28, Female. This Gal thinks that monsters, Klowns, and aliens are real neat! I’m also a big fan of OnePiece. That’s just fucking delightful, I suppose.
pairing: prototype x gen!reader
tags: after the events of the train cutscene, alternative ending, reader fearing the prototype, sadistic prototype, i hope people has that same fear that I feel when I was watching C5 cause my heart was beating so fast, short
a/n: after watching chapter 5, i immediately made this (of course with lots of distractions like.. looking at his cutscenes.. and harley sawyer's.. a million of times) also there have been a massive influx of notes on my harley sawyer fic, thank you all!
I also want to clarify that there is age discourse about him and I want this to be a respectful space for discussion, I'm currently unsure on what he truly is but I would love to discuss about him lore and headcanon wise !
Adrenaline makes anybody run on a thready string of their own pulse, ligaments ready to split from the sheer fear of whatever they've seen. Inevitably, they run through the door which death humbly waits; snuffing out the light of hope that shouldn't have existed once anybody walks to this den named "Playtime Co".
You have sunken deep in hell. Even when Giblet's triumph exclaims and Poppy's panicked mutters echo through your head, you know one thing is certain and it didn't need to be said.
In a factory where anything can happen, the tormentor, the shadow of the factory that often fleets to one corner and another had enveloped all of you in an eerie smile of victory.
Giblet could feel the blood pounding in his ears, shaking like a dog kept in the cold rain as he stumbles over the rubble to hide. The false sense of security couldn't steer clear of the high level threat just a shoulder away.
"It can't.. he.."
He couldn't muster another word, choked with fear with his hands gripping his little head tight. Poppy had hurried over the door darting on her knobby legs with all her might, an expected look for her angel to stay right behind her.
It was like a flash, the Prototype fast on your heels until you felt your legs give out.
"No! Don't let him-"
His spider legs crawled close now, inching slowly. He can take as much time as he so pleases when he sees such an expression on your face he finds delightful, his elongated claws just hovering down to your face.
In a brutal swipe, 1006 had slammed Poppy's body back against the doors, her head lolling to the side. An audible crack was heard, it was done to ensure she didn't get away as seen as how she had passed out. There was no time for him to be gentle especially since he had something else on his mind. His eyes then fleet over to you, slightly curled on the ground, palms flat against the ground as you tremble uncontrallably, blood crusting against your nails.
The tips of his talons poke into your cheeks, drawing blood that dripped down to the ground. Lightheadedness starts stabbing your skull. You've faced many trials in this one night indubitably but fear had sucked the fight from your body. He watches your chest heave, up and down. The yellow glow of his eye moves to and fro and you feel the cold, metallic hand against your chest and it makes your throat gasp out a sorry noise of dismay.
"What's wrong? Why has The Butcher stopped?"
"I feel it, that thumping against your skin.."
Cold eyes stare at your form which twists in hysteria, it was nothing like the human that braved through the levels of this cursed factory reeking of blood and grime. He lets out a deep, distorted laugh.
He presses deeper, the sharp metal imprinting into your skin and palpating the area where your weary heart remains . He coos, utterly entertained.
"Ah, your heart beat's picking up. Do I scare you, butcher?"
It was almost pathetic because you cry, howling out in cracks when he holds the back of your body to examine you much closer.
1006 articulates his words with a drawl of somebody playing with their food between their fingers. He watches your head twitch with hesitation to lift up and truly look at him. Truthfully, after the smiley faces of all the Bigger Body initiatives, they hold atleast a modicum of need for their own survival while the Prototype was the main reason their survival had ended. 1006 looked the part of a scary bed time story, one you'll never forget as you grow because that sinister maw filled with teeth that will never unshow itself sets an unsteady rhythm of unease in your heart.
An inkling he had was his appearance which he revelled in. You reacted akin to the children he had the pleasure to meet before sewing them inside out with his meticulous hands.
He gets real close on purpose, a clink and scrape of his legs against the floor. His breath swiping against your face.
"Boo."
That distorted hiss made your sweat trail down your face as you shut your eyes yet you still see him in the dark recesses of your mind. It was sick that he acted the part of a spider tangling you deep in its web except he commits it in such a bestial way. He knew he has won, gripping the prize in his hand until saliva bubble out of your lips.
"No!"
You couldn't stay strong anymore, your body weak from exhaustion. Stamina long gone with an aching body that yearns for consumption that you physically feel yourself grow limp in his hands.
His tactic on frightening you with keeping his face close was heinous, making you flail pathetically. He opened his nightmarish jaw matching a monster ready to devour his meal but what does he do instead?
Poppy's voice came from him in a mocking crackle, he shakes you slightly in his hold, toying with what he had watch scurry and leap throughout the factory. The Prototype thought you'd last longer, however he stares at the fight in your eyes dissipatating like red smoke. Long strands of spit seeps down your lips from the pure fatigue settling into your bones. In a last attempt to get away, you push his face back.
He tilts his head to the side to slightly nip at your finger, those crooked, vile teeth just inches away from snapping off a joint. It instilled more terror into you that this boogeyman will hurt you or worse to get closer to his goal now that he had the Butcher right in his grasp.
Your bloodshot eyes fleet to Poppy, her precious face already so shattered by the horrors of the night and Giblet who kept his head down in the precense of the feared experiment. Teeth bite down harder on your tendons, moving to include the rest of your hand. 1006 seemed to want only your eyes on him. Those trembling eyes he had begun to savour struggling to stay open.
"Don't be scared, I can finally fix you."
The pallor in your face deeply seetles, a jeer back at tea time with a mighty guffaw rumbling out of him. You felt yourself getting carried off, along with Poppy whom he stuffed into your bloodied jacket to fit snugly for the ride.
A soft, uncharecteristic chuckle soon follows, he watches you lose consciousness in his arms, tracing the drool on your chin and letting it slip between his claws. Poppy nestles onto your chest so devastatingly at peace, moving ever so slightly to the Prototype's janky movements.
Giblet looks up once when he heard the telltale shift of clinking, he grips his chest now that the inevitable is here. The Prototype took you and Poppy deep into his lairs, doing god knows what. It made all hope that had remained inside him shatter since it takes him back to square one.
With a haunting trill, he stalks into the darkness, finally with the two possessions he wished to have in a very long time. A lot of emotions run through his disfigured body but what he felt at that moment matched his mad, petrifying face; mania.
Prototype x reader soulmate au where you can’t hurt your soulmate. He finds out when he tries to stab you. 😈
god, i adore soulmate aus, so this prompt was riiiiight up my alley~
[ao3]
tw: canon-typical violence
how deep the teeth go (the prototype x gn!reader, poppy playtime)
The Prototype shrieked as he lumbered toward you, his mechanical limbs bouncing off jagged pieces of debris and shredded metal. Fire raced up his spine, agony blistering along his nerves even as his body knitted itself back together, and in his rage he bypassed Giblet’s cowering form entirely, Poppy a mere red haze in his vision.
He didn’t want them. He wanted you.
Disoriented from the explosion, you struggled to keep stride with Poppy, the GrabPack’s handles slipping from nerveless fingers as you fled his fury.
You would not be quick enough.
Fire roared in the Prototype’s chest as he snatched you up in his claws, spindly fingers wound tightly around your chest and his other hand rising, pointed, sharp, to skewer you alive.
“No!” Poppy cried, desperate and wild-eyed, but it was too late, the Prototype’s claws bearing down upon your spine, intent on ripping through.
You would join Huggy and Kissy in death, he thought viciously, victoriously, and then there would be no one left for Poppy to cling to. Run to. No one except -
Poppy’s gasp tore the Prototype from his thoughts, his eye swinging from her startled gaze to your body, slumped over the splay of his claws. You were silent. Still. Exactly as he’d wanted. Yet there was no blood bubbling from your back, no squelch of parted muscle and sinew, no wound, just the fabric of your torn shirt tangled about his claws and the bumps of your spine shuddering beneath his touch.
“Wh—at… is thIS?” the Prototype hissed, drawing back his hand to strike you once more. As before, his claws glanced along your spine and paused, a bare half-inch shy of sinking inside your meat and cleaving your flesh from bone. No amount of pressure would drive them through your skin.
“This can’t -” Poppy’s voice rose above his grunts of effort, her small hands hovering over her mouth and a stunned expression on her cracked face. “You… you can’t be - ”
The Prototype bared his jagged teeth at her. Something was prodding at his mind, trying to fight its way through the rage clouding his vision - the same thing, he feared, that had put that expression of shock onto Poppy’s damaged face. “Be… qUIET.”
“No,” Giblet gulped, paws clutching tightly at his bat. He cowed as the Prototype turned a burning orange pupil his way, but continued, voice trembling, “She’s - she’s right. You can’t hurt ‘em. That means - ”
The Prototype would not allow him to finish, claws twitching in preparation for a strike, only for small, filthy, human fingers to reach out and grab them, flesh wounding tightly around metal.
His narrow chest heaved on a trapped roar at your audacity, voice box crackling with static as he twisted his head to look at you. You seemed just as surprised by your actions as he, arms outstretched to reach his claws and an expression of stunned terror on your face, yet you refused to release him, your throat bobbing on a swallow before you dared to open your mouth and speak.
“Stop.” Your voice was barely more than a rasp, thickened from the smoke pouring into the air from the damaged train. You coughed before you could try again, fingers firming around his. They were warm, the Prototype noted, and smudged with dirt from your journey through the factory. “Just… stop. Please.”
The Prototype released you, so abruptly you nearly crumpled to the floor at his feet, a soft grunt spilling past your lips as your rump struck the concrete.
He had never heard your voice before, he realized - only the voices of those who encountered you. The Prototype filed it away, almost entirely subconsciously, and forced his spidery limbs to retreat a half-step from your folded form.
“Go.” The word was nearly lost in static, grating along his voice box like shards of glass.
Poppy drew in a sharp breath at the command but seemed to rally herself quickly enough, silently urging Giblet and yourself to join her near the door with a frantic wave of her hand. Giblet waddled over immediately, paws squeezed tightly around his electric bat, but you lingered, face upturned and fixed on his, the GrabPack’s handles left unmanned, as though you had nothing to fear.
Of course you didn’t. Because he couldn’t hurt you.
Incensed at the reminder, the Prototype bared his crooked teeth in a snarl. “GO,” he roared, legs digging furrows into the floor as he bore down upon you. It was only then, with the floor trembling beneath his bulk, that you scrambled toward Poppy and ducked out of sight through the open door, the pounding of your footsteps lost amid the chaos of smashing concrete and the shriek of static as the Prototype lay to waste everything in his path.
*
The fire raged for hours, or so it felt. By the time the flames had begun to smolder at his back, the Prototype had lost all sense of time. He merely… was, existing in a limbo of smoke and silence, his spidery limbs spread akimbo and his skeletal arms hanging limply by his sides.
His bells swung idly with each sway of his head, their muted tinkling swallowed by the sputter of flames as the wreckage of the train continued to burn, and yet the Prototype did not rise, did not speak, did not summon his underlings to hunt you and Poppy down. Could not, for the weight of your continued existence - the weight of who you were pressing down upon his shoulders.
He couldn’t harm you. You, an intruder, an outsider. You, who had bumbled your way through every trial he’d thrown at you, every foe, every trap. You, who most deserved to be skewered by his claws.
He had tasted your death the moment his claws had wrapped around your torso, Poppy’s large, haunted eyes fixed on his jagged smile as he had prepared to strike. And yet.
And yet you lived. Because he could not harm you. Could not kill you.
Because you were -
A last-standing chunk of debris near his left side exploded as his claws raked across it, concrete and dust raining down onto the damaged train tracks. The small act of destruction did nothing to alleviate the bitter desperation curdling in his gut, the truth of what you were - what you must be, if his claws had failed to pierce your flesh - settling over the Prototype’s narrow shoulders like a shroud.
His soulmate.
The word dripped with disquiet, disdain, even within the sanctity of his own mind, and yet -
And yet.
It set his jagged teeth on edge, but it was impossible to deny the spark of… of sentiment in his chest at the idea of anyone, even you, being his. Solely his. He had tried for years to force Poppy into that roll, to build a paradise for them both, and look where that venture had left him - alone.
… well. Not completely.
It didn’t register with him at first, but eventually the crunch of gravel managed to penetrate the static in his head - the crunch of footsteps, soft but sure, and slowly making their way toward him.
He knew who it was without lifting his head. Of course he did.
“LeAVE”, he hissed, slipping into a mimicry of Doey’s voice, angry and wrathful, without thought.
A sigh spilled from your lips, swallowed up in the crackling of the flames at his back, followed by a soft grunt as you settled on the ground a few feet away from him.
The Prototype tilted his head, bells jingling softly. You were there, of course, just as he knew you would be, your knees tucked against your chest and your chin pillowed on your folded arms. You had discarded your GrabPack. The Prototype wondered if that meant you’d found a way out. If Poppy had found a way out. Somehow, the thought didn’t summon the rage he had expected it would.
You didn’t speak, not even as his gaze caught yours. You merely… watched him. Studied him. It incensed him, the weight of your gaze bristling along the bumps of his spine and down into his arms. His claws carved out divots into the floor.
“Wh—at do you wANT?” he rasped, the words wreathed in static.
Your throat bobbed. “I don’t know,” you confessed quietly, rubbing a dirty hand over your face and only succeeding in smudging your cheeks with more dirt and dust. “I guess I… I couldn’t leave you behind.”
The Prototype’s claws screeched around fistfuls of concrete. “W…wHYY?” It came out hurt, his voice nearly a whine, too much like Ollie’s. He clenched his teeth and reached for a blend of Mommy’s and Poppy’s voices instead, his cadence accusatory, nearly a growl. “Be—cause of… wHAT I… aM?”
“Maybe,” you returned gamely, shrugging your shoulders. You lifted a hand, the skin of your palm scored with dirt and abrasions from your long, long trek through the factory, and placed it on the ground between you. Your fingers were trembling, the Prototype noted. “Is that so bad?”
His maw creaked before slamming shut with a sharp, decisive click, voice box crackling around words that simply refused to come. He couldn’t speak. Couldn’t hurt you.
But he could raise his hand, debris tumbling from between long, metal claws. He could reach out. He could touch you.
Hey, I saw your post and I just want to say thank you. I used to be in this fandom too; I wrote fanfics about the Prototype (and sometimes Doey) and drew PPT x Reader comics. But one day, I started getting threats in my DMs. They accused me of disgusting things and threatened to ruin my life. Naturally, I got scared and silently deleted all my fanfics. It really hurt because I worked so hard on them, they had a lot of likes, and people were asking for more. I lived for those stories, but I was just too terrified
I sent you to the DM what was sent to me.
⚠️(Warning: Contains death threats, doxxing, and suicide baiting sent by “antis”)⚠️
I received this message from a talented author who wishes to remain anonymous for their own safety. They were bullied out of the fandom. They deleted all their works. Why? Because of THIS. 👇
Look at these screenshots. LOOK AT THEM.
To all the “moral purists” and “protectors of children” in this fandom: You claim that drawing a monster or writing a 18+ fic is a “crime.” But YOU are the ones committing REAL CRIMES.
“Go drink bleach / Your mother should have had an abortion” — This is Suicide Baiting. You are telling a real human being to die over a fictional character.
“I found your LinkedIn… I’ll send it to your boss” — This is DOXXING and BLACKMAIL. This is illegal. You are trying to ruin someone’s real life and career because you didn’t like a fanfic? Are you insane?
“I’ll send it to the FBI” — Wasting law enforcement resources on false accusations is also a crime.
You are not heroes. You are not “saving” anyone. You are sadistic bullies who use “morality” as an excuse to torture people. You care more about pixels on a screen than you do about real human lives.
NOW, TO THE AUTHOR (AND ANYONE SCARED OF THEM): First of all, I am deeply sorry they targeted you. The fact that you had to delete your work because you were afraid for your life is a tragedy. You didn’t deserve this shit. BUT HEAR ME OUT: STOP BEING SCARED OF THESE CLOWNS. 🤡
Do not let these pathetic losers scare you. Who do you think is writing this? A dangerous hacker? The FBI? NO. It is a MOMMY’S DOXXER sitting in a basement, who probably can’t even ask for extra ketchup at McDonald’s without having a panic attack.
DO NOT FEED THEIR EGO. When you delete your work, when you cry, when you run away — YOU LET THEM WIN. You validate their sad, miserable existence. They get off on your fear because they have ZERO power in real life.
Don’t give them that satisfaction. They are barking dogs with no teeth. Block them. Laugh at them. Keep writing. Let them choke on their own bile while we enjoy fiction
🗑️ TO THE “MORAL POLICE” HARASSING AUTHORS: YOU ARE THE VILLAIN HERE.
I’m actually losing brain cells watching this fandom implode. I need you chronically online performative activists to sit down, shut up, and listen for once in your miserable lives.
I’m seeing amazing authors deactivating, deleting their work, and leaving the fandom because a pack of rabid hyenas decided to bully them over FICTIONAL CHARACTERS.
Let’s get a few things straight, because apparently, critical thinking is a skill you lot didn’t spec into.
1. HARASSMENT IS NOT ACTIVISM.
Bullying real, living, breathing human beings over a fanfic about a video game monster doesn’t make you a “good person.” It makes you a piece of sh*t. You are not “protecting children.” You are literally traumatizing real people in the name of a pixelated antagonist. If you tell an artist to kill themselves over a ship, YOU are the problem. Not them. You. 🤡
2. IT IS A HORROR GAME.
We are talking about Poppy Playtime. A game about body horror, murder, and dark experiments. But suddenly, writing dark fics or shipping the Prototype (an eldritch abomination made of wires and meat) is where you draw the line? Stop applying real-world laws to a fictional wire-spider. “Oh, but he’s Oliver!! He’s coded as a minor!!” SHUT UP. The Prototype is a fictional entity. A monster. Authors have been writing about him since before the lore drop. Even if the lore changes, FICTION DOES NOT EQUAL REALITY. If you can’t separate a fanfic from real life, you need to log off and go to therapy.
3. “DON’T LIKE, DON’T READ” IS FREE.
The block button exists. No one is strapping you to a chair and forcing you to read Pro-ship fics or Prototype content. You are actively seeking it out just to be offended. That’s pathological behavior.
To the antis/moralists: You are not the morality police. You are just bored bullies looking for a socially acceptable target to abuse. You ruined the fun for everyone because you’re incapable of curating your own internet experience.
To the authors: Please, for the love of god, DO NOT STOP WRITING. Do not let these jobless losers win. Block them, lock comments, but keep creating. You are the backbone of this fandom. The rest of them are just noise.
R.I.P. adequacy in this fandom. You've broken the bottom.
pairing: prototype x gen!reader
tags: after the events of the train cutscene, alternative ending, reader fearing the prototype, sadistic prototype, i hope people has that same fear that I feel when I was watching C5 cause my heart was beating so fast, short
a/n: after watching chapter 5, i immediately made this (of course with lots of distractions like.. looking at his cutscenes.. and harley sawyer's.. a million of times) also there have been a massive influx of notes on my harley sawyer fic, thank you all!
I also want to clarify that there is age discourse about him and I want this to be a respectful space for discussion, I'm currently unsure on what he truly is but I would love to discuss about him lore and headcanon wise !
Adrenaline makes anybody run on a thready string of their own pulse, ligaments ready to split from the sheer fear of whatever they've seen. Inevitably, they run through the door which death humbly waits; snuffing out the light of hope that shouldn't have existed once anybody walks to this den named "Playtime Co".
You have sunken deep in hell. Even when Giblet's triumph exclaims and Poppy's panicked mutters echo through your head, you know one thing is certain and it didn't need to be said.
In a factory where anything can happen, the tormentor, the shadow of the factory that often fleets to one corner and another had enveloped all of you in an eerie smile of victory.
Giblet could feel the blood pounding in his ears, shaking like a dog kept in the cold rain as he stumbles over the rubble to hide. The false sense of security couldn't steer clear of the high level threat just a shoulder away.
"It can't.. he.."
He couldn't muster another word, choked with fear with his hands gripping his little head tight. Poppy had hurried over the door darting on her knobby legs with all her might, an expected look for her angel to stay right behind her.
It was like a flash, the Prototype fast on your heels until you felt your legs give out.
"No! Don't let him-"
His spider legs crawled close now, inching slowly. He can take as much time as he so pleases when he sees such an expression on your face he finds delightful, his elongated claws just hovering down to your face.
In a brutal swipe, 1006 had slammed Poppy's body back against the doors, her head lolling to the side. An audible crack was heard, it was done to ensure she didn't get away as seen as how she had passed out. There was no time for him to be gentle especially since he had something else on his mind. His eyes then fleet over to you, slightly curled on the ground, palms flat against the ground as you tremble uncontrallably, blood crusting against your nails.
The tips of his talons poke into your cheeks, drawing blood that dripped down to the ground. Lightheadedness starts stabbing your skull. You've faced many trials in this one night indubitably but fear had sucked the fight from your body. He watches your chest heave, up and down. The yellow glow of his eye moves to and fro and you feel the cold, metallic hand against your chest and it makes your throat gasp out a sorry noise of dismay.
"What's wrong? Why has The Butcher stopped?"
"I feel it, that thumping against your skin.."
Cold eyes stare at your form which twists in hysteria, it was nothing like the human that braved through the levels of this cursed factory reeking of blood and grime. He lets out a deep, distorted laugh.
He presses deeper, the sharp metal imprinting into your skin and palpating the area where your weary heart remains . He coos, utterly entertained.
"Ah, your heart beat's picking up. Do I scare you, butcher?"
It was almost pathetic because you cry, howling out in cracks when he holds the back of your body to examine you much closer.
1006 articulates his words with a drawl of somebody playing with their food between their fingers. He watches your head twitch with hesitation to lift up and truly look at him. Truthfully, after the smiley faces of all the Bigger Body initiatives, they hold atleast a modicum of need for their own survival while the Prototype was the main reason their survival had ended. 1006 looked the part of a scary bed time story, one you'll never forget as you grow because that sinister maw filled with teeth that will never unshow itself sets an unsteady rhythm of unease in your heart.
An inkling he had was his appearance which he revelled in. You reacted akin to the children he had the pleasure to meet before sewing them inside out with his meticulous hands.
He gets real close on purpose, a clink and scrape of his legs against the floor. His breath swiping against your face.
"Boo."
That distorted hiss made your sweat trail down your face as you shut your eyes yet you still see him in the dark recesses of your mind. It was sick that he acted the part of a spider tangling you deep in its web except he commits it in such a bestial way. He knew he has won, gripping the prize in his hand until saliva bubble out of your lips.
"No!"
You couldn't stay strong anymore, your body weak from exhaustion. Stamina long gone with an aching body that yearns for consumption that you physically feel yourself grow limp in his hands.
His tactic on frightening you with keeping his face close was heinous, making you flail pathetically. He opened his nightmarish jaw matching a monster ready to devour his meal but what does he do instead?
Poppy's voice came from him in a mocking crackle, he shakes you slightly in his hold, toying with what he had watch scurry and leap throughout the factory. The Prototype thought you'd last longer, however he stares at the fight in your eyes dissipatating like red smoke. Long strands of spit seeps down your lips from the pure fatigue settling into your bones. In a last attempt to get away, you push his face back.
He tilts his head to the side to slightly nip at your finger, those crooked, vile teeth just inches away from snapping off a joint. It instilled more terror into you that this boogeyman will hurt you or worse to get closer to his goal now that he had the Butcher right in his grasp.
Your bloodshot eyes fleet to Poppy, her precious face already so shattered by the horrors of the night and Giblet who kept his head down in the precense of the feared experiment. Teeth bite down harder on your tendons, moving to include the rest of your hand. 1006 seemed to want only your eyes on him. Those trembling eyes he had begun to savour struggling to stay open.
"Don't be scared, I can finally fix you."
The pallor in your face deeply seetles, a jeer back at tea time with a mighty guffaw rumbling out of him. You felt yourself getting carried off, along with Poppy whom he stuffed into your bloodied jacket to fit snugly for the ride.
A soft, uncharecteristic chuckle soon follows, he watches you lose consciousness in his arms, tracing the drool on your chin and letting it slip between his claws. Poppy nestles onto your chest so devastatingly at peace, moving ever so slightly to the Prototype's janky movements.
Giblet looks up once when he heard the telltale shift of clinking, he grips his chest now that the inevitable is here. The Prototype took you and Poppy deep into his lairs, doing god knows what. It made all hope that had remained inside him shatter since it takes him back to square one.
With a haunting trill, he stalks into the darkness, finally with the two possessions he wished to have in a very long time. A lot of emotions run through his disfigured body but what he felt at that moment matched his mad, petrifying face; mania.
as soon as i saw the prototype’s design, i knew i was fucked. enjoy?
(my request info, if you want to send prompts ;P)
[read on ao3]
tw: spoilers for chapter 5, canon-typical violence, a smidge of touch starved prototype
well fed devils (the prototype x gn!reader, poppy playtime)
She’s here. Poppy.
He can see her, the riot of her red curls filling the edges of his vision, even with Kissy’s long, lanky body attempting to hide her from his sight.
The Prototype stalks forward, intent on finally putting an end to Poppy’s childish fixations, of fixing her, in the only way she’s left him, when he catches a glimpse of the last, special guest seated snugly at the head of the table.
You.
The outsider. The intruder. The Butcher.
The one Poppy couldn’t bear to let go.
The Prototype’s spidery limbs dig divots into the floor as he propels himself forward, his vision narrowing to the scope of your face, upturned and pointed at him.
A mere moment is all it takes to scoop you into his claws, the table juddering as he slams you down against its surface. The cups and plates rattle, crashing to the floor, yet even above the tinkle of shattering glass, the Prototype can hear your breath, loud and rushed. Your eyes have grown wide, luminous. Wet. The Prototype raises a needle-thin claw, intent on bursting them in their sockets.
“No!” he hears Poppy cry out, desperate and shrill, only for her pleas to be silenced by a swift squeeze from Lily’s braids.
Without lifting his head, the Prototype twists his neck to bring Poppy into view, the soft pop pop pop of shifting hydraulics blending with the increasingly flustered cadence of your breaths. Beneath his claws, your chest rises and falls in rapid bursts. A simple squeeze - quick, tight - would crush you.
“What will you do?” he trills, catching Poppy’s eye. His claws scrape along the table as they wrap more firmly around you, the GrabPack affixed to your back creaking ominously beneath his grip, and you gasp, the breath sticking wetly in your throat. The Prototype asks again. “What will you do?”
Poppy’s gaze stutters. She doesn’t ask for clarification - his meaning has been made all too clear. “I - ” she gasps, gaze jumping between his own and to the outsider laid out beneath him. She pulls against her bonds, but the braids wound around her throat refuse to loosen, allowing her only enough air to speak. She firms her lips.
“I will never forgive you,” she croaks.
The Prototype stills. Beneath his claws, your heart races, a frantic thump - thump - thump that he longs to squash, and yet he hesitates, and rages at his dithering. I will never forgive you.
His gaze swigs to Lily.
“Take them,” he hisses, the words grating along his voice box.
“Awww,” Lily whines, her shoes squeaking against the floor as she rocks on her heels. “But I wanted to play with our new friend, too - ”
She squeaks as his free hand shoots out, claws forming into a point to pierce the cat toy tangled within her braids. Its body deflates with a sad, muted cry, and without another word, Lily forces Kissy and Poppy from the table, the latter’s incessant pleas for your life fading to white noise as they’re ushered from the room.
Alone, the Prototype’s head twists back to face you, the table creaking beneath his weight as he lifts a leg onto its surface.
“Butcher,” he croons, dipping his head towards yours. “How far you’ve come. Little mouse in the walls.”
You bare your teeth, hands scrabbling at the back of his claws with barely enough strength to strip paint from a wall. You’re nothing without the GrabPack strapped to your back, nothing without Poppy’s voice in your ears. An ant. A flea. Nothing.
And yet -
Toys have fought for you. Died for you. Flocked to you. And Poppy -
I will never forgive you.
The Prototype hisses.
“Why?” he rasps, the word vibrating along his vocal chords. He lowers his head until the splay of his smile nearly overshadows your wan, dirty face. “What makes you so - ” His voice rises to mimic Poppy’s. “ - special?”
Your fingers slow, ceasing in their ineffective plucking at his claws. From within the cage of your chest, your heartbeat flutters.
“W-what?” you choke out, your voice gravel in your throat. The Prototype’s head tilts as he compares it to the others in his database, copies it, and filters it away.
His head dips, jagged smile looming closer. “You heard” he insists, lone orange pupil darting to your throat as you swallow, tongue swiping out to wet your bottom lip.
And then you lift your hands.
The Prototype’s claws tighten around your chest and you flinch, breath hitching at the pain, but it doesn’t stop you from reaching out, palms bared, fingers splayed. It would take so little to draw them into the cavern of his maw, to bite down, to rip, to tear.
But the Prototype doesn’t bite. Doesn’t rip. Doesn’t tear. He waits, bells jingling, limbs creaking, until your hands alight on his face. And then -
And then he stares. Feels.
Your palms are soft. Bruised. Warmth leaches from your skin into his, seeping deep into cracked porcelain, and as they move, tracing the curvature of his cheeks, the Prototype finds himself unable to resist chasing their heat, the joints in his neck creaking as he tilts his head into your hold.
“I just - ” Your voice comes out brittle, soft, fingertips catching against the edges of his wide, wide grin. “I just want to help.”
The Prototype’s bells jingle as he meets your gaze, porcelain cheeks pushing into your warm hands, and promises -
Considering what I’ve seen of Legends ZA, the reason Nintendo wants to get rid of Palworld so badly is so that they don’t have to increase quality of their games to keep players. Like, so many of the buildings in ZA are so so obviously flat and untextured it’s disgraceful. It’s like they copy pasted the same image onto every high rise. The balconies aren’t even 3d, they are completely flat. like? WTF. also the story is always some version of: Your the new kid/protagonist fix the legendary creature problem, and OH NO the evil/morally grey team whatever is causing trouble with the legendary. Oh yay you beat the gyms and elite four time to go fill the Pokédex and shiny hunt. That’s it that’s Pokemon.
I Am Not Fucking buying a switch 2 until Nintendo pulls their heads out of their asses with the bricking & pricing Bullcrap. I will also not be playing Pokémon until Nintendo leaves Palworld alone and drops their EXTREMELY PREDATORY PATENTS.
So Monster Hunter Wilds added my favorite Monster from 3 Ultimate ( the game I started the franchise with, yes I chose a weird one to start with) Lagiacrus. I know the long term hunters are divided as to whether it was pronounced (Luh-Gaia-Crus or Luh-Gee- Uh-Crus) who could’ve ever predicted it would be pronounced (Lagi-Acrus). Pronunciations aside, I’m just happy the Thunder Croc “Lord of the Sea” has returned. He looks incredible and he is also kicking my ass.
I have had THE fattest crush on Jumbo from KKFOS for years now and he’s now a playable character in a game I might own. I am excited but also gotta reign in the horny cause This Klown makes me feel some kinda way.
I’m so goddamn happy that I’ve seen so much Killer Klowns content recently!!! I’m glad the game has revitalized people’s interest in the movie and it’s fun characters.
If Trump goes to prison during pride month I will literally never stop laughing like to charge reblog to cast give me all of your evil thoughts and prayers for this freak to get his first ever consequence.
it's 2022. donald trump has died in disgrace days after being impeached and jailed. my chemical romance's new album is coming out the same day as the new spiderverse movie. the lizzo and janelle monaé collab song is blowing up the radio. lil nas x has a verse in it. you and your partner have time and energy for dates after work after jeff bezos' assets have been seized and distributed to the public in the wake of his arrest for keeping employees in unsafe working conditions.
I haven’t posted anything in like over a year so I guess here’s a list of who I would choose as parental/familial individuals from Warframe I guess. No This Does Not Mean I ship Any of These Characters
Grineer: Dad - Tyl Regor, Mom- Kela de Thaym, Grandpa- Vor
Corpus: Dad- Alad V, Mom- ? Grandpa- Parvos Granum, Ass Bastard- Nef Anyo
Cephalon: Dad- Ordis, Dad- Cy, Dad- Simaris, Mom - Suda
