed. It seems she rather enjoyed him dominating in that respect.

Time would never be enough for him to express his adoration of her. He longed to cherish her every moment of everyday. Hold her close as she blushed while he dragged his hand over her curves. To feel her shivers as he fed upon her blood. To lose himself in her lips, to ravish her with his touch, to feel her against him as she unravelled beneath him every night. To never let her go. He would never let her go.

He wanted to give her everything. He made her his bride. He would not allow her to suffer the torture he did. He would make sure she would want for nothing. Her every desire fulfilled. Her every need met. As long as she stayed by his side, he would give her the entire world.

He was now free to love her without fear - without fear of Cazador, without fear of the Absolute, without fear that he did not have the power to protect her. For the first time… he was without fear.

“What’s the matter, Astarion?” Astarion was taken out of his thoughts to see that Tav had walked over to him, her head quirked to the side as she wondered about what was bouncing through her love's mind at the moment.

“Nothing, my little love,” Astarion said, smiling as he pulled Tav in for a kiss. Tav was caught off guard by the intensity with which his lips met hers, almost set off balance as he crushed her body to him. He wrapped one arm around her waist, another lifting into in her hair, pulling her head in closer as he deepened the kiss for a moment, before he allowed her to breathe again.

“If that’s nothing, then nothing might have to happen more often,” Tav giggled, a blush creeping upon her face. Astarion face lit up with a grin at the twinkling sound of her laugh. He held her tight to him as he stared out into the setting sun.

You have given me everything.... thank you.

————

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MASTERLIST

Taglist:

@volturisecretary @myaastarionshenanegans @leatherboundriot

[sketch-guardian]

Both Angel and RAD classmates learning very early on that Mc saying “fuck it” or some variation of “fuck it” as in “fuck it we ball” “chucked/chucking it into the fuck it bucket” means something horrible is gonna happen not to them but some poor asshole of a demon they hear it and just slowly turn there heads to Mc before all hell breaks loose and Mc has a demon in a choke hold cussing them,their mother,their grandmother,their sister their great grandma etc basically Mc being a menace and not giving a single f if the demon or whoever is several heads taller and bigger they will win

I like how your MC wakes up every morning and chooses violence😂but considering what they're forced to endure every day, I'd say it's the least that can happen🙈I'll do my best to write good headcanons, sorry for the delay by the way😥:

"RAD CLASSMATES+NEW EXCHANGE STUDENTS WITH A MC WHO IS A MENACE"

DEMYA

Demya is quite the troublemaker and unlikely to back down from a challenge, so if she ever got into a fight, she would more than willingly fight tooth and nail, with adrenaline pumping through her veins, someone would just have to check she doesn't give a few too many bites. Being probably as much of a menace as MC, Demya would immediately understand from their words, almost as if they were a signal/warning, that a mess was about to break out and would rush to cheer for MC, finding their fighting style quite attractive, after all in her culture, flirting was mainly about showing off strength to prove oneself worthy as a mate. Demya would only intervene aggressively if MC was in trouble, even growling, but otherwise, she would congratulate them on their victory, exchanging a few hugs and kisses, especially on any bruises or scars. Furthermore, it's likely that they would escape before suffering any consequences, giggling like crazy

DOMNRA/MOBIM

Domnra isn't considered a delinquent without a reason, he sometimes gets into trouble and beatings with other annoying demons wouldn't necessarily be new, although he tries to be careful and avoid fighting with Mobim nearby, as the little curse would not approve and get scared. Domnra would immediately sense from MC's exclamations that a fight would break out soon and for once, both for fun and to release tension, Domnra would decide with a pointed smile to join MC in the fight, coordinating like a team, as partners in crime, while Mobim, safely on the sidelines, would cover its eye, clearly in distress, not wanting anyone to get hurt. It's likely that Domnra and MC would then end up in detention, together with Mobim, who would need lots of comfort, but it would be worth it in the end

AZUL

Azul is a chatterbox more than anything, an extrovert who loves attention and entertainment, although he has his quiet days due to his mood swings, so he wouldn't be a problematic student per se, apart from stupid jokes or moments of carelessness. If someone were to provoke MC, usually Azul, in order to avoid involving them and getting them into trouble, would roll up his sleeves, saying something like "I'm sorry dear, but I have to go and make a scene-" before publicly humiliating the other demon, making them lose the will to be seen around Devildom. At MC's first warning and swears, Azul would be slightly confused, thinking it was just their way of expressing themselves, but as soon as the fight broke out, he would let out a whistle and grimace at the sight of some blows, obviously rooting for MC. In the end, Azul would say that he found their attitude badass and that he wouldn't mind witnessing it again, as long as it doesn't bother their health too much. Azul would put some cute band-aids on MC's wounds as well

ZURI

Zuri is a reserved and diligent student in class, she doesn't speak often so conflicts are quite rare, however when they do happen, they are mostly resolved either through words or hypnotic powers in particularly tedious cases. MC would give Zuri a huge headache, not only due to their bad language, but also because of their tendency to get into physical fights with other demons. Not only MC would risk getting hurt, but also ruin their clothes and pay the consequences of their actions. If the situation degenerated greatly, Zuri would intervene with her hypnotic ability to ward off the offending demon and then, despite herself, she would try to put in a good word with the teachers for MC, to prevent them from getting into further trouble. Once home Zuri would criticize MC's recklessness while tending to their wounds, she would even raise an eyebrow, asking in exasperation if it was all part of a plan to impress her. Although it might result quite repetitive, Zuri would point out to MC that she won't always be able to be there to defend them if needed, so they should try to manage such outbursts better during lessons. Zuri would let out a soft praise if she noticed MC actually wanting her approval that badly

ODON

Odon technically, given their age, shouldn't even be in RAD, however there is always time to learn new things, it is also a strategy to try to meet more people and make new friends. The swears shouted by MC to another demon that they apparently are about to beat up would leave Odon slightly astonished, but they would not necessarily intervene, especially because a single glare from the eldritch abomination would be enough for the demon to back down. Odon would smile in a innocent way, but in the eyes of others they would still look like a murderer due to their big grin, making the demon in question regret all their life choices and beg MC for mercy. It wouldn't happen very often for MC to get involved in combat, considering Odon's reputation, but either way, they would show care in treating any wounds and wouldn't meddle too much in MC's affairs if they don't feel like talking, Odon would find MC's menacing nature by the way pretty endearing, except for the foul language almost used as a summoning circle

REMIEL

Remiel is a curious, innocent angel, such vocabulary does not belong to her and if not required for the sake of balance then she tries to avoid violence, usually resorting to words and deeds, furthermore seeing an upset angel of death would be both rare and disturbing, so many demons wouldn't be willing to risk it, despite her tender and somber appearance. Remiel wouldn't know many swear words, so at the beginning she wouldn't understand that MC is predicting the arrival of a disaster, over time she would learn to make the association between exclamations and facts, then she would gently try to dissuade MC from fighting, especially if the demon was sincere about their will to redeem themselves. MC's would also slightly remind Remiel of her uncle, Strife, due to their quirky personality

NATHANIEL

Nathaniel is extremely calm and docile, so much so that he is often mistaken for a statue, otherwise he's pretty chill and would let out a soft tired sigh at MC's swears, already expecting the worst from them. At the start of the fight, Nathaniel would watch the scene shrugging his shoulders and whistling as if nothing had happened if someone asked him to intervene, being an angel, in case MC had the worst, only in that case would Nathaniel get involved in the fight, blocking those directly involved from beating each other, even offering alternative solutions to the conflict, like a teacher or monk passing on his life lessons. Nathaniel's tested patience would be unnerving to see

URIEL

If you think Uriel would intervenes by seeing MC beating a demon senseless with the intent of stopping them, then you are very wrong. Uriel sometimes still feels resentment/prejudice towards demons, so she would be proud to see MC in action fighting one with their bare hands, a clear sign of their abilities, however she would not approve of such profanities expressed before the mess, finding them blasphemous, unnecessary and an offense against the doctrine of the Celestial Realm. Uriel would probably justify MC's actions and think about improving their technique or catchphrase. If the situation got out of hand, Uriel would obviously intervene with her sword to defend MC

[starleska]

Dollface - the Toymaker x Real Toymaker!Reader

As a toymaker, you are delighted when you stumble across MR EMPORIUM'S TOYSHOP. But when you meet its eccentric owner - one eponymous 'Toymaker' - you enter into an impossible game with higher stakes than you ever imagined…with the risk of your deepest fantasy coming true. Rating: Mature. Tags: Dollification; Toyification; Truth or Dare; Reality-Bending; Humiliation; Psychological Torture; Fluff; Teasing; Touching; Forced Dancing; Mentions of Neglect; Cosmic Horror; Horrible Fake German. Reader is presumed female, but has a complicated relationship with gender and enjoys feminine terms of endearment. requested by the lovely @chronicbeans!! whilst this was originally meant to be a few-paragraphs long headcanons bit...but then it sprawled into a 13,000 word fanfic. my apologies to yourself, and to any German speakers in the audience 🙈💖 you can also read this on AO3. i hope you enjoy!

Toys are your life.

For as long as you can remember you have been fascinated by all manner of toys: everything from teddy bears to zoetropes; spinning tops to yo-yos. As a child you weren’t just interested in playing with toys—you wanted to reach inside of them, pick them apart, and understand every little detail about how they worked. Much to the chagrin of your parents, you spent more time trying to put your toys back together than you did actually playing with them. 

But all of your alternative playtime paid off. Now, as an adult, you run a modest yet successful local toymaking business, with your own vendor stall at the market and a popular online shop. Much of your work is custom, using vintage materials to replicate toys of the past, and you occasionally trade and sell real old toys too. As a result, you have something of a monopoly on the local toy scene, and feel you know every single toymaker and toy-collecting enthusiast in a fifty mile radius.

That’s why it’s a real shock when you stumble across MR EMPORIUM’S TOYSHOP late one night. 

The storefront is a gorgeous assault to the senses. Parked in the middle of the cold, grey street, the toyshop beams out crimson and gold onto the snow drifts, with all manner of classic toys peeking out at you through the windows. You are delighted to see an assortment of downy plush bears and hand-painted model motor cars crowding the shelves: so many it feels like the toyshop itself might burst at the seams. Your giddiness only increases as you get closer to the window. You can make out all sorts of fun, bright shapes within: countless colourful toys beckoning you and begging to be taken home. 

Yet it isn’t these treasures which catch your eye the most. Right at the back of the shop, near the counter, you spy a shelf lined with dolls. They are beautiful even at a distance: likely from the early 20th century, masterfully painted and wearing a fine rainbow of little dresses. Even from your vantage point you can see the impeccable craftsmanship. There’s immense detail in their delicate hands, and if you’re not mistaken, each doll has a crop of real human hair.

Perhaps most intriguing of all is the eyes. Their glass sheen looks so sad and wistful…far more emotion than a doll should be able to communicate.

If you didn’t know any better, you would believe the dolls were alive.

Oh, I shouldn’t , you tell yourself. I’m much too old now to be playing with dolls…and I keep all my old ones locked up anyway. I shouldn’t deprive some kid of a toy. This is a deeply silly excuse, and a hypocritical one. The vast majority of your clientele are adults, as are the brilliant toymakers you’re proud to call your friends. This is the perpetual double-standard you constantly believe and are always trying to rally against: that you are uniquely strange, and deserve to be ridiculed for your interests. 

The curious thing is that this idea doesn’t apply to toys more broadly…only to dolls. You have made countless dolls throughout your career, and yet owning dolls and enjoying them is something you’ve long nursed a hang-up over. But that is a can of worms you refuse to open up today. No , you decide, today I am going to be a normal adult who is confident about their interests and doesn’t feel an ounce of shame! I am going to go into this toyshop and look at those dolls, and that’s that! With your mind made up, you shift your backpack onto your shoulder, take a deep breath, and push through the toyshop’s door. 

The door slams shut behind you with the tinkle of a bell. You are immediately enveloped in warmth, and the delicious scent of varnished wood enrobes you like a fine dress. You can’t help but close your eyes and inhale: somehow, the toyshop smells just like your childhood.

“Hallo, meine kleine Mädchen! Komm in, komm in, be ge-removings yourselves from dee kalt! It is ein horrid evenings, is it not?”

You open your eyes in surprise, and see an older, greyish-blond-haired man leaning against the counter. He’s dressed in a most whimsical fashion, wearing a soft white work shirt coupled with a maroon waistcoat, and a brown apron stuffed with woodworking tools. A spotted ascot around his neck and a pair of pince-nez balanced at the end of his nose complete the look.

The man smiles at you like he’s known you all his life. You feel like you’ve been transported to another time.

“It is,” you agree, as you shake the snow drifts from your boots. “So sorry for dropping in so late—I’m surprised you’re still open.”

“Ah, but I am always having times for dee beautiful Fräulein,” says the man with a coy wink. “But vot is it zat is ge-bringings you here?”

You have to stifle a giggle. You know enough of the language to know the man’s German is terribly off, and his accent is borderline offensive. However, you also know that folks in the toymaking community tend to be eccentric, and you can forgive a corny, theatrical accent for the wonderful atmosphere of this shop. Who are you to judge if he wants to LARP as a Bavarian thespian?

Before you can reply, the strange man is suddenly beside you…although you don’t recall seeing him move. He has also removed his pince-nez. You blink, a little taken aback. How did he move so quickly? You wonder if you’ve eaten enough that day.

“I’m…a toymaker,” you say, trying not to sound freaked out. “I’ve never seen your shop before, and I thought I knew everyone in town who makes toys. What’s your name?”

The man’s eyes are blue, you notice—terribly blue, and sparkling in the soft light with unspoken mischief. “You are beings ein toymaker? Vy, zat is a coincidence…” He taps the side of his nose. “Many peoples ge-calls me by many names. But zey most oftens call me the Toymaker, und nothing else. It be gettings dee point across, nein? Und was ist your name?”

You tell him, and the Toymaker’s mouth splits open in a wide grin.  

“Das ist ein schöner name!” he says enthusiastically. “Truly, a magnifizent fit. It is not often zat I am gettings other toymakers in mein shop…I vonder, vot does your eye ge-fallen upon? Could it be mein cuddly collection of teddies? Oh, ja, I sees you are ge-needings ein soft companion for dese frosty nights. Or could it be mein train? Choo-choo! it goes, round and round all dee livelong day! I am ge-havings many customers mit ein eye for dee train.”

The Toymaker’s voice is smooth as butter, rich and inviting, and each word he speaks seems to add a little more colour to his delightful environment. You look around in awe at all of the toys, unable to comprehend the sheer scale of the place. Just moments ago the shop seemed so small, with the abundance of toys seriously crammed in on the shelves, but now it looks impossibly vast: a veritable sea of playful delights. The little choo-choo train in question chugs along on its rails and moves past the doll shelf, drawing your eye back to their pretty little figures.

“Ah, dee Katze hast gotten your tongue,” says the Toymaker. He gestures to the dolls, and the gold ring on his right pinkie finger catches the light. “I too ams often becomings stricken by dee beauty of mein dollen…zey took me many nights to make, ja. Oh, but ge-look! Eins ist out of place. Zose fingers are so fiddly! Und dee hair…zo many eveninks ge-spended brushing out zeir tiny curls."

You watch as the Toymaker reaches up and begins deftly rearranging the dolls. His fingers are long and nimble, and they move with such care and attention, placing each doll’s tiny hands neatly in their laps and smoothing down their dresses. When you’re a toymaker, you grow to appreciate a pair of well-practised hands, and there’s something undeniably… charming , about this Toymaker and his cartoonish whimsy. It’s silly, but you feel a little heat rising in your cheeks. The attention he’s paying to such small, delicate objects…

…well, it’s only natural that your mind should wander to more practical applications of such hands.

“The dolls are gorgeous,” you say. “Do you offer any toymaking classes? The dolls I make have a bit more of a modern touch.”

That’s when the Toymaker laughs, and it is a strange laugh: it tinkles out of his mouth like a jingle, in a musical, ‘Ha ha ha HA ha ha ha!’

“Oh, mein dollen are sehr modern…moreso zan you sink,” says the Toymaker. He gives you another wink, as it seems he likes to give them out for free.

That’s when you feel the little clench in your chest. Oh dear, he really is quite handsome. This wouldn’t be the first time you’d caught feelings for a quirky, attractive stranger, and they were often not as well-dressed as the Toymaker. You have a tendency to get caught up in the realms of imagination, and have thought up more than a few daring trysts with pretty-faced people with whom you’d only exchanged a couple of words. You ought to grab a doll, leave, and have a quiet little panic attack about this interaction at home.

You force your eyes away from the handsome man and back to the shelf.

That’s when you spot her.

Somehow, a doll had escaped your notice. Right in the middle of her sad-looking rainbow sisters is another doll, simply and prettily done up in a powder-blue be-ribboned frock. Unlike the other dolls, this one is smiling in a dimpled way, and her eyes sparkle with a magical sheen not unlike that of the Toymaker’s. You note with some amusement that the doll has the same eye colour as you—hair colour, too. This isn’t strange on a doll, but it gives you the same jolt of satisfaction and déjá vu you get when meeting someone who shares your name.

“Ah,” says the Toymaker (now on your other side). “Dee dollen…zey speak to you, ja? Zey are ge-having ein chitter-chatter, all high up on dee shelf. Vot fun games zey have ven I ge-leaves the shoppen!”

Dollen isn’t even the German word for dolls, you know—it’s Puppen. But you get the sense that the Toymaker’s German accent is less an earnest recreation (and it’s certainly not his natural accent), but a pantomime version intended to amuse and entertain.

“I’m sure they do,” you say, but you’re distracted from the Toymaker’s little act. The longer you look at the doll, the stranger you feel.

You move closer to the shelf to get a better look, and are startled by what you discover.

It isn’t just that the doll on the shelf has similar hair and eyes to you: they’re both the exact same shade, even down to the imperfect flecks in your irises. 

You study the doll intently for a moment, blink, and— what? The doll’s hair is now the same length as yours. Was it always? No, you could have sworn just a moment ago it was not just a completely different length, but style.

You rise up on your tiptoes to get a better look at the doll, and are baffled by what you see. It’s as if detail is stacking on the doll right before your eyes, the way some video game maps load in piece-by-piece. You watch as texture is added to her hair, and light pools in her eyes. This level of craftsmanship is uncanny; it’s as if the Toymaker went out of their way to create a doll which resembles you.

“How did you do that?” You turn to the Toymaker, confused. “Did you know I was coming here?"

The Toymaker’s mouth contorts into an offended pout. “Now, you ge-vounds me. It is ein special privilege, having another Spielzeugmacher in mein shop. Tell me, vot do you sink of her hair? Es ist pretty, ja?”

“But that doll looks exactly like me,” you say.

You can feel your heart hammering in your chest. Suddenly the warm, cosy atmosphere of the toyshop feels more claustrophobic and oppressive. The Toymaker looks unbothered; he rests his chin on his hand and contemplates the shelf. 

“Zere ist ein…certain resemblance,” says the Toymaker, with an unusual, almost French affectation on the last word. “But you are just ge-havings, as zey say, ‘von of zose faces’. Ja, das ist richtig: ein dollface. Puppengesicht. All smooth und sveet. Vy, vot a lucky lady you are! She simply must be goings home vith you.”

You’re scrambling to work out what kind of practical joke this is, and how the Toymaker was pulling it off. You’d met a few eccentric toymakers with God complexes before, as they tend to go hand-in-hand: you’d briefly dated one who designed escape rooms in his spare time. But this is on another level…creating a doll which can be imperceptibly altered to resemble a person in real-time? You’d never heard of such a thing, and you can’t think of a non-creepy reason why someone would go to the trouble of making one.

Oh, hang on a minute, you think. This guy might just be a genius. “This is a marketing trick, isn’t it?”

You pull away from the Toymaker and lean against his counter, feeling terribly smug for having figured it out.

The Toymaker puts his head on one side, quizzical. Playing dumb, you think.

“I am not ge-followings you,” the Toymaker says. 

“You make dolls of the people you see ahead of time,” you explain. “People you know who will come in here at some point…collectors, other toymakers. Then you wait and put them on the shelf when they come in, maybe behind some hidden panel so you can spin them around when they get close. Then when they come in, it’s like they’ve found the perfect toy!” 

You’re so proud of yourself for having cracked the case, you want to pump your fist in the air. For a moment, you envision yourself wearing a deerstalker hat and smoking a pipe. Go me! But your victory is short-lived. During your diatribe, the Toymaker’s bright, childish grin had frozen on his face, and remained in place even during your brief mental celebration. But now the smile slowly slips like a mask peeling away from too-tight skin. In its place sits a stormy frown: one which clenches the muscles and wrinkles of the Toymaker’s face into an expression which says ‘insulted’.

“For shame,” says the Toymaker. “That’s twice you’ve accused me of cheating now. You really do me a disservice. I am bound by the Rules of Play, and would never resort to such cheap tricks.”

What the hell…? The Toymaker’s accent is completely different. Where before his voice was a thick soup of faux German, now it is a soft British breeze: a proper, formal accent which speaks the way trees rustle. You gape at him, dumbfounded. 

“Your accent is different,” you can’t help but say. You’re no longer just leaning against the counter—you’re actively pushing into it, with the edge of the countertop pushing into the small of your back.

The Toymaker raises an eyebrow at you, and smirks. “You are not half as stupids as you are ge-lookings,” he says, slipping the German back on like a heavy cloak. “But zen, I know you are playing ein game mit me, aren’t you?” 

You stare at the Toymaker. Something has shifted: the air is thick with a tension you cannot identify, but which you want to run away from. You keep staring, thinking that if you look away from those too-blue eyes for even a moment, you might just lose your grip.

You know for a fact that if you look back at that doll on the shelf, it will look even more like you than before.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you say, and you wish you weren’t lying.

The Toymaker laughs his musical laugh and wags his finger in your face. “Sehr naughty!” he says. “Oh, how natürlich dee lies kommen to sie, mein Schatz. You be ge-knowinks how to play games…zis ist ein lecker human mind game, und you are ge-tryings to deceive me.”

His voice slips smoothly back into the British:

“Do you think I don’t know all about your little fantasy?”

Your eyes go wide, and a choked noise escapes your mouth. No. There is no way that this man…this impossible toymaker could possibly know. You were always so careful, so sure to keep it all to yourself! Familiar shame and embarrassment wash over you in a hot wave as the Toymaker looks at you, looks into you, as if he can see the inner workings of your mind. Your mind grabs at the old, familiar justifications the way one might grab a newspaper for modesty if they found themselves naked on a bus. It’s perfectly normal to have fun little flights of fancy. Everyone plays make-believe sometimes, right? “But zey are embarrassing, zese thoughts of yours,” the Toymaker giggles. “Not dee kind of thoughts you can share mit deine Mutter. I am not ge-thinkinks zat you have shared your desires mit ein Partnerin…” There goes the eyebrow again, cocked sardonically to match the wicked curl of his lips. “Is zis true?” You feel nauseous. The firm pressure of the countertop underneath your palms is all that stops you from shaking. It feels as if the Toymaker is probing the inside of your skull, and using those skilled fingers to strip back the whorls of your brain and grab at the fleshy thoughts inside. 

“Get out of my head,” you say quietly.

“Oh, but zis is dee game I ge-likes!” says the Toymaker. “Humans mit zeir internal struggles. Desires mit dee most fun ideas, but you are too ge-frightened to say vot you vant. So you play games mit dein loved ones…dee hunting und dee exasperation. Oh, you simply vill not communicate!"

You don’t know when the Toymaker got so close to you, but now he’s towering over you, with his hands firmly planted on either side of the countertop. You’re close enough to count the spots on his ascot, and examine the year-lines etched around his mouth and eyes. When he smiles those lines crinkle, but not naturally: it’s the way a puppet’s arms reach for the stars when the marionette twists them upwards.

“Okay, you’ve had your fun,” you whisper. “I’ll buy the doll and leave.”

This close, the Toymaker radiates heat. He smells like rose petals and Christmas.

“You could…but zat vould be no fun,” says the Toymaker. “I propose ve solve zis in a more interesting vay…”

The Toymaker waves his hand across your field of vision…and transforms the centre of the toyshop. A small wooden table complete with chairs has popped into existence just in front of the counter. You gape at the sight. How did he do that?! “Let us play ein game,” he says. “If you vin, you can take dee doll free of charge. But if I vin…”

The Toymaker’s smile cracks like the earth preceding a quake.

“You vill stay vith me und play mein games forever!”

You have to give yourself credit for reacting as well as you did. Most people, if they were faced with a crazy fake German man who seems able to read your mind, may have had a breakdown or made a run for the door. But you’ve seen a lot of anime, and you understand that if you are challenged by a handsome, powerful man with magical powers and a delightful hairstyle, you cannot refuse the call. Your brain has shifted from This should be impossible, to It’s game time.  “Alright,” you say slowly. “You’re clearly very powerful. It seems like if I play a game with you, you have far more to gain than I do. A doll isn’t a good enough prize.”

The Toymaker smiles at you. “Ein girl after mein own heart,” he says. “How about zis: if you vin, I vill show you exactly how I make mein dollen, complete vith a demonstration. Zat is generous of me, nein?”

His words are laced with sinister venom, and it’s all you can do not to be poisoned.

“And I’m guessing that if I refuse your game, something terrible would happen to me?”

The Toymaker hums low in his throat. “Hm…not accepting mein game is always ein option…ja, you could do zat. Und yet…” 

You inhale as the Toymaker brings his face terribly close to yours. The skin of his cheek brushes your own. You can feel his soft breath as he whispers into your ear, British once more:

“I know you are so curious as to how I make my dolls. If you leave now, you’ll never know. And I think if you wanted to leave, you would have done so already.”

The Toymaker pulls away from you, leaving you with your face on fire. He’s right. In less than ten minutes, the Toymaker has sussed out your fatal flaw: your damned unstoppable curiosity. There have been countless times where your life would have been improved if you’d kept your nose in your own business…but this is different. The Toymaker isn’t just dangling a carrot: he’s already dug his hooks in you, and you are being reeled in with every second you spend looking into those impossibly blue eyes.

When you next blink, the Toymaker has moved again. He is sitting in one chair, his hands folded primly in front of him.

“Name your challenge,” he says.

You weren’t expecting this: you thought he would have a game in mind. “Any game at all?”

“There isn’t a game I don’t know,” says the Toymaker coolly. “It is common courtesy to allow the guest to pick the party game.”

You can’t help a nervous giggle. “This is a weird kind of party,” you say. 

The Toymaker acknowledges this by inclining his head. “Choose.”

Your mind scrambles over dozens of options. There are so many games…board games, card games, strategy games. Do we need equipment? How long does the game have to be? What games can you play with just two people? That’s when your brain starts to run in a very different direction, and a variety of… game positions …flash through your imagination with impunity.

A flush scalds up your neck. You look at the Toymaker, who raises his eyebrows in a knowing way.

He knows exactly what you’re thinking.

You want to scream.

“Truth or Dare!” you blurt out.

That gets his attention. The Toymaker leans forward, his eyes quizzical. “Zat is non-traditional…yet apt,” he says. “Could it be zat you are ge-vantings me to force zat fantasy out of you, meine Liebchen?”

“No,” you lie. “I want you to tell me what you are, and why you’re doing this to me.”

“Then let’s get down to business,” says the Toymaker. “We take it in turns to ask each other Truth or Dare. A Truth corresponds to a question which must be answered truthfully, and a Dare is an action which must be carried out. The player earns one point for each Truth or Dare successfully completed.”

The Toymaker steeples his fingers together. You can’t pull your eyes away from them.

“If you refuse to complete a Truth or a Dare, or you contravene the rules of the game, you lose a point…and must complete a forfeit.” 

The way he says ‘forfeit’ sends a shiver down your spine. “What kind of forfeit?”

“Oh, dee usual,” says the Toymaker casually. “Somesing difficult or humiliating. I do not ge-liken to pre-plan zese things…I am preferings to be spontaneous.”

You are starting to regret your choice of game. This is a man who knows more about you than you’ve ever told your closest friend…surely a game like Truth or Dare would be pointless for him? So you ask: “Why would you want to play this if you can already tell what I’m thinking?”

The Toymaker frowns. “A good question,” he says. “The Rules of Play prevent me from having any unfair advantage over an opponent. Although my abilities will remain intact, anything which would tilt the game in my favour is out-of-bounds. I am physically incapable of cheating, and would thank you not to bring it up again. There are only two states of being which matter: winning, or losing. I intend to win.”

Fair enough , you think. “And what if I cheat?” you say. “I have a pretty good poker face. If you can’t look inside my head during the game, what if I just lie to you? How could you tell?” 

The Toymaker chuckles, bearing his mouth wide. To your horror, you see there are far, far too many teeth in his mouth.

“I can always tell when someone is lying to me.” 

“Six turns,” you counter, voice trembling. “Whoever has the most points at the end of those turns is the winner. And…you can’t choose Truth or Dare more than twice in a row.”

The Toymaker seems impressed by your game-making skills. “Agreed,” he says. “Let us begin.” 

He snaps his fingers, and all the lights in the toyshop go out. Above, a stagelight snaps into existence, pouring heat and light onto your scalp in a cascade. The Toymaker’s striking features are illuminated by this shift in lighting, casting the lines of his face with the severity of stage makeup. You swallow: he looks divine.

“Would you like to go first?” he asks politely.

“...No,” you say after a moment. “I think that honour should go to the house.”

Your gamble pays off: you realised that the Toymaker is a man with great respect for the rules of the game, and this offer makes him smile.

“How generous,” says the Toymaker. “Truth or Dare?”

“Dare,” you say. 

The Toymaker taps his finger to his lips, considering. Then, he says, “Destroy something precious to you.”

It takes a few seconds for you to really process the Dare. When it hits, you are baffled. What kind of Dare is that? you want to say…but you don’t bother saying it aloud. What kind of toyshop is this—and what kind of ‘toymaker’ is he? All you need to know is reflected in the sadistic gleam in the Toymaker’s eye. This wouldn’t be an ordinary game, and contesting his requests would be fruitless. All you can do is make your move.

You take a deep breath, and reach down into your backpack. You didn’t leave the house this morning planning to bring anything precious to you, but you are a sentimental person by nature, and know you have one item which fits the bill. It’s with great sadness that you pull out a small, ratty teddy bear and place him on the table. The bear is old and beige and dressed in a crimson band leader’s outfit, complete with a hat and red-laced riding boots.

“Oh, ein teddy bear!” laughs the Toymaker, delighted. “How charming. He is quite dee looker, isn’t he?”

“He’s the first bear I ever made,” you say. “I was listening to some 90s British pop music, and the idea for his design just…popped into my head. I scribbled it down and pulled him together from scraps of fabric and repurposed stuffing in just a day. His name’s Neil…I keep him with me for good luck.”

Something about what you said is terribly amusing to the Toymaker, but you don’t know why. “Ein handsome name indeed,” says the Toymaker. “But I am afraid zat vill not be enoughs to ge-save him. Poor Neil. Now…vill you complete your Dare?” 

You take a deep breath. There was no turning back now; you’ve accepted the Toymaker’s game, and the predatory sheen in his eyes tells you that you can no longer just walk away. So you pick up Neil, grab hold of his little teddy bear ears—

And tear his head off, sending stuffing careening all over the table. 

“Oh!” says the Toymaker with a false gasp. “Vot an unfortunate end for poor Neil. I did not know zat you have such ein cruel streak.” 

“Shut up,” you say, trying not to look at Neil’s decapitated corpse.

Even though he’s just a teddy bear, you feel like you’ve just killed a defenceless animal. Neil’s lifeless button-eyes gaze up at you imploringly, as if asking why you’d do such a thing. You knock Neil’s head off the table and focus back on the Toymaker.

“That’s one point to me,” you say. “Truth or Dare?”

The Toymaker grins at you like a shark. “Dare.”

There are a thousand questions ricocheting around your head, but you ask the one which you know will keep you up at night: “Tell me how you did that thing with the doll.”

The violence of the Toymaker’s laughter makes you jump. He actually covers his mouth to quieten himself, but his shoulders shake even so. “Oh nein, nein, nein, you are ge-makings ein mistake!” he says. “You cannot be askings a question ven I have chosen Dare. Oh, meine Schatz, you have your lost your point…and must receive ein forfeit.”

Your veins run cold. “What? No! That was never in the rules!” 

“It is a common rule,” says the Toymaker, suddenly serious. “What is the point of distinguishing between a Truth or Dare, if a Dare can be a Truth?”

You want to protest…but his logic is infuriatingly sound. It’s exactly the kind of argument you could see yourself making if you were playing the game against a friend. You try to think of some other get-out-of-jail-free card—anything which would allow you learn how the Toymaker made that doll look exactly like you—but you come up short. You slump in your chair, and resign yourself to waiting for the next round.

“Oh, do not ge-look so sad,” says the Toymaker. In mock sympathy, he makes a little tutting sound against his teeth. “Now, about zat forfeit…ah! I am ge-knowings just dee sing.”

The Toymaker snaps his fingers…and your clothes burst into a flock of doves.

You scream and leap up from the table, batting away at the birds scrambling over your skin. They coo and and flap in your face before struggling upwards and flying into the rafters. Shocked, you look down to find yourself still fully clothed…but with a wardrobe change. You are now clad in a beautiful, powder-blue dress. The fabric is inhumanly soft and threaded through with white ribbons.

“Oh my God!” you yell. “What did you do?!”

The Toymaker is doing his best to stifle a giggle behind his hand. “Do you like it?” he asks. “I think the colour is rather fetching on you.” 

You clutch at the skirts of your dress, wishing the floor would open up and swallow you whole. There is no way this is possible…you hadn’t felt anything, not even a shift of your own clothes or the sliding of new fabric against your skin. One moment you were wearing your own clothes, and the next you weren’t. It’s as if your clothes were merely a covering, and when they transformed into doves and flapped off, they left only your dress behind. 

You move your legs under the layers of fabric, and blush when you discover you’re wearing a pair of frilly stockings. As you stick out your feet, you can see your feet are clad in a shiny pair of Mary Janes. It’s with a sick feeling in your stomach that you realise what the dress is.

It’s the same dress that the doll on the shelf is wearing.

"You're sick," you hiss.

The Toymaker cocks his head to one side. “Indeed?” he says. “How odd. I thought I was being rather generous, giving you a helping hand towards becoming your true self.” He snickers at you. “If I am sick, then I do wonder what that makes you. My mind is full of games, but the inside of your head is full of so much more.”

You ignore the Toymaker and hold your own arms, shrinking back down into your chair. Yet as you look down at the dress, you can’t help but feel a pang of longing. The dress is a perfect fit, one which could have been custom-designed, and the fabric is truly stunning in appearance and quality. With its puffy sleeves and shapely waistline, you know if you were alone you would have given your new skirts a twirl.

But you can’t let yourself get lost now. This is as much a mind game as it is a real one, you realise. The Toymaker is eyeing you like a piece of meat, and it’s clear that he is capable of so much more than a costume change. You must press on with the game. 

“I want to keep playing,” you say.

“Wonderful,” says the Toymaker. "We’re currently still at zero points each, with two turns down. Unfortunately, your turn was taken due to the forfeit. I must ask you: Truth or Dare?” 

You don’t allow yourself time to think about it: “Dare.” 

The Toymaker’s smile is knowing. “It is a fool’s errand, trying to delay the inevitable. I believe my initial suspicions were correct…you do want the Truth to be pried from you, don’t you? Perhaps that makes the shame a little less potent. After all, the mean, scary Toymaker made you dress this way. It wasn’t your fault…you couldn’t help it. Am I getting warmer?”

Your face is getting warmer, and it’s getting increasingly hard to meet the Toymaker’s gaze. “It isn’t my fault that my opponent is insane,” you say, with venom. 

Somehow, the Toymaker’s laugh is German. “Ah, zere is zat fire. You are quite dee entertaining playmate, meine Liebling. I am not ge-xpectings you to verstand games of dee mind…but I do find zem exhilarating. Dee expressions ge-crossing your face right now…I vish you could see zem.”

You scowl at the Toymaker. “Just give me your Dare.”

The Toymaker shrugs at you. “If you insist. I Dare you…to perform a dance befitting a fine young lady such as yourself.”

Oh, God, no. This is a nightmare of a Dare. “I—I’m not a dancer,” you say. You can feel your blush crawling up your neck. You envision yourself prancing around in your new dolly-dress, and the embarrassment makes you physically cringe.

“Oh, zat is not ein problem!” The Toymaker beckons you to look under the table. When you do, he taps his own shoes against the floor, performing a rhythmic tap-step. “Zose lovely Schuhe I gave you vill ge-helpen sie along. Provided you are villing to perform dee dare, your tanzen is all taken care of. All you are ge-needings to do is stand up, und take drei steps backwards.”

The Toymaker leans back in his chair and looks at you expectantly. The list of excuses which blossomed into your mind when he first suggested the Dare are dwindling rapidly, each one seeming more pathetic than the last. But…maybe there is a way out of this?

“What about music?” you ask. “Surely you can’t expect me to dance without music.” 

The Toymaker shakes his head at you. “Do not ge-worry about dee musik! I have it all covered. Unless…you vish to forfeit once more?” The idea of any other part of your body spontaneously transforming into an animal is enough to make you scramble to your feet. Immediately, you are self-conscious: the dress is equal parts beautiful and ridiculous, and is so poofy and frilly that it gives your lower half the shape of a bell. You haven’t felt this kind of embarrassment since you were in school: the dry throat and sweaty palms before getting up on stage for assembly. Feeling like a silly child, you can’t help but look at the Toymaker, searching those mirthful eyes for guidance. But the Toymaker simply shoos you, indicating for you to step back.  Hesitantly, you take one step away from the table. Then another. Then, one final, gentle step.  Without warning, the floor of the toyshop erupts! From beneath your feet a wooden stage springs up, unfurls around you and traps you like a box. You shriek and try to stumble away, but your new dancing shoes root you firmly to the spot. A spotlight bursts into being above your head and illuminates your frozen self in all your newfound frilly glory.  You look down from your new height to see the Toymaker sitting in what is now the front row of a vast auditorium; the toyshop’s interior has vanished. He whoops and grabs a fistful from a cartoonishly large bucket of popcorn. You open your mouth to yell at him, and maybe call him some horrible names you haven’t thought of yet. But before you can, music starts blaring from all sides of the auditorium. It’s a grating, repetitive tune: some ghastly combination of twee guitar and twinkling piano…and it’s so familiar . You know this song, but what is it? And why does it sound so…childish?  The music hits a powerful note. Your mouth opens unbidden, and from your vocal cords a voice which is decidedly not yours belts out the opening lyric to a familiar nursery rhyme:  “I’m a little teapot, Short and stout!” Your voice is loud and beautiful, and you project better than any Broadway singer. You can do nothing but watch yourself in abject horror as your knees bend in time with the music, and your shiny shoes send you toppling along the stage in time with the song.  “Here is my handle Here is my spout!” You try to scream and stop, but your body is no longer in your control. Your arms bend at frightening angles, and your hips send your neck careening to the side with a crack . A rictus grin is firmly plastered onto your face, and your mouth stays open and singing: “When I get all steamed up, Hear me SHOUT!…” Your hands flap and your toes point and you screaming on the inside, begging for this to stop, stop, STOP ! But the infernal music is inside of your head and it’s pushing in on all sides, and no matter how much you cry and beg and plead your mouth won’t work except to belt out the final words of your song. “TIP me over and POUR. ME. OUT!” At the last line, your knees give out and you collapse face-first onto the stage. A grand cheer goes up from the auditorium. You twist around, trying to see if the Toymaker has conjured up an audience to witness your humiliation—but he is the only one present. The Toymaker is on his feet and giving you a standing ovation. “Vunderbar!” the Toymaker cries as he claps enthusiastically. “Oh, you are dee most darling little teapot, ja. Zis is a fine game we are ge-havings!”

“What—did—you—do?” you gasp on the floor. You feel like your lungs have been crushed. Something the Toymaker did seized up everything inside of you and folded them up like paper. Now it’s as if you really are a doll: crumpled up and discarded in the corner when your owner is finished playing with you. Although you’re quite sure the music has stopped, the melody is blasting in your head in a maddening loop. You try to move, but your legs won’t work. 

“Oh, don’t be zo dramatik. Eversing I ge-make brings viele fun,” says the Toymaker. “Herzlichen Glückwunsch …das ist ein point to you.”

You don’t see the Toymaker get up on the stage, but the next thing you know, he’s crouching down next to you. Without warning, the Toymaker lifts you up under the arms and pulls you to your feet as if you weigh nothing at all. You try to stand but your rigid muscles struggle with the task and you stumble, falling right into the Toymaker’s chest. He chuckles, and you hear it rumbling softly in his chest. His skin is impossibly warm…and you can’t hear a heartbeat.

The two of you stand like that for a long moment, with you enveloped in the Toymaker’s arms. When pressed against his waistcoat, the maddening song infesting your brain quietens, and is replaced with an easy sort of calm. It’s strange…all the questions and anger and terror seem to just burn away. They’re forgotten in the simplicity of being held like a doll.

Eventually, your senses kick in. You manage to pull yourself away from the Toymaker, and you refuse to look at his face. “I just want to get on with the game.”

“Of course.”

The Toymaker waves his hand and the stage and auditorium vanish. You are transported back to the interior of the toyshop, with its familiar cuddly audience and the table taking centre stage. You sit back down at the table shakily. You know when you look up the Toymaker will already be sitting across from you…and you’re right, even though you didn’t see or hear him pull back his chair. His eyes are bright and curious. 

“Okay…Truth or Dare?”

The Toymaker places his hand on his chin and pretends to be deep in thought. After a while, he says, “Truth."

You very nearly ask him the same question you were denied just before: how was he able to make that doll look exactly like you? But the momentary calm offered by the Toymaker’s embrace has had a quieting effect on your mind, and a spike in your critical thinking skills. You have to think strategically; if you want to win, you need to ask him a question which will throw him off-guard. Asking him about the doll wouldn’t be a challenge because he likes to gloat, and to tease. But if you win, you can have your answer to that question and an actual demonstration…

…plus, you get to keep your freedom. Don’t forget that.

So you stare at the Toymaker and wonder…what causes a man (creature, entity, etc.) to end up this way?

“Tell me about your childhood,” you say.

The smile is wiped from the Toymaker’s face in an instant. His mouth twists in discomfort and anger. For the first time since you’ve met him, you feel a pleasant curl of satisfaction in your guts. The game is on, you think.

“What’s wrong?” you ask out loud. “Do you have a problem with the question? Because you can always forfeit—”

“I. Will. Not. Lose.”

The Toymaker’s fists are on the table now: they’re clenched and shaking. Although he’s looking at you, his mind seems far away, trapped somewhere else. After a beat, he leans forward, grabs your head and brings your foreheads together so they’re just barely touching.

“You asked for this,” says the Toymaker gravely. “I will do more than give you the answer to your question. I will show you. Close your eyes.”

The closeness is invigorating: the Toymaker’s hands are strong against the sides of your head, and you wonder for a second if he could pop your skull like a balloon. You consider saying no and demanding he just tell you the answer, but the look on the Toymaker’s face is so intense that you cannot refuse. It’s that terrible curiosity in you, willing you to stand at the edge of the universe and take a step off the cliff.

So you do as your bid, and close your eyes…

…only to awaken in a void.

To say there is nothing around you is an understatement. Your idea of nothingness is very particular: blackness; emptiness, an absence of sound and light. But this is something else entirely. You can’t even feel the lack of something in this place because there simply isn’t anything to feel. From the moment you open your eyes you feel the contradiction of yourself as a physical being, standing in this vacant not-space. There is less than nothing here. There is zilch. There is negative zero. There is null.

You try to get your bearings by looking around, but there are no bearings to get. This is a nothingness which exists beyond your comprehension. Just standing in this nothingness makes your jaw tighten and the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. This is a phobic realm which is the antithesis to life.

And it is so, so cold. 

“This is where I grew up.”

You jump. The Toymaker is standing beside you, arms folded behind his back. He surveys the nothingness with humble respect, the way a weary sailor surveys the ocean.

“How?” You try looking around again, but without anything to anchor gaze on, your eyes just swing back round to the Toymaker. “There’s nothing here.” 

“Nothing except for me.”

The Toymaker sits down on the emptiness, cross-legged. Feeling discombobulated in the lack of space, you sit down too, next to him, and wonder how that’s possible. You hug your elbows, trying to fend off the omnipresent cold.

“We are outside of your universe,” says the Toymaker quietly. “Below it, as a matter of fact. We are in a pocket realm, like the hollow in a tree branch. Here there was nothing for a very long time…so long, that I do not know how to count it. The void is indifferent to such concepts.

“I was a child for an eternity, and many more eternities after that. Merely a conscious speck suspended in forever. At the time I had no form. No body, no face, and not really a mind. I was a collection of distant ideas and fraught, base emotions. There was no reason for me to have either a solid shape or a brain. I existed only in relation to the void, and the void went on forever. All I had to entertain myself were my games.”

With a flick of the wrist, the Toymaker conjures a ball into existence. Then another. Then another. He does this over and over again until he is juggling at least twenty balls. His hands move in a blur as he juggles the balls effortlessly. He tosses them higher and higher, so high that you have to crane your neck to see. Eventually you lose sight of the balls in the nothingness.

But then, the Toymaker sighs…and you notice that the balls are disappearing. This continues for about a minute, the balls growing fewer in number until he’s down to just three…and then there’s only two, so he’s not really juggling at all.

Finally, the Toymaker catches the last remaining ball and holds it up to your face. A frost has grown along its leathery side.

“Playing games can keep you warm,” says the Toymaker, “but only for a little while. Eventually, the cold gets in. And the cold devours everything."

“How did you survive here?” you ask quietly. You can’t raise your voice above a whisper: it feels disrespectful.

“Death isn’t something I am capable of experiencing,” says the Toymaker. “I can never die from the cold. But I can still feel it.” 

The Toymaker looks at the ball in his hand, and it catches fire. You gasp and pull away, but the fire only burns for a few seconds: the flames are quickly extinguished by a new crop of frost, growing over the ball’s surface like a disease.

In moments, the Toymaker is holding nothing but a ball of ice.

“I’m…sorry,” you say.

It’s a feeble reply, and you know it. The cold here is wrapped into the environment itself. This no-space could well be made of nothing but a creeping, insidious chill. It’s worse than the kind of cold which slams into you, like the jump from the shower to a towel on a winter night, or the way your cheeks are slapped when stepping outside on a snowy day.

This cold is sinister. 

It waits.

It seeks out warmth wherever it can, wraps itself around that spark of heat, and crushes it frozen.

The Toymaker runs hot, you remember with a shiver.

No wonder. The Toymaker fends off your weak sympathies with a shake of his head. He stares off into the nothingness, and continues to speak.

“I thought it would just be me and the void forever. But then one day, I heard laughter! It was a sound utterly foreign to me. I was so frightened, I spent millennia curled tight up into a ball, cringing away from the sound. But I could hear them now…beings, with shape and light and thoughts. As the epochs stretched before me and the void remained still, I found myself drawn to their laughter.”

The Toymaker’s eyes glitter with recollection. “I learnt how to poke small peepholes into the fabric of the void, and peer through at the shapes. And oh, the things I saw! These beings, they played games , just like me! Games which used pieces and strategies and all manner of wonderful toys. I wanted to have them all. Needed to have them. So I did. I fashioned myself fingers, and with those fingers I fashioned toys and toys and toys, enough to fill up every child’s toy room in every universe!"

You watch as the Toymaker trembles with excitement. His voice has swollen to fit the void: a rallying cry against the darkness. He looks so proud of himself…but only for a moment. 

“After a while, my toys grew old,” he says sadly. “They say a boy becomes a man when he must throw his toys onto the fire in order to keep himself warm...and the cold never stops. I realised that wood and string were all well and good, but they had no personality of their own…and I had no opponent.”

The Toymaker turns to you then. There’s a manic look in his eye. “So I began to lure in the flesh-and-blood creatures,” he says. “It was easy enough once I learned to assume their shape…especially the early ones, who weren’t so bright. And what shapes I would become! I enjoy this shape so much that I’ve decided to keep it permanently, with the odd touch-up every half-century or so. Being handsome helps bring in the players.”

There goes that easy wink again, smooth and charming and drawing you in like the lure on an anglerfish.

“And…that’s why you’re here today?” you ask. “You just want to play games with us?” 

The Toymaker’s laugh is mean. “Don’t flatter yourself,” he says. “All that exists is to win, or to lose. I don’t want to play games with you. I simply want to win.”

The two of you stand in silence for a while, contemplating the nothingness. The longer you stay, the more you can feel the chill sliding its icy fingers over your flesh. It crawls up your socks and settles into the gaps behind your knees. It causes wet, cold dew to form at the edges of your eyelashes. It even seeps into the spaces between your skin and fingernails.

You wish you hadn’t asked for this Truth.

“One point to you, Toymaker,” you say through chattering teeth.

The Toymaker starts: clearly he’d forgotten all about you. The void has a sobering effect on him, it seems. How did a little boy manage to have any imagination in this place at all? “Yes,” says the Toymaker with a worn smile. “One point each.”

The next time you blink, the void is gone. You are returned to the familiar warmth of the toyshop, and are still sitting at the table across from the Toymaker. But now, even as the cold sloughs off your skin and your cheeks begin to heat up again, you can see the toyshop for what it is. The bright lights and colourful attractions are nothing more than decorative wallpaper for a frozen, ephemeral darkness, ever-creeping in on the corners of your vision.

When the Toymaker speaks again, his German is back in full force, and you wonder if he’s trying to stave off how frightened he really is.

“Zat is vier turns down,” he says. “Mit only zwei to go. I ge-believe it is my turn, ja?”

Oh, hell: he’s right. You’d gotten so caught up in the impossibility of the Toymaker’s mind that you’d forgotten you’re playing a very dangerous game. But the Toymaker’s smile looks fake now, and the way his eyes glimmer seems less like mischief, and more like withheld tears. For the first time you want to stop this game…not just for you, but for the Toymaker too.

But that’s not how this would be played. The rules are fixed, and you’ve seen what the consequences could be. Worse, you only have one response left to give. By the way the Toymaker is grinning at you, you know he’s remembered this rule too.

“Truth or Dare?” he asks.

You swallow, before giving the only answer you can: “Truth.”

The Toymaker laughs a little too loud. “Now, you had better nots ge-try to get out of zis one,” he says. “I vant you to tell me dee truth: vot exactly is your fantasy? I vill be requiring details.” 

There it is: the question this whole game has been building up to. This situation is impossible and ridiculous. Here you sit, surrounded by beautiful toys in your gorgeous dress, playing a game with an unbelievable, broken man who can rewrite your entire reality with nothing more than a thought. Yet you still can’t just open your mouth and give him the answer. Somehow, even in the face of impossible adversity, you are still beholden to your human embarrassment.

“If I tell you…” you say slowly. “...Do you promise not to laugh?” 

The Toymaker’s eyebrows knit together. He looks distressed by the question. “All players should be treated with respect,” he replies.

That’s not the answer I want, but it’s the only answer he can give , you think. But maybe that’s the key here. You would never willingly part with this information…but the Toymaker just did the same thing for you. He didn’t have to show you where he came from. He could have talked around it, given you the crib notes, and you would have been none the wiser. The Toymaker showed you vulnerability just by allowing you into his history.

You owe him that same level of respect.

“I didn’t get much attention when I was growing up,” you say. “It wasn’t a bad upbringing, but I was just kind of…left, a lot of the time. I wasn’t looked after. There was always some sort of problem that needed fixing, and my parents never had time for me. No one bothered to check on me, so I just had to figure things out for myself. I spent most of my time alone in my room…just me and my toys.”

“That sounds familiar,” says the Toymaker, and the sympathy in his voice is real. “How did you pass your time?”

“I took my toys apart,” you say. “I think my parents felt guilty for leaving me alone a lot, so there was never a shortage of toys. But I wanted to figure out how they worked. That seemed much more interesting than actually playing with them, you know?” 

The Toymaker smiles with approval. “Dee keen eye of a toymaker is a gift,” he says. “But I sense you are delaying your real story…” 

You curse inwardly: again, he’s right. You cannot hide any longer.

“I took apart all of my toys…except for my dolls.”

That gets the Toymaker’s attention: those bright blue eyes light up with interest. “Go on.”

“I had a set of five dolls,” you say quietly. “Generic dolls. Sparkly, brushable hair, and little swappable outfits. Nothing special. But even when I was really small I couldn’t hurt them. I was terrified of damaging them in any way. There weren’t any other kids around to talk to, and my parents weren’t home, so I just…talked to the dolls instead. I knew it was weird, but in my head the dolls were more sentient than my other toys. I thought they could really understand me.”

The Toymaker starts back up in his German voice: “Ah, zere is nothing more ge-saddening zan a lonely Kind. Zat is why decapitating poor Neil vas being no problem for you, zen?” 

“Yeah. It still hurt, but not for the reasons it would hurt most people.” You swallow; this is the really difficult part. “The older I got, the more toys I had, but I never added to my doll collection. My parents would joke all the time about how I was becoming a ‘little lady’. When I became a teenager there was so much pressure to be pretty, and girly…and it made me feel sick. So I tried to fight back against it. I cut my hair, I swore off pink, and I wouldn’t be caught dead in a dress.”

The words stick in your throat. You look up at the Toymaker, hoping for some kind of mercy, but you don’t find it. But he isn’t mocking you, either: he just sits and waits for you to continue.

“I locked my dolls away,” you say. “I pretended I had thrown them out…but secretly, I’d sneak them out, and play with them. I’d brush their hair, and mend their dresses. I still do.”

The Toymaker leans in. “Why?”

“I…I wanted to be like them,” you whisper. “They are so pretty. The long, flowing dresses and the perfect makeup…they’re dazzling in a way I could never be. I can never, ever be that beautiful.”

You twist the fabric of your dress between your fingers fitfully, and force yourself to say it: 

“I always wanted to be someone’s favourite doll."

There’s silence in the toyshop. You stare down at your lap, your heart pounding and your face flushed. Stupid, stupid…! Your eyes well up with hot tears. You can’t bring yourself to look at the Toymaker.

“Und zen you arrive here,” he says. “Meine beautiful dollen drew you in.”

“Yes,” you say quietly. “If I can’t be loved like a doll, then at least I can give them love instead. If I were a doll, maybe things would be easier, you know? Maybe…”

You can’t help the little choke-sob which escapes your lips.

“...maybe someone would take care of me."

The tears fall freely into your lap now and stain the beautiful fabric of your dress dark. You feel disgusting: worthy of ridicule. I deserve whatever happens to me now, you think, your brain awash with old, dark feelings you’ve kept locked up just like the dolls in your closet.

But it’s the Toymaker who snaps you out of his reverie. You didn’t hear him move, but you flinch when his fingers slide under your chin and tilt up your face towards him. Your tears cast him in a watery halo.

“Mein Liebling, stop ge-crying,” he says. “I have made sehr many dollen over dee years, und many of zem have been beautiful. But you are somesing else entirely entirely. Ein living, breathing, villing doll, so cute und poseable. Oh, you und I vill have zo many adventures together! You could be mein prized possession, und I vill hold you and play vith you from dawn zu dusk.”

The Toymaker’s words send a shudder through your body. Blood thrums at the surface of your skin and pools in your cheeks and neck. The Toymaker leans in until your noses are almost touching. He’s so very close to you now…close enough that he could kiss you. 

But just before he reaches your lips, the Toymaker moves to the side and whispers into your ear:

“Dee game is not yet over, meine schöne dollen. You have one final question to ge-ask of me. Do it, und zis vill all be over…one vay or another.”

You can feel him smiling gently against your hair, and it makes you want to sob. Oh, please let this torture end…! But you’re in the Toymaker’s grasp now, in the final throes of his game, and you know you have to finish this or your suffering will never be over. There is only one turn left. You have to try, one last time, or you would spend the rest of your life at the beck and call of this madman.

“Truth or Dare?” you manage to croak out.

The Toymaker lets your face go. “Dare."

You take a deep breath. This is your last chance.

“Let me go.”

The Toymaker takes a long, long moment to process your answer…and then he starts to laugh. Really, really hard. The tinkling arpeggio of his laughter builds and builds until it seems to shake the very walls of the toyshop. For a moment, you are terrified that it’s all going to come crumbling down like a house of cards.

“Oh, perhaps becoming ein dollen hast eroded deine brain, ja?” says the Toymaker, the arrogance flashing in his teeth. “I am not ein genie you kann outsmarts. I am afraid zat since letting you go ist your prize, you cannot request it of me. So, you have lost ein point, putting us at a tie…und you must complete ein forfeit once more.”

No. No. NO! “That’s not fair!” you yell. The tears are streaming down your face in earnest now; all of the distress of this game and the Toymaker’s psychological torment can no longer be contained. 

“Oh, und here comes dee tantrum,” says the Toymaker with a sigh. “I hates it ven zey get like zis. You must have ein forfeit…und I think I have dee perfekt idea to stop your ge-crying.”

The Toymaker snaps his fingers again. You open your mouth to scream at him…but nothing comes out.

You try again, but your mouth just flops open like a fish, with no sound attached to it whatsoever.

The Toymaker has stolen your voice. 

“I have assisted you in another core aspect of your doll transformation,” says the Toymaker, the British swooping in over his tongue with ease. “I do not think most dolls can talk, do you?”

You awful…! But the words can’t even die on your tongue, because they never reach your tongue in the first place. There is a total disconnect between your mouth and your brain. Although you can fashion your lips into the correct shapes and try to push the air into forming syllables, none of them can escape your mouth.

The Toymaker has silenced you, taking away perhaps your only remaining asset in this game.

You mentally tally up the points, and realise he’s right. You are now tied, and six turns have passed. 

“But I cannot tolerate a tie. Dee rules dictate zat ve must perform a tie-breaker challenge…” His accent ripples between the German and British easily, as if he can’t decide between childish delight and cool professionalism. “Do you have any suggestions for a tie-breaker?"

The devastation of losing your voice almost made you look over this detail. Yes, he’s right: for all of your suffering, the Toymaker hasn’t actually managed to get a point over you. That means all is not lost.

That means you still have a chance to win.

But you cannot strategise in a vacuum: much less when you can’t speak. The Toymaker looks at you in amusement, as if expecting you to try and talk anyway. You could have written a message down on a piece of paper, or typed it on your phone, but you decide not to give him the satisfaction. The Toymaker has already gotten you on the rules twice: you are going to play within his boundaries and win fair and square. 

You don’t see where he produces the hat from. A flourish of the arm, and it’s suddenly in his hands: a beautiful top hat which would have gone perfectly with a tuxedo. The Toymaker flips the hat over and proffers it to you.

“Ladies first,” he says with a sly smile. 

You reach into the hat and are surprised to find a variety of small, paper tickets. After some rustling around, you pull one out and read it. When you do, your eyes go wide.

WHOEVER HOLDS THEIR BREATH THE LONGEST IS THE WINNER.  “Vot fun!” exclaims the Toymaker, clapping his hands together in excitement. “I must ge-varn you, I am a very gut schwimmer, and kann hold mein breath for ein long time.” 

But do you even have a lung capacity?! is what you would have asked if you could. How was this fair? The Toymaker is clearly an extradimensional being, and his physical body doesn’t seem to conform to the laws of physics, space or time…anything that would put a real challenge to this game. But you can’t say so: you have no way of telling him.

Besides…is it cheating if that’s just how he is? Is it cheating if he’s just better at the game?

A loud tick-tocking draws your eye to the right side of the toyshop. Against the wall (where it definitely didn’t exist before) is a grandfather clock. Both of the clock’s hands are almost at the 12. This was news to you; you’d arrived at the toyshop sometime around 8pm.

“Ve vill begin when ze clock strikes twelve,” says the Toymaker. “Zere are no fancy rules…ve just start ge-holdings our breath, until eins of us cannot anymore.”

The grandfather clock ticks closer to your demise. You look at the Toymaker in desperation, clasping your hands together in a silent plea…but he just looks at you coolly. Now, you are nothing but an opponent to defeat. You are an obstacle ready to be demolished. 

Well, I am not helpless. If anyone is going to decide the winner of this game, it’s going to be me. With only thirty seconds remaining, you fish around in the pocket of your backpack and pull out your phone. You set up your video camera, prop the phone up against a toy monkey holding a pair of cymbals, and hit the record button.

“Ah,” says the Toymaker. “In case of ein photo-finish. Gut idea.”

There’s a cold fire in his eyes now: something which ignited when he took you into his personal void. You have no moves left, and no gameplay strategies to implement. It is clear that he is the master of games, and you may as well already be his doll. 

But hell, you are going to try your best.

The grandfather clock strikes twelve with a loud, booming chime, and you suck in the largest breath of your life. You don’t balloon out your cheeks: instead you opt for a subtle approach learnt from musical training, where you draw in the oxygen deep into your lungs and will it to sit there for as long as you can handle.

By comparison, the Toymaker doesn’t look like he’s holding his breath at all. You merely hear him stop breathing. He looks totally at ease.

The first ten seconds are child’s play.

The first twenty seconds are fine.

The first thirty seconds are acceptable.

But by the forty-second mark a playful fire start to burn in your chest, and the urge to take a breath begins to beg. Inside you curse yourself, wishing that you’d practised— but why on earth would I have practised such a useless game?! You look at the Toymaker. Big mistake. He waggles his eyebrows at you silently, rippling them in an over-the-top-sultry manner. You feel your lips quirking up into a smile…You can’t believe it! He’s trying to make you laugh!

So much for respecting the rules, you think to yourself. Your chest is really starting to hurt now. But then you wonder, is that really cheating? If the Toymaker can try to make you laugh, what if you can make him laugh too? But you shut down that idea immediately: if you prancing around in a frilly dress singing I’m A Little Teapot didn’t make him laugh (just clap!), you didn’t have a chance in hell.

Oh no. What is he doing now? While trying to focus on holding your breath, the Toymaker had conjured two familiar puppets on the ends of his hands: Punch and Judy. With a final, victorious wink, the Toymaker begins a silent, over-the-top slapstick routine with the puppets. Even without dialogue you recognise the beats of the show; Mr Punch is a mess of a man, overwhelmed by the demands of his wife and baby (the latter brought into being with a tiny, adorable puppet the Toymaker wears on one of his thumbs). His hands move with such finesse that the puppets almost look real.

Such a gaudy routine wouldn’t have been enough to make you laugh by itself, but the Toymaker brings a whole new dimension with his wonderfully expressive face. Each time the long-suffering Judy begins a voiceless tirade of her husband (i.e., throwing little puppet-objects at his face), the Toymaker supplements Punch’s depression with a frown worthy of a theatre mask. When Punch manages to land a hit on his wife or baby (My God, were these shows always so violent?), the Toymaker grins with such deranged glee that you can’t help but find it hilarious.

Oh no. You look at the clock: it’s been a minute, and your chest is really starting to hurt. The Toymaker and his puppets make your cheeks puff out with the effort of not laughing.

He smirks at you as Punch picks up his wife and baby and tosses them into the air, punting them like footballs. It’s so absurd and ridiculous that you can feel the giggle rising up in your chest. You desperately want to open your mouth and suck in oxygen but you can’t, you simply can’t, because if you do you’ll lose the game and he’ll keep you here forever…!

As your remaining seconds tick closer to your inevitable failure, you close your eyes. You want to have one last moment to remember yourself as you are, because you are sure whatever the Toymaker is going to do to you will not be pleasant.

Your chest aches. Your cheeks bulge. Your will starts to unravel.

And then, you have the idea.

It’s a stupid idea, and with barely any seconds left to execute it, you have no guarantee that it will work. But as you open your eyes and look at the Toymaker’s smug ‘I’ve already won!’ expression, you know you have no choice but to follow through with your mad plan.

So, holding on to every last bit of breath you have, you lunge at the Toymaker—

—and envelop him in a bone-crushing hug.

Several things happen at once:

The first is the Toymaker exclaiming in surprise, his breath clearly lost, and dropping his puppets, which dissolve into ash as soon as they hit the floor. 

The second is your desire to breathe finally overpowering you as you collapse against the Toymaker, and the two of you tumble to the floor. 

The third is the grandfather clock exploding. Just as you hit the ground the clock bursts apart, firing out wooden shrapnel with a horrifying bang! On reflex you huddle yourself against the nearest form of safety, which in this case happens to be the Toymaker’s chest.

You weren’t expecting him to hold you back.

The two of you stay like that for some time: you and the Toymaker, on the floor together, breathing heavily and wrapped up in each other’s arms. Despite your own adrenaline, you can’t understand the Toymaker’s terror: surely he caused the clock to blow up? He certainly wasn’t in any danger.

But then you hear a sound you couldn’t hear before. It’s the thrumming of the Toymaker’s heart, loud and insistent and desperate to survive. You hear it through the fabric of his waistcoat, and feel it in the pulse of his neck. For just a moment, the Toymaker seems to be just as human as you.

You wonder if the Toymaker’s mortality is contextual.

Eventually, you manage to disentangle yourself from the Toymaker’s limbs. You peek at the smoking remains of the grandfather clock, and are relieved to see that nothing has caught fire: there’s just a scorched, black mark where the clock once existed. The shards of wood which exploded out from the clock have disappeared.

Thankfully, your phone is untouched! You pick it up, pause the recording and watch it back. A smile stretches across your face.

“Oh, Toymaker!” you say, and you are so very pleased that your voice has returned. “You’re going to want to take a look at this.” 

When the Toymaker climbs to his feet, you are immensely amused to see that his perfect curls have been knocked a bit by the explosion. For the first time since you met, the Toymaker is dishevelled and confused. It’s a cute look on you, you think.

“You broke my game,” says the Toymaker incredulously. “How did you do that?”

“No idea,” you grin. “Maybe it was an unexpected outcome. Still within the rules, still a valid way to win, just…unorthodox.”

You show the Toymaker the recording. You watch as his expression turns from bafflement, to despair, to outright blazing anger.

“No!” the Toymaker cries. “You can’t have beat me!”

But the camera never lies. The footage on your phone clearly picks up the Toymaker gasping in shock as soon as you hit him with your hug…whilst you don’t gasp for air until a few seconds later, just before the grandfather clock explodes.

“Seems like I have!” you say happily.

“But I…you…” The Toymaker’s fingers flex in the air meaninglessly, as if looking for a straw to grasp. “But that’s cheating!” 

“No it isn’t,” you say with confidence. “There was nothing in the rules about us not being able to make each other lose our breath. If you making me laugh was a valid strategy, then me hugging you was too. Either we both cheated, or no one did.”

The Toymaker looks like he’s been slapped, and it is a delicious feeling. You almost want to pinch his cheeks. With a pout fixing his lips, the Toymaker snaps his fingers…and your clothes return to normal. Your dress is gone, replaced by the clothes you entered the shop with.

(Is it a little silly to be regretful of that fact…?)

“I still say that shouldn’t count,” says the Toymaker sullenly. “That was an underhanded tactic. I’ll be writing that into the rules next time.”

But you’ve turned away from the Toymaker now—he obviously needs to work through his sore-loser feelings in his own time. You trot over to the doll shelf, pick up the beautiful doll in the powder-blue dress and cradle her in your arms. She truly is a wonderful prize.

When you turn back around, the Toymaker is sitting on the floor with his hands hugging his knees. You feel a pang of sympathy for the man…it seems this really is his whole life.

“But why did you hug me?” the Toymaker asks, baffled. “That’s not a winning strategy. You just surprised me. You were so…”

The Toymaker looks up at you with shining eyes. This time, his eyes really are wet with tears.

“...Warm,” he whispers.

The triumph of your win quickly sours on your tongue. The way the Toymaker is looking at you gives you a powerful feeling…and it’s not one that you like. Even though every part of you is telling you to make a run for the door while you have this post-win window…you don’t.

Instead, you sit down cross-legged on the floor next to the Toymaker, just like you did when in the void. You even bump your shoulder against his.

“I’ve been sad a lot in my life,” you say. “But I’ve never felt as much sadness as I did in your void. And it made me wonder if…you’d ever been held before.”

The Toymaker looks at you with flashing eyes. His bottom lip trembles as if he’s trying to hold back a lifetime of grief. He doesn’t say anything, but those eyes tell you all you need to know. 

“I wouldn’t mind coming around here sometimes,” you say gently.

The Toymaker looks at you like you’ve got two heads. “You would voluntarily subject yourself to my life-or-death games?”

“Maybe not the life-or-death part,” you say hastily. “But I had fun today. Weird, horrible fun. You’re kind of a weird and horrible guy…and I’m pretty weird too.”

To your surprise, the Toymaker actually laughs at that. “You are unique, meine Liebling,” he says, German once more. “To out-ge-smart me, you must be.”

“Well…maybe it’s a good thing we met,” you say. “Maybe you don’t need to keep luring in suspecting people to your shop, Toymaker. Some of us might actually want to stick around and play. And maybe…”

You rest your head against the Toymaker’s shoulder.

“...Maybe I could help keep the cold out for a while.” 

The Toymaker and you sit in silence for some time, listening to the gentle whirs and clicks of the toys going about their business. You keep your new doll tucked between your legs, and your cheek resting against the Toymaker’s shoulder. He’s so warm that you find your eyelids fluttering: you could easily fall asleep right here.

It’s a surprise when you feel the Toymaker’s fingers sliding into your own. You look at him, and see those telling blue eyes alive with fresh excitement.

“It’s a deal,” says the Toymaker, with an enormous, brilliant smile.

You let the Toymaker pull you to your feet. To your amusement, he grants you a deep, formal bow.

“Run along now, meine Schatz…today must have been ge-xhausting for you. But I shall be seeing you again soon, ja?"

Other people would not have caught it, but you know what loneliness sounds like: you hear the edge of desperation at the edge of the Toymaker’s voice. You take a step back and return the bow with a curtsey.

“Ja, genau,” you grin.

The Toymaker’s smile could have outshone the sun.

That night, when you return home, you take all of your dolls out of your closet. You line them up with care on your shelf, making sure to pose them prettily and smooth out the creases in their frocks.

But you keep your new doll in your hand, and clamber into bed with her. Before you turn out the light, you look one last time at her perfect, dimpled face.

Oh, what games will you and the Toymaker play next?

[nardo-headcanons]

Yeah I loved those!! So good 😍 I wanted to ask for some moooore 🙈 If you have any and want to of course 🥰

alllrighty, this took me way too long. big thanks to @burning-bubble for requesting.

Kumogakure Worldbuilding II

Dating and marriage in Kumogakure

Kumogakure is filled with a lot of different people, so finding a partner is rather easy. Unlike Kirigakure, which is rather traditional, casual relationships and hookups are not a rarity here. There is not a huge emphasis on marriage, and there are even people who do it for tax reasons alone. Tax reasons being the tax incentive given by the Kumogakure government to encourage the people to have children. Since Kumo lacks established shinobi clans and kekkei genkai wielders, they always try to lure foreigners to move to their village and start a family here.

Family dynamics

To ensure that children grow up happy and healthy, Kumogakure has established daycare facilities for the children of its workers, including shinobi, as it is simply the most economical to do so. Same goes for adoption, as Kumo has made it possible for couples (no matter if hetero, homo, mono or poly) to adopt children if they are able to afford it. Adoption is not looked down upon and a part of Kumo family culture.

Side-headcanon: Kumogakure shinobi like Karui probably have English (Kumo's language) names, but adapt Japanese (Konoha's language) 'nicknames' (Karui literally means lightweight/light) over time.

The Kumogakure shinobi academy

Unlike in Konoha, Kiri, Iwa and Suna, going to the shinobi academy in Kumo will actually cost you a bit of money. It is not outrageously high and based on your income, but it will cost you. Richer families have the opportunity to hire private tutors for their kids, and the percentage of privately payed 101 shinobi tutors is the highest across the continent.

Another thing that makes Kumo special is that there are many older genins, who have practiced other careers before becoming ninja, and it is not frowned upon but seen as a normal part of life.

Different shinobi departments

Like every other village, Kumogakure has a genin-, chunin-, jonin- and anbu department. However, the hierarchies are drastically flatter than in, let's say, Kirigakure. There is a high degree of respect between the different ranks and ninja of lower ranks still look up to their team leaders, but there is a higher sense of equality among Kumogakure teams.

[hannahbisssssss]

I love how in your headcanons for patrick and art, you wrote the opposite of what someone would expect for both of them. I think it makes a lot of sense! I see it very well.

I don’t have any specific requests but i’d love to see anything related to patrick 🙈

(I'm gonna be a little self-serving with this one. I LOVE supernatural headcannons, especially where they don't belong. SO ALLOW ME TO INTRODUCE TO YOU...)

Werewolf! Patrick Zweig x reader

He's so pretty ghfhfdhdhgkd

Can't keep his eyes off you when you first meet at the Adidas party.

Art is googoo eyes for Tashi, which leaves more of you for him.

In this au, it's common knowledge that the supernatural exist.

When Patrick approaches you with that cocky sideways smile, you can't help but smirk back.

OF COURSE you've heard about the ace-serving, cocky werewolf player who DOMINATES on the court.

"So... y/l/n... when are you going pro?"

"Probably when I see you chase the tennis ball for the first time."

Patrick is INTO IT.

"A dog joke, huh? Wow, I didn't take you for one to discriminate."

There's a long pause.

You both laugh.

You reach your hand out to shake.

"Y/N."

"Patrick."

You both hit it off that night.

So much so that Patrick makes Art find a different room for him and Tashi that night.

It starts out slow and sensual. You occasionally reach over to take a drag of your cigarette.

"Come on, Zweig, I know you want to go harder than that."

He LOVES the encouragement.

"I don't want to hurt you."

It just kind of slips out. (The words not his dick.)

He's never been so forward about wanting to be intimate with someone. ESPECIALLY someone who knows what he is.

He's just afraid he'll go too hard and end up hurting you.

"I think you'll be gentle even if you go a little harder. I trust you."

Those words... Oh my god.

I trust you.

Patrick is ALL over that.

He starts to go a little harder, pushing in and out of you at a steadfast pace.

He can't help it when he starts to sniff at your collarbone, loving the scent of your perfume mixed with your natural scent.

It urges him forward.

His hips start to snap forward, making incredibly lewd noises heard throughout the hotel.

"Fuck, honey, you're treating me so well."

You LOVE hearing those words.

You pet his hair back and let him nuzzle into your skin.

He's in love with your scent.

He allows his instincts to take over a bit as he continues to speed up.

Finally, as he gets close, he starts to pant and moan a bit more.

You can't help but blush and squirm a bit with some of the noises buried in your neck.

You start to whine.

He starts to groan.

He cums first, but keeps up his pace to allow you to finish.

Can't help but go down on you for a taste.

"It's an experiment in seeing if we mix well."

Nasty. (You know you love it.)

[alotofrandomfangirling]

Dating Chishiya Shuntaro would include (Chishiya x f!reader headcanons)

Tw: slight cursing, mention of death

A/N: i know i'm a bit late but recently i was able to watch AIB s2 and i completely fell in love with Chishiya?? him as a doctor had an impact on me i could never expect lol so i had to try this 🙈 please notice i don't remember much from s1 so i'm sorry for any mistakes 😅 also english is not my first language, so forgive me for any grammar mistakes 🙏🏻 i hope you like it though!! ♥️

• You both had met when you came out winners on a hearts game

• You were a very smart and strategist player, so Chishiya was really impressed by your abilities

• But of course he had to play it cool not to break his character yk

• You were leaving the arena when you heard someone say in a very nonchalant way: "nice thinking over there"

• You turned around and there he was. Yes, him.

• You had noticed that player during the game

• He was not only extremely smart, but also ruthless while playing

• And, well, you had to admit he was very good looking too

• But what impressed you the most was how he always seemed so calm, like he had 100% control of any situation

• That man was sure fascinating, and he was complimenting you?? You just had to play along

• "You weren't so bad yourself" - you replied, smirking

• He chuckled

• "I'm Chishiya" - he said, putting his hand out for you to shake it

• "Y/N" - you said shaking his hand and looking deep into his eyes

• From that day on, you became inseparable

• The best pair of players Borderlands had ever seen!

• It was like something inside you clicked, you know? Like you were meant to find each other and pair up

• You got along so well cause you understood each other like no one else

• Well, and that was because you were very alike too

• Calm, collected and extraordinarily intelligent

• You were always by each other's side and supporting the other, at the good and bad times

• And you guys nailed every. single. game. you played cause you were such a great team

• After some time you started to feel what happened between you two was more than just a game partnership

• You started to enjoy the way he sounded when he calmly discussed games rules to you, how beautiful his sharp and observant eyes were, the way he put a strand of hair behind his ear...

• You appreciated every little ordinary thing he did cause he was indeed incredible

• Damn could you be falling in love?

• And you could sense he started feeling something... different too

• You could notice he sometimes watched you intently, or how he would make sure you were safe during a game (even though you were perfectly capable of winning it by yourself lol), or how he lightly touched the back of your hand when you were debating a new strategy

• But both of you were stubborn as hell so you were absolutely NOT going to admit any of those feelings

• But one day something happened

• It was a spades game

• And it was pure chaos 💀

• As soon as you got in, Chishiya and you got separated in the chaos of the other players

• And that made you terrified because you got so used to feeling safe with him by your side

• He also got worried, how was he going to face a spades game without his long time partner?

• You fought anyway

• But it was ugly

• People dying everywhere 💔

• You could only try to make it out alive and hope that Chishiya could do the same

• You got really hurt, but you made it

• When you left the arena, you started to look for Chishiya among the survivors, but there was no sign of that platinum hair you loved

• You started crying like a baby at the thought of losing your best friend (or maybe something more?!)

• You just sat down on the sidewalk cause you could barely walk

• Suddenly you heard a familiar voice shouting your name

• "(Y/N)?"

• Just like the first time you met, you turned around and there he was: Chishiya Shuntaro

• He was alive and only had a few bruises, which meant he got off the game easily (for your relief)

• You got up and ran to him

• When you reached him, you both hugged each other so tight you could feel so much being said in that one hug

• 'I missed you'

• 'I'm glad you're alive'

• 'I never want to break apart again'

• You had never hugged each other like this before, so it definitely showed all your feelings in that moment (screw being tough!)

• "Chishiya, thank goodness... i thought... oh my gosh, i thought i'd lost you" - you tried to form a logical sentence between your pain and your uncontrollable sobbing

• You parted from the hug and he looked at you, but he was so affected he couldn't even reply with one those witty responses of his

• Of course he kept his cool like he always did, but there was a disturbance in his eyes you'd never seen before

• Was it... because of you and how worried he was?

• Did this man really care for you?!

• That thought itself made you so dizzy you nearly tumbled on the ground again

• He went to catch you before you fell and that's when he noticed your deep wounds bleeding

• The look of worry in his eyes got worse as he caught you and said "come on, let's get you out of here"

• When you finally got somewhere safe, he had you lay down and bandaged your wounds

• His touch was so soft and caring (his doctor side showing up 😭) you could feel the butterflies in your stomach

• "Okay, now get some sleep" - he said when he finished

• You thanked him and immediatly fell asleep, but you were so tired and overwhelmed you think you accidentally let slip an "i love you" before?

• Oh boy

• That wasn't good

• Let's hope he didn't hear that 😅

• On the next day, he came to check on you after you woke up

• He once again examined you with those caring eyes and crap there were those butterflies again

• "It's okay, you'll be fine soon. Just... take it easy on the next days, okay?" - he almost pleaded

• "Thank you, Chishiya" - you said and hugged him again

• "No problem, (Y/N). I just... think maybe we should talk about you confessing your feelings last night?" - he said with that smug face of his

• You got as red as a tomato

• Yeah so he heard that

• You had to find a way to get out of that situation and fast

• You decided to play the tough girl like you always did

• "Ah yes, that... well, i was very tired and overwhelmed from the game, so i probably said some super sappy stuff, but it was just in the heat of the moment. Don't worry, i don't really mean it" - you said shrugging and trying to be convincible lol

• "Oh is that so?" - he replied, raising one eyebrow - "that's a shame, cause i was about to say i feel the same" - the bastard said smirking

• "Wait, what?"

• Yep.

• And that's how you became a thing

• Needless to say that you became the hottest couple in all Borderlands, in and outside the games lol

• Your friends teased you a lot in the beginning

• Specially Kuina

• "Hey Chishiya, don't you think (Y/N) looks lovely today with her hair like that?"

• "Shut up, Kuina" - he said rolling his eyes as she giggled like a fangirl watching her OTP

• But soon they got used to it, since you were always together even before becoming a couple

• And you were a very discreet couple

• Since both of you had a "tough" image to keep, you weren't much of PDA

• Heck, after all you've been through together you were waaay past the "crushing" stage, you were almost on true love basis by now lol

• So there was really no need to be "visual" 😂

• But if there's one thing Chishiya loved is holding hands

• Yep, he would give up on his coolness and take his hands out of his pockets to hold yours (but only for that lol)

• No words were needed, you just intertwined fingers and stood like that, feeling each other's presence

• It was a tiny way to tell everyone you belonged to each other and you were cool with that

• So he would always reach out for your hand when preparing for a game or when he felt someone was getting too close to you

• He would go piercing eyes mode with that "100% done" face of his directly to the person until they felt so uncomfortable they gave up lol

• Not that Chishiya was a jealous guy

• Not at all

• Going through everything you guys went together, both of you were sure you loved and respected each other

• But he liked to show other people you were his and only his

• Cause he felt very proud and lucky to be with such a special girl like you

• You also liked to "claim" him (lol) by randomly hugging him from behind

• You loved feeling the fabric of his jacket on his thin arms and inhaling his soft smell

• He would not show any reaction, except for a little humming to show he was enjoying it 🙈

• Sometimes he'd let you wear his jacket too 🤫

• But only when both of you were alone

• Ahh yes when you were alone things were different 😏

• There was no "playing tough" anymore so you could just love each other 🥹

• Chishiya was sooooo caring

• Being at Borderlands was so lonely he really enjoyed being able to have your company

• He loved just laying down and cuddling you

• It was a moment of peace among the chaos of Borderlands

• And with his favorite person (spoiler: you), so it was even more perfect 💗

• He would close his eyes and trace circles down your back to feel you were there with him, even with everything happening around

• And you, well, you loved playing with his hair

• Omg his hair was a personal obsession of yours

• You loved it cause it was so him?

• Stylish and unique

• So you always took some time to admire it

• Sometimes he'd let you do his hair in a ponytail (just like the one in the hospital flashbacks 🥹)

• He said it was relaxing to have your hands on his hair

• Him with a relaxed face and closed eyes while you did his hair was the cutest sight ever 😭

• He did look like a kitty cat 🥺🤏🏻

• It all always ended with soft kisses on each other's cheeks and lips to show affection 💗

• During the games you guys were very focused in winning, but you also checked on each other from time to time

• You got along so well, you could communicate with just a simple look

• He'd search for your eyes and when you gave him a reassuring look with a nod, you'd know you were both okay

• You also liked laying your head on his shoulder when you were too tired from playing

• You'd sit on the floor and lay your head on his shoulder, closing your eyes and feeling his presence

• He got super soft when you did that T.T

• And he'd always take care of you while playing too

• Like quickly checking for bruises

• Asking if you're okay

• Bringing your favorite cookies for you when playing Solitary Confinement 😭❤️

• "Mine are better though"

• "Shut up, Chishiya" - you'd shove him playfully

• And it was like that everyday, anytime you could steal a little moment to be together

• Kisses

• Hugging

• Holding hands

• And those tiny little acts of love and companionship

• You really loved each other and were going to do anything to stay together, in or outside Borderlands ❤️

[chdarling]

Hii i love love your works they are truly inspiring! I had a few questions if you don’t mind sharing a bit :)

The way your characters „speak“ and what words they use seems so real and i always wondered how you pinpoint their „personalities“? I love you characterization of Lily especially, she always came across like a real person.

Another question i had how you think of these plots and subplots. Do you have a strategy or any inspiration?

Hi! Thank you so much!

Hmmmm. This is always a hard question for me to answer because most of the time it’s just “idk my brain just did the thing and now I have this imaginary person talking at me” lol.

But there are definitely strategies and techniques I’ve employed over the years to figure out voice and (hopefully) get it right. A big one is to give your characters a defining linguistic trait or habit. For Sirius, it’s cursing. None of the other characters curse as much as Sirius, and on the whole I try to use it somewhat sparingly with other characters so it’s more impactful when they do. Remus curses near the full moon when he’s exhausted and annoyed. James curses in serious scenarios, when he’s upset or scared or whatever. But Sirius curses fluently, happily, and with gusto haha.

For James, he’s a bit more lighthearted/frivolous in his language choices. Lots of play on words and always ending things sort of trailing off with “and all that.”

Lily I genuinely don’t have a good answer, I’m sure I did character work on her at some point but these days she just exists in my head as a fully-formed person so I have no idea how to tease that apart 🙈

Ummmm I’m drawing a blank on the others but i know they have specific tells, I’m just sleepy. 😂

Plots and subplots are I think just the result of my brain constantly playing a game of “yes and” with itself. (By which I am referring to the improv technique and not the Ariana grande song lmao.) Pretty much the entire plot of TLE was born from me having a handful of completely unrelated scenes/headcanons that had lived in my head since my teen years, then putting those random scenes in a timeline and trying to make sense of how one could lead to the other etc. And just like…allowing myself to go a little crazy and be like “ok I want a scene where Lily dresses in a Muggle mini-dress in front of James, why would this happen” and then extrapolating from there. Ok so the scene in which she’s wearing a mini-dress needs to be at least somewhat scandalous to warrant the kind of attention I want it to get from James and others? Why is it scandalous? Maybe it’s scandalous because wizards are super conservative. Ok if wizards are super conservative what does that means in terms of how they view Muggles, specifically Muggle girls? It means they’re constantly slut-shaming them. If they’re constantly slut-shaming Muggle girls, how does that show up in Lily’s plot? She gets accused of being a boyfriend stealer. Etc etc etc. So much of the plot so far has been me working backwards from ideas that won’t happen for many thousands of words yet to come 😂😂😂

I guess my biggest tip is just to make time to be very bored and let your brain roam free. Walking is great for this 😂

[denim-devil]

BITES YOU BITES YOU BITES YOU BITES YOU (I'm funny plz laugh)

✊🙈🛁🍪💌 headcanons for Frank Castle please and thank you :3

NSFW Headcannons | F.C

Nsfw/Smut Emoji Prompt

──────. • ☆:*.☽ .* :☆ﾟ• . ──────

✊ Masturbation -

Settling into the couch, Frank flicks through the channels, his fingers gliding over the remotes buttons to distract him from the growing ache between his thighs.

He had no place to be, flicking over the red button, the TV switching off immediately. Frank shuffled, sinking back into the couch.

He huffed, eyes lingering down his front until they settled on the soft mound growing underneath his denim jeans. Just a simple glance at the picture frames dotted around your shared apartment draw Frank in further, his thoughts turning soon lust-filled.

His hands search across his thighs before his fingers scramble quickly to make use of his zip, pulling the metal latch down until he found access to the thin material of his boxers, grazing past the now fully formed bulge.

Frank hums, his cold finger tips running along the underside of his thick, warm cock. He shivered at the touch, it was slightly exhilarating, his heart-beat skipping a beat once he managed to fish out his member, allowing it to rest against his cotton-clad stomach.

It weeped, the head glistening underneath the desk side lamp. He twitched at the contact of his palm which managed to wrap around the thick base, already he shuddered, he always forgets just how good it feels.

He slowly rises his enclosed fist watching his foreskin roll loosely over his sensitive flushed tip. A breathy “fuck” escaped his open mouth, his brows furrowing as soon as he set a rhythm, one that left him eager for more.

The quickened pace let for a build up, a coil, one which grew bigger, like a knot in his stomach. With each jerk, his pace almost faltered, his thighs shook with need, with every stroke his eyes glossed over the same pictures, the two of you, focusing on your face, his rhythm grew strong, his tugs were forceful which left him a mess.

He chased after the bliss he so desired, the room filling with soft grunts and relaxed huffs, Frank craved this, he wanted more.

🙈 something they’re shy about asking for -

• Frank sighed, he settled into the soft mattress below him, his wrapped around your back, holding you close. Today was stressful, he could see it written all over your face which is why he decided to take your mind off of things.

• “you okay?” He muttered softly, his eyes trailing down to meet your gaze. You nod with a gentle smile before shuffling until your sat with your legs folded on either side of his thighs.

• “yeah…Just happy to be in your arms” you mumble, wiggling your hips innocently which inevitably draws out a long, huffy moan.

• “oh?” You question, maintaining your eye contact. The closeness alone had Frank’s thoughts jumbled but full with anything but innocent notions.

• Frank gently rolled his hips up into your jean-clad ass, his hands focusing on the soft muscles underneath. He began to squeeze which brought your focus onto his growing smirk. Slowly but surely you quickly grabbed onto his shoulder which maintained your balance in his lap.

• Your finger tips grazed at his neck which had Frank lose all sense of normality. He groaned, sinking into the touch, his hands clenching onto the handful of muscle he held, his hazel eyes clenching shut.

• You still, watching the older male. His body regains control, opening up his eyes in efforts to brush off what just happened, this was about you right?

• His cheeks flushed but not completely. His hands let go, moving upwards until they settled on your back. You could feel him, his warmth, the barrier of his jeans wearing thin at the growing bulge.

• “Frank, are you okay?” It takes a few seconds for him to respond, he does so with a simple nod but it left you feeling confused, if anything, he had completely changed in the last few seconds.

• Your fingers skimmed past his neck, judging by the way he flinched you could tell it was sensitive, that he couldn’t handle himself, he fucking loved it.

• “Does it hurt?” You question once again before allowing the span of your hand to gently feel the area, prodding at the tough muscles underneath. He fidgeted in place, he looked down, his focus elsewhere.

• “Frank, look at me- I wanna know why you-“

• He cut you off, one of his hands moving your hand higher until it was wrapped around his throat softly. He looked up, his once hazel brown orbs clouded with a thick darkness, lust.

• You squeeze unintentionally which leads Frank to roll his hips once more, his head falling back against the headboard with a low groan. You whimper watching him crumble underneath your touch, he was truly beautiful with your hand wrapped around his neck.

• “couldn’t tell you darlin’…embarrassing” he ushers out before you tighten your grip, shutting him up.

🛁 shower/bath sex

The Bath water was hot, almost scolding, your back rested against Frank’s toned chest, his arms easily wrapping around your waist, keeping you on his cock.

The rhythm was slow, romantic. Each shallow roll of your hips had several groans escaping from his open mouth. Frank helped you with his hands, bouncing you on his cock.

“Sweetheart, I know you can do better”

His words were the encouragement you needed to pick up the pace, your thrust turning from shallow and gentle to loud, rough. The water cascaded over the sides of the tub, covering the tiled floor, but Frank kept going, practically using your body.

“That’s it, Atta boy“

Frank watched you work for it all the while revelling in the pleasure coursing through his veins, the water slowed his hips but fuck, it added a whole new sensation…

🍪 an after sex snack

• Frank likes to enjoy something quick and easy after sex, something fresh and flavourful like fruit. He usually grabs it from the fridge before coming back to bed, sitting beside you whilst you revel in his previous work.

• More then often, he picks an orange. Easily he can tear it in half, sharing it with you, although he does end up with sticky fingers but that’s not an issue, most of the time you end up latching lips onto the tips, sucking the slightly dried juices from his thick digits.

• The snacks always help you both indulge on a “round 2”.

💌 sending/receiving nudes

Frank isn’t new to this, definitely not. It filled him with denial, whilst he understood you worked he couldn’t help himself, how could he, it was risky.

By clicking onto his contacts, your number pops up first. Immediately his heart skips a beat before he began typing, although once he did, he focused on the letters.

“You alone? x”

The buzz travels down your thigh. You forget about the box in your hands, placing the package down before reaching into your pocket, fishing out your phone.

The screen is bright underneath the dim warehouse strip lights, your eyes settling on the message. It was Frank. Your eyebrows furrow before you click onto the notification, typing away at your passcode.

You re-read over the text before you start typing.

“Yeah, what’s up? x”

Frank almost immediately began typing back, the ache running along his slowly growing cock encouraging his needs. You watched the three dots appear, making you break out in a smile.

They stopped. Your smile faded slightly before a blurred picture pops up. The bright olive-tan complexion flooded your eyes. Frank licked at his lips before awaiting an answer, still flicking over the previous texts.

Stilling, your heart-beat thumps away in your ears, loud enough to distract you. Clicking on the picture, it becomes refined, cleaner, revealing the Frank’s cock.

His heart warmed watching the three dots pop up. He revelled in the thought of you losing your mind at work, it brought him a sense of power, which he took with a grain of salt.

“Frank…it’s so…big x”

His stomach filled with butterflies knowing full well you were somewhat a mess, aching in those tracks you borrowed from him.

You ached, wincing at the picture, eyes glued to the thick vein that ran along the ridged side, how he slightly curved to left, eyes travelling down to the thick base, you could feel your mouth water as you clenched around nothing but air.

Typing back, he decided to press send.

“It’s all here and ready for you…x”

With that he switches of his phone before flipping it into the spare space next to him, smirking as he tucked himself away, saving it for when you finished work…

You were a mess, all from one damn photo.