#shadow puppets (cut my strings)

[lunarmoves]

in the aftermath of the pizzaplex's fire and your acquisition of a new roommate, you had yet to grow accustomed to a little... quirk of theirs that you hadn't expected to arise: their need to be in the same room as you all the time.

which wouldn't be a problem in itself if it wasn't literally every. single. room. in your apartment.

"sun!" you snapped as you heard the telltale sound of your bathroom door creaking open over the pattering stream of your shower. you were pretty sure you'd locked it. "come on, again?! what did i say about privacy?"

you could see his silhouette emerge through your curtain, tall and slender. a huff escaped your lips as you peeked around its edge to see him standing in the fluorescent lighting of your bathroom. his hands were clasped together in front of his chest and his eyes immediately latched onto your face with a little twitch.

there was a small pause as you frowned at him. then he spoke with a mild inflection to his voice. "you were taking too long."

"sun," you said, exasperation thickly lining your words, "i was in here for barely five minutes."

his rays spun slightly to the left, eyes creasing as he squinted at you. "that's five minutes too long!"

you had to resist the urge to drag a hand down your face. sun only watched you, something ephemeral passing over his faceplate that you couldn't quite catch. you sighed and ducked back behind the curtain. "fine! stay there while i finish, please."

you knew from past experience that he wouldn't leave no matter how much you threatened him, so—utterly resigned as you were—you let him hang around as you sped through the rest of your shower. his shadow swayed side to side idly, gaze no doubtfully still latched onto the little gap where your curtain stretched desperately to reach the wall. you kept an eye on it just in case.

with a squeak of the faucet, you turned off the shower and squeezed out some of the water from your hair. then you reached out to grab your towel hanging from a hook just beyond the curtain, pulling it quickly towards you so you could pat yourself dry and wrap it around your body.

and with reluctance lining your fingers, you dragged the curtain to the side and blinked up at sun standing closer than before—hands twisting themselves together.

he grinned down at you, head bowed forwards. a white pupil stared down at you against a backdrop of indecipherable grey. "done?"

"yes," you huffed and reached out a damp hand to push against his chassis. he moved to the side with your ministrations as you stepped out of the bath and made to grab the clothes you'd set on the sink's counter. before you could, though, sun reached out a large hand and swept the bundle into his grasp.

you gave him the stink eye, but he only spun his rays eagerly at you. "allow me, friend!"

"fine, fine." you rolled your eyes and exited the bathroom, not bothering with the lights since sun would flick them off as he followed. you beelined straight for your room, your lithe sun-shaped shadow sticking closely behind you.

"just dump those in the hamper." you waved towards said hamper as you walked over to your dresser to start pulling out your pajamas.

"can do!" sun saluted and made his way over to it to toss your clothes inside. the bells attached to his wrists gave a little jingle as he did so.

you picked out a large shirt and tossed a glance at sun over your shoulder, where he stood in the middle of your room and watched you with those blank eyes of his. "remember what i told you, bud? give me literally two minutes to change."

sun swayed on his feet a little, a sort of unwillingness sticking to his wired frame. "but—"

"sun," you said in a way that left no room for argument. you pinned him with a serious look and pointed to the ajar door. "out."

like something straight out of a kid's cartoon, sun slumped forward, arms hanging loosely in front of him like a puppet cut from its strings. you had to suppress an eye roll at his theatrics. "heartbreak be my downfall in the end! oh woe is me!" you followed after him with a snort as he sighed loudly and turned slowly around to trudge out your room. "does love not sway your actions against me—"

"yeah, yeah," you interrupted him once he'd passed over the threshold of your bedroom and turned around to give you as much of a puppy-eyed look as he could for a seven foot robot. "two minutes, man."

before he could distract you again with some dramatic tirade, you shut the door in his face and locked it. for certain, this time. you eyed the knob, then trudged deeper into your room to go through your nightly routine. a glance at your door showed a shadow lingering just outside of it and you huffed quietly.

hair was dried, lotion was applied to your skin. you tugged your undergarments and pants over your legs before grabbing onto your shirt. and just as you were about to tug it on, you heard a faint click.

your gaze immediately snapped over to your bedroom door, and you had just enough time to throw your shirt on before a familiar face poked through the gap. rays spun impishly at you as you placed your hands on your hips and glared at the perpetrator. "dude, seriously?"

"two minutes were up!" sun replied defensively and stepped further into your bedroom. his grin was stretched wide over his face, gaze firmly cemented onto your own.

you pinched at the bridge of your nose. "sun. you really need to give me more privacy. i have boundaries and you need to respect them, okay? both of you." lord knew moon wasn't any better.

sun cocked his head at you, the quiet of your room disrupted only by a quiet whirr that came from his chassis. and there it was again—that look that glossed over his face too quickly for you to decipher properly. you shifted uncomfortably, damp hair sticking to the back of your neck.

"privacy," he mused quietly to himself. then, after the drop of a beat "we do not understand it."

"we have had this conversation before, i'm sure." you sighed with all the exhaustion of someone who had too much to deal with too soon.

"yes," he agreed easily, approaching your form closer until he stood mere feet away. a chill settled around you, accentuated by the way sun watched you attentively. "we still do not understand."

you opened your mouth to go through your usual spiel, but before you could, sun bent forward so that his face was level with your own. your jaw clicked shut as you were forced to stare into pinprick pupils threatening to drag you under.

"we do not understand," sun whispered, and the change was so stark that your heart stuttered in your chest. "we have given you all that we are and more," he mulled in a clipped manner, inscrutable. "bared ourselves to you. bent backwards at your every call and whim." his gaze pierced through you in an unyielding strike.

you pursed your lips together, something cold settling itself in your chest. "i didn't—"

but he cut across you before you could finish, his eyes widening in an intense stare that you had a difficult time uncovering where this was all coming from. his smile grew taut like a string about to snap.

"it is only fair you return the favor, friend."

[alicenpai]

the shadow and her living doll 🌹🌼 print for montreal otakuthon! come see me at next week from aug 11-13 ✌

you can grab it as a print here if you so wish ! WIPs & other thoughts under the cut

shadows house is such a fantastic series & i wholeheartedly recommend it... the story delves into super dark horror elements but doesn't present itself as a story with no hope. hope must be found and then tenaciously gripped with all one's heart, much like pandora's box. it tickles the victorian gothic part of my brain forever imprinted on me since i was 14 haha...

in the first draft i had marionette strings hanging above the characters (kinda reminds me of Erased.. since I just finished rewatching that ahaha...) & shadow puppet hands on the sides, almost as if gripping each character. i decided against it in the end, to let the characters shine in the spotlight (literally).

i also wanted a more active or lively pose, but kept in line with the stiff victorian portrait style, caused by long camera exposure times. i'm not sure if that worked out better bc i'm unsure if this drawing is interesting to people wahahaha.

initially i also wanted more of a dollhouse theme, but each draft got more and more muddy, so i decided to save it for another day (i'm around ch 90 in the manga, so probably a good call to save a more complex idea until i'm all caught up)

^ quick 5 min style test i posted recently! in that post i stated that i wanted to streamline and simplify my art style more, especially after the recent bunch of illustrations i did in the past winter that took way too long to complete, at the sake of my health.

im continually looking for areas to simplify more in my art, but one of the areas i will NOT skimp on is depicting fabric!!!!!

what also helped was working on my sense of structure in my spare time, so that i could be better at depicting form without relying so much on shading to show 3d forms. i love colouring, but i need to be working smarter, not harder from now on. using 100000 shades and highlights is just not feasible anymore wahaha.

in this drawing i loosened up with the bg and kept it rough, inspired by the wonderful xeroxed bgs of 101 dalmatians, and only implied details, rather than actually rendering all of them.

the tldr is that i draw too slowly i just would like to be able to make more drawings more often!!

[dogbites-puppylove]

Hello! I hope you're well.

Can you do a Damian Wayne x Male reader oneshot? Based on the song "Stacy's Brother" by Mad Tsai.

Damian finds out that Male reader is the little brother of [Big! Sister].

Then Damian decides to approach [Big! Sister], in jobs, projects, etc. All this to get closer to Male reader.

Maybe a sporty, extroverted and clumsy Male reader?

I can't get it out of my head that Male reader is somewhat nervous about being around Damian due to Damian's personality and the fact that he is taller than M!r doesn't help.

Also, Can I be anon 🛸?

Male! Reader x Damian

TW: description of yandere mentalities and actions (obsession, possessive tendencies, stalking, etc)

Tags: Yandere! Damian Wayne x Reader

Solitude is preferable to irritants for Damian, so to prove useful enough to be a contact of his is difficult. He’s an heir first and a human second,this is fact, every thought he has is spent towards a goal, and every goal to another's gain - this is the natural state of his operations. Much like a king's pristine puppet he is a glorified prize that must maintain itself. If he meets his darling through a sister or really any family member not of his own, the darling has no backing to stand. Simply and utterly he is beneath nothing to Damian - and maybe that's how he got trapped. 

Contacts from his mother provide lethal abilities, contacts from his father are useful and cut throat -expectation and criteria create his world brick by brick - everything has its place of necessity. A contact form outside this world is easy to push off - it's useless and creates nothing but problems for him - but his Darlings sister is needed and to maintain relations he must come to know Darling - so he takes to this as a bat. The Darling is a lesion, a bleeding pus addled wound in his world of rules and he must get you to heal - it's a clinical and medical perspective. He is his own greatest triumph and Darling are the termites that are picking at his puppet strings. 

Diagnosis comes from close observation- and he needs to be perfect to complete his tasks. You are stalked and detailed without mercy - without decorum, for the first few months you aren't even human. Damian takes a while stalking him, perching on the ceiling and staring through windows - devouring every image with curiosity. Like a dog lapping at its bleeding wounds - Damian tends to him with hypothesis and obsessiveness  - laving over him with his tongue until he’s all that he can taste. Every detail is crucial - every twitch of his muscle under his skin and every time his drops of drool on his pillow in the throes of the Darlings sleep. 

It begins with details and ends with praises and reverent prayers - what used to be details of something he needed to heal became the height of his worship. Damian slips from the king's grasp and becomes a tumbling mess of flash and singing blood  - the para social relationship nurses itself into an infection. 

Sporty? Good, keeping himself in shape is the least of the training that his Darling needs to do in order to stay safe in Damian’s own shadows. Not to say he’d ever let anything touch his darling but it's crucial to keep him in good shape. Paranoia runs in his blood - it's how survival is formed, it's passed on heirloom. 

Extroversion is hardly a trait he is foreign to - in fact it's perfect that his Darling seems to seek out others in social situations. As his other half, his humanity given flesh - it's obvious he would have the skills to express it. 

So what if he’s clumsy? It's simply the innocence of untarnished life showing through - Damian has none left - not even in the hollows of his bones - but his darling can make up for it. To him it's an even trade - like heaven and hell to the spirits that pass. 

After sufficiently gathering all he can from the window - it's only so long before he reaches in. He needs you - from the wound is born an infestation and Damian is sick with it - it fills his orifices and body and mind until Darling infect his brain. He won’t blame you for it - how could he - but you’ll have to take responsibility. 

Your sister is a means to an end - from the beginning of her contact to the time he uses her as a ticket into your life. He blows up her phone, her email, her everything - it's intensive and consuming and he won’t stop even if she answers. He needs you awfully, horribly to the point he might bleed out if he doesn't have his hand on your skin. She tries once to pull away - for her youngest brother's sake - she wakes up with a katana and a whispered warning to her ear. She does not try again. Sometimes you can see her eyeing you from the other side of the room with something like an apology on her face. 

Sharing a gender orientation gives him easier access to you - into bathrooms, locker rooms, and a sort of social intimacy that society gives leeway. It's not overly suspicious as he leaves an arm on you - seeks you out - it's what friends do. You're both boys so there's nothing to be shy about Darling. 

Of course he makes you nervous - ha can’t blame you - he's a trained assassin and you're all but a civilian but he’d never harm you. Never dream of it, even, to harm you would be his death. But it doesn't stop his eyes that are far too familiar for a stranger, nor the offsetting way he accommodates you so easily - as if he knows you better than yourself. As if he’s a worm in your brain and was wriggled so far it's made its home - a parasite. It sets you on edge - pulls at your skin until your organs and bones and he still needs to go deeper. 

Author's Note: Hi anon! I don’t actually have a cohesive list of anons but if you want to identify yourself with emojis i'm all for it :)). Also - my writing in general doesn’t incorporate gender a lot but I hope this is ok. 

[bl00dlight]

A Song of Shadow & Flame

CANON Dark! Aemond Targaryen x OC niece Targaryen. | SERIES

All NSFW warnings apply in future chapters.

Word Count ~ 3.5k+

Index

i ● ii ● iii ● iv ● v ● vi ● vii ● viii ●ix ● x ● xi ● xii ● xiii ● xiv ● xv

vii ~ 'Lord of the Tides'

129 AC

VISENYA - DRAGONSTONE

The sky above was grey, as it always was upon Dragonstone. The air thick and cloying, the inescapable stench of salt, smoke and brimstone filled the lungs of all who dared cross upon its stormy threshold. It was always warm here, clammy - even when it rained.

I oft found solace, riding high over the plains of ashen volcanic rock. The sulphuric steam stinging my skin as I let my dragon take me high upon Dragonmount. There I let myself venture upon its edges, discarding my boots and feeling the jagged stone beneath my feet. I enjoy feeling how it cuts and presses into my skin, sometimes I leave bloodied and limping. Though it feels good, feels righteous to have my blood dried upon its rocks, ritualistic. Just as I claimed Silverwing, I shall claim this island as my own one day.

I watch as Silverwing scurries into the large cavern etched into the side of the mountain. She oft goes there, for that is why Vermithor can be found lazing. It is a strange sight, seeing two beasts which strike such fear into the hearts of men, so affectionate with each other. I too have found comfort in their embrace, often falling asleep aside the two beasts as a child, usually as they coiled. My father, Daemon would be the one to find me, to scoop me in his arms and return me to Dragonstone.

Vermithor had taken a liking to me, he was an aloof beast - distant. Yet it was my bond with Silverwing which softened his gaze upon me, allowing me to sit by them both under the torch light, reading. Silverwing had always been the most gentle of the elder dragons, tentative to my thoughts and whims. I needn't say many commands, for she already knows my desires. Many found it odd I had claimed her over Vermithor, thinking his temperament was more aligned with my own. In some ways, I wish I had. There was something terribly revealing about claiming such a docile dragon. Something vulnerable, as though it revealed my own heart to others without any need for confession.

This was my home, not King's Landing - city of piss and rotting teeth. Dragonstone was a place of magic; I can feel it simmering in the air and ground. Sense it when I place my palm on the rocks. That low humming of the hearth of Valyria, of the Targaryen's. Many find it to be a grim place, akin with Harrenhal - though mystified with blood magic instead of a curse.

But it is that which drives me to it, my heart doesn't fear it's darkness nor its danger. For I know within it, for those truly of the blood of the dragon - its darkness is merely there so that our fire may burn brightly. A cocoon of warmth. It is not like the emptied and sullen corpse of Harrenhal, no, Dragonstone is full - it is alive. So, it came as no shock to my mother that I had forfeited my claim to the throne, opting to rule Dragonstone instead and allow my brother, Jacaerys to be her heir.

The realm deserves a King of a kind and just nature; that is not me. My temper burns too hot, and I have no desire to be pulled as a puppet on a string. I have no taste for politics, nor can bear the burden of pleasing the faith. In that regard, I am much like my father, and he was not meant for the throne either.

Daemon, of course was outraged by this notion and doubled down, claiming my willingness to give up the throne proved I was fair enough to sit upon it. But I know that is not true, for if it were - my mother would have refused me. At first, of course she protested but came to see that my heart lies here, not in court. And I shall continue our line, where our House belongs and I shall raise my brothers Viserys, Aegon iii and any child I might have here - amidst the ash and warmth.

My mother has been generous in her patience of me, and my father overjoyed with the notion that I have not wed yet. They are letting me decide who is worthy, and I still have made no choice. Marriage is to be political yes, but I cannot bare marrying and laying with a man I feel little for. I wish to have what my mother and father have, but there is an unlikely chance it seems.

The most promising match's hail from House Stark and Blackwood. Though neither of which please me greatly. In truth, I had wished to marry as mother did, to a Targaryen, to have an ancestral wedding too. Though it seems the God's did not write such a thing within my fate. So, in turn, I wait. I wait to see just where this path of what has felt like endless girlhood shall end. I am but eight and ten, still no marriage or children to speak - some have suggested that I shall take after my great Aunt Saera Targaryen. In truth such a life sounds rather pleasing; fucking lovers then taking off to Lys, pretending to be a maiden to exploit patrons of pleasure houses. Only difference being I would not have to pretend at first.

As I made my way across the stones, I noted the sky dimming slowly, twas time I return home. Even for a Targaryen, nights on Dragonmount can be treacherous. It was no surprise to me that upon my return, more news of dramatics at King's Landing filled my ears. Luke's legitimacy was being called into question as heir to Driftmark by Vaemond Velaryon, on account of Lord Corlys' sudden illness. Of course, we were to be dragged to the capital for his trial. Despite the matter being settled already, it seemed those sniveling Hightower’s were to reconsider claims that had already been declared by King Viserys, though it was no surprise either to hear how my grandsire had deteriorated in years passing. A part of me longed to visit from time to time, though I knew why mother had to leave. Why it was impossible to stay amongst those dens of vipers.

I sat in Lucerys room, my hand entwined with his as he sat upon his bed. The both of us watching as Jace paced back and forth, ranting and muttering.

"Tis an outrage... how can Grandsire let this stand!" Jace paused and turned to us, his face curdled.

"I... do not know." I say softly, contemplating his words.

Jace's face hardens, he scoffs and turns to where Lucerys and I both sit. His finger pointed directly at me," We should not have spent such time away from King's Landing. Mother ought to have trusted us to face them!"

"She has been rather busy brother, rearing us. Tis not her job to entertain the Hightower’s wicked lies and let us spend our lives defending ourselves against them." I can only shake my head at my younger brother's fierce words. For I know he is brave and true, at times Jace can be too stern for his own good.

Jace purses his lips and turns to look upon the view of the bay. I can tell he has no argument against me, so I smile softly and turn my attention to my other brother, who nestles himself upon my shoulder.

"They aren’t lies though... are they?  Even the Velaryon’s think it so. " The silence is broken as Luke's soft voice fills his chamber. His head rising from my shoulder as Jace turns once more.

“Ser Vaemond does not speak for the Sea Snake, brother…” I said, gently brushing his dark hair from his eye.

“But he speaks the opinion many seem to share.” Luke mutters lowly.

 I turn my head to Jace, and both our gazes interlock as we struggle to confirm what our younger brother already knows. The silence continues, and then, Jace steps forward, his tone proud and measured.

"It matters not what they say. The only relevant truth is the fact we are Targaryen's and that Grandsire, and the Sea Snake supports yours and all our claims." Jace beckons, giving Luke a small smile. We both exchange another look before I watch as Jace turns, making his way towards the window once more.

In the corner of my eye, I can see how Luke’s face curdles with discomfort, I turn my head and give him a gentle nod, “You worry too much. All will be well in time.”

“There is much to worry about. I… I do not feel I am right to rule Driftmark, mayhap they are right to challenge me. I know nothing of commanding a fleet.” His dark eyes lower themselves to the ground, Lucerys frowns softly and I can’t help but pull his chin up so that he might look into my eyes once more.

“What do any of us know of our future duties, brother? What does Jace know about protecting the realm, or I about ruling Dragonstone? That is for us to uncover in time. Fuck the treacherous webs our enemies spin, they have their own wants… desires that tempt them. We need not listen, for once we sit upon our thrones their voices shall be too quiet to even hear.” As I let go of his chin, I found the excitement in my tone again. Lucerys face shifts to chuckle quietly and I do the same, he nods giving me a soft glare before rising to his feet to speak with Jace.

I take a moment to gaze upon my two brothers, to see them now growing into men… when it felt like only a moment ago they were mere boys before me. To see how their temperaments became more distinct by the day, gave me a sense of relief for our futures. They were good and brave, it seemed such were rare traits in times such as these. Their dark hair gleamed bronze in the sunlight for a moment, and I was filled with a warmth, a love that I couldn’t quite explain. Though yes, they were my mother’s sons – at times it felt like they were just as much my baby’s as they were hers. How I had held each one upon their birth and ran my fingers across their fat cheeks when they were babes. How, now as they grew into men it was the hard bone of their jaws my fingers would feel beneath them. Such sentiments made my stomach coil with a grief for our youth, for the innocence I felt was being chipped away at by the day. Yet now, seeing them before me, they still appear as the small boys I once held so close, and I knew it would not be very long until I had to let them go.  

●

The trip to King’s Landing was but a short one on dragonback and the Princess Visenya indeed watched her earthly surroundings go from smoky wonders of Dragonstone to the dust filled haze of the capital. She practically felt her stomach reel from the mere thought of the familiar stench, and after leaving Silverwing in the Dragonpits it came as a surprise to all her family that upon their arrival to the Red Keep, none from their own House were there to greet them. Only Lord Caswell appeared before Princess Rhaenyra, approaching her with an understanding gaze. Of course, Alicent and her peculiar spawn would not show the decency of kin, for they weren’t. Not truly. Perhaps by blood, but it seemed that made matters worse given the context of the Blacks return. Still, Visenya thought, it had been six years since last they saw the rest of their family. Six years since the night on Driftmark which led to an even greater rift… six years since he had lost his-

“Sister!” Jacaerys snapped his finger before her face, snickering at the dazed Princess.

Visenya looked up from her entranced gaze, realising she had been staring at the ground below, she looked around to see the bustling of carriages and servants around her. The Princess shifted to her two half-brothers, Jace and Luke standing before her. The glimmer of Rhaenyra and Daemon’s silver hair disappearing into the darkness as they made their way into the keep.

“Mother and Daemon are to have an audience with Alicent, and it seems none of the Hightower’s have made time in their day to greet us. We are on our own.” Jace scoffed, folding his arms as he cocked his head.

Visenya raised her brow, nodding as she began to walk, “Tis a blessing really. I do not wish to ruin such a beautiful day with the look of their sullen faces.” Her head turned as Jace and Luke followed alongside her.

“They did all seem rather grey didn’t they?” Jace jested, chuckling to himself.

The three young Targaryen’s continued forth, making their way up the stairs from the middle bailey and into the halls of the Keep. Visenya spoke once more.

“I’d imagine all the years of conspiring and prayer has meant for little time in the sun. They likely appear as corpses now.” The Princess hollowed her cheeks as she gave a wink to Luke, winning a small giggle from him.

Once they had reached Maegor’s Holdfast, the siblings had branched off, returning to settle in to their childhood chambers. As Visenya reached hers a wave of bitter nostalgia washed over her, she let her fingers glide upon the stone walls observing how it had been kept so similar yet… different to how she had left it. Naturally, she had taken her belongings with her but the furniture and the deep crimson bedding. Yes, it had been left just as it was. Her eyes scanned the room, taking in the freshly lit candles, the small dish of water and soap which sat in a silver tray upon her vanity, a small rag draping over the chair. Visenya smiled, knowing the servants had remembered such preferences of hers. Near her bed, sat the small trunk of the few belongings she’d brought from Dragonstone. Upon the mattress itself, lay the scarlet gown and matching slippers.

She sat upon her bed, taking in the smell of damp and mildew. The air around her was quite cold, though a fire crackled. It was likely her chambers had not been used since her departure, from the smell of it – it seemed to not have been cleaned very often either. She settled in, and soon found herself sitting at her old vanity. Admiring how she had grown, how the last time she gazed into this mirror she was but a girl.

The princess had indeed grown vigorously as the years passed. Much like her parents it seemed she had inherited both the mind and body of a dragonrider. Imposing, her body had become – not only to others but to herself. Her form Junoesque, unyielding in its femininity as her hips and breasts were among the first thing to develop suddenly. It seemed almost overnight she had no longer fit into the clothing she once freely adorned, her body changing, aching even. The first time she had gotten her moonblood felt like a life sentence for Visenya, as no more did she feel the same kind of unawareness of her body. The princess had felt like she was now very much a prisoner to her newly found womanhood, she seldom understood why such changes were needed. Why every moon her belly would swell, growing heavy and coil with pain, how she would have to crawl to her mother’s quarters and lay by her side simply to reassure such things were normal. Though, as the years had gone by, she adjusted to such feeling, relished that the pain she felt at times was proof of her fortitude. That no man could endure such sufferance so frequently.

Visenya marveled at her sun-kissed skin, the way her silver hair gleamed now that it had grown even longer than her mothers. She kept it loose, unbound; for she relished in letting her body grow as it pleased, there was no use in taming herself; her hair included. Indeed, did the Princess enjoy herself – for no matter how beautiful a man thought her to be, it was herself which she wished to appease the most. The Princess was strict regarding her standards, unwavering that she would be dressed in the finest gowns, and smell of the richest scents the realm had to offer. Whether it was silk from Dorne or perfumed oil from Lys – she simply refused to lead a life without such beauty within it. Some may think it shallow or indulgent, but Visenya knew it was merely her lust for life which drove her towards such luxuries. She wished to experience everything, wished for a life of sensuality and passion. There was no grey cloud in her sky that was without a silver lining, for she would not accept much less than satisfaction. After all, there was so much suffering in the realm, so much ugliness and brutality. She owed it to every poor soul who died so terribly, to live life as it ought to be lived. Indulging and embracing pleasure and beauty in every way, for so few had the opportunity to.

Such mentality, did however, lead her at times to indulge in the filtrations of men and despite Visenya’s bravado, she was gentle at heart - oft stringing men along rather than shatter their dreams of winning her favor. Such is exactly what her father had told her worried him before their arrival to King’s Landing. He spoke of how difficult it was stopping his inclinations to assault the few men he might find leering at her at Dragonstone. King’s Landing, however, was a different beast and Prince Daemon had no doubt he would be combatting an endless sea of men who might have more lecherous ideas. He had spoken sternly about keeping to herself, not drawing attention to herself beyond what would already be given. That if any man were to approach her, she would deny him.

The Princess of course, found her father’s worry amusing, the few times she had entertained men had only ever ended up with innocent mischief being made, and at times drunken affections… which were oft less innocent in nature.  But she was no fool as to lose her virtue before marriage, for she knew how such a thing impacted her mother and she had promised herself that her virtue was a pleasure in itself. That there is beauty in saving herself for the truest, purest of loves, as there is beauty in indulging in fleshly pleasure. Visenya was positive no man would attempt to accost her in such a manner, for if they did they would face the wrath of her mother and of course the looming threat of her rumoured father, Prince Daemon.

As she prepared herself to leave, she peeled the thick, black riding leathers from her frame, cringing at the particular scent of sweat and dragon that ruminated from them.  Visenya then doused the rag in the bowl of water, using the soap to scrub at any and all places which eluded to such a scent. Soon, she had changed her undergarments, and drew the scarlet shaded gown over her frame; it’s sleeves long and elaborate, intwining string which laced across her structured shoulders. Visenya then pulled a small vile of perfumed oil, from her trunk, dabbing it upon her skin and threading it through her hair. The contents of which filled the room with the smell of heady jasmine and musk, a recent gift from a nobleman in Lys.

As she left her chamber, she was accosted by Jace and Luke. Who swiftly grabbed her wrist pulling her along the corridors as they babbled about going back to the middle bailey to re visit where they trained as children.

 Once they reached those fateful steps, they let go and waved for her to join them in a busy yard below..

“Come. You can watch.” Jace beckoned, Luke stopping upon the steps to look up towards her.

Visenya shook her head, leaning against stone banister upon the mezzanine which overlooked the commotion below. The Princess cocked her head to the side, “I’ve just changed… I have little intention of getting myself filthy once more.”

“Of course…” Jacaerys shook his head, rolling his eyes as he let out an amused scoff, “Suit yourself then.”

With that, the two boys trotted down the steps, and Visenya looked upon the bustling yard below.  She watched with a hearty smile as her brothers made their way towards the wooden weaponry stand, Jace playfully swinging one of the swords at Lucerys. However, she noted the few people who glared at her brothers and the whispering that occurred in their presence. A slight anger rose in her belly, do these fat old Lord’s and Lady’s have little else to do but gossip?

She waited until a pair had noticed Visenya’s scowling from above, and smiled smugly when swiftly they turned their heads and went about their business. A small gathering had distracted the Princess, as it seemed there to be an on going sparring session in the far corner of the yard. The whipping of long silver hair catching her attention, and she noticed how her brothers had soon caught wind of the action, joining the crowd below.

The silver haired figure was lithe with lean thew and a tall frame all tightly contained in black leathers. He swiftly jostled the sword in his hand with a fine precision, but her eyes caught a familiar sight, that it was Ser Criston whom the figure dueled against. A cunt, though he may be, but a talented fighter indeed.

Criston swung his Morningstar, shattering the figure’s shield. He’s done for. Visenya thought. However, she raised her brow in intrigue as the figure discarded his shield with fierce aggression and then began striking. Perhaps not. She thought again, impressed by his fortitude. One after the other, a flash of steel and light locks before he ducked and turned – it was then when she felt her heart practically fall into her chest. The figures face sharp and aquiline, his skin pale… too pale. That familiar grey.

It was the black eye patch which was tightly fastened over his right eye which gave it away.

Aemond.

He continued on, fighting harshly and fiercely against Cole before finally, winning the duel. Visenya looked at her brothers below, hearing Aemond’s voice mutter something to them both as he had finally acknowledged the two young Princes’. Though something had told her, Aemond was well aware of their presence. Jace looked up at Visenya pleadingly, and it came as no surprise then when she looked back, she noticed Aemond’s gaze follow her brothers upwards.

For what could have only had been a second, they clocked each other. The Princess felt her eyes widen, shock, fear, anger, intrguie, digust; any and all emotion flooding through her in those fateful seconds. He noticed her, he took her in. He knew it was her. She tussled her hair back and looked away, pretending as though she hadn't recognized him.

Aemond narrowed his eye upon the Princess, scanning her briefly. He had only gazed upon her for a second, he tilted his head as if he was contemplating something before his attention was drawn to the incoming drawing of the heavy gates.

Visenya steadied her breath and watched as the gates opened with a heavy moan. If only to make matters worse, the arriving party was another headache in itself... Vaemond Velaryon.

○viii○

[headingalaxys-spicy]

Can I ask for a country!reader with aph america, china and russia who used to depend on them for survival in the past because they were very poor, but now they are successful and distancing themselves? Thanks

I uh got lost on this one and it’s a long Drabble where I think I hit the mark but didn’t .

This one is kind of a long read.

Anyways I still hope you enjoy!

America 🇺🇸

Reminsing about the times you used to cling to him for everything.

You and your citizens needed food because your nation was experiencing a once-in-a-mellinnia drought?

You got it. Alfred would have prepared you and all of your people a splendid feast. He’s more than happy to provide.

Lacking clothes?

Not a problem. He’s made sure that all the clothes you require are bespoke. You look stunning & quickly made any other nation stare at you in awe whenever you attended world meetings with Alfred. Since you needed him, you did your best to prove your loyalty to him in subtle but sufficient ways. You always hung off his arm whenever meetings adjourned or before they began. You always sat next to him & voted in his favor when he did something for you. You’d become the lovely little charm he enjoyed showing on the world stage. He loved having all the strings attached to you. You were like a perfectly crafted marionette doll made just for him.

Alfred was always interested in maintaining dominance in your relationship. It was amusing to watch you attempt to break that power dynamic.

Alfred is going to allow you to cut your ties to him symbolically. He’ll allow your economy to blossom, the education sector to bloom, and you have one of the best healthcare systems. You’d figured out how to be efficient. But you had no military because you depended on him, and he couldn’t have you be too far independent from him. But to some degree, he wants you to believe that you are. He didn’t want to lose, just like England. He was better than him and felt that he’d always maintain control over you. It was obvious you couldn’t take care of yourself. You needed him. To him, your success was temporary.

The moment he sees the first string break from his precious puppet, he begins devising a plan to pin you with iron strings.

“Y/N? Why are you looking into how to structure a military? Aren’t the bases I gave you enough? But also aren’t your people kinda weak and like being with books and having intellectuals and farmers?”

“Yeah….” You began hesitantly and try to concoct a lie that would soothe his fears about being abandoned. You began to abhor the tight strings that choked the life out of your wrists. You wanted to begin to break free so that you could create a future independent of him & his contracts.

“No…actually…” Your voice was trembling now. You forced your arms outwards to the open air, waiting for the divine silver scissors to cut loose your wrists.

“I appreciate you, Alfred… I really do…but” You stare at him straight in the eyes, summoning your strength. His blue orbs had darkened with scary ghost-like shadows. Still you marched onwards.

“But I want to build myself up and be on my own.”

Alfred bit down on his own lip. Holding back his rage was difficult for him but he was desperately in love with you. He thought you would have known that it would have been your permanent place to be with him. The deal was that you were supposed to be in debt to him forever. And forever means until the end of time! Till the two of you were the last people standing in the midst of an alien war, the only ones on a desolate island. You were designed perfectly for him, but he had to let you find out just how difficult it is to be in charge of through thick & thin.

“That also means….” You place a comforting hand on his cheek to break him out of his internal fantasy of the two of you against the world. You attempt to soften the blow to his already bruised ego. A sprinkle of light briefly flashes over his eyes. You already know that what you’ve just started is going to be a major emotional endeavor.

“I can pay you back” A bright like the summer sun smile graced your face & melted some of the ice that had formed in his heart after hearing you wanted to become independent from him.

‘Y/N why do you have to do this to me? Why in hell do you want that of which is forbidden?’ He placed his hand on top of you hand that still cradled his cheek.

“Okay just let me know if I can hel-”

“NO! No… America…I’ve got to learn how to do things on my own. If I depend on you all the time I’ll never know how to do anything.”

The strings that are attached to your soul shake. Your wrists had been cut free by the silver scissors. That feeling was terrifying and magnificent.

Alfred's heart was hit with the sharp sting of a lightning bolt. What he feared was beginning to manifest into reality. It left a bitter taste in his mouth. It made him insanely angry and drove him mad. You never called him by his nation's name like that, at least not in a long time.

“Okay [Country Name]. We can talk later.” He politely removes your hand from his face and leaves you without giving you a hug good-bye. Alfred didn’t give you another glance before he left you alone. Once the door slammed shut that’s when his scheming began.

He will take you down like an agonizing tumor once you have your nation properly running. Alfred will allow you to stabilize because he wants to dissolve you slowly. He will document every miscalculation, bad decision, and failed proposal & use it as evidence that you should have never been allowed to be in charge of your own nation. This time his newer strings would be made of impenetrable steel.

Cartels and Mafias suddenly began to spring up in all of your major cities and spread to the suburbs. Your police departments were ineffective at solving the crime waves that were sweeping your small nation. Your government, of course, was in a panic due to the magnitude and rapid pace of these crime sprees. It only took three weeks for the chaos of the mafia wars to be taken to the quieter streets in the suburbs. There was an apparent hunt to find a drug den that had the product of at least $15 million. It was also rumored that it’s likely a scared diamond somewhere in your nation's midst.

“Oh, this is getting insane!”

You were watching the coverage of your nation's trials and tribulations on international television. America’s news outlets seemed to be particularly harsh. Deep down you were beginning to doubt whether being independent from him was the right choice.

‘Everything is getting so bad so quickly.’

You tap your fingers nervously against your desk until the fact dawns on you that: Dealing with tough issues was a part of life.

You take a deep inhale in and call a meeting with your boss, emergency response teams, & negotiators. You pop open your computer to take notes and devise a plan. You were ready for the crazy next few months with lots of caffeine and difficult conversations.

Alfred hates that you’ve become self-sufficient and can handle the major crises he’s constructed. You had cut loose your feet by now. You knew your silver scissors hungered for more. All you had left to cut was that of which was around your neck. He didn’t want to see you free.

The next thing Alfred will try to attack is your economy. Can’t run a nation on an empty bank account. As he drew up plans to make your nation sink under, there was a delicate knock at the door. He knew it was you. His heart hums fast-paced with anxiety-filled music.

‘Why won’t they be mine?’ He repeats over and over again in his mind. He swiftly flips his plan board to its other blank slate.

“Come in Y/N I know it’s you!” The door swings open to unveil his lovely puppet. You were ecstatic as you practically sprinted to him as you busted through the door. You had a white envelope with you.”

“Here you are Alfred some of what I owe you!” You gleefully hand him your payment. His heart begins to reveal that it has cracks that begin to deepen.

‘They can’t be doing this! How could they?!?! How in the fuck can they not see that they were made for me!’ Alfred didn’t want to admit he admired your determination. You really could be indepe-

Blood crept up his throat at the thought of your independence.

The check that you handed him may as well have been the sharp end of an axe. It made his blood run between ice and fire. He was angry that you desired the forbidden fruit and sad to some degree that you didn’t want him as much as he wanted you.

‘Weren’t you always supposed to stick around with the people who save you….Y/N? I’m your hero after all those decades…That means I’m supposed to own you for life dammit.’

Your hand on his shoulder will jolt him back to reality.

“Alfred, are you okay?”

“Me? Yeah. Yeah. Just busy and consumed with a few important things.” His eyes don’t meet yours they stay surveying the ground. He’s fighting the urge to pin you down & steal your silver scissors before they have a chance to become the ax. It means that you’d be able to sever your ties forever and be in-

“No.” He says to the frigid air-conditioned room.

“Hmm?”

“Long day Y/N and even longer month. You should go.” He shoos you away in an attempt to save face & not showcase his worse tendencies just yet. He needed you to believe that he was 100% on board with your plan to be 100% independent from him.

“Okay! I won’t linger. I’ll have another payment for you soon!” You rush off to continue with your ambitious endeavor. His heart never failed to flutter furiously whenever he was hit by your fiery determination. That’s one of the reasons he loved you and why he had to have you. He was itching to have you living with him again.

Once he see’s that you’d come a significant way in paying off your debt to him you had flourishing trade deals with larger countries that seemed to benefit your population greatly. You were doing it. The thick thread that was around your neck shook.

Alfred’s eye will twitch in reacting to the shift in power. He hated how you weren’t in his home doing more important things like cooking with him, playing video games, pigging out on pizza and watching movies. You knew how to soothe him, make him laugh, and fit perfectly between his arms.

Why did you have to break your responsibility to protect his heart?! Alfred’s inner turmoil about losing you will only increase. It will reach a boiling point where he’s going to resort to kidnapping you if you refuse to have a close permanent relationship where he can easily dominate you.

He shatters those silver scissors you possess into millions of tiny pieces. He doesn’t fail like Arthur because he is superior to that old man of his past. The iron strings will be bitterly cold & burn your skin. The steam of hate will be felt in the air as you know Alfred would never allow you to be without your strings. After all, you were all he’s ever wanted in his lonely life.

China 🇨🇳

There are many early mornings when the beauty of the Spring Blossoms takes his mind off of how his heart aches when he’s without you. With his legs crossed and his mouth inhaling deeply, his mind takes stock of the lack of noise in the background.

You weren’t there because you’d moved away.

Yao’s eye twitched at that awful thought. It made him sick to his stomach. He’s been through numerous wars, scandals, collapses, & centuries worth of bullshit. It’s not like he hadn’t felt betrayal but since he regarded you differently from the others. You had a certain effect on his heart, making him infatuated with you. You were like a rare gem unearthed from the Forbidden City. You were special to him, and no one else was allowed to have you. He, like Alfred, will want to maintain a calm & collected composure in front of you. Yao didn’t want you to know he hated the idea of you separating from him to become more independent. He wanted to keep you trapped in his beautifully crafted glass cage.

‘How in the hell does Y/N not love the life I meticulously crafted for them here?’ His mind wanders to all the fun outings you did together….hand-in-hand. One of the main things he enjoyed doing with you was drifting through Wangfujing snack street—the hustle and buzz of the sea of people that frequented the busy night market.

He loved being your guide & seeing your face light up when you tried something new & enjoyed it.

‘How could that not be enough for you Y/N?’

His nails scrape at his freshly pressed sage brown military uniform. The thick fabric crinkled under his frustration. He understood that having power over you would eventually make you want to escape him. He, however, was impressed with how you breached security systems and bypassed his guards.

For as long as you depended on him Yao primarily treated your relationship as he was your mentor that you were always supposed to adhere to. He always took up most of the time you had in the majority of your schedule. Yao hardly allowed you without his supervision either he or one of his guards was beside you. But what did that matter? Why should you complain? He provided for you since you’d come to him at his doorstep. You were desperate, destitute & in great need. You required his assistance & his tender love and care.

“Of course, y/n of course! Come in! You look sickly I can nurse you back to health!” Yao was ecstatic when you crawled to him in your desperate hour. It meant that he had an opportunity to ensnare you for all of your existence. That’s why he crafted that golden cage for you. It was beautiful, and that's all that should have mattered to you. Yao defended you well whether it be in the negotiation room on the world stage or even on the battlefield.

Yao had you covered. But you were still desperate to leave. It’s why the ground had tiny shards of glass that cut into him deeply.

Yao takes another deep inhale. He understood all too well that this was just a rebellious state & you’d soon be reminded of your place. All he’d have to do is retrieve & re-educate you.

Yao is going to devise ways to make your economy come to a sluggish crawl. He knows it is foolish to allow you to have a strong cultural economy which allowed your nation to expand your tourism, architecture, & education sectors. This allowed you to have time away from him so that you could develop your own ideals… a determent to his dominant control over you & your people. He wanted to keep you trapped in the delusion that you needed him for your survival.

‘The time for my sweet y/n to play this foolish game of independence has run it’s course.’

Yao’s mind blissfully wandered back to the days when he’d first found you: poor, destitute, and alone. You didn’t have any fight within you as a struggling nation. You and your people were on the verge of giving up all hope. Everyone who was a [name of your nation's people] wanted to resign themselves to being dissolved into the cold void of space, leaving behind nothing more than a chapter or two within the catalog of history.

That all changed when you caught the eye of one of the oldest empires in the world: China. He sought you out due to the fact that you were a lovely nation that sat near the sea. You had prime port spots and beautiful land whose capabilities were best suited for farming. He could take you under his wing & teach you how to utilize your available resources to it’s full capabilities. Not to squander itlike you were so foolishly doing.

He recognizes that his first huge miscalculation in maintaining control over you was allowing you to have unsupervised educational rights. You began to craft a population that valued critical thought over blindly following direction from those in charge.

Yao’s eye twitches once more. The thought of having to contend with a [country name] intellectual, professor, or anyone who’s been through your unique but effective education system meant he had….

“General Wang!” You have a response to the contract that you sent to [country name] for review.

Yao was eager to see your response to a partnership deal that was riddled with a ton of underhanded loopholes he could take advantage of if you disobeyed him. He was able to sense the hesitation in the soldier's hand. It wanted to jerk back. To keep his eyes away from the offensive sight.

“Let me guess the Magpie didn’t want to nest and make a home in its beautifully gilded cage?” No trace of surprise in his monotone voice. Within the calm, there was a silent raging anger brewing beneath his skin.

‘How fucking dare you Y/N. Using me. Don't you know once in debt you’ll always be in debt?’

It takes him a couple of decades to even acknowledge that he has feelings for you. By the time he does, he’s already rescued your nation a few times. He knew he felt differently about you just he couldn’t pinpoint why.

Yao hoped that you’d be satisfied with having the illusion of freedom. You could pick your clothes, what you ate, what outings. That was enough for a while. After all, you did come from a [country name] where there was nothing but struggle and strife and hardly enough to get by. It was easy at first to satiate your population with feasts that had high-quality and fresh food. Dim Sum day and night accompanied by the best teas and wines.

Yao LOVED showing off his knowledge of tea, whether it be a strong black tea that kicked alive all of your senses or a green tea that relaxed you to sleep and gave you lovely dreams. Crafting food and drinks was one of his specialties. He put extra passion and flare when it came to making food for you. That and he is trying to show off. He didn’t always need military power or grand spectacles to captivate. Thats what he had developed his cooking skills for. He could prove that he was more than just a political stronghold…he had a gentle side too. Yao is going to make a spectacle while he cooks. He will do back flips as he makes your pan-fried dumplings or spruces up your rice. His heart flutters with joy whenever he sees you giggle. It was like getting a strong hit of opium. You’re his addiction, and he wasn’t going to give it up. He wanted to create reasons as to why you should always be around him. So if keeping you poor was a part of the game, he was willing to do so.

He’s not an idiot or blind to how you’d be in pain from him being ruthless in trying to keep you under his thumb. So he does give you some economic leverage and allow your people to concentrate solely on art. He adored it when you created masterpieces especially when they were exclusively for him. It was easy & it wouldn’t burst the delicate bubble of reality that he wanted to keep you trapped in. It prevented the both of you for a while from thinking about the future. Yao could once again see his and your nation become tied together and be content. However, that's a double-edged sword as it does eventually lead you to crave more.

Yao is going to create a cyclical conundrum for himself: Give you microdoses of freedom that slowly show you that you can be independent and happy while fighting the urge to want to take you over and never let you be free and see you sad. He still has to worry about you seeking susbatantial answers he’s not really ready to answer (if ever). He hoped to some degree that as an immortal nation, you’d come to be infantilized forever. But he could not pause progress.

“You’re 100% right sir. Y/N & [citizen name] didn’t really want to be beholden to you anymore. The parliament has decided to vote against your proposal. They seem determined to forage their own way.”

“Dammit Y/N why do you have to be incredibly headstrong!” He springs to his feet as soon as the anger rushed through his body.

“Why do you have to be so ungrateful? Why do you show no respect? How in the world can Y/N not see that I LOVE & just want to PROTECT you!”

“Well, sir I suppose it’s time to resort to less gentle tactics to make them concede.”

“Oh, my rebellious misguided magpie. What am I going to do with you? Looks like you’re going to do with you? Looks like you’re going to need a heavy dose of tough love.”

Yao snaps his finger for his soldier to come close.

“If they want to prod the dragon as it sleeps then I’ll let the people of [country name] find out how foolish that is.”

Yao is going to “peacefully” kidnap you meaning he will bribe who he can and kill whoever can’t be reasoned with money when it comes to your security detail. He’s going to make a show of it. It will start when you accidentally cut yourself with glass. It will begin at the sole of your foot. Birds will suddenly join your midst. A black and white feather will land in your small puddle of blood.

“More won’t have to be spilled Y/N if you just give in.”

Russia 🇷🇺

At first, Ivan will be lax & he won’t really acknowledge the things that you’re trying to do to separate from him. He’ll want to believe he’s downed too much vodka and cocktails. It’s nonsense. Nonsense. All of it. Since you’d been with him for so long & still in debt to him he believed that’s guarantee that you’d never leave him. At this point in his mind, he’s built the narrative that you stayed because you loved him.

“ I wish things didn’t have to be this way,” Ivan says coldly with his pipe in one hand and love letter in the other.

At the beginning of your relationship, when you and your people were down on your luck, he saw you as a feminine version of Latvia that he wanted to protect and bear hug 24/7.

“Let the loving, warm arms of Mother Russia help you.”

Ivan is eager to assist you & your impoverished people not only because he is fond of you but because you have beautiful tracks of land when it’s not being bombarded by drought and animals facing severe infection and plagues. It seemed for some reason that sunshine and prosperity had been avoiding you like finding a cure to heal your cattle.

“Hmm? Ummm…” Were the only words that you could summon. You were shocked that one of the superpowers would come over to chit-chat with you. To some degree you knew you were hardly a faint blip on most nations radar.

“Y/N you’re cute when you behave like a nervous kitten.” He placed his gloved bear paw on top of your head. When he did so you could finally take stalk of how much taller he was than you. At least a foot and a few inches. Your muscles soon tensed up and intimidation along with a host of other emotions suddenly flooded your nervous system.

“Ha. Ha. Ha. I guess. I’ve been under a lot of stress lately you know?” Nervous still you began to involuntarily shake. You could tell if it was caused by your nerves or hunger. Being in his presence was intense. You bite down on your lip hoping there was at least some decent food when you got back to your room like your boss had promised. Your facade of keeping it together without collapsing seemed like an impossible task.

“Stress? What kind of stress? Tell me da? We are friends now after all aren’t we?” His pure periwinkle eyes sparkled with glitter with hints of black specks within them.

“Huh? I mean we’ve been on a few committees and have been in a few voting blocks together, but it’s …” You knew you had to be careful with your choice of words. One wrong one and you knew he could crush you in one quick motion only using his wrist.

You hardly had the energy to stand. You began to wobble. You became woozy.

“Come. Y/N. Come. You must sit sunflower. You look pale & weak.”

You were definitely going to ignore his emphasis on the word ‘weak’. You kept it as a mental note in the back of your head.

‘He’s being a bit suspicious and creepy. I wonder if he’s about to offer…’

“About to make you a kind offer you won’t forget.”

‘Is he!? No. NO. I’m definitely going loopy due to hunger.’ You were trying to concoct a response that was equal parts composed, resilient, and calm. However, that process was cut short when a grey, black, and white static filled your eyes. Rendering you incapable of seeming like a nation that had their shit together. Quite the opposite. With no response, Russia will take the lead. He placed his hand on your upper back. He took note of how your palms and fingers were spread apart wide in an attempt to stabilize yourself. Your eyes were glazed over with an exhausted grey mist.

He chuckles in amusement.

‘Man, this is going to be easy.’

It took a few minutes before your haze finally lifted. However, it felt like your soul had left your body and you were just an empty husk running on fumes.

“Um, this is really a conversation for a later time…” Unable to think of ways to navigate a negotiation with a massive country like Russia. You could at least buy yourself some time and try to talk to someone for advice. You know that it seemed benevolent but had plenty of tight ropes, strings, and red lines that come attached with such a deal.

“After the meeting, we can talk it out over dinner. I can show you some of my nation's best food.” His aura brightened at the fact that you’d be more within his domain and far deeper within his influence.

Russia, at this point, is kinda like a honey trap. He learned this tactic from his friend (enemy at times) America. Knowing how to be a smooth charmer even though he tends to have an unsettling presence that has chaotic energy with a baby face. He incorporates but doesn’t copy America. Russia tends to lean on his disarming soft face to help him and instead of offering punishments first, he’s more likely to offer an insensitive with maybe a threat at the end. (This only tends to happen if he can’t see that you’re responding positively to what’s being offered.) So Russia knows how to show more restraint.

Of course, you didn’t say no to the private meeting you had with him. Your boss practically begged you to do so, along with some of your citizens and advisers.

“How can we say no? You have to Y/N! What do we have to lose at this point?”An advisor stated with urgency.

“We can figure it out as we go but we must do something! This is a sign this is it!” Another citizen piped up.

“All right, all right I’ll go.”

Ivan will introduce you to this five-point plan that he drafted. It will be showcased through Matryoshka Doll. The five stages will explain how you will become one with Mother Russia without losing your recognizable national heritage.

‘Don’t worry’ is what he’ll assure you. He’s got all the heavy lifting. Just allow him to set the pace and control everything.

Ivan won’t immediately snap you up like a Venus fly trap. He knows that he has to manage you and all of your people, constituents, and other parties. He’ll let all settle in before he begins to move any plan forward.

Ivan’s scarf had wrapped around your shoulders as he brought out a Matryoshka doll that was about the size of your thumb.

“You will receive a new one once you complete a new phase. It shows how close friends we’ve become.”

Your eyes wander down to the bright red hooded figure that is decorated with Ivy and Azalea flowers. You ran your index finger down the smooth surface. You admired the intermixing of the pastels with the primary colors. The florals seemed to string themselves together like a fence that had cursive graffiti on it. In the back of your mind, you still couldn’t help but feel that you were making a huge mistake even if on the surface, things between you and Ivan would be smooth.

“We first have to ensure that your citizens are able to eat, have proper housing, and all of their other basic needs are met. You’ll have to live with me of course.”

‘Maybe, I’m just overthinking it. After all what choice do I really have? It’s not like I’ve been able to survive to well on my own.’

Your thumb continued to rub the fresh paint. The Azalea flowers encapsulated and sustained you. They were lovely because they represented the current concealed love. The colors made you feel safe and comforting. The coolness of the wood brought goosebumps to your skin. Your immune system was trying to send warning signs but you continued to ignore them for the idea that permanent comfort wasn’t too far off. The suffering was beginning to be too much to tolerate daily.

Ivan will make sure that you’re comfortable in his house. He’ll allow you to go see your nation every 4 months or so. The rest of the time will be you learning proper Russian, the culture, history, etc.

As you began to adjust to life with him, you enjoyed not having to face hardships. It was nice not to have to worry about where your next meal was to come from or how some of your particularly vulnerable cities managed to survive with minimal resources. These questions were no longer at the forefront of your mind. You allowed the sweet side of life to dull your senses.

The next part of Ivan’s five-point plan involves him having full jurisdiction of your military bases, ports, secret hubs, etc. He didn’t want you or your population getting into battle.

Ivan’s log-like arm was draped over you, and he introduced you to some of his seasoned commanders who’d be taking over all of your military operations. As you trailed behind him through the Russian-built base, you were in awe of the immense firepower he possessed and was lending to you. It was a not-so-subtle reminder of how much you now depended on him. It was the first time that you realized that you entered an inescapable pact that you made with Ivan. Your mind had finally registered the second doll with the Camellia flowers had been firmly sealed around you as it was tossed into the sea.

A firm squeeze on your hand brought you back to reality. Ivan’s sweet and somewhat sinister smile that adorned his pale snow face reassured you that everything would be fine so long as you were in his care.

If you want to escape him with the least emotional and economic damage and the lowest detriment to your citizens, then you really should have prevented him from setting up any kind of military infrastructure. So he now has a strategic advantage if (and or when) you try to separate from him.

As a nuclear power he of course, never let you have a program for energy much less for weapons. If you ever asked about such things ice and snow will coat the room while his face will have the everpresent smile remaining on Ivan’s face. His icicle-like ‘why’ was more than enough for you to never bring the subject up with him again.

The comfort began to feel more like constriction….suffocation. The air around you felt like you were in the vacuum of space.

The final matryoshka doll is decorated with cedar leaves (I will live for thee), Yellow Hyacinths (Jelously), Ivy (Wedded Love), and Primrose (I cannot live without you). It was handed to you right before the two of you began another tense meeting on why you’re trying to become more independent.

“I will not be without you Y/N nation of [insert most recognized attribute]”

“Hmmm?” Trying to make sure you didn’t just hear that highly possessive statement. Trying to give Ivan a chance to walk that back. After a minute of uncomfortable silence, you break it.

“Ivan, are you okay?” Your voice trembles out.

“Da Y/N….But we do have some difficult discussions to be had.” He closed his book with a loud thud, it was loud enough to make you jump in your seat a little.

At this point, it’s game over. Whatever well-thought-out plan you may have made to be independent of him may as well be strapped to a rocket being sent to the moon. If you want to be successful, you’d need another superpower backing you or extremely good socioeconomic conditions and political unrest in Russia to actually be able to win against him.

[kymerawrites]

BROKEN PROMISES

Summary; After being betrayed by your own organization, you turn to Simon Riley for revenge. He welcomes you into his dark world with open arms, and you fall for his charm. However, Simon's love is conditional and manipulative, and he exploits your pain for his own gain. As you become a pawn in his sinister game, you discover that there is no happy ending with a man like him.

I never imagined I'd find myself standing on the other side of the law, but after being betrayed by my own organization, turning to Simon Riley for revenge seemed like the only option left.

The shadows of the dimly lit warehouse loomed around me as I waited for him, the man known only as Ghost. Every whispered rumor about his ruthlessness echoed in my mind, but the sting of betrayal from those I once trusted burned hotter. As his silhouette emerged from the darkness, a chilling sense of foreboding washed over me. This was a dangerous game I was about to play, but the hunger for vengeance had already consumed me.

"You're late," his voice was cold, yet mesmerizing, cutting through the silence like a knife.

"I had to make sure I wasn't followed," I replied, trying to mask the fear and uncertainty in my tone.

His eyes, hidden behind the skull-patterned balaclava, seemed to pierce through me, assessing, calculating. "And why should I trust someone who's just switched sides? How come I should trust someone like you kyla?" He said slowly

"Because," I said, stepping closer, "no one knows my former team better than I do. I can give you everything you need to destroy them."

A slow, menacing smile curved beneath his mask. "Very well, but remember, loyalty to me comes with a price."

That was the begin of something destructive and irreversible.

Days turned into weeks as I immersed myself in the underworld I once fought against. Ghost was true to his word ‘loyalty to him came at a steep price.’ I found myself entangled in a web of deceit, violence, and power plays, each day pulling me further from the person I once was. The revenge I sought came with unforeseen consequences, and the closer I got to Ghost, the more I realized how deep his darkness ran.

The first step into Ghost's world was like diving headfirst into a pool of shadows, each promise he made, each smile that tugged at his lips, was a carefully crafted act of manipulation. Despite the danger, I couldn't help but be drawn to him.

As time went on, I found myself falling deeper into his web of darkness, blinded by my desire for revenge and the subtle charm he wielded like a weapon. He played me like a puppet, each string tugged with calculated precision.

"You're not here to make friends, doll. You're not here to trust." That was something he'd say often

The late nights became a haze of alcohol fueled debauchery and shattered promises. Ghost's presence loomed over me, his voice a drug that sent my senses reeling. There were times when he'd hold me, his touch a mix of tenderness and possessiveness, just barely brushing the line of cruelty, as if testing my limits.

"You're mine," he'd whisper, his breath hot against my skin, "and I don't share my toys. Remember that."

As the nights bled into days, I found myself trapped in a cycle of torment. Ghost's love was a twisted, manipulative game of give and take, a constant battle for power. One day, he'd be gentle, his touch soft and soothing, the next a storm of passion mixed with cruelty.

"You're a distraction," he'd tell me, his eyes cold and devoid of all emotion. "You're a weakness I can't afford."

"Then why do you keep me around?" I once asked, the pain in my voice echoing through the room.

He'd turn his gaze to me, a flicker of something dark and dangerous in his eyes. "Because, doll, you're not just a weakness." He'd take a step closer, the air between us crackling with tension. "You're a toy I can't quite put down yet."

The days when his eyes would go cold and devoid of all life were the most torturous. He'd treat me like a mere tool, his touch harsh and biting, his words a barrage of insults and harsh truths.

"You're a liability, love," he'd say, his hands grasping my wrists, holding me against the wall. "You're nothing but a complication."

"I am not a complication!" I'd fight against his grip, my heart racing, my mind spinning from the clash of emotions.

He’d press closer, his body pinning me to the wall, the heat from his body making me shiver. A sinister smile would play on his lips, a cold gleam in his eyes. "Oh, but you are," he growl. "A beautiful, messy complication that I both hate and cannot get enough of."

I always felt the question, was this the right decision? Why did I ever resort to ally with our biggest enemy as an act of vengeance. The moment Simon layed eyes on me he knew he could have me in the palm of his hands, at his mercy.

Ghost had a way of sensing weakness and exploiting it, and he knew from the first moment he laid eyes on you that you were ripe for the taking. He could see the fire burning in your eyes, the fierce determination to seek revenge. He could see your vulnerability, the raw pain and anger lurking just beneath the surface.

With a sly smile, he'd reach out and gently caress your cheek, his touch both gentle and possessive. His voice would be a seductive whisper in your ear, "You came to me because you were desperate. You came to me because you had nowhere else to turn."

Ghost's words were a masterclass in manipulation, each one carefully calculated to mold you into what he wanted you to be. The sweet words were a honey trap, a temporary release from the harsh reality of your situation. The mean words were designed to chip away at your resolve, to remind you of your helplessness.

And the devoid and emotionless words were there to dehumanize you, to remind you that you were nothing more than a toy in his games. But it was the passionate words that were the most dangerous.

One evening he had an informant who posed as a driver for one of the other men in his gang on the floor, I knew him that was one of my old teammates, the moment he saw me he went mad, rampaging a lot of slurs and words which most couldn’t be made out

Ghost stood back, silently watching the scene unfold, a smirk on his lips. He enjoyed this, seeing the pain and suffering play out before him.

"Seems like you know him," he said casually, leaning against a wall.

My teammate went on to call me all the names in the book “you dirty lying bitch! I knew you would end up doing the wrong thing, oh I hope you’ll get mauled when the rest sees you when you have no where to hide anymore!” He screamed

I looked at him coldly and chuckled, my gaze darkened as I looked him in the eye “Simon, why do you let this nothing worth loser disrespect you, and me.. no one should disrespect you or his woman.. isn’t that right?” I smirked as I turned around to face Simon.

This was the first time I acted like this, like I belonged in this position, next to him. As if I was his backbone

Ghost's eyes widened slightly, a flicker of surprise in his gaze. He was not accustomed to seeing you take charge like this. You had always been the submissive one, the one following his lead, obeying his orders. But now, you stood there, exuding a confidence that he had never seen before.

A slow smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "My, my," he chuckled, his voice a low rumble. "Looks like someone's found their spine."

Simon walked towards the man, who was held down by 2 of his other man. Guns pressed to his side

The man's eyes widened in terror as Ghost sauntered towards him. The air grew tense, thick with the promise of violence.

Ghost came to a stop right in front of the man, looking down at him like a predator sizing up his prey. "You had a lot to say just now, didn't you?" he growled, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous tone.

"Insults, name-calling, threats... all pretty bold words for someone in your position." Ghost's lips curled into a sinister smile as he leaned down, his eyes locked on the man's terrified face.

"But you seem to forget," he whispered, his voice dripping with menace, "that I don't tolerate disrespect. Not towards me, not towards my people. And definitely not towards her." He gestured towards you with a nod.

The man's face paled as he realized his mistake. He had crossed a line by disrespecting you, and now he was facing the full wrath of Ghost.

"Please," he whimpered, struggling against the men holding him down. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"

Ghost cut him off with a sharp backhand to the face. "Too late for apologies," he snarled. "You had your chance to show respect, and you blew it."

Ghost had zero tolerance for disloyalty and disrespect, that much was clear. The former teammate who had once been part of your team now found himself on the wrong end of Ghost's wrath.

"You forget who you're talking to," Ghost growled, his eyes narrowing as he stared down at the man. "My word is law, and your words are nothing but trash."

Simon clicked his finger and told me to come, as I walked towards Simon he put a gun in my hand “prove to me that the reason you came to me wasn’t a lie. Prove to me you are loyal to me.” He said coldly

Your heart pounded in your chest as Ghost handed you the gun, his words ringing in your ears. This was it, the moment of truth. He wanted you to prove your loyalty, to show him that you hadn't made a mistake coming to him.

You took the gun, the cold, hard metal feeling unfamiliar in your hand. You looked up at Ghost, his eyes cold and calculating as they gazed at you.

"What do you want me to do?" you asked, your voice steady despite the fear that gripped you.

“Show ur revenge, show ur vengeance” he said leaving me to finish the job

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself as you aimed the gun at the trembling form of your former teammate. This was the moment you had ached for, the chance to exact your revenge on those who betrayed you.

Ghost watched you intently, his gaze unwavering as you stood ready to pull the trigger. His eyes were dark and emotionless, no trace of the man you had come to know during your time with him. This was the ruthless, coldhearted version of him, the one who expected total obedience and loyalty.

You felt the weight of the situation press down on you, the lives of other people in your hands. But Ghost's command echoed in your head, demanding that you prove your loyalty to him.

With one last deep breath, you steadied your aim and pulled the trigger, ending the life of a man who was part of the betrayal.

Your heart pounded in your chest as the smoke cleared, the room falling silent. You had done it, you had taken revenge on one of the people who had betrayed you.

Ghost watched you silently, his eyes locked on yours. He nodded slowly, a hint of approval in his eyes. "Well done," he said quietly. "You certainly proved your loyalty to me."

Ghost's touch was gentle yet possessive as he cupped your cheek, his eyes tracing over your face. There was a hint of something dangerous in his gaze, a dark thrill that stirred within him. He motioned for his men to leave, and as the room cleared, he leaned in close to you.

"There's a place I want to take you," he whispered, his voice low and seductive. "Somewhere less... messy."

That evening he gave me the best love he had, moaning, whimpers, hot candle wax and a lot of pain inflicting and pleasure was made

That night, Ghost unleashed a side of himself that you had never seen before. He was rough and demanding, his touch leaving deep, pleasurable marks on your skin. He moved with a sense of purpose and intensity, his eyes locked on yours as he took you to places of pleasure and pain.

"You're mine," he growled in your ear, his voice low and possessive. "And I'm going to make damn sure you never forget it."

You were caught in a web of desire and passion, blind to the fact that Ghost's love was a toxic, twisted game. He had consumed you, his cruel words and rough touch molding you into something both beautiful and broken.

But as the night wore on, a sense of foreboding settled over you. You knew deep down that this was not the happy ending you had hoped for, that being tangled up with a dangerous man like Ghost would only lead to pain and destruction.

[sunseed-fandump]

I can only imagine what would happen once Shadow Milk’s weaved story of lies and manipulation on the kids breaks. It’d definitely happen somewhere around Beast Yeast (presumably around the point when Lily seals him back into the tree) where either two scenario’s happen: 1. The kids are left completely helpless and distraught once Shadow Milk’s influence is gone and Pure Vanilla, Lily, with the help of Chili and Custard take the kids through a “healing arc” of sorts or 2. The kids immediately run away from the Faerie Kingdom and stay with the CoD in a similar fashion to the Chess Choco’s from Ovenbreak which causes the manipulation cycle to continue..

You’re right to assume everything comes to a head during Beast-Yeast.

The kids are so so happy for their Ringmaster! And of course Shadow Milk Cookie is sure to shower his little performers with plenty of praise. They’ve done SO well! He’s so so proud! And now that he’s out, he can give the kids a glimpse of that happy peaceful world he promised them!

But the cracks start to show. By this point, the kids have already had a few moments of doubt over the course of their journeys. However it’s when he starts puppeting the faeries when the kids start to get a sense of “maybe it’s not just my imagination”

The Circus is here! But nobody seems to actually be having any fun. There’s monsters and fighting and cookies getting hurt. This doesn’t look happy OR peaceful. This is just pure chaos.

And much to everyone’s surprise, when Shadow Milk commands the kids to take care of White Lily. They hesitate.

So the kids tell him. “This isn’t what we wanted” “Please stop hurting them, can’t we get along?” “I’m so tired, I don’t wanna fight anymore”

Well that wasn’t in the script, but! It’s no big deal.

After all that’s what puppet strings are for.

It takes the decisive swing of a sword from an unexpected ally to cut them free.

Post-Shadow Milk influence, the Kids would have memory problems since the Beast would frequently mess with their heads and redact certain events. They’ll heal and gain things back, but they’re going to be very skittish at first. Strawberry is going to be so stressed she basically bursts into tears whenever anybody who isn’t Gingerbrave or Wizard looks at her.

The kids kind of go back to that survival mindset they had before escaping the Witch; “everything wants to hurt you, don’t give them the chance.” So they’re constantly huddled up in corners trying to make themselves as small as possible, trying to figure what to do. Where do they even go from here? What’s going to happen to them?

It’s scary. Luckily they’re surrounded by good cookies now.

[hugemilkshake]

Oh I have an idea with related to the sequel to Yandere Shadow Milk Cookie with the power of Hypnotism

In general, after defeating Shadow Milk Cookie

T/N Cookie and his friends are coming home

After that, T/N Cookie hears some voices calling you, it's the Shadow Milk cookie that sealed it

Pure Vanilla Cookie arrives and asks if she's okay.

Answered fine. Pure Vanilla was going to visit friends.

Night came, and they all went to bed, and T/N Cookie also

In her dream, she had blue eyes that reminded her of the Shadow Milk Cookie

Shadow Milk cookie wanted it to be all mine, after that stares the hypnotic eyes of the Shadow Milk Cookie.

I hope you enjoy the milkshake. Ah yes the ptsd part of having a yandere 😌

The after effects of Yandere Shadow Milk Cookie

-platonic or romantic insinuation-

!TW! Under the cut are themes like trauma, wanting someone dead and possessiveness (the last two happen at the end)

First part

After the what happened at the faerie kingdom, you and Pure Vanilla decided to head back to the Vanilla Kingdom, you trusted Gingerbrave and his friends could handle themselves

The trip back was tense, you and Pure Vanilla didn’t talk that much.

But once you two got back you started to talk again

It was clear something happened to you to while you were gone and the radon villagers were worried

So they decided to try and cheer you and Pure Vanilla up by making you some raisin bread!

You both appreciated the gesture

But once you got back to your room in the Vanilla castle you lied down on your bed and just looked up at the ceiling.

The world was slightly spinning… probably an after effect of your reality getting morphed right in front of your eyes…

But something took you out of your peaceful trance.

Laughter

His laughter

You instinctively grabbed a pillow and threw it at the direction you heard his laughter

But nothing. The pillow just hit the wall with a soft thud.

After a minute you heard a knock on your door, you got up and opened it. Pure Vanilla was there

“Y/N Cookie are you alright? I thought I should check on you after what happened”

You didn’t admit it but you were relieved to hear his voice but you told him that you were fine just shaken up, you asked his he was holding up as well

“Oh well I’m still a little shocked at what happened… but I think I just need a little time”

You nodded, as Pure Vanilla bided a goodbye

You were alone again…

Later that night in your slumber… you had a dream… no not a dream… a nightmare

Laughter was all you could hear, your body was tied up by blue strings wrapped around you limbs, making you move like a puppet

But the most notable thing was his eyes

You couldn’t look away from them, they were hypnotic

But your last straw was his voice…

“Welcome back dear!~”

You jolted awake. It was just a nightmare… thank goodness…

You heard a knock on your door though… strange it was the middle of the night…

You got up and opened the door to once again be greeted by Pure Vanilla

“Y/N Cookie, I’m sorry to be bothering you this late but I was coming back from my study and I heard a commotion… is everything alright?”

You usually wouldn’t tell people about your nightmares… but Pure Vanilla went through something similar…

You told him to come in as you sat on the bed, Pure Vanilla joining you

You started to talk about your nightmare, describing everything you could remember. Pure Vanilla just listened to you and once you were done gave you the comfort you needed

It was nice to have some who could some what relate to you…

…

…

…

Shadow Milk cookie watched on as you told Pure Vanilla about the nightmare you had… if only Shadow Milk could have actually been in your sweet dreams…

But when Pure Vanilla started to comfort you…. His blood boiled…

THAT should be HIM not some WANNABE POSER

Oh if Shadow Milk could communicate with Pure Vanilla he would be screaming at him

But when you hugged Pure Vanilla once he was done comforting you.. he wanted to make Pure Vanilla in to a pile of crumbs… no… not crumbs…. DUST

But Shadow Milk could only watch as you and Pure Vanilla talked…

[romugh]

The Russian Shades of Red - introduction

A/N - hello hello guys! back from my big big hiatus, and finally have motivation to write again. this is an idea that has been marinating in my drafts for over two years now, and i've decided to try and make it an actual story. anyhow, i hope you enjoy reading this introduction chapter!

"Love is a lie, Chaisan. No matter what kind, it will always be an equivocate. It makes you weak."

I walk by his side, every step heavier than the one before. It was getting hard to keep my stride as voiceless as my reactions to the stupid words coming out of his mouth.

I know that he knows.

I know how he knows.

I keep my silence, trailing behind him, knowing deep down there's no turning back anymore. The dark, unforgiving concrete hall stretches out endlessly before us, its oppressive atmosphere thick with unspoken dread. To my left and right, young faces, etched with both defiance and despair, watch me pass with eyes that speak of horrors endured and futures uncertain. Each step echoes ominously, a grim cadence punctuated by distant sounds of training and pain. His presence beside me is a palpable force, a silent reminder of the ruthless authority that governs this labyrinthine world.

As we move forward, I can feel their gazes upon me-a mix of fear and hope flickering in their eyes. They are the lost souls of this clandestine realm, their innocence stripped away in the pursuit of a cruel destiny. Their whispers cling to the cold walls like desperate prayers, pleading for a chance at freedom from the shadows that consume them. In their fleeting glances, I glimpse the raw determination to survive, tempered by the harsh reality of their existence. I steel myself against the rising tide of empathy, knowing that in this place, compassion is a luxury none can afford.

Dread clutches at my heart like a vice as we move further and further into the intricate corridors of this forbidding place. The oppressive silence is punctuated only by the faint hum of distant machinery and the occasional muffled sound of activity from unseen rooms. Every step forward feels like a descent into the unknown, each turn potentially leading to another trial or revelation that could shatter whatever remains of my fragile resolve.

As we approach the door at the end of the hall, my apprehension peaks. He pushes it open with an indifferent gesture, revealing the room beyond-a stark chamber bathed in a subdued, ominous light. The air within seems heavier, charged with a tension that mirrored my own escalating fear. Without a word, I enter, and the sensation washes over me like a wave-the chilling certainty that this was the place where I had been forced to confront the darkest aspects of myself. The dim lighting cast eerie shadows that danced on the walls, conjuring memories I had tried so hard to bury. This was the room-the one where I had faced the ultimate test of loyalty and survival. The walls seemed to close in around me, each corner whispering echoes of past decisions and haunting choices. The weight of those moments hung palpably in the air, a silent testament to the darkness that had once consumed me.

The sudden impact of his fist against my chest takes my breath away as the intensity pushes me on the cold floor of the cell he dubs "Chaisan's Room". Pain radiates through me, but it's nothing compared to the realisation sinking in like an anchor in my gut. In this dark, suffocating room that holds memories of anguish and betrayal, I know now what he expects of me.

His voice cuts through the silence, his Russian accent filled with a chilling certainty that sends shivers down my spine. "You're worth nothing, Chaisan. You're just an experiment. You're mine, nothing else. Not a best friend, not a sister, not a daughter, not a girlfriend. You're nothing but a puppet, and I'm holding the strings while the world watches the show."

I push myself up on my elbows, the taste of blood on my lips as I meet his cold gaze. This room, where shadows dance cruelly upon the walls, is where the truth becomes undeniable. I swallow hard, steeling myself for what lies ahead, knowing that the only way out may be through a darkness that threatens to consume everything I once held dear. In the fear of being caught in an even more emotionally vulnerable state, I shut my eyes, only hoping to buy myself a bit more time.

My closed eyes can't block out the image of the smirk on his face. I stay motionless, aware that any movement could escalate the situation. The subtle sound of calloused fingers brushing against fabric, combined with my years of training, tells me he's smoothing out his shirt.

"Clean up your mess, Chaisan, and I'll see what I do with you later. You're not getting out of this so easily."

It takes some time for my eyes to adjust to the darkness of the room, but once they do, I wish they never did.

"Vitaya."

I repress the cold chills climbing up my spine, looking deep into the blue eyes of the young girl whose hair I combed less than 5 hours ago. She isn't looking at me. She's looking at the gun pointing at her head. She sees the trembling, I do too, and we both know he does too.

"Are you weak, Chaisan? Are you, a thirteen-year-old, as weak as this six-year-old pathetic girl?"

The silence in the room is deafening. The girl's breaths are inaudible, despite her chest heaving with the effort of her overworking lungs. As I shake my head, her ocean-blue eyes shift from the barrel of the gun to meet mine.

I see the waves, menacingly poised to engulf the dunes. I see hope, buried deep within the ocean, much like the rocks we once hurled from the cliffs. I see trauma, as pervasive in the sea as salt in the water.

I see eyes full of life.

"Chaisan."

We both look at the man ruining our lives.

'If you don't do it, I will."

I know what that means. The long awaited shower the little girl will be promised to have won't run on water, but gas.

Driven by survival instinct, I pull the trigger, my gaze still fixed on the man who just forced me to kill my sister.

But now, instead of the ocean-blue eyes of my sister or the forest-green eyes of the girl i thought i'd be met with, I stare into the azure-blue eyes of my best friend.

My best friend, tied in the fair in front of me, holding my frantic stare steadily. She seems calmer than I've ever seen her before, almost as if she has the situation under control.

Which she doesn't.

My eyes drift lower, to the necklace she's wearing, matching mine.

"I can't," I whisper desperately. "Don't do this, Dreykov, please. I'll do anything. Spare her. Take me instead. Just keep her alive."

His imposing presence closes in around me, stifling and suffocating. I stay motionless as he extracts one of the knives from my suit's compartment and presses it against my jawline.

"Am I sensing love here, Chaisan? Love is for children."

He emphasises his last sentence by tearing my hidden necklace from around my neck and digging the blade of my knife into my cheek.

A single tear traced a crimson path down my face, lingering over the fresh wound where my necklace once brought solace and hope. Dreykov thrust a gun into my trembling hands.

"It's okay, Vee," the blonde girl in the chair reassured me. "I promise."

She nodded, her affectionate smile tinged with pride, love, bravery, and tears. One streaked down her cheek, a poignant testament to her resolve.

I shook my head as I raised the gun, blocking out Dreykov's commands. My focus narrowed to the girl before me. I wanted to imprint every detail into my memory: her golden hair cascading over her shoulders, her eyes alive with memories of lessons shared and bonds forged. Her smiles, smirks, sobs, and now, another tear tracing her cheek.

I felt Dreykov's gun against my temple, but her presence anchored me, and I didn't hear his threats.

"I'm sorry, Bee," I whispered. "Я люблю тебя." [I love you]

She gave a faint smile, nodding before closing her eyes.

"Я тоже люблю тебя, Витайя," she murmured. "I promise. It's okay. You've got this and I'll be cheering you on from above." [I love you too, Vitaya]

I close my eyes before pulling the trigger.

A life for a life.

"YELENA BELOVA, terminated by VITAYA CHAISAN."

[cookierunauprompts]

💔 prompt Evil version of shadow Milk is setting up a ‘puppet’ show using the ancients as guests, they are not having a fun time. Feel free to interpret this how you like.

Requested Prompts #28 - 💔✙

CONTENT WARNING : Body Horror? If living puppets count then yeah.

You know, waking up in a theater may not be the oddest or freakiest thing ever, but that depends on context. And the with the prior context that you were chasing the huge, beast side of a cookie that is known to sometimes host gruesome puppet shows... Pure Vanilla Cookie couldn't help but be concerned. " Pure Vanilla Cookie?" He heard White Lily speak up from the seat next to him, she looked concerned and confused as to where she was. He was as well, but where were the others? " Welcome! new holders of the soul jam!" A voice crackled from around them, belonging to none other than the beast. " Welcome one and all to the Shadow Theater! We have a wonderful play for you all tonight!" They knew it wouldn't be a wonderful show, but they couldn't withhold their gasps of horror when the stage curtains were drawn open. Upon the stage were three cookies, Gingerbrave, Strawberry Cookie and Wizard Cookie, but there was something distinctly wrong with them. They seemed conscious, panicked. It was very understandable as to why they were however. Yet they couldn't open their mouths and scream. Impaled in their hands and feet were spikes connected to strings that tailed up into the rafters of the stage. The two ancients could smell and see the strawberry jam leaking from their puncture wounds. Their mouths, at least, were magically sealed. The look of fear in the trio of children's eyes was enough to strike panic and horror within the two ancients. Yet neither of them could leave their seats to help. " Here we have three, small, fragile little cookies. I'm sure that you two care about them a bunch, yes?" The beast said with a chuckle. The strings on Strawberry Cookie pulled taut, and the ancients could only watch as she was forced to pull out her lollipop hammer and turn towards Wizard Cookie. " So, theoretically... You'd be rather heartbroken if you watched them smash each other into pieces." " No!" Pure Vanilla yelled, extending a hand and reaching forwards in his seat to try and stop what was going to happen. The Lollipop hammer was swung down, the lights cutting out as a sickening crack filled the theater. The lights turn back on, revealing that Strawberry Cookie had hit a jar of Sweet Jelly Jam instead of Wizard Cookie's head. The pink clad cookie was crying, all three of them still looked terrified. " But, it's far too early in the show for a character death, especially a main character death." The beast tutted, " So, here's the deal. If you re-unite me with my other, much more pathetic half, then I'll let these three go! Easy-peasy! But if you refuse... Well, then little Strawberry is gonna get an encore! And this time... She'll be hitting her target." The Beast cackled in a sickening manner after he finished speaking, and a snap of fingers rang out through the theater. The Ancients watched in horror as they collapsed to the ground, the theater around them fading away as the trio looked to them with pleading expressions. They felt the forest floors of Beast Yeast below them once more, but what could they do? Gingerbrave and his friends were in danger, bad, bad danger. And yet they couldn't hand over Shadow Milk's good half, who knows what the Beast would do to the guy if he goes back? So then... what were they supposed to do? ... They should probably contact Reader Cookie before anything.

[corviiids]

For the director's cut fanfic thing: ⭐⭐⭐ (these are THREE stars valid for whatever. I'm giving you blank checks)

thank you again <3

blank check 2/3 goes back to as you like it again! but this time i want to talk about my shadow designs for the akechi bossfights we've encountered in the preceding chapters >:3 there are five - the Puppet, the Singer, the Bard, the Dancer, and the Magician.

but this got really ABSURDLY long this time so ill stick to mostly the Puppet, and just do a brief ("brief") overview of the others for now.......

(for context: this is my palace au and akechi's keywords are akechi goro, the world, theatre.)

the Puppet (photos of giant puppets below if that freaks you out!)

the first Wing the thieves encounter is the puppet show, and the boss shadow is a giant marionette:

For one thing, it’s huge—maybe three or four times the size of a human being. It’s also gleaming, carefully polished and buffed, reflecting light more viciously in the areas where it seems the wood might be chipped or worn. The polish throws the lines of joints and pieces into sharp relief, giving the puppet the general impression of something whole that had been cut up and pieced slowly together with hinges and nails. Behind it, mostly concealed by its limp bulk, is a door. As they might have gleaned from the chatter of the audience, the show does not yet seem to have begun. As such, the puppet on stage is limp on its strings. Most disturbingly, it’s draped backward, not forward, snapped unnaturally at the spine and giving it the extremely uncanny look of a corpse on uneven ceiling hooks. They can just make out the side of the thing’s eyes from where they’re standing. Gravity has not been kind to them: the puppet’s eyelids are dropped open, bulging eyes left wide and staring up as far back as the build will let them. They haven’t rolled all the way into the wooden skull, presumably because they can’t. Instead, the unseeing yellow eyes remain fixed on the back corner of the stage. The puppet is entirely still. “I think I’m going to be sick,” Makoto says faintly.

i think the Puppet is my favourite of the five because he's so disturbing. i imagine he looks a bit like the giant marionettes by the french street theatre show royal de luxe:

but i really love these guys, so i think it's uncharitable to say akechi's shadow looks exactly like them. i know giant puppets are always a little freaky but i genuinely love the royal de luxe puppets and i think the workmanship on these does genuinely do a ton of work to dispel that uncanny vibe.

puppet akechi on the other hand is absolutely drenched in uncanny valley, so i guess imagine these puppets but much scarier. the main thing is those places where different pieces of wood are joined, in the joints / on the limbs / etc, because that's very key to puppet akechi's look in my mind, hence "something whole that had been cut up and pieced slowly together with hinges and nails". the Puppet is a marionette, but the way he's been constructed and set up on stage almost calls to mind the imagery of a corpse that's been reconstructed to perform. the way he moves is really unnatural:

Ren is beginning to think they might be able to get past and slip through that door without a fight when the whole creature rears up, back strings going taut, and lashes wildly out at him with a horrible clack of its arms—he leaps back and crashes directly into Haru, who catches and dips him like a princess before twirling him frantically into Ryuji and the puppet gouges a deep gash in the stage floor.    As they watch it screeches, howls an unnatural shriek, eyes suddenly wide and bulging larger. They ‘blink’ a few times, eyelids flipping, then the puppet Akechi goes limp on its strings again, though decidedly more upright than before, like whoever’s pulling the strings is now on guard. Its eyes stay open this time, bright gold and piercing.

very much not like something exercising its own agency, but like a body on strings being operated by someone who did not care to practice in the artistry of operating a puppet to make it look like a live thing - the puppet is literally just a tool to be flailed about.

this also shows in the way the puppet sits when it's at rest. guys do you know how god damn hard it is to find normal pictures of puppets? when you google marionette it just comes up with a bunch of fnaf shit. anyway check this guy out

at rest, they usually just kind of dangle innocently, or might slouch forward if given too much slack, right? it was important to me that puppet akechi look very wrong at rest, as if he's not "at rest" so much as he's just been left to hang. hence: "it’s draped backward, not forward, snapped unnaturally at the spine and giving it the extremely uncanny look of a corpse on uneven ceiling hooks." i'm basically imagining meat hooks, like, in a slaughterhouse or something you know? like he's just dangling from those.

that imagery was inspired by persona 5 dancing, actually - akechi's finishing pose in his dance is this:

this is just such an unnatural pose. when i saw it for the first time, i just couldn't get the image out of my head of a string puppet who'd been hung up and left to dangle without any regard for how it might look or feel (lol). not to mention that blank look in his eyes. i think a lot of the Puppet was born from this dance because the dance itself is so dynamic and silly but then the lead-up to the end suddenly gets very jerky and puppet-like. i really like his dance!

the Puppet's battle mechanic is that the applause will continue as long as the Puppet is either acting or getting hurt (kind of like the mettaton fight in undertale actually?). if the applause stops, then the Puppet will be inflicted with Despair - in p5 the Despair effect means you lose SP for each turn and then instantly die on the third turn. makoto ends up healing the Puppet and yusuke mercy-kills it before it can commit suicide:

Fox silently raises his gun. The Thieves collectively flinch as the Puppet dissipates. The applause starts back up. “If we’d left things silent,” Yusuke says, “it would have only happened again.”

because this is the first shadow bossfight the thieves encounter in the Theatre, i needed it to have some broader implications (vs some of the later shadows who have more specific interactions). so obviously the analogue for akechi is that the performance needs to continue and he needs to continue receiving acknowledgement from the public / from shido / etc because if he's not useful and entertaining and noticeable and such, then he's nothing - his life doesn't mean anything. obviously, if he doesnt perform for shido (perform in the sense of working, but also in the sense of showmanship) he'll probably be killed. but also, akechi really externalises his sense of self to an insane degree. the conceit of the palace is essentially that his entire internal world is the show, it's just this shallow performance, the backstage is empty. if he stops existing in the cognition of the masses, he essentially "stops existing".

i think a lot about third semester akechi in royal and how completely he's faded from public awareness. he doesn't care because he's a dead man walking and has locked into nihilism at that point. but if you look at what akechi says in the engine room:

his voice when he says this says a lot to me. akechi's envisioning the world as it will look when he has to return and face the consequences of the world discovering what's behind the curtain and realising his credibility was all a show. to be honest, i think this also plays a role in his decision to sacrifice himself in this scene. i don't think he wanted to die, but i think he did realise that the post-thieves, post-truth world wasn't a place that held anything for him anymore, and his desire to return to that reality was dramatically weakened, so it was an easier decision for him to choose to make that sacrifice than it otherwise might have been.

um, i had a point. okay, so, i was saying that once the applause stops, the Puppet begins to despair. the Puppet also is the most direct representation of akechi as someone who is being used. all the shadow bosses correlate to some aspect of akechi's need to perform and to the varying reasons why they all have that sense of desperation:

“Kinda feels like they’re just defendin’ themselves, you know,” [Ryuji] says. “Or somethin’. Look too much like him. It’s weird they can’t talk, cos it’s like fighting a dumb animal. Don’t they all seem real scared to you?” None of Akechi’s Shadows have delivered grand speeches about conquering the world. Even Futaba’s Shadow had given them a fairly strong indication of what was going on with her, that overwhelming guilt which had given birth to a resolve to lock herself up in her mind and die. Akechi’s Shadows have lashed out, tried to destroy them, sure. But it feels different in a way that’s growing more and more impossible to ignore. Desperate to fend them off, more than anything, like each one is the final bastion standing for a world that could crumble at any moment.

that's why once you figure out how to stop each shadow's "show" from going on, they instantly die:

ripping the Singer's mask off causes him to cease to exist (see below)

silencing the Bard, who relies on the power of his words to manipulate others, removes his power and reveals that he's pretty easy to take down

the Dancer's feet are always bleeding because he can't stop moving. he's hard to catch, but the moment he stops dancing, he's revealed to have extremely low defence and can be taken out very easily

but the Puppet is literally being manipulated by a puppetmaster. because he no longer has any use when the applause stops, he no longer has a reason to exist. i also just thought this would be a fun effect to start on because it's so drastic as an introduction to akc's psyche and really gives the thieves a sense of what they're working with by throwing them directly into the deep end.

ok let's leave the puppet behind for now. im gonna be more brief with the others i promise (maybe)

the Singer

LET'S TALK about. beneath the mask. a song about ren. but it's also a song about goro.

I'm a shape-shifter at Poe's masquerade Hiding both face and mind All free for you to draw

the fic goes over some of my meta about this:

[Yusuke] I have done some research. [Makoto] Oh? [Yusuke] I believe when the Opera Shadow sang of “Poe’s Masquerade”, he was referring to a short story by Edgar Allan Poe, entitled “The Masque of the Red Death”.

eternally grateful for the scene during the pyramid arc where yusuke loredumps about egyptian mythology so i have precedent to do this

yusuke summarises the story in this chapter (chapter 4), but basically: the story is about rich people abandoning the common folk to a plague, until a personification of the plague wearing a red mask enters the castle. when his mask is removed, it's revealed there is nothing underneath. everyone in the castle then succumbs to the plague.

the superficial connections to akechi are pretty obvious - red mask, plague doctor. etc. but this song is really, really telling for both ren and goro. i briefly went over this in my last dvd commentary post about the palace fic, but this relates to my meta around both of them as mask wearers. the line "all free for you to draw" is a big one - ren is "all free for you," the player, "to draw" - he becomes who you need him to be, and because you need to max out your confidants, he becomes (via you) who his friends need him to be.

goro is similar on a different scale because he moulds his personality to what the public expects him to be. he takes it one step further, because it's less utility for him and more foundational - as i said, to an extent the performance is the substance of his personality, which is the core of the distortion. so both ren and goro are wearing the mask, malleable in character, their actual personality being somewhat questionable, but that emptiness is only true for goro. ren's definitely got something underneath it, but goro feels like he doesn't.

brief cw for suicidal ideation, but i also generally take it as a given that goro doesn't really expect to live past 18 after defeating shido. not that he's actively suicidal, but i think literally or figuratively he knows after shido's downfall, his own life will pretty much be over, and that's part of what drives the emptiness. the show really only needs to go on until that point, and after that there's no need to build a real thing underneath to return to. he's very much living for that goal.

anyway: so the Singer starts out singing the Phantom of the Opera - the Shadow is very much modelled after the phantom - but swaps to beneath the mask and begins to connect with ren. the Singer wears a red mask. i really like this mask! i envision it as looking like someone pouring blood over his face and then the blood freezing in place, so it just looks very molten and liquid but fixed over half his face.

ren defeats the Singer by ripping his mask off:

[Ren] Please don’t take off my mask, revealing dark [Ann] OMG!! [Ann] THAT’S WHAT HAPPENED WHEN WE TOOK OFF HIS MASK!! [Ann] HE REVEALED DARK!!!! [Ann] HE DISAPPEARED!!!!!!!!!!

(i love the thieves because i dont have to be subtle about my symbolism i can just make them say it)

anyway, just like the figure in the Masque of the Red Death, ripping off the Singer's mask reveals "dark" underneath - he ceases to exist.

Just a cage of bones There's nothing inside

the Bard and the Dancer

when i was first plotting this fic, i was actually designing the palace not as a written environment but as though it would be a playable place. so a lot of it is informed by me picturing what this palace would be like to play through and explore, building it out as a video game environment in my mind's eye and then trying to describe it from that point. i took the same approach to the bossfights, so they're all designed around central gameplay mechanics which are largely based on status effects and how the player would strategise around them. (to that end, a lot of the design stuff in my doc never made it into the fic...)

the conceit of the bard was a shadow who can manifest abstract concepts into being by manipulating reality with his words. so the status effects he uses are brainwash and sleep, mostly. his monologues are modified versions of shakespeare's works.

part of the reason why i started writing this fic was specifically to challenge myself in aras of writing im not very confident in: so longform planning, progression of plot, environment description, and action scenes being major ones. writing all the boss fights was and continues to be a real challenge. the chapter that the bard shows up in (chapter 5) ended up taking ages and ages in part because i kept putting off writing this fight. now that it's done, though, the bard fight is actually maybe my favourite fight scene i've written lol. it always turns out that way!!! the reason i like it is because i realised the physical action wasn't the fun part of writing a fight like this. since it was focused on status effects, it meant i got to crawl into ren's headspace when he got brainwashed, which i really really enjoyed doing because i got to drag out some trauma that joker has lovingly repressed.

   to set my fellows, phantoms in the wings    in deadly hate the one against the other…    This isn’t the Casino. This is somewhere else entirely. The Casino, and everything that came with it, that was months ago. How did he forget? The cottonwool that had crept so slowly into his blood dissipates in a mad rush that leaves him dizzy with disbelief. His hands, now that he can feel them again, are trembling. The knife between his fingers, trembling. The cool floor beneath him, the air in his lungs. How close had he come to never feeling that again?    Had he really just been feeling safe about that plan? Had he really felt everything was going to be okay? If anything had gone wrong—anything at all—he’d have been gone. He’d have been dead. How had they made it so he felt okay with that?    A trick? A ruse?    How blasé they’d all been, when it was his life they were gambling with like a worthless set of poker chips! And they’re here—all around him. Safe? He’s never been in more danger.    “Joker!”    Surrounded. He’s surrounded by the ones who left him for dead.

the Dancer doesn't get as much attention in text because i didn't want to slow down the pacing of the story every few minutes to do another huge scene tgat doesn't really serve a purpose, just like the exploration of the Globe Wing didn't. all that mattered was that he was shown to be adaptable, agile, and resilient - the Dancer needs to be in top condition at all times and ready to dodge any threat. the imagery that came through to me the strongest was the idea that his feet are always bleeding, so he leaves bloodstains all over the floor.

the Magician

this was another scene i adored writing. i think environment-wise, the House of Cards is my favourite Wing in the palace because it's the most unique structure. it's not a styled theatre like the others, it's more on-theme to the Magician, like he's set up his own performance environment. so it's just a huge house of cards made of crumbling playing cards which is really difficult to navigate and which joker kind of blends into.

the premise for the Magician was someone who needs to perform miracles and present impossible illusions as reality with a flair for drama. the Magician fools the Thieves over and over and over again, because they are good-hearted people who want to save him.

did you ever see that unused mementos request in royal where akechi tells the thieves about a target to save someone, and doesn't tell them that the someone in question is dodgy themself, and watches to see how quickly the Thieves immediately trust them?

i don't think i based this fight off this request because im pretty sure i had it planned out before i ever saw this, but i was really pleased to see it because it's very much the same idea. even in the engine room, akechi calls the thieves idiots for inviting him back into the team. of course, this isn't a good or healthy worldview lol and it's something he has to unlearn because he literally trusts no one and that's not an extreme anyone should be endorsing, but he also has a point in that the thieves are willing to throw their faith into things way too easily and don't look critically at people or situations. so the magician fools them, victimises them, tricks them into considering him a victim, fools them again, traumatises them, but they all continue to feel empathy for him and try to save him when he's in trouble. akc's cynicism vs the thieves' faith is a big theme of this one i think and the question is like, when to doubt vs when to trust even when you have evidence to the opposition. i think the right position is somewhere between thesis and antithesis (which iirc is not actually the wording hegel used when describing dialectics? lol... i might be wrong. i never studied hegel so my knowledge is pretty superficial. but i think this was a translation thing anyway because allegedly goro doesnt refer directly to hegel in jp? someone can confirm or deny idk)

anyway those are the bossfights we've had so far!!! just the VIP Box to go now......................... :3

[seth-whumps]

hey Kia! it’s been a while since I’ve popped over here. how’s life? what’s existence like? hope you’re doing well :]

so! being poisoned. the sudden weakness in whumpee’s limbs as their muscles give out on them, flopping to the like a puppet with strings cut, sweaty and shaking and panting for air. or perhaps the decline is gradual, and it’s a little harder to move every day till they’re slumping against walls and countertops every other step, mind dull and fuzzy with fatigue, fevered and numb and slowly slipping away.

antidotes that hurt, feel like fire surging through sickened blood, that prickle so fiercely it feels like a thousand little needles to hypersensitive skin. emetics to purge the system, hunched over on hands and knees with caretaker’s soothing hand on their back. creeping black veins and sickly-pallored faces and lips so pale they’re almost blue.

being forced to drink it. acrid bitter liquid tipped down an unwilling throat, gagging on the taste and coughing hard in a futile attempt to avoid the inevitable. whumper grabbing whumpee by the chin or the throat or yanking their head back by the hair, rough and hard enough to cause hand-shaped bruises. pinching their nose shut so that whumpee has no choice but to open their mouth lest they suffocate or pass out from lack of oxygen, wherein whumper would force it down anyway.

being found half-dead on the floor, burning cheek pressed to cold linoleum. shadowed eyes rolled back into their head, utterly limp and pale. laboured breaths and face twisted with pain whether unconscious or not. delirious murmurs as caretaker frantically shakes their shoulders, then lifts them off the ground to move them, careful not to move to quickly - or maybe it’s an emergency, and whumpee is thrown over a shoulder like a sack of potatoes, knocking the air out of them.

just. yeah. poison.

life has been wild!! but i'm thriving. got some pretty sweet opportunities coming my way, and I have decided to whump about it. thank you for asking, you're so sweet <3

and as for the prompts? YES. i love you. this is so brilliant. it's the little things, the changes in breathing, the slight stumbles, the blank zoned-out look of confusion before forcefully snapping back into the present. and the caretaking!!!! it's so frantic, you can't just let them wait it, you need to do something, and if you're too late whumpee's dead.

this trope, is for lack of a better term, delicious. and you NAILED IT so so so good

[fuzzyhenry]

Revenge

A peculiar form of irony brought me to him, the truck driver who had been the cause of my unexpected demise.

The man was stocky, broad-shouldered, a silhouette of strength curled up in the tin can of his battered truck cab. His hands, large and calloused, gripped the steering wheel, white-knuckled from the shock. His eyes, the color of a stormy sky, darted around in panic, encapsulating his fear and guilt. He was dressed in a plaid shirt that had seen better days, stretched over his substantial belly. His trucker cap cast a shadow on his rough, unshaven face, making him seem even more formidable.

I approached him, drawn by the frenzied energy that surrounded him. I sensed his panic, the raw fear that hung around him like a shroud. I moved closer, the cold of my incorporeal form merging with the palpable heat of his living body. The shock hit him like a bolt of lightning. His hands slipped from the wheel as he gasped for breath, his eyes rolled back in his head momentarily, the sharp flicker of resistance shining through before disappearing.

He slumped back into the seat, a puppet whose strings had been abruptly cut. His arms fell lifelessly to his sides and his muscular legs sprawled out before him awkwardly. His chest heaved with each labored breath as I seeped into him, feeling the powerful rhythm of his heart beneath me, a rhythm I would soon control.

I wrapped myself around his consciousness and started to push. His body shuddered in a last, desperate attempt to resist my intrusion, but it was in vain. Soon, the tremors subsided, his mind fell into a deep slumber, and I took over. I flexed his fingers, feeling the tough skin on his - or rather, my- hands. I ran them across my unshaven face, feeling my stubble prickling against my palms.

Now in control, I leaned back into my seat and stretched out. I took a moment to examine my new form. I admired my muscular arms, the ruddy complexion of my skin under the harsh white lights of the cab, the rough texture of the work-worn clothes. The light illuminated my robust figure, the angularity of my face, and the stubble across my cheeks. The panic was gone, replaced by my calm curiosity.

The truck driver who'd inadvertently ended my life was now asleep and I was awake, in charge, and ready to start my next chapter.

[asukiess]

omg what do you think the chat blanc version of cat walker would be like?? what would his name be?? now I kinda need some akumatized cat walker

hi!! I think about this CB-varient CW art piece by pattiemayigen like once a week lmao.

if we think about the love aspect of the episode Chat Blanc--the dating, the reveal, the "our love did this to the world"--well, I personally envision a much more cold, ruthless CB!CW. There's no wildness like Chat Blanc; there's no exposition hints, no mention of love. there's a singular stuck command from Hawk Moth/Shadow Moth, and that's to destroy Ladybug. I was thinking velours écrasé, or crushed velvet, as the name. I was thinking crushed personality, crushed love---repressed through and through!

that's about as far as I got before I needed to consult my friends for their good good ideas as I'm much better at brainstorming with others--@nemaliwrites, @blur0se, @heartfulselkie and I talked about the following vibes: much easier to control, very puppet-like. Could easily be swayed as Cat Walker's need to be what other people want is turned to a dangerous level. Gold cord turned into marionette strings to enforce the puppet vibe; perhaps even some sort of infectious rot like a doll slowly wearing down; stuffing coming loose. Ladybug has to cut the strings to save him, and then supports him by bringing him in for a hug..... or kiss :3

@pisoprano had the wonderful idea of a very Alliance-like Catwalker, very generically pleasant and completely lifeless.

@ladyofthenoodle suggested a very end-of-S5 Alliance!Catwalker, one where people are put into a daze and told exactly what they want to hear and his voice is pleasant and sweet, so much so they don't want to fight anymore.

And once again I was reminded by Dagger that I am always thinking of Catwalker and Tin Soldier parallels and Ladybug is the burned ballerina doll.....

anyway I hope this give you and everyone else something tasty to munch on!! <3 tagged and untagged people may join in with their thoughts!

[hastalavistabyebye]

Hi! Tell me about "Forever dying Fox" please? I love my boy so much I wanna know more of his sufferingXDD

Aah my super meta fic xD

This is based on the concept (fact ?) that the details of a story change everytime it's told and the question : What if Fox was subconsciously aware of what happened the last time the story was told ? Very meta I know, hopefully I explain it better in the fic.

Anyway, Fox dies again and again until he manages not only to go to the end of the story but also to change the little details in the background enough to make it turn in his favor.

Or what could The Clone Wars (and star wars at large I believe) be like if Fox won enough sentience as a character xD

Trigger warning under the cut : suicidal thoughts and well, Fox dies (but that's not really a surprise thanks to the title)

He went through the entire story a first time, playing his role in the shadows without changing anything, doing what he was told to do. He took care of his men as best he could, bent in front of Palpatine as low as he was ordered to. Thorn’s death was especially hard, a white-hot blaze in his mind and soul, burning burning burning. The pain was weaved inside the scar it left. Getting back on his feet without his best friend, his hope and joy, was one of the most difficult things he ever did. Often he looked at his blaster in his hands, black plastoid seeming to smile back at him, indulgently, inviting. Everytime it was harder and harder to look away. Because every time there was another once-loved name bouncing in his mind with all the others already there. 

Somehow he still managed to get through it and to wait, even if he didn’t know that it was what he was doing. The story finally ended for him on the stairs of the Jedi Temple, like a puppet with cutted strings. 

I might should have choose a safer snippet but well, there's a lot of that going on in this WIP. The comfort is here too, but Fox does pass a big long time in the meat grinder 😅

WIP game

[aurum-k-chatters]

Revisiting Reflectmon, a decade+ old OC.

Was talking to my friend about my TTRPG character, Mercutio, and we got to discussing fictional character digimon partners. The questions was odd for me because Mercutio was technically a spin off of a decade+ old digimon OC, Reflectmon.

We got to talking about how different the two characters ended up being, and I realized... I made that original design over 10 years ago with very few changes. I'm better at character design now, and should take another crack at it based on the original concept I was going for! So here is a redesigned Reflectmon!I don't think I'd change there name, but if I were to choose a name now "Flectiomon" would work too. (Like reflection, deflection, inflection, etc.)

I've very please with how it turned out. I know some people might prefer the original, But I think what was lost from the original is still mostly present in the spin-off/spiritual successor TTRPG character mentioned earlier.

I'll leave some rambling notes below the post for anyone curious! (Warning. I repeat myself a lot.)

So the original Reflectmon was designed around 2013. (It might have been even earlier, however a lot of my early art work is unfortunately lost to time.)

I have a better understanding of character design now, and I wanted to make the new design more conceptually cohesive.

Here's what worked: - Marionette + Ball jointed doll themes - The mirror mask that emotes in fun ways like a TV screen. - Eyeless face underneath that is a little creepy. - More humanoid appearance.

What Could Be Improved: - The devil tail was an x-men reference, because I really loved Nightcrawler when I designed this character, and the Mercuremon line were listed as "Mutant Type" digimon (haha). However, it is only vaguely related to the actual character concept (via shadow Seraphimon) and really didn't make that much sense by itself. I didn't want to removed it completely as it was good for the character silhouette. So I replaced it with a Marionette string that acts like a tail instead! We go more with the theme, AND we still have a sort of tail. - The hat, while a reference to AncientWisemon & Wizardmon, went too far in a different direction. Now it references AncientWisemon's hat and Mercuremon's helmet more closely. - Design was a bit busy over all and needed some toning down and streamlining. - Pushed the Marionette + Ball jointed doll themes further with more obvious ball-joints and puppet-like aspects. - Adjusted face and hair colors to have a more faux-porcelain-doll look that a lot of ball-jointed dolls have. They also now have a ball-jointed doll bowl cut. - I don't remember why I put X's on the eyelids under the mask? I think I just thought it looked cool? My best guess is I was going for a "see no evil" thing since Mercuremon had a bunch of church stuff in Digimon Frontier, but I have no idea. Anyway those are gone now since they didn't help the design read any better. - Other minor color adjustments to help with contrast.

Reflectmon, as the spirit of steel (a man made alloy), is supposed to be depicted as a toy made of synthetic material (as opposed to the wood spirit, who is made of natural material). This is why I wanted to really reference the look of ball jointed dolls, which are usually made of plastic, and can have a porcelain look. I'm over all happy with the new look!