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#☓ Puppets on Strings {Threads}

anemcreign · 2 months

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Starter for @papilio-anima

Scaramouche grimaced as he tries to move his damaged body, stupid hilichurls and their weapons. He was stronger than some feeble mindless creatures, he continued to force his body to move as the puppet lines in the joints of his elbows slowly became visible.

He didn't have a heart nor normal flowing blood as his body was entirely mechanical, made by a Archon and highly durable to withstand even the hardest of blows.

The fact that he was 'injured' like this was pitiful, he ventures near a vast forest of sorts as there seemed to be wisps just floating.

What exactly was this place?

He scoffed as he continued onward, cautious of anyone or anything that might be lurking near him.

----⚡----

#papilio anima #Puppet Without Strings[ Scaramouche - Crossovers & Canon Threads⚡]#long post #body horrow cw

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deathsplaything · 5 months

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A Puppet on Strings || Alistair & Zofia

Location: Streets of Oldtown Timing: December 8th, evening Parties: Alistair (@deathsplaything) & Zofia (@zofiawithaz) Summary: Zofia goes out to kill someone she swears is her captor, but Alistair stops her before she goes too far.

She had them pinned against the wall. To the odd passersby it would probably look like a lovers embrace. Except for the fact that Zofia’s teeth were firmly planted in the man’s neck, and his gurgled, whispered pleas.

It looked just like him.

Just like him.

She’d been minding her own business, getting herself a damn drink and then there he was. Next to her at the bar, talkingtalkingtalking, offering to buy her a drink with that same smile- that same smug grin that had leered down at her as he dug and carved for answers she didn’t have and wouldn’t give. Talking, taunting, sitting next to her.

She wished he’d been the one she killed when she escaped. But this was her chance. This was it- he was so foolish, following her outside, letting her get close, going into an alley with her. She didn’t care if it hurt, if the blood burned- she’d bite him anyway just because she could. She’d sunk her teeth in deep, surprised to find his blood didn’t burn. So she drank. Drank and tried to fill the Sofie sized void in her chest. The one that still thought of Cassius, of her clan of everything that came before.

Then her jaw opened. And she was pulled away.

She snarled, confused as to just the fuck was happening. Zofia went to launch herself back at him, but she felt stuck. Like a spider’s delicate webs had stuck to her limbs and were controlling her.

Like a puppet.

She felt like she was restrained again. Like she was back there. Had this all been a cruel dream? A joke? Had she never escaped to begin with? Fuck that, fuck all of that- she let out a scream, frantic to be free of the trap.

____________

He had been walking home from making the bank deposit, something he didn’t do often, but Alistair had insisted after Melody had to tend to her daughter at home who wasn’t feeling well. So with Brutus in hand, he was simply walking home. The sun had already gone down and the bank was just about to close as he arrived. He had almost gotten home when he heard it. With his hearing better because of his loss of sight, he heard whimpering, and not the kind one wanted to hear. Not the good kind.

Using Brutus to see, he almost groaned aloud when he saw her. It was Zofia. Of course it was Zofia. He had to think quickly if he wanted to stop her from killing the man. He hesitated, and for a moment he wondered if he should stop her. No, he had to act. Closing his eyes, he channeled into the magic around him, feeling the surge hit him as soon as he tapped into it. Alistair put a hand out in front of him, and threads of a pale green smoke began to encompass Zofia, attaching to her body like threads. This magic wouldn’t last long, but enough to yank her away from the man. He pulled his hand back, and it yanked her away. The as soon as it had been cast, the magic disappeared. Alistair opened his eyes. He felt his own energy dissipate.

“You can’t just kill people because you feel like it.” He called out to her, arms crossed over his chest. “And you’re going to get yourself into more trouble if you keep doing that.” He wagged a finger at her, advancing closer like a viper about to strike. The man had long since crumpled to the ground. Alive, but barely. “Dammit, Zofia. I took a chance on you and this is what you do with your time?”

__________

Him.

She knew him. But he wasn’t from before, he was from after. Why was he here? Maybe it wasn’t a dream- she had gotten out, she was free. Emotions spiraled as she kept chanting the four letter word to herself in her mind: free.

He was… scolding her? Why was he scolding her, she wasn’t a child. She was easily six times older than he was and he was wagging his finger at her like she was a naughty child with her hand in the cookie jar. “You knew what I was when you took a chance. And I can kill people if I feel like it when they-“

A groan sounded from the other end of the alley, and Zofia’s focus shifted back to the man on the ground. It was almost done, she could finish this. The vampire shifted, ready to strike again.

But then she saw the man’s blood streaked face. She really saw it.

And it wasn’t her captor.

It was someone else entirely. Someone who had the same eyes, perhaps, the same smile…but other than those small details, there was no real resemblance. Her mind had been prepared to condemn him to death for a sin he hadn’t committed. Her eyes widened, and she stared at what she’d done. She pressed bloodstained fingertips to her mouth in horror.

“Fix it.” She whispered, frantic eyes darting to the blind man and his dog. “I have to fix it. I’ll fix it- you should go. You should go, it’s not safe. Bad things are out this time of night.” She clearly wasn’t having a sane enough day to be around people, and she didn’t want to hurt someone who’d done her the kindness of offering her shelter.

________

As Alistair held Brutus’s harness a little tighter, he waited. Thankfully, Brutus wouldn’t let harm befall him, but he wasn’t sure if the dog would have time to register it. “Take him to get help and then meet me at the flat. We have things to discuss.” His tone indicated that this wasn’t up for debate. This was a demand. “Don’t make me have to do that again.” He then spoke in a quieter, more desperate tone. It was strange that he was so hard-pressed about controlling the undead and raising the dead when he easily sacrificed people to save someone else. But even still, it was his line in the sand he didn’t like to cross.

“I can’t fix this mistake. The best you can do is get him to a hospital and leave him there.” He turned around to leave, shaking his head. “Come on, Brutus.” He murmured to his dog, who began to guide him back toward home. Whether she would join him there remained to be seen. As he walked home, he couldn’t help but feel even more idiotic than before. A vampire was going through something, and he let her into his home. Alistair always knew his inability to leave people to struggle would do him in, but not this quickly. She needed real help, and he couldn’t give it. He didn’t know anyone that would be equipped to help her. Then again, he was sure the therapists in Wicked’s Rest had seen some serious shit.

He needed answers from her that she hadn’t been willing to give in the past. But now, now that Alistair knew she was killing people? He had to do something. He just hoped it didn’t have to be in the form of her as a sacrifice. “Don’t be a fool,” he muttered to himself as he walked. No, he couldn’t do nothing. Not anymore.

Time passed Zofia in a blur. Her mind registered the words he said, at least partially. Dropping a man at the hospital unexplained wasn’t usually an easy task, but when his neck looked as though a hungry animal had gone in for a taste it made things more difficult. She’d made quick work of it, quick as she could. Moving quickly enough so that no one would pay too much notice to ‘the Samaritan dropping off the man’. The blood soaked Samaritan who’d been responsible for the whole affair.

She left the hospital and made her way through the darkened alleys of town, trying to get her head on straight. It had looked just like him. Sounded like him. It was him, it had to have been- and yet it wasn’t. She should have known the instant his blood touched her tongue and she’d gone unscathed. And yet she’d just gorged herself. Zofia pressed herself flat against a cold concrete wall, willing her thoughts to still. And what if he had deserved it. If he had been a terrible person. She ought to have finished the job- it was a waste that she hadn’t finished eating, what was she doing ?!

She was of two minds. One that felt remorse, and one that regretted the interruption. The interruption… How had she stopped, she wondered? Alistair. His words in the alley suddenly clicked into place. Turning on her hell, she changed directions, heading to his flat.

She stood outside the door for ages, trying to decide if she’d knock. Cursing under her breath, she rapped her knuckles against the door and waited.

_______________________________________

After waiting for what felt like years, Alistair finally heard a soft knock at the door. Yep, that was definitely her. He got off the couch and walked across the flat to open the front door wide enough to let her in. “Start talking.” He insisted as he shut the door behind the footsteps of those who had walked into the flat. His tone wasn’t angry, though it was tense. He was withholding judgment until she told her story. He did not explain his power or that he controlled her.

In the center of the living room, the rug had been pulled away to reveal a spell circle. It was nothing special, just a large sigil drawn in white paint on the hardwood floor. “I won’t use it if you don’t give me a reason to.” He explained, knowing it would be the first thing Zofia would notice. “I’m sure you have questions for me as well.” He spoke with a huff as he sat on the sofa, Brutus lying down at his feet. He said nothing, only waiting for her to start talking.

—————————————

Zofia barely walked into the flat. She crossed the threshold, but lingered near the door. She wasn’t about to allow herself to be trapped, not again. And the tension in the air made her feel like the cage was swinging overhead, just waiting for her to step on the trigger.

Then she saw the sigil. She didn’t know what it meant, or what exactly it would do, but she figured she probably didn’t want to find out. Her eyes tracked him as he made his way to the sofa, sitting with Brutus at his feet. He was probably watching from the dogs perspective, making certain she wasn’t about to strike.

She stood in silence, trying to find the words to explain herself. She wasn’t certain where to begin. Zofia swallowed, eyeing the door, debating whether it would be better for her to just flee. “I thought he was someone else. He was someone else- the same face. It was him, and then it wasn’t.” She knew she wasn’t making sense, but rational thought had long since parted ways with her.

“He was sitting there pretending he hadn’t stood there with that smug grin for months- because he didn’t- but I thought it was him. I thought he was there, taunting me. I should have known, the blood wasn’t right. It wasn’t right, it wasn’t him.” She leaned back against the wall, the pressure of it there doing little to soothe the mounting hysteria. Zofia kept wiping her hand against her coat, willing it to be cleansed of the blood that stained it. “I just…. I was like a puppet… How?”

______________

Before he could stop it, a frustrated noise escaped Alistair’s lips. “That’s not an answer.” He growled. “Who is this man you thought he was? What did they do to you?” He knew he was pressing into something that shouldn’t be pressed, but he was frustrated. “I can’t do shit if you give me nothing to work with!” He threw his hands up, then slapped his thighs as he brought his hands back down. He let out a long, frustrated sigh. “Something happened to you. You went missing long enough for your clothes to be in tatters. Start there, what happened?”

Alistair felt like he was trying to grab hold of air the way he was getting fistfuls of nothing from her non-answers. “Who is him?” He asked again, this time in a much calmer voice. “Sit on the couch with me. Take a deep breath.” He patted the empty seat beside him. He wasn’t going to get anywhere by getting angry with her. If anything, that would drive her right out of the flat and back into the night. He wasn’t about to have her hurt another person.

When she began to get sidetracked by asking him about how she had been controlled, he felt his frustration rising again. “I’ll explain that later. After you tell me what caused you to attack that man.” Alistair raised a brow, silent and expectant. Brutus, meanwhile, seemed to be perfectly content at his owner’s feet, eyes closed as he snored softly. He couldn’t help but envy his dog, sleeping soundly through what was easily the most frustrating thing he had dealt with all month, and he dealt with a lot.

The more her panic grew, the greater Alistair’s frustration seemed to get. She knew she wasn’t helping him to understand, not with the fragments that her mind kept circling like a starved vulture. Zofia sunk her teeth into her lip, trying to distract herself from her racing thoughts with anything. And then his tone shifted. Calm. Coaxing. She eyed his hand as he patted the empty spot beside him.

Zofia slowly inched closer, until she was perched on the far edge of the sofa, keeping a healthy space between them. She figured from where she was, she’d only need a few steps to make it to the door. Or, if it went horribly wrong, she could try to go out the window. She sat still, breathing to center herself rather than out of necessity.

“I don’t know who they are. I don’t have a name.” She sighed, rubbing at her face. The dog was asleep, so she didn’t need to worry about him seeing her streaked with a strangers blood and deciding she looked like a monster and that he should find a stake.

“You know about vampires.” Her voice was hollow. As though she could give nothing but the facts of the matter. “So I assume you know about clans. I was part of one in France. Someone has been hunting us for years. I didn’t realize…” she paused, shaking her head. “I was a foolish young thing. You’re impervious to illness, to age… you cheat death and see empires rise and fall. You sit in the lap of luxury and enjoy, never wanting, never hungry, no need to hunt, to fight to survive. And you don’t see the curtain falling.”

“They killed my sire and her husband about sixty or so years ago.” She closed her eyes. “They were like parents to me. I didn’t realize we had been in any danger until they didn’t come back. Henri- one of the other members of our little family, he and I ran for another ten years. We didn’t know if there was anyone left other than us, and if there were they’d probably gone into hiding. And then Henri vanished… I assumed they got him. I haven’t seen him in half a century.”

“I was here in town. I had a life here, I was safe here. I had a new family here I had love.” Her voice wobbled. She smothered the sliver of Sofie that cried out as her story was told. Zofia continued, her voice carefully neutral. “In the summer, they found me. I suppose there are still others they’re chasing, others more dangerous than little Sofie DuPont.” She spat the name out. Like it had betrayed her. Like the kindness and trusting nature of that woman had been her downfall. “So they took me. And I sat alone underground, in the dark for months. They tried to get answers and I didn’t have any. They thought I was holding out. So they kept trying… new methods. Of getting me to talk. One day they made a mistake, and I got out. I took their numbers down by one when I left. I thought it only fair.”

__________

In truth, Alistair didn’t know all that much about vampires. Just the basics: they were real, drank blood, and didn’t like the sun very much. He didn’t bother to explain this to Zofia but attempted to keep up all the same. This clan was a family, then. A family that had been hunted to extinction. He frowned as he took in the new information, head dipping as he processed it all. He didn’t interrupt her as she told her story. It tugged at his heartstrings and left him wanting to take her hand in reassurance. But who’s reassurance? He lifted his hand and slowly drifted it toward the direction of her voice and found it good enough when it landed on her shoulder.

Sofie Du Pont was a new name that she used in malice. It differed from the name she had introduced herself with, Zofia Kowalska. “So this old you, this Sofie Du Pont.” He began, keeping his hand stead on her shoulder. “She was hunted along with the rest of her clan.” He began to repeat the facts back at her to ensure he was getting it all right. “And she was captured and tortured for information. Information she didn’t have.” His frown deepened, and he shifted his weight as he let his hand drop to hers. “Sofie Du Pont died then, didn’t she? That old life she had, it was lost with her innocence.”

He knew what it was like to be hated for what he was. He hadn’t been hunted for sport, but he could understand it to a fraction. “Zofia Kowalska, your real name, then.” He deduced as he crossed one leg over the other. He focused on the sound of Brutus’s breathing momentarily before continuing. “So this person you attacked, you kept saying he was this guy he wasn’t. Your tormentor?” His voice was quiet, as if he feared saying the wrong thing. “I can’t say for certain if these hunters are still around. I’m sure you did a number on them.” He frowned, knowing that housing her could spell trouble for him in the long term. But he’d never turned someone away before. He always helped. “I’ll keep you as safe as I can here. Look into someone to do some basic protection magic around here.”

Alistair sighed, realizing it was his turn to explain things. “I told you before that I wield magic.” He began, shifting his body in the direction of Zofia’s voice. “I’m a necromancer.” There, he had said it. No going back now. “Death magic, if you will. And since you are dead, I can control you if I need to. Because I saw you killing someone, I used it to get you off of him. It's not a big ritual. That comes with sigils.” He gestured vaguely at the ground, referring to the spell circle he had drawn out on the floor. The paint was raised, undoubtedly so that he could feel where everything was. “What I did back in the ally was a very temporary spell. The more complexities I put into it, the more effective it can become.” He removed his glasses, revealing the burn scars covering the top half of his face. “The glasses I wear are enchanted. They hide the sacrifice I gave to heal someone.” He didn’t mention that it hadn’t worked. “The way I use necromancy is to heal people. But like all magic, it comes with a big price tag.” He put his hands out before him, tipping them like a scale. “To heal someone,” he raised one hand higher than the other, “another must take on their wounds.” He lofted the other hand high. “Balance must be maintained. Necromancy is all about balance. To bring someone back from death, another must die.” He fell silent, waiting for her to say something. “Now we know each other better.”

————————————————————-

Her eyes opened as the weight of a hand settled on her shoulder. She flinched in surprise, but she didn’t pull away. It was like having a tether for a boat in a storm so it didn’t drift off and get dragged out to sea. “They were French, I lived in France for the most part… I was a new thing. I thought a new name fit.” Her eyes settled shut when his hand found hers, recounting the end of her story. Zofia let out a ragged breath, leaning back into the cushion of the couch, wishing it would magically open up and swallow her whole. “She did. She’s still in here I think… like a ghost in a haunted house. She drifts through sometimes. But I can’t be her anymore.”

“My birth name, yes.” She confirmed. They sat in silence a beat before he continued. As he spoke, Zofia’s heart ached in her chest. The gentleness is what broke her. She sniffled, pulling herself away from comfort she did not deserve. “It wasn’t him.” Guilt dripped from her words. “I thought it was him, but it wasn’t… it was so real though- I.” She crossed her arms tightly across her chest. “He looked like who I assumed was the leader of the operation.” Her voice was void of expression as she fought to keep herself stead, hastily swiping at tears before they could fall. “I only got out because they’d only left one behind to guard. They didn’t think I was a threat. If it had been more than one. I’d likely be making my eternal resting place on the inside of some bastard's vacuum cleaner.”

Her eyes darted over at his offer and she shook her head. “I’m more trouble than I’m worth. I may too by on occasion, but I will not stay long enough to bring trouble to your door. You don’t want to deal with these people.”

Zofia watched carefully as he explained his side of the story. Her heart ached a little as he half explained what had happened to his eyes. She hoped that whatever he’d saved for the cost of his sight, that the price had been worth it. “Could you have borrowed from me?” She asked, unsure of how it worked. “To fix him? Or no, because I’m not alive, technically.”

____________________

Alistair thought for a moment. It was easy to separate the person he was before he lost Mikael from the person he was after he lost him. After all, it had been defined by more than just losing him. The loss of his sight had defined it, and as a result, a loss of the career he had left his family for. “I get it,” he spoke, voice almost a whisper with how quiet it was. He didn’t talk about this stuff. Not even Melody knew much about his time before Mikael. All of it was just too painful for him. What he’d lost, the treatment given to him by his parents, all of it. “She’ll always be there, even if you don’t want her to be. She’s who you are, even if you don’t want to see it. She’s still you, but she’s been molded by trauma.”

“No,” Alistair spoke as she recounted the man she had attacked. “He wasn’t. You have to learn not to trust your own mind for a little bit.” He frowned, crossing his arms over his chest. “I had a partner. We were together for eight years. Not the point. Point is, he got taken one night by a deranged psycho who wanted the family secrets. He got hurt, and I couldn’t save him. I kept seeing the man who hurt him all over the place, but it was never him. I was so hung up on finding him that I lost myself for a bit. Took a while to pick up the pieces.” He blinked, eyes glancing over in her general direction. “It’s okay to take a while to pick up the pieces, Zofia.” His voice was gentle. He didn’t know if she would be receptive to his words, but he had to try at least to appeal to the part of her that wasn’t driven mad by bloodlust.

“I know I don’t have to help you, and I know the dangers. But I took you in, I don’t intend on casting you out just because a spooky bad guy is after you.” Alistair waved a hand, the notion itself ridiculous to him. “If you’ll let me, I’m here to help. It’s kinda what I do.”

He frowned as she asked if he could have fixed him. “No, when they’re that hurt, it takes a one-to-one comparison. If he were human, I’d need to use a human sacrifice. If he were a fae, I’d need a fae. So on and so on.” He took a moment, adjusting his position in his seat. “In the shop, I have a back room. I heal people there. Some don’t know the extent of the damage they do to someone else to heal them. Others do and just don’t care. I take the bad people and use them as sacrifices for the more mundane healings. When it’s more complex, things get dicey. Sometimes, I get lucky, and I have the correct species. Sometimes, I don’t. Sometimes people die anyway when a spell doesn’t go right.” He pointed at his eyes when he referenced a spell not going right. He slid his sunglasses back onto his face after pointing to himself. “I’m not letting you leave just because you don’t think you’re worth saving. I think you’re worth saving, which must count for something.”

‘I understand’ always felt like one of those things people said to be kind, but they didn’t really understand. Not this time, though. Zofia didn’t know what had happened to him in his life to know what it was like to be haunted by the ghost of who he’d been before, but he described it well enough to know it wasn’t just an attempt to make her feel better. The more he talked, the more pieces of his puzzle began to fall into place. She couldn’t imagine losing a partner in that fashion. But she knew what it was like to lose people she cared for. Knew that one day or eight years or half a century later, while it might become less sharp with time, that pain never really went away. Not fully. And there were still days where it hurt as badly as the day it had torn her heart apart.

Slowly she began to unwind from herself, to come out of the corner of the sofa she’d tucked herself into. She didn’t know if this was magic too. He could control her if he wanted to, and she supposed that ought to make her angry. Angry enough to lash out at him. But then the image of an innocent man’s bloodied face appearing from the haze she had been in crept across her mind. Zofia could deal with being controlled a little, she supposed. If only to protect her from herself.

She blinked, looking at him in surprise. “You just. Have a stock of bad people on hand? For healing purposes? What determines a bad person?” A soft, crazed giggle erupted. “If you didn’t know my story would I be bad? I’m certainly not good.” Her mind trailed to the handful of lookalikes she’d drained out of hunger and some half crazed attempt to get a message across. That was just her need for blood tangling with the pain that Cassius had seemed to move on without looking for a way to help her. And she still didn’t feel guilty about it. She didn’t feel much of anything about it, and she knew she ought to.

Worth saving. Those words rattled something deep inside her. “Why?” She asked, her voice unsteady and thick. “What makes me worth saving?”

_________

Pulling a face, Alistair shook his head at her words. “I wouldn’t call it a stockpile. One at a time, really.” It was strange to talk about the truth of what he did. If the wrong person found out, surely he’d be run out of town or worse. He then thought for a long moment, frowning. “The people I deal with don’t have redeeming qualities.” He spoke bluntly as he got more comfortable in his seat. He didn’t seem to know how to sit properly in a seat without splaying his legs out and leaning back with an arm against the back of the couch. “They’re werewolves that constantly kill, vampires that have lost themselves in their bloodlust.” He raised a brow, expression pointed. “You haven’t lost yourself to it. You’re just…” he waved his hands in the air as he tried to devise a way to put it. “Just a touch traumatized.” He gave a wry smile, knowing it wasn’t an elegant way of putting it. But he was never one for elegance, anyway.

“What makes you worth saving?” He questioned back at her. He thought for a moment, wondering if there was a way not to say what he felt deep in his gut. “What makes you worth saving isn’t about you.” He confessed, knowing he was helping her for purely selfish reasons. “I helped you because no one was there when I needed help.” There, he had put it out into the open. She could either accept that or she couldn’t. Either way, he had spoken his truth. “Despite everything against her, I recognize someone who survived and crawled her way back out from six feet under.” His words were gentle as if he were afraid of spooking her. “So yes, you’re someone worth saving. You just may not see it. May not want to see it. And that’s okay. It’s something to work towards as you try to get yourself back on your feet.”

She wondered if he’d still say the same thing if he knew about the handful of Cassius look-alikes she’d left strewn about town. Zofia doubted he’d be able to find a way to call that redeemable. The first few days of freedom had been difficult. She’d been on edge. She still heard people that weren’t there, still felt eyes on her no matter where she went. Some primal part of herself told her to drink, and some scorned, betrayed part of herself told her to make a point. She shifted, uncomfortable as her train of thought led her to question what exactly about her was redeemable. She took the thought and stuffed it far away in a dark corner of her mind to address it some other time.

And yet there he was, continuing to talk and taking that box that she’d hastily tucked away in the shadows of her mind and shining a spotlight on it. She let out a long, heavy sigh as she studied him. He’d clearly been through the darkness before. He seemed to have come out the other side in tact. The ghost that haunted her thoughts reached toward that, hoping beyond hope that it wasn’t too late to turn back from the ledge she’d found herself at the top of. “If I found them,” She started slowly. “And I was certain I was right. Would you still stop me from finishing it?” From putting the damn nightmare to an end. Maybe then she could rest easier. Maybe then she could rebuild with the confidence that she wouldn’t have to burn the rest of the world down to protect what was hers.

____________________________________________________________________________

The necromancer fell silent for a long moment, expression unchanging as he digested the information that Zofia had given him. “I know you’re a vampire. I know you need blood to live.” He began, mulling the idea like a sommelier tasting a good wine. “But you don’t need to kill ‘em to do it, do you?” Alistair was trying to prove a point. “You can choose to fight what you’ve become or can’t. In which case, I feel a need to step in.” He decided honesty would be the best choice of action in this situation. He didn’t know what she could do, and maybe he was a complete idiot for taking the woman under his wing. He was projecting his shit onto someone who couldn’t even distinguish real life from her demons. “Fuck.” He muttered to himself as he made the revelation.

“You tell me everything else you’ve done. Going to have more than just those hunters showin’ up on the bloody door.” Alistair grumbled to himself as he stood up to start pacing around. He was a fool for pitying someone he should’ve walked away from. She’d have more than just the slayers that wronged her in the first place if she didn’t begin to clean up her act. “Make an effort to stop yourself from killing innocent people like you did tonight. And you’ll tell me who else you’ve been killing while at it. Otherwise, you get the fuck out of my flat, and you never come back. Do you understand me?” He raised a finger toward where he thought she may have been, but it was a bit off the mark, pointing to the right of her instead of directly at her.

He took a second to realize what he had just said and relaxed. “Sorry, I’m just. I’ve had a long day.” Of course, Alistair had a long day. Today was the anniversary of Mikael’s death. He didn’t talk about it. He never talked about it. Not even to Melody. “It’s a bad day for me. Memories of things best left to forget, you understand.” He fell back onto the couch, having half a mind to march to his room and hide for the rest of the night. “But I need you to understand that killing people won’t fix your problems. Killing the right people might, but you’re still going to have the same trauma. You might think it’ll fix you, but it won’t.” He swallowed, eyes a million miles away. “Trust me.”

—————————————————————

Zofia thought this must be how cornered animals felt. As he spoke, his ire seemed to grow. Moving as quiet as she could, she got back up off the couch and took several steps back to position herself in front of a window. He demanded the truth. Honesty. And yet he’d already said that the kind of beasts he kept caged away were ones that had lost themselves to bloodlust. If she told him the truth, there was a high chance she wound up puppeted into walking down to his shop and sitting herself down in his back room, waiting for some more deserving soul to have her life force siphoned away to heal their own. She’d go right back to being trapped.

But he asked her to trust him.

She hadn’t been able to trust anyone in so long. Not even herself. Some part of her still wanted to believe that maybe she could trust something. Even if it was a total stranger who’s dog seemed to like her for some inexplicable reason.

“I couldn’t drink from hunters if I wanted to,” she muttered, eyes flicking around the space as she weighed her options. Out the window? Tell the truth? Risk the magic sigil on the floor? “Their blood is like acid to us.” Zofia didn’t know why she was explaining all this. Maybe she was just stalling for time. She understood having bad days, bad months, bad years- bad moments full of bad memories she’d love to leave behind in the dirt. But would rehashing them make any of this better? Would telling him what she’d done make either of their bad memories quiet down for a moment? Her eyes settled on Brutus, faithfully sat next to Alistair. Was she really about to tell him what she’d done because she trusted the dog? The vampire sighed. Maybe she had lost her mind. She pressed her back to the glass of the window, prepared to shove herself out it at the first sign of danger.

“Three dead.” She said quietly. “If you think my state of mind is poor now, it was worse a few weeks ago. I’d been left for dead and I thought someone would have come looking for me but he-“ she swallowed, realizing there were so many missing puzzle pieces for him. “I had someone, before. They moved on in the months I was gone. They said they looked, said they’d tried, but they replaced me.” A chill crept into her voice, her eyes downcast. “I came back, and he’d moved on. And I…” she shook her head, not wanting to elaborate. “They looked like him. They weren’t. They never could be. No more dead after the hunter when I escaped and those three.” She held her breath, waiting to see if she’d have to run.

_______

There was a long stretch of silence after Zofia told him the truth. He looked over to the window, able to see her outline because of the street lights that shone through, casting her silhouette. He could see light and shadow–Not well, but he could. He took a deep breath. In through the nose, out through the mouth. It was a lot of information to swallow. “This man that you…” he trailed off, that wasn’t a good way to put it. Start over. “This man, is he in trouble? Do you think you’re capable of killing him?” Alistair needed to know the answer. He needed to know if he was boarding a serial killer or not.

“Three,” he whispered, rubbing a hand over his face and shaking his head. Three was a lot. Hell, one was a lot, but he wasn’t about to admit that when he had a sizable portfolio of injured or dead people, all in the name of fixing someone else. “Three’s a lot, Zofia,” Alistair murmured, still rubbing a hand over his face as he took in the details. He lifted his head skyward, staring up at the ceiling for a long time. He said nothing, only stood there, lost in thought.

“I’m not innocent from killin’ people neither, but that doesn’t… that was in malice, not survival.” Alsitair's shoulders slumped, and his head turned back toward her as he continued to digest. “I’m not gonna make you one of my victims.” He spoke, deciding he needed to get that out of the way before he continued. “I’m not going to control you again unless you try to kill me or someone else important to me. Or another innocent.” He tilted his head side to side as if weighing his options. “Don’t. Make me regret helping you.” He finally said, voice serious. “Get help. Serious help. Talk to a therapist about what happened to you. Don’t tell them the vampire and murder details, but fuckin’ talk to someone. Because the more you bottle this shit up, the worse it will get for you.” His eyes were wide as he stared into space. “I…” he trailed off again, pursing his lips as he struggled to get out the words. “I’ll help you. But you have to help yourself, too.”“No.” The answer came out surprisingly easy. Even if she wanted to hurt Cassius, he had an Elder Vampire who’d destroy her before she could so much as touch a hair in his head. But she didn’t. She’d been scratching at her own hand like a tragic character from a Shakespeare play, wishing she could find a way to turn back the clock and take it back, or find some way to absolve herself of that sin. “No.”

She watched him as he processed the information. Tried to determine if his breathing had changed, if he’d shifted, if his fingers had moved in any meaningful way. She waited. And waited. And then he said the words she needed to hear.

Zofia’s tightly coiled nerves loosened a touch, slouching against the window. “I won’t hurt you.” She didn’t have the energy to sound offended or hurt at the implication that she’d aim for him. If they hadn’t met the way they had, it would have been possible that she’d set her sights on him for a midnight snack. But since she’d been back, he was one of the few glimmers of light she’d found. Him and that dog who sat and watched them both. They’d been kind. She needed that, after so long in the dark. She didn’t want to risk the little twinkle of light going away.

“Okay.” It came out just above a whisper. She’d agree. If only to keep the speck of light.

“Right,” Alistair spoke, un-crossing his arms over his chest and shuffling his weight from foot to foot. He could sense her mounting distress and unease. This man she spoke of wasn’t in danger so he could rest easy. “Come here,” he said, voice soft. He held his arms out, knowing that the last thing Zofia needed right now was to be pushed away further. He wouldn’t hurt her, and he wanted to show her that.

She’d agreed to go and see someone, someone that wasn’t him. He couldn’t help her like that. He wasn’t put together. He couldn’t even get to see a counselor, but he wasn’t about to tell her that. She’d see him as a hypocrite and not do what he told her to. His arms remained outstretched, and for a moment, he thought about dropping them. But if his hunch was correct, he expected her to reciprocate the hug he offered her.

Zofia stared at him. He was standing there, arms outstretched. His voice was gentle. Her eyes strayed to the sigil on the floor. She took a hesitant step toward him. He didn’t move to activate it. She took another step toward him. He made no move to control her.

Trust me. The words rattled around in her chest before lodging itself somewhere behind her collarbone. She kept taking quiet steps toward him until she was a foot away. She didn’t move, didn’t breathe- waiting one second longer to see if he’d change his mind, to see if the little light would snuff itself out.

He stayed, arms outstretched.

Zofia stepped into the embrace, still poised to run at the first sign of a change of heart. It still didn’t come. She wrapped her arms around him, trying to settle into the feeling of letting herself be comforted again. The two words that had settled behind her collarbone felt warm. Like the truth. Like the right choice, for now at least. So she stayed, and trusted him.

——-

Alistair began to channel magic into his grasp as soon as she embraced him. The tendrils, like smoke, began to converge towards Zofia. He could do it. All he had to do was cast. He swallowed, pushing Zofia away with a frown. “Step out of the circle,” he warned her in a broken voice. “And you should…” he frowned, quickly stepping out of the spell circle. ”You should probably find somewhere to live that isn’t with a necromancer that could control you.”

His eyes flickered back and forth as he tried to get his head on straight. He didn’t want to control her, and every nerve ending in his body was screaming to cast that spell. “You have forty-eight hours to collect your things and find somewhere else to live.” Alistair gritted his teeth as he spoke, running a hand over his mouth. “I’m sorry, but it’s… it’s for the best.” He paced back and forth through the apartment, realizing he could be making a big mistake by not holding her back.

“I’m sorry, Zofia. You deserve to be in the care of someone who doesn’t have the potential to control your every move. I’m not good to be around. I didn’t think this through, and it’s on me.” He groaned, warring with the thoughts in his head. “If you need sanctuary at the shop, let me know. But I don’t think that you living here is a good idea.”

She was forced back, whatever brief comfort she’d found in being held quickly fizzling out like a candle in a rain storm. There it was. There it was. She smiled a bitter, sad thing. He’d witnessed the monster and no matter how many arrows the beast had in it’s hide, he was prepared to fire another volley at its heart. At her.

Zofia moved out of the circle.”Save your apologies.” She didn’t bother to put any energy behind the statement. The words tasted bitter as they fell from her mouth. “I’ll be gone tonight. Won’t have to worry about whether or not the big bad beastie is lurking in your guest room any longer.

The corner of her mouth ticked, and she stood up taller. “I don’t need to be in anyone’s care.” She hurried to the guest room and threw what little she had into a bag. She walked back out into the space, taking a good look at the man. He’d do it, wouldn’t he? Control her. And what then? She’d be trapped again. A different sort of trapped, but trapped nonetheless. And she had promised herself that she would not let herself be trapped again.

“I hope you have a nice, long life, Alistair.” She said, anger coloring the edges of her voice. “Lovely meeting you Brutus.” She nodded to the dog. At least the dog had liked her. Before the necromancer could change his mind, she got out of the apartment as quick as she could. When she’d finally put a good amount of distance between herself and the flat, she let out a frustrated scream. Starting over, yet again.

#A Puppet on Strings #threads #zofiawithaz

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entitytcken-a · 1 year

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@chaosmultiverse || cont. from here

🎀Charlotte sighed softly, her hand lightly resting on Evan’s shoulder as she looked from him to the ground. Of course she couldn’t force Evan to tell her... After all, he was her friend, even if Mike had told her time and time again to not bother with him. “Alright... I won’t push, but you know whatever is bothering you; you can tell me okay? I promise I won’t tell anyone.” She even went the extra mile to hold out her pinky to Evan with a small smile to try and help reassure him.

#☓ Into the Fog {IC}#🎀Feeling like I've lost something... {Charlotte}#☓ Moments in the Past... {Past Verse}#☓ Puppets on Strings {Threads}#chaosmultiverse #chaosmultiverse: Evan Afton

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courtporatelawyer · 1 year

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A friend and I came up with this really interesting TDI “red thread of fate” AU where Courtney’s soulmate (we chose Heather because in the context of this scenario it made the most sense) used the red thread like puppet strings, manipulating and using courtney’s undying love to get ahead. Because the two are soulmates, Courtney cannot escape her fate of being strung along for as long as she lives, until she meets Duncan, who ends up severing Courtney’s thread, causing her to defy fate, and truly fall in love.

(If you’d like to actually write a fic/draw something for this AU I would LOVE to see it, as I think it’s a pretty neat concept!)

#total drama island #tdi #tdi courtney #red string of destiny #red string au #red thread of fate #duncney #heathney #puppet au

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encursed · 2 years

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at the snap of a string

w/ @amitieos

IT'S A SECLUDED ENOUGH CORNER THAT VERONICA thinks she's safe. Though crimson eyes flit from one side to the other, scanning the area for anyone who could possibly see her. She wouldn't want any witnesses here, after all. And passing glances can’t be trusted.

Once she's finally certain that she's alone, she relaxes, and sets the violin she brought with her upon her shoulder. Veronica can play the instrument, but to say she knew how to make music was… being generous. Still, she's learned the importance of being a cultured leader. Relearning the violin would bring her closer to the artists of her homeland. Each callous on her finger was a connection to them; a witness to their work. As it stands, however, her playing is… atrocious. It's almost a blessing that she’s alone.

But things are never that simple, are they? No. Fate likes her fun. Which is why when Veronica swirls on the balls of her feet, her skirt swirling as her bow sweeps downwards, her eyes are met not with the blur of her surroundings, but with that of a familiar Crimean princess'. Because things are never simple; because she always ought to be mocked!

"You—!"

The imperial princess bites back a curse as the lowermost string of her violin snaps beneath the tension of her pinky. She lifts her head to the sky, as though to curse the gods for this moment, and groans. "Wonderful. This is simply wonderful."

Her face aligns with Elincia’s, red and blossoming with frustrated humiliation. Veronica lowers her violin. So potent is her annoyance that she can't find the grace to stop her sarcastic snarl. "NO, PLEASE. CONTINUE TO BOTHER ME! BE ENTERTAINED BY MY SUFFERING!"

#THREAD. at the snap of a string #SUPPORT. elincia #((MORE THROWBACKS??))#((anyways dont take it personally elincia you were just the unfortunate witness to veronica's flop era))#((she's not at lonely puppeteer (spring remix) level yet ok))#((also god these just keep getting longer and longer))#((i will be Concise i prommy))

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thebigshotman · 2 years

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*…WH4T 1S TH1S [[Trade Offer:]]??? 1T BETT3R BE G00D.

(As he waits for the voice to respond, he is suddenly aware that there is perpetually the sound of hands typing at a keyboard under her voice. Perhaps there’s some sort of truth to her words…

*I’ll…shut up. Or, uh, try to…we’re still connected, after all. But please…try to calm down and genuinely let these people change your mind. I can guarantee you, no one wants you to sacrifice yourself like this.

*4ND 1F I’M [[if not completely satisfied,]]???

*I’ll…oh god I can’t believe I’m doing this…

*I’ll…allow you access to the NEO body. One last time. That’s how certain I am that this is the wrong choice. But if nothing shakes you…I will bend my strings and let you do as you want.

*But please, please please please…let their words actually sink in. You don’t want this, Spaul. Trust me.

*…F1NE.FINE-FIN3-[[there’s nothing wrong!]]. I ACCEPT TH3 [[deal]].

*It’s not a deal ya silly-Ugh, I guess I have to shut up now.

*Please, everyone out there…don’t screw this up.

(All that remains of her voice is the clicking of the keyboard. Still there, but forcing herself to be silent.)

(Questions to The String Puller are still available, but she won’t be as talkative during normal questions now. Ask away!)

#(to be continued on Tuesday! I mean maybe I’ll pop on for some asks tomorrow but certainly no threads)#(ask away while I’m gone though! they shall all be answered)#ONE WEIRD TIP-in character #NOTHING MORE THAN A SIMPLE PUPPET-main verse #OVERSEER-the string puller #TUNING IN-status

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radiance1 · 10 months

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Alfred Pennyworth has in fact, perhaps, in the slightest of chances.

Picked up his Master's habit of collecting children as if they were on sale.

He was spending his time on one of those rare vacations he decided to take, it was nice, to relax with only the vague overhanging worry of something going wrong back at the manor that he's gotten very good at ignoring.

Only to come across a child bleeding out in an alley, heavily injured.

He would not be able to live with himself if he didn't at least try to help them however he could.

Such is how he acquired a child he later found to be a meta who whished to learn the ways of a butler.

---

Danny had escaped from a GIW compound, after having been handed over by his family a while after his reveal. He felt, completely and utterly betrayed, when it happened. His parents, while hurt, he was at least capable of actually seeing them do it, but never would he have thought Jazz would do so as well.

They did it so happily, that he wondered if letting him go really was the greatest thing to happen to this family.

He chained, muzzled, all the ways to bind him they pulled all the stops too, knowing how dangerous he was. He wouldn't have even done anything then, too stunned by his families apart willingness at handing him over to the government.

He hated them.

He hated them so much.

The GIW facility was a terrible, cold, unfeeling place. One where they drilled thoughts into his head again and again until he found himself unconsciously repeating them when his head felt empty, one where his body gained a new mark day by day and pushed through tests, he had no clue of even hoping to comprehend what they would gain out of it.

It was a cold, unfeeling place. Placed in a cell of white and nothing else, with low walls and chains binding his body in place until the time came for another experiment.

It was a room he grew used to. One he even held some kind of strange, twisted affection for.

It was a room that held a tiny piece of safety, of rest. It was a room that taught him to hate.

A deep, powerful, disgusting, twisting hatred that crawled from the depths of his cells, corrupting his blood and carving itself deep into his bones. Forcing it's out of his pores until it practically oozed from his flesh.

It drowned his mind, tainting each and every thought, every memory, every dream, every waking moment until he could feel nothing but hatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehate.

When he was taken out of that he could feel nothing, with the drugs swimming their way through his blood that snapped the thin string keeping him between a person and an emotionless puppet.

He thinks that's what the GIW thinks he is.

And when he was placed back in that room, he could only hate.

It was a cycle. Stuck between feeling either nothing or hatred.

He hated feeling nothing, it made him feel like he wasn't real. Like it snapped the thread that held him between what a real person was and a dream.

So, he allowed himself to drown deep into his hatred. Until the white walls of his far to small room seemed to fade, until whatever sound he could have heard became nothing but dull noise.

Until the passage of time seemed to become just a blink.

He didn't know what day it was, when he saw it. Saw them. He didn't know the time, the date, the day, the hours. He knew nothing.

But he could recognize his family. Recognize one of the objects of his intense hatred that he forced his thoughts too. The people who willingly gave him up just like that and one of the causes for his current life.

He didn't know why they showed him them, he felt it some sick, utterly cruel joke. A joke he didn't know the punchline for, a joke the universe sent his way to make his life all the more miserable.

There were multiple of them. Multiple clones of his family. Som within test tubes, some being pulled out from the tubes, some walking around in lab coats. A waste of talent, they called it in his dad's case, a waste of intelligence in his mother's, and a waste of intellect in his sister's case.

His original family was already dead, he was told. Replaced by clones, clones that took over the legal decision to change his guardianship. Clones walking around twisting and desecrating his family.

'At least it was painless.' One of the clones said, talking with his mother's face. 'Far more than they deserved for having keeping a thing like him' spoken by his father's imposter.

The drugs pumping through his system to keep him calm, to keep him feeling nothing was suddenly pierced through by an intense feeling of horror, hate and self-loathing.

He should've known it wasn't his family. He should've done more! More to protect them! To keep them safe! The could've still been alive if he just knew.

In that moment, watching imposters speaking, walking, talking, breathing, with his families faces. He exploded. Exploded with a power fueled by nothing but his intense hatred for every. Single. Living being in this goddamn facility.

He killed whoever stood in his way. Managing to get his hands on relatively newly designed weapon, an ectoplasmic scythe (that also apparently could revert into an everyday item). Which he used to rip and tear throughout the entirety of the facility. He got injured, of course, he couldn't dodge everything, but he didn't care.

A body stuck between life and death, incapable of fully going one way or the other no matter what happened. Gifted supernatural powers fueled by wrath and twisting hatred and a weapon made by man yet in the range of the supernatural.

They didn't stand a change. He killed them all. No matter who it was, man, woman, clone. He didn't, couldn't care. He could only kill, only maim, only hurt.

And that's what he did.

It was then, when the facility was blanketed with silence tainted by despair, death and hysteria. When previously white walls were covered by blood, and the halls turned into rivers of blood and corpses. That he broke down, the overwhelming hatred he felt replaced by relief then sadness then self-loathing.

His family didn't give him up! But they were killed. Kill because of him. He couldn't stand being in this place, anymore. His body felt as if it were moving on unseen strings as it walked through the halls, the scythe shrinking back what it was when out of combat, his mind too occupied by thoughts and feelings.

It walked through a portal, one to the ghost zone, and then promptly into another portal and spat him out into an alleyway. Which he then promptly collapsed and curled into a ball, curing the shrunken scythe in his palm and he was out like a light.

A few days after he woke up, he found himself growing attached to the human that found him in that alleyway. An old man, maybe, but a nice one. He didn't want to meet anyone, besides that man, so he turned invisible when anyone else come into contact with him.

Alfred Pennyworth.

It was a name he clung onto mentally and a man he clung onto physically as well. He wanted to be like that man, someone so nice and caring, someone who didn't mind that he turned invisible at the sing of another person, who let him cling onto him both invisible and not whenever he wanted to.

He did panic when he heard Alred saying his vacation was over, and such that he had to leave. He didn't want to be left alone again, he didn't know what he would do if he was left alone again.

Until Afred said we were going home.

We. As in, him plus another. Alfred plus Danny.

Home.

Heat blossomed in his chest, seeming to replace the constant, low hum of hate sitting beneath him skin.

Home.

#dc x dp #dp x dc #dp x dc crossover #dp dc #dp dc crossover #dcxdp #dc x dp prompt #dc x dp crossover #Danny has a scythe and isn't afraid to use it on anyone who even breaths wrong in Alfred's presence.#He also doesn't like meeting other people so he just turns invisible #So you probably wouldn't even know what killed you tbh.#Will Danny be brought out of his shell by the combined efforts of the batfamily?#Probably #Alfred saw a child in an alleyway while on vacation and pulled a Bruce Wayne.#Danny wants to be a butler because Alfred is a butler and he wants to be more like Alfred.#honestly I should be sleeping not making this idea #But MEH #Me tired so I slep now byebye gamers

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caelcstis · 2 years

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demons / pt. 3

the one who plays the flute of destruction ⸢ 𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐎𝐍 / visage. ⸥ hatred &&. blood are all you know. who would ever love you? ⸢ 𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐎𝐍 / about. ⸥ the screams of their curses still cause nightmares today ⸢ 𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐎𝐍 / aes. ⸥ you were once so mischievous &&. carefree until they denied you ⸢ 𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐎𝐍 / asgard. ⸥ little puppet you dance on your string to make your master happy ⸢ 𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐎𝐍 / his puppet. ⸥ he once offered you solitude only for you to destroy it again ⸢ 𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐎𝐍 / israel. ⸥ you wanted the throne until someone became more important ⸢ 𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐎𝐍 / first. ⸥ you confessed your feelings &&. you decided to stay with him ⸢ 𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐎𝐍 / post. ⸥ no matter how loud you scream no one will save you ⸢ 𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐎𝐍 / threads. ⸥

with a crown atop your head you will rule peacefully ⸢ 𝐃𝐈𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐋𝐎 / visage. ⸥ you’ve never known love yet you are so full of it ⸢ 𝐃𝐈𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐋𝐎 / about. ⸥ gold &&. riches make you a prince but your pride makes you the king ⸢ 𝐃𝐈𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐋𝐎 / aes. ⸥ maybe the crown’s too heavy for you little one ⸢ 𝐃𝐈𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐋𝐎 / youth. ⸥ the crown fits you now; perhaps more than it had anyone else⸢ 𝐃𝐈𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐋𝐎 / first. ⸥ your excitement is like honey but not everyone likes the sticky sweetness of it ⸢ 𝐃𝐈𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐋𝐎 / threads. ⸥

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yearningaces · 6 months

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Thinking and thoughts here

Could you just imagine the impossible with me? Being in a loving marriage with your beloved husband -who you believe is human because why wouldn't you? He looks and acts like every other human and monsters aren't real. And he just adored you so very much, he communicates when he doesn't understand something or when a miscommunication is had. He never fights with you but you both work together to fix any problems, and focus on showing how much you care for each other. Truthfully he's the model husband. Almost to a scripted degree, but you've never felt so adored. Especially when he mirrors your affection and never seems to expect anything explicit, nor want it either. It feels safe, and comfortable... So why do you feel the sense of dread in your gut as you're looking at him right now?

Well, it might be how he's standing in the doorway, bag of takeout in hand, smile on his face. Mirroring how he always stands. But it's a brief moment, a flash of dark lines almost like thread wrapping around his joints, moving him like a giant flesh puppet.

And just as quickly as they were seen- they're gone again. Just your loving husband, Dorrin. Standing tall and gazing down, as though the mountain was watching the river below. Absolutely enamored and unyielding to everyone except you who he'd mold himself to better love as time goes on.

At your expression, his smile fades into a look of concern. His gaze follows yours, to his hand. And the brief flash of threading is gone but he knows exactly what you've seen.

His gaze returns to you, hollow. Slowly setting down the bag he was carrying and slowly crosses the room to get to you.

He seems... Empty. As if any signals for how he should be acting have been cut off. His looming figure almost listless as he gazes down at you with a dull gaze, no life behind his eyes. After a moment, his voice finally rings out. "Has this one displeased you, little love?"

You feel an inherent wrongness about how your beloved husband is speaking presumably of himself as if he isn't even here, with a slight stumble back it answers his question well enough.

Dorrin slumps, like a wind up toy who's finished it's final dance. The voice that drifts through the air is so familiar yet leaves your brain trembling at the sheer magnitude of the being behind it even if unseen. "I apologize, this puppet has proven defective for its sole purpose. Rest assured, such an oversight will be rectified promptly. Only the best shall be allowed closest to you."

With a horrified expression you can only watch as Dorrin- what you know to be Dorrin is... Folded away. Limbs snapping together into a ball not unlike when a child is ready to toss away their doll. And it's... Not there anymore. No blink of an eye, no noise or sight, it was there and it wasn't. And now you stand in the empty living room of a home you've shared with someone you thought you knew so very well.

What do you do?

What can you do?

You can feel gazes on you still, the same when that thing would watch you while you rested together. You can try to move towards a door or even a window and find them consumed in darkness. There is no threat here, but you are not allowed to leave at the moment.

You don't know it yet, but Dorrin just wants to keep you safe in the home he's so carefully crafted for you alone. Tonight he'll leave a new puppet at your door, identical to the last hundred that had done something leading to any inconvenience on you. You've never noticed before, and he doesn't know how to condense himself into a small enough form to be loved by such a miniscule creature he's so deeply fallen for. But that puppets strings weren't good enough to remain hidden. The new one will be better.

Only the best for you.

He will ensure it.

(Basically what happens when an endless creature of Eldritch being falls for a little bitty human? Why not craft a puppet to express his love for them on a scale they can comprehend! But those fickle puppets- never perfect enough for his little love)

#letters of yearning #x reader #monster boyfriend #monster romance #gender neutral reader #asexual reader #monster x reader #Dorrin the creature

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entitytcken-a · 1 year

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@chaosmultiverse || cont. from here

🎀Charlie shuddered, everything was getting so dark... and she felt so cold... Although the rain was probably was apart of that if she was honest. For a moment, she swore she heard Evan’s voice... which would have been impossible... After all... He... He died- A weak gargle of a whimper escaped her as she curled in on herself, not noticing the robotic form of the other until they saw the flicker of the glowing eyes.

“...But... I’m... I’m... not... ti...red...”

She managed to get out before her body finally succumbed to the wound, her body breathing its last breath as she finally went still; a hand laying over one of the security puppet’s. Her eyes becoming dull as the life was snuffed out... for now.

#☓ Into the Fog {IC}#🎀Feeling like I've lost something... {Charlotte}#☓ Puppets on Strings {Threads}#tw: child death #tw; child death #tw; child death mention #tw: child death mention

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anthologyoflucas · 2 years

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Gen tag dump 2

I am growing sleepless // And you're out of lullabies. (Memes)

sweet melody // you'll be singing in your sleep // But this time you're not listening to a word I say. (Answered)

Trailing in the train rails // blowing where the wind blows // You're young // you are wild // you are free. (End of Thread)

Down in the forest // we’ll sing a chorus // one that everybody knows. (Dash Games)

Sick of all these people talking // Sick of all this noise. (Dash commentary)

#Sick of all these people talking // Sick of all this noise. (Dash commentary)#Let's play a game I'll show you how it's done. (dash / tag games)#Trailing in the train rails // blowing where the wind blows // You're young // you are wild // you are free. (End of Thread)#You're out of lullabies. (Answered)#I am growing sleepless. (Memes)#Puppets on string all dance and sing. (Dash commentary)

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lnkedmyheart · 11 months

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Okay so minimafioso on twt brought this up but this art has everyone hanging on threads like puppets around Fyodor.

And if you look closer all of them are hanging in ways that show that they are obeying the laws of gravity, limp, and doll like with their hair and clothes all hanging off in the correct angles.

And then you have Chuuya who is hanging upside down but his doll isn't limp. Yes he is a gravity manipulator but he is being controlled like a puppet with no autonomy on a string so why isn't he limp? Why is his hat not falling off? Or his coat and hair? Why are they perfectly in place?

Also like, everyone is strung up and the body parts pulled up are all held up by strings but Chuuya only has one leg on a string and the other is still perfectly positioned despite not being held up by anything.

Chuuya's doll practically looks like it is standing upright. But if Chuuya is a puppet he shouldn't have control over his ability like that. Maybe it's just me but the doll also seems to be fully aware and looking straight at Fyodor, being the only one whose head is not in a natural position for his body (everyone else is).

And the whole speculation with Chuuya having broken out of Fyodor's (Bram's) control. We know Chuuya was really exhausted as a vampire when we first met him. He was heaving and sweating, something no other vampire in my memory was shown doing (I could be wrong about that though). And he's not someone who'd get exhausted easily. We also know Chuuya has managed to power through corruption and not only recognised Dazai but also actively searched for him in his corrupted state and controlled his strength to not take off his head with a punch in that state.

We also know that words can have some effect on the vampires like Aku remembering his promise to Atsushi which could imply something because we got Dazai's words invoking their unbreakable bond followed by the last panel where we saw his eyes showing a seemingly fully lucid Chuuya.

And then we either dont see his eyes and fangs at all or he is entirely missing from the scene. He hasn't even hissed and shit. And he had left the control room he and Fyodor were in long before Fyodor gave him the order to kill Dazai. Also Dazai dragging himself right to the camera to let Fyodor know exactly where he is.

Idk about anyone else but that bitch is planning something.

#soukoku #skk #chuuya you little bitch #what are you doing

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angelst4rs · 1 month

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☆. . . stupid string.

☆. . . a red string suddenly appeared on scaramouche's finger. and he does not like it.

☆. . . gn reader, red string of fate au, scara's pov.

☆. . . wrote this after i told @fairykazu about the idea. hope you like it, vidia 🫶

stupid. he truly does think it’s stupid. everything about the red string tied around his pinky finger, which will supposedly “lead him to his soulmate”, is just stupid.

scaramouche disliked—no, he detested the very concept of this. why would he want a soulmate? he’s already content with living all by himself. besides, what kind of person would like him, let alone love him?

must be some kind of weirdo, he thought. the more he stared at the crimson colored thread, the more annoyed he got. with the way it was tightening around his finger, he knew his soulmate was actively trying to search for him.

there’s no way in hell will he let his soulmate find him, so he did the one thing that would make sense for him to do, cut the string.

“...what the actual fuck…?” scaramouche muttered in disbelief as he watched the scissors break in his hands when he attempted to cut the string. do the archons hate him that much? what kind of sick joke was that?

so he’s doomed to meet his soulmate eventually, huh? which one of the archons proposed this stupid idea anyway? guess his bucket list of fighting an archon will be crossed out again.

not wanting to give up so easily, he tried everything that he could think of to try and sever the thread on his finger. but again, nothing worked. just what was this string made of? the very thread that binds the universe into one? probably.

stumped and out of ideas, scaramouche simply sat down and contemplated everything. feeling the red cord tighten once more, he couldn’t help but wonder, why is my soulmate trying so hard to find me?

as the days flew by, scaramouche started to live with the string around his finger, trying his best not to untie it—which did work, but the string simply reappeared again, now tied even tighter around his pinky.

if he’s honest, he’s quite amused by how persistent his soulmate is in finding him. perhaps his soulmate is getting very close to him at this point, maybe he’ll meet them in just a few days. who knows?

on many of his sleepless nights, scaramouche’s mind is plagued heavily by his soulmate. or at least, the idea of his soulmate. just what does the world have to offer for a puppet?

what kind of person are they? do they enjoy bitter tea like he does? how will they react when they finally meet him, someone—no. something that’s nothing but a work discarded by his creator?

maybe he’ll just leave this up to fate. it’s no use obsessing over something that’ll eventually happen. whether he’ll like it or not, his soulmate will come. and whether they’ll accept him or not, that’s a story for another day.