I just really enjoy the game and want the fandom to grow
-Requests are closed!-
And here are some reasons to convince you to read this book!
-These oneshots are gender neutral
-And even though the reader is in them there is no use of Y/n
-I try to...
: ̗̀➛ This chapter contains spoilers for the Real Boy ending as well as spoilers for Carlo's character otherwise enjoy :)
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The puppet in your arms was a delicate mix of fragility and resilience. Its broken form hinted at a tumultuous journey, a tale told through the scars and fractures that adorned its puppet frame. Despite the visible signs of wear and tear, there was a lingering sense of elegance in the puppet's design-a testament to the craftsmanship that had birthed it.
The journey back to your hideout was a careful ballet, each step taken with a mindful consideration of the precious cargo cradled in your arms. The puppet's limbs hung limp, strings dangling like ethereal tendrils, disconnected from the invisible puppeteer that once guided its movements. Yet, amidst the stillness, there was an undeniable grace, an artistry frozen in time.
Your hideout, a haven of shadows and solitude, welcomed the puppet into its clandestine embrace. The air within was thick with a sense of mystery, the walls adorned with the relics of your peculiar pursuits. As you laid the puppet on a makeshift bed, the surroundings absorbed the echoes of its silent history.
With meticulous care, you examined the puppet, your hands tracing the intricate lines and patterns that adorned its form. A sense of kinship emerged, an unspoken understanding that you were the custodian of this broken puppet's tale. As you searched through your assortment of tools, the hum of anticipation hung in the air-a quiet promise to mend what the world had chosen to discard.
The workshop came alive with purpose as you delicately worked to repair the puppet. Each adjustment, each careful maneuver, was an act of restoration-an attempt to breathe life back into a form that had faced the harsh whims of fate. The mechanical heart, a vital component missing from the puppet's chest, became the focal point of your efforts.
In the solitude of your hideout, surrounded by the tools of your unconventional trade, you wove a silent narrative of redemption. The broken puppet, once abandoned and discarded, found solace in the hands of its unlikely savior-a stalker whose peculiar pursuits extended beyond the realm of ordinary understanding.
The freckled puppet's sudden awakening stirred the air in your hideout, creating a subtle whirlwind of tension and curiosity. His eyes, a mesmerizing shade of blue, darted around the unfamiliar surroundings, reflecting a mix of confusion and urgency. It was as if the puppet had been abruptly plucked from a dream and thrust into an unfamiliar reality.
Observing this unexpected reaction, you couldn't help but feel a pang of empathy for the freckled puppet. His sudden movements and searching gaze carried the weight of a creature in a world that no longer made sense-a world that had changed while he lay dormant.
As the freckled puppet's eyes settled on you, a wave of emotion swept across his features. There, in the depths of those blue orbs, you glimpsed a subtle sorrow-an emotion that resonated with the poignant vulnerability of an abandoned puppy. It tugged at your heart, an unspoken plea for understanding and reassurance.
