Yeah So I Accidentaly Fell Into A Time Travel Portal That Took Me To 2013. Yeah I Can't Seem To Get Out.

pocketsized...

My biggest fear is probably my parents finding out about my obsession with gay ships of any kind

Penguins :3 I lub them

As a sincere apology for my shitty fic update schedule: I am opening a Q&A for the universe of "Garden of Constellations". Be forewarned that I may not be able to answer certain questions if they count as spoilers

WE’RE SO FUCKING BACK!!!!!!

more sk8 stickers :)

(i know y’all were waiting for these two…)

op

HTTYD x Genshin Impact - Visions

𝔾𝕣𝕖𝕖𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤, 𝔻𝕖𝕒𝕣 𝕋𝕣𝕒𝕧𝕖𝕝𝕖𝕣!

Since I’ve decided to start writing some HTTYD Fics and HCs on this blog, my dearest travelers, I’ve decided to start strong and do a vision analysis for the main characters of HTTYD! Hope you all enjoy this! ♡︎

Please consider joining the Discord for fandom shenanigans!

𝕃𝕖𝕥’𝕤 𝕤𝕖𝕖 𝕟𝕠𝕨, 𝕀 𝕓𝕖𝕝𝕚𝕖𝕧𝕖 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕥𝕒𝕝𝕖 𝕘𝕠𝕖𝕤 𝕒 𝕝𝕚𝕥𝕥𝕝𝕖 𝕤𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕝𝕚𝕜𝕖…

“The Gods goad us all with the promise of their seven treasures: rewards for the worthy, a doorway to divinity. Yet buried in this world are smoldering remains: a warning to those that dare trespass. That throne in the sky is not reserved for you. But mortal arrogation never stops. None will escape the flames. See for yourself."

𖣘 Anemo - The Spirit of Freedom 𖣘

“What does freedom really mean when demanded of you by a god?"

Those who possess the power of Anemo tend to not get nervous or overwhelmed by the situations they face. Anemo bearers value freedom so much that they will sometimes fight for those who deny it to others or themselves…

Ruffnut and Tuffnut - The two are practically the embodiment of freedom in their own unique way, so much so that they take what it means to be free in a whole new meaning. While they like to wreak havoc across the land the two know deep down that even when it comes to fighting for the freedom of dragons there is nothing that can stop them. Freedom can mean many things but what it means to them is being able to free a dragon who is being hurt by evil.

Valka- She holds freedom dear despite it bringing her a heavy burden. When she was taken by a dragon many years ago while trying to save her infant son she immediately knew what she had to do- even if it meant never seeing her husband and son again. She fought for what was right and freed many dragons- protected them too. She knew freedom came with a cost. What she lost was later gained.

ꕥ Geo - Contracts and Order ꕥ

“In the end, he will sign the contract to end all contracts."

Like the land, they have a calm temperament. Earth types are very grounded individuals, as of realistic. Geo Vision holders seek loyalty, security, reliability, and so on. They value what is set in stone, or believe everything is, and are known to be very stubborn…

Viggo Grimborn- Leader of the Dragon Hunters, a strategic thinker and is smarter with his age and experience in his years. He is realistic in thinking and is incredibly stubborn- everything happens for a reason and knows much can be set in stone. He values loyalty and does not care how he gets it as long as he is feared above all. While he would indeed use his vision for acts of evil it is not a surprise that Geo was meant for a man of his skill and intelligence.

Fishlegs- While some would argue Fishlegs being a Dendro holder it becomes a bit more obvious that Geo is best suited for him. His behaviour is that of a Geo. He seeks a sense of security and is incredibly reliable, someone that people just feel comfortable opening up to and a wonderful friend. Fishlegs values loyalty and kindness, he wishes to shield his friends and beloved dragon Meatlug from foes no matter the cost. While he may be cowardly at times he has a pure heart that is made of gold. He means well and wants the best for everyone.

Stoick The Vast- While some might quick to label him as that of an Anemo holder due to losing his wife, Stoick truly embodies that of Geo in terms of being the foundation of his people’s tradition and wishing to hold true to his well grounded beliefs and ideals. He values loyalty and strength and is very much built like that of a bolder. Stoick the Vast is truly a reliable leader in the eyes of those on Berk. Though he once believed that the hatred to dragons was set in stone a sudden and difficult experience changed his mind- he was stubborn, yes, but that can all come down to him being a true man of Geo.

 Electro - Everlasting Eternity 

“But what do mortals see of the eternity chased after by their god?"

Eternity, a means where all or at least parts of life is kept the same regardless of what goes on in the world around them. The ideas of unchanging eternity is what strengths the individuals who harness the powers of Electro. They strive to keep themselves in whatever they deem to be eternal. Whether it is eternal beauty or eternal power, they will achieve that goal. No matter what, even if it may be destructive...

Heather - She is no stranger to chasing her own version of eternity, she felt so alone not knowing where she came from with only fragments of memories left behind in her mind. She wanted clarity and to understand as much as possible of who she really was- one could say that her pursuit of answers was her eternity. From a very young age, she was separated from her real family, and was eventually taken in by a couple who raised her as their own daughter. Even with what adoptive family she did have, her pursuit for answers was evident from the start. She was seen as different- an outcast even but even so being different was what lead her to find what she wanted all along. Her eternity.

Dagur The Deranged- Heather’s older brother, a crazy and rather deranged man befitting his namesake has his own way of defining eternity. He has a strong connection to Electro. The Skrill is the dragon the Berserker Tribe have named the symbol of their people. He is impulsive and never ceases his drive for eternity- an eternity of his own. Now that he is married to Mala of the Defenders of the Wing he seeks an eternity with her where they will fight alongside each other.

Mala- Her eternity is simple, peace and protection for her people and it’s dragons. She is not afraid to turn her katana-like sword on anyone who dare challenges her sense of eternity or dares harm a dragon. Mala holds a strong, religious admiration for dragons, actively antagonizing dragon hunters, suspected dragon hunters and anyone who may have harmed dragons. She is elegant and polite, if anything some may think she is much like the archon of which her vision emanates from.

❦ Dendro - Wisdom and Knowledge ❦

“The oasis of knowledge is a mirage in the desert of ignorance.”

As the nature, trees, the soil they are the epitome of life. The element with creation itself. Dendro people will often be creative, bring up ideas to change the current situation, and bring a whole new perspective on matters. They are crafty yet incredibly careful, they wish not to overlook a single detail put before them. As with knowledge and wisdom, they seek answers and solutions to any problem put in their path. Daring to risk it all, one might say…

Hiccup- Intelligent and incredibly creative through and through. While he may have been hesitant to share his views on dragons in the past and worked in secret to become the well known dragon rider he is today. It should come to no one’s surprise that Hiccup values knowledge and has a drive to learn as much as he can, like a sponge soaking up water be soaks up knowledge. He is incredibly creative and always seems to have a bright idea to help get the job done.

Gothi- Berk’s resident healer who is skilled with all things medicine. Gothi’s knowledge is in medicine and the earth itself, with her knowledge she can be sure to cure as many as possible by using what she knows about herbs and other natural remedies.

Bucket- Bucket was attacked by a dragon and lost half of his brain. It caused him to lose his sight temporarily, and to protect what was left of his skull, he wears an iron bucket on his head permanently, earning him the name. Now do not let this half-brained Viking fool you, he is indeed a man of Dendro in a very unique way. His injury also awakened great artistic talent, and he made two quality paintings of Hiccup and Stoick, but the second painting was more truthful of Hiccup's appearance; the first was not. True to the Dendro element’s ability to belong to creative minded people, Bucket holds true to his creative abilities proudly.

Trader Johann- Creative and cunning, Johann has proven that he is indeed worthy of Dendro by means of his crafty facade of a dimwitted trader of many goods while being the mastermind of many great troubles the dragon riders have come across. He as is crafty as he is careful, not daring to miss even a little detail as why his act was able to keep going for many long years. While he may not use his vision for good, he is indeed a genius…

𖦹 Hydro - The Desire For Justice 𖦹

"The god of justice lives for the spectacle of the courtroom, seeking to judge all other gods. But even she knows not to make an enemy of the Divine."

Hydro bearers tend to go along with the flow, as water can take the same shape of its vessel. They adapt to situations quite fast, or are not overwhelmed by what surrounds them. They seem justice and have a rather strong sense of it, holding those who dare question them before their being as if it were court. They are judgmental, but not always in a negative way, some more observant and silent than others. But be warned, they will make sure a tsunami of justice hits you when you are wrong…

Astrid- She is truly the embodiment of the Hydro element’s principles of justice and a quick adaptability to chaos in their way. Astrid’s sense of justice does to always being quick to sense when one is not who they seem, quickly calling them out as an act of judgement- though she may remain silent on the matter she will judge the one worthy of her judgement and without mercy.

Atali- Atali is very polite and gracious, though has little patience for any disrespect. Much like her vision’s very principles she holds Justice above all and will defend in the name of it. She is gentle and kind, nurturing to baby razorwhip dragons in her care but will happily turn her blade against those who dare harm a dragon. Her justice is in the name of protection of those in her care.

𖣔 Pyro - War Within 𖣔

"The rules of war are woven in the womb. The victor shall burn bright, while the losers must turn to ash."

Pyro wielders are the most passionate people you may find, they do every single thing with huge amounts of willpower, energy and love. That is not to say that there may be a barrier to keep them from reaching their full potential. Many Pyro holders struggle with “war”, the very thing their Vision symbolizes. War is not always a fight with another, but inside yourself…

Drago- The very embodiment of Pyro’s thirst for war. His drive and sheer willpower to concur says it all, he is truly one chosen of the Pyro element. Dragon is fierce and as brutal as a raging wildfire, his temper that of an erupting volcano. He has no love in his body, only the energy and will to concur- that is his flame, his true passion.

Mindin- Like the other Wingmaidens, she is respectful towards the others. However, Mindin’s call to Pyro was the feeling of never truly being enough. Minden has always wanted to prove her worth to Atali, to show that she is a leader material. When she realized that she has made reckless decisions, she feels ashamed and that she is not worthy to become a Wingmaiden. It takes an encouragement from Snotlout to help herself in getting back on her feet and to do the right thing. Pyro can mean that she has conflict burning within, she indeed does but that does not define who she is, her strength and willpower to prove herself has shown her true worth.

Snotlout- Pyro was naturally the vision he wanted to hold from the beginning, after all, Hookfang is a Monstrous Nightmare- a stoker class of dragon. If anyone was fit for Pyro it was Snotlout. He embodies Pyro’s traits in an interesting way, always wanting to prove himself. He is passionate… but sometimes his passion may get the better of him….

Gustav- Snotlout’s mini me, a wannabe new and improved Snotlout (well, more like more chaotic version). He admires Snotlout and his ability to train a dragon to the point where he gets his own dragon named Fanghook. Gustav often times mimics Snotlout's personality, although he is easily scared, mostly because he is younger, as has decided to run away twice… despite this he is indeed worthy of pyro based on his dedication, passion, and his inner conflict of not being entirely true to himself.

❄︎ Cryo - Conflicted and Strident ❄︎

"She is a god with no love left for her people, nor do they have any left for her. Her followers hope only to be on her side when the day of her rebellion against the Divine comes at last."

Cold yet calm, confident yet conflicted. Those who wield the powers of Cryo are individuals who all seem to have something that they deeply despise, whether it be a topic or person they seem to hold a deep inner hatred towards it. They are quick to talk about their despise and come against it rather quickly if given the chances. Cryo holders may seem harsh, but many are kind and well intentioned deep down. Much like a flower hidden beneath the winter snow. They sometimes find hard to love and embrace; just as they have found it hard to embrace their true self…

Ryker Grimborn- As the older brother of Viggo Grimborn, he's the muscle and brawn, while he lacks the brains for many an operation, he makes up for it in pure brute force. He is undoubtedly the type of character that wants to just run in and start beating everybody up and killing everything and everyone in his vicinity, Ryker is far smarter than he looks and is capable of trickery- he is cold and brutal, a pure Cryo at heart. By keeping a relatively calm demeanor before going blizzard crazy, he knows when to attack with ease.

Krogan- He is very quiet, calm and collected, and seems to prefer observing to joining in the commotion. He is quite literally the calm before the storm- or raging blizzard. Most of his actions are overly dramatized, suggesting he's well disciplined and might have a gift for performing. He’s the embodiment of the Cryo principles and personality. He is the farthest from kind, harsh as the coldest of winters and with a heart of solid ice.

Eret- While some might not have guessed Eret is one for the vision of Cryo but he is truly a Cryo deep down. Cocky and overconfident, only appearing to care about saving his own skin. In spite of his cavalier façade, Eret is rather charming, heroic, and kind-hearted. As a Cryo user, a key personality trait is he may seem harsh, but is kind and well intentioned deep down. He has come a long way from foe to friend and has become an incredible leader in his own way.

————

"Some say a few are chosen and the rest are dregs. But I say we humans have our humanity. We will defy this world with a power from beyond. Now, you will set foot in this world. Your journey has reached its end. But one final doorway remains. Step forth if you have understood the meaning of your journey. Defeat me. Command me to step aside. Show me that you are worthier than I to rescue her. Then the threads of all fate will be yours to reweave."

"My memory is all but faded completely. But I will always remember how much she, too, loved these flowers."

(ep8 spoilers ahead!)

Once upon a time, in a land far away, there lived a king who honoured Truth.

He was as gentle as a lamb, as pure as driven snow, as warm as sunlight, and his citizens revered him for these qualities. His Truth was his kindness and his hope, and he was said to be able to heal a Cookie of all their woes and pain with a single touch, so blessed by the heavens he was.

Unfortunately, his Truth was no armour, and eventually it became a blade that turned against him. His soft heart failed to protect his kingdom when disaster fell like a fog over it, thick with malice, and those citizens who once revered him came to despise those very same traits they once praised.

The king of Truth, as gentle as a coward, as pure as a martyr, as warm as the remnants of his burning kingdom. The king, dismayed by his Truth failing him, had little idea of what to do as his citizens abandoned him, one by one until only he remained.

One day, a wise scholar happened upon the shell of that kingdom and, curious to know its story, he went to visit the king. The king, still at a loss for what to do and hoping the scholar may impart some of his knowledge, freely shared the tale of the kingdom's downfall with a deep sorrow in his voice.

The wise scholar, taking pity on the king, stepped up to the weary silhouette curled in that old throne and said, "Is it not obvious? You should let go of your Truth."

"My Truth?" The king murmured, disbelieving. "I certainly must have misheard you. I have dedicated my life to Truth. I cannot possibly part with it."

"Whyever not? Look at where Truth has lead your life – to complete ruins, hasn't it?" The wise scholar explained, oh so patiently. "It has paid your dedication back with anguish and despair. Why should you live like that? Deceit would be far more merciful to you, and it would surely soothe your poor heart, if you'd let it."

The wise scholar had offered this morsel of Knowledge out of the goodness of his heart, and for a blissful moment, the king considered it. Sadly, the king could not see it as the act of goodwill that it was, too blinded by his own petty pride, restrained by his years of stubborn devotion to the false idol of 'Truth'.

"No, what you have said is a lie meant to mislead me. I can tell, because Deceit drips from your tongue like poison." The king foolishly declares, his face hardening with misplaced determination. "This must be a test sent to me from the Witches, to test my strength, and I will not fail so easi––"

—No, that's not quite right. Let's try again.

Once upon a time, in a land far away, there lived a great hero.

This great hero was benevolent, noble and self-righteous, known as a friend and ally to all, but he harboured a dark secret. His Soul Jam, the source of all of his awe-inspiring power, was not wholly his.

Indeed, it had once belonged to an illustrious sorceror, a manifestation of his very soul. But this sorceror had suffered a great injustice under the hands of the fickleminded Witches, and his Soul Jam had been torn asunder. While he had clung fiercely to one half, the other had slipped out of his grasp and fell into the hands of our great hero, the unwitting thief.

Of course, the sorceror came to confront the hero, to claim back what was rightfully his and reunite with the full extent of his power. But the hero was unwilling to give it up, and after much consideration, the sorceror decided to be gracious. He allowed the hero to keep his half of the Soul Jam, granted that he never stray from the sorceror's side.

For a blissful moment, it seemed like this compromise would work well for the both of them. One day, however, the hero approached the sorceror, fidgeting with his long sleeves.

"My Soul Jam calls for yours," The hero admits, soft and careful, "and so too does my soul. Even though I am by your side, it is not enough."

The sorceror smiled, flashing teeth, pleased by the admittance because it proved his emerging hypothesis correct. That the other half of the Soul Jam could not have landed in anyone else's hands but the hero's, for they were meant for each other.

"Then come closer." The sorceror goads, reaching for the hero. "Unite our two halves and become one with me, as it should be."

The hero does, pressing into the sorceror's arms, pushing the softened middles of their Soul Jams together until they begin to merge, light melting into the dark of the sorceror's tight embrace. Truth into the comfort of Deceit.

For a blissful moment, they are together and whole and one.

Then pain bursts through the sorceror's back and he screeches as the hero pushes and stumbles out of his twitching arms. The sorceror's wide, blurry eyes catch on the icy glint of a dagger in the hero's hand, sticky with jam.

The sorceror heaves as his hand scrambles to his own back, finding an open wound weeping thick jam that seeps through his clothes. He starts to taste it, sour on the back of his tongue. Sure enough, the hero had stabbed him in the back with a blade he had hidden in his long sleeves.

The hero stares down at him passively, unremorseful. The sorceror's back burns with gouging pain, and his chest burns with boiling rage, coming up through his teeth in a mighty growl. Jam leaks through his clenched fingers as he curls into himself, his Soul Jam crying in the hollow of his throat, calling for its traitorous other half, ringing, ringing, ringing, RINGING. "YOU--"

—NO! No, no, no, that's not right either, absolutely not. Let's take it from the top, one more time.

Once upon a time, in a land far away, there lived a humble shepard.

The shepard was sweet and languid as honey, content in spending his days tending to his vulnerable flock. He had no interest in the world at large, though he welcomed any travellers that passed through with friendliness, making peace in his little meadow.

One day, another shepard, hooded and pale, arrived at the meadow with a single sheep trailing sadly at his heels. He asked for a place to stay for the night, as he had recently lost the rest of the flock to a wolf and, in his grief, took to wandering the lands as a nomad.

The shepard, sweet as he was, agreed. He led the hooded shepard to his flock, where the hooded shepard settled his sheep in for the night. Then, he led the hooded shepard to his little cottage, where the hooded shepard settled himself in for the night, right beside the shepard in his small wooden bed.

Little did the shepard know, the hooded shepard laying beside him was, in reality, a wolfherd. Little did the shepard know, the sheep he had allowed to rest in the comfort of his poor flock was, in reality, a wolf bundled in sheep's wool, trained to behave mildly in the presence of Cookies.

When morning came, the shepard was horrified to find that his flock, which he had dutifully nutured since young, had been eaten whole. The wolfherd's wolf, smeared in red with its woolen disguise hanging off it in sticky clumps, trotted up to its master lazily as the shepard helplessly fell to his knees.

For a blissful moment, there was just the shepard's sobs as his world crumbled around him, ready to be remade.

Then, the wolfherd came up to the miserable shepard and lunged.

He pinned the teary shepard to the damp grass, bathing him in lamb blood as the wolfherd bared his fangs and dug his claws into dough, shedding a disguise of his own.

A thin throat gave way under the wolfherd's teeth, and he discoverd that the shepard really was as sweet as honey, all the way through, as jam spilled into his mouth. He made cracks as the shepard weakly tried to struggle, tearing into his dough in reprimand, in retribution. The shepard deserved it.

He dug into his chest with his wet teeth, pulling out his jammy heart, his pulsing Soul Jam, his writhing soul. He savoured it as he swallowed it whole, as the shepard went obediently still beneath him, because he deserves it, this is his, he is his, and the shepard deserves it too. He deserves it, he DESERVES it, HE DESERVES IT--

—HE DOES, he does, but not quite like that. No, no, something's still off. Maybe a change of angle is needed. A change of perspective.

Once upon a time, in a land far away, there lived a liar.

He was beautiful, magnificent in his dark robes and rough around the edges in a captivating way. He watched the world from the top of a spire, looking down on Cookiekind from above with dozens of golden eyes, turning his back on Truth.

The liar was not alone. At his side, and he at his, was the beast that strung the world in shimmering strings, playing the universe like a grand orchestra to seranade his companion. Their power did not just blend harmoniously; it was a singular one, feeding into an endless cycle between the two of them, driven by the thrum of their Soul Jam.

For a blissful forever, they stood together, casting the veil of Deceit over the world, dampening the blistering light of Truth until it coalesced into the shadow of Deceit, becoming what it always should have been. The two of them were unstoppable, bowing to nothing and nobody, rising above it all. They were unstoppable, they could have been, they would have been unstoppable-- IF--

—IF THOSE GNATS HADN'T– IF HE HADN'T–

(Stupid, traitorous, weak fool!)

—No, no, enough, enough, enough. This still isn't getting anywhere. How about this?

Once upon a time, in a land far away, there lived a saint of Truth.

He was blindingly bright, too bright, and he could drive the shadow monsters away with a single swipe of his staff, so radiant was he. And yet, for all his shining power, he was also a complete idiot, driven by his soft, squishy heart.

For instead he cleaved the monster out of the shadow, held out a hand and said, "Let me be your...friend."

Friend. Friend. How ridiculous! Laughable, really, in its absolute stupidity. The saint's eyes were so soft, gentle in contrast to the harsh edge of the light, gooey like melted chocolate, like the saint was doing the monster a favour even though it was the other way around, it was SUPPOSED to be the OTHER WAY AROUND--

—NOPE, no, that's no good either. Come on, what else, what else, what else– aha!

Once upon a time, in a land far away, there lived an angel.

This angel was once a shepard, once a king, once a hero, once a saint before he ascended to the light of the heavens. He was beautiful and benevolent, warm as sunlight, sweet as honey, blindingly bright and infuriatingly beloved. Until he wasn't.

You see, when the angel had ascended, he had thought that he had risen from the rock bottom of the river. He had foolishly believed that he now knew everything, that he had captured the essence of Knowledge through a brief meeting of two halves of a single Soul Jam.

He hadn't realised that a new rock bottom can always be created – all you need to do is dig.

And so, the demon did, dragging the angel down from the picturesque heavens and back to him, backed by a symphony of screams.

The angel tried to reason with him, with his faulty logic. The angel tried to fight but wouldn't risk crumbling him for good. The angel tried to reach out to him, like he really, truly believed it would work.

In the end, the angel lays crumpled at the demon's feet in a heap, cheeks wet with tears but eyes tired and wild. His painful light dims into something bearable, close to snuffing out entirely, flickering weakly like a candle in the wind.

"You were right." The angel whispers, about his hope, about his kindness, about anything, about everything. "You were right. It was always going to end like this."

And when the angel looks up, it is as if he is giving all of himself to the demon. Properly, this time, no clever tricks even passing his mind. His life and soul forfeit.

There. Perfect.

Shadow Milk sighs, a heavy sound that thickens the air. He is not quite satisfied, because he cannot be, not with his dough crawling with restless viciousness, but he is satisfied enough. With the story, of course. Not with anything else.

Just thinking of that, Shadow Milk scowls, finally looking back down at his hands. He had forgotten about the little plush doll he was holding. It's a cute little replica of Pure Vanilla, small enough to fit neatly into the palms of his hands. He had been fiddling with it for no reason in particular, mostly agitated boredom.

In the midst of his storycrafting, he must have tightened his grip too hard. His claws have ripped its chest in half, stuffing bubbling out of the wound like sea foam.

He stares at it blankly for a moment, claws idly toying with the fluff. Then he narrows his eyes, growls, and twists his claws deeper into the tear.

Lonely, Pure Vanilla had said, with the absolute gall to act like he could read him perfectly. Like he could understand him.

As if! There was no way he understood him, and his new little light show only proved that. Whatever understanding Pure Vanilla thought he had was conjured by his own mind, his poor little heart's attempt to find a peaceful solution. It's like Shadow Milk had told them – in the face of the unknown, Cookies tend to fill in the gaps with whatever fits best with their existing belief system, and what they want to believe is true.

Shadow Milk huffs, finally pulling his claws out of the Pure Vanilla doll. It's a sad looking thing, droopy with the lost stuffing. He considers it for a moment, before gingerly beginning to push the stuffing back in, tuft by tuft.

There is one thing Pure Vanilla got right, though. He really is the only one with the potential to truly understand Shadow Milk. He was close to it, even, tantalisingly close before he pulled himself back out again, but he hadn't gotten there yet.

Shadow Milk knows that he hasn't. Because Shadow Milk knows what it will take to get him there, and it involves tearing him to shreds–

Shadow Milk summons old marionette strings, now mostly unused, and begins to sew up the open chest of the doll with lazy flicks of his finger. Despite the casual movement, the stitches are precise and perfect. Once he's done, the doll looks almost as good as new, but inarguably altered.

—before fixing him back up in Shadow Milk's design.

Only then would Pure Vanilla really be able to understand Shadow Milk. Only then would Shadow Milk believe it.

Shadow Milk rubs his thumb over the doll's cheek, something ugly twisting in his chest. His claws twitch, eager to tear the doll apart again, to have an outlet, but he refrains because he does have self-control and he just fixed it.

Instead, he lifts the doll up and presses a kiss to the little stitched star on its forehead. No, not a kiss. It's more like a curse, a harsh press of lips with the slightest snarl of teeth, with enough pressure to create a dent in its soft head.

Yes, this isn't the end. They have eternity, after all. The wait may be agonising, but eventually, he'll understand him. Shadow Milk will make sure of it.

The something in his chest loosens just slightly, as if relieved.

Why the fuck is the Devil in the Cuphead show so fucking fruity?! SIR YOUR VOICE?!