aldriix
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She went and ran her mouth to Harley’s plaything! Has the conditioning rotted every piece of your brain?
—Proxy War
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Way back when, before the Hour of Joy, Devon Ugalde resided in the Playcare system. Quickly labelled a feisty problem child, they were sequestered off into their own room because of mental breaks they simply call "episodes"— sometimes violent, sometimes all too quiet. No doctor they've ever been to has been able to fix them.
But when has Dr. Harley Sawyer ever failed at anything? -
Prisoner Profile: Experiment 1173 by aldriix, Spectaytore
Fandoms: Poppy Playtime (Video Game)
09 May 2026
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“The math of silence is such that when one is placed in total sonance, it burrows its way into your brain, into your heart, into your thoughts, until it is the only thing that is left. With enough time, you’ll fade with whatever ruckus you left at the threshold. And once that sets in? Well, I’m afraid there’s no going back. That is the type of knowledge, the type of experience that changes someone. Completely. Wholly. Absolutely.” (Dr. Sawyer)
-Proxy War
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After some brief turmoil, Playtime finds its ground and begins finalizing a new experiment. One that will be complaisant in keeping other toys quiet. -
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“Come with me,” the Prototype commands, cramming his huge frame back through the now broken doorway. Wispy follows, not even glancing back at the vent. She won’t give Devon away. They’re far enough now, at least, that Devon feels they can trust themself to take a step back.
A soft thwmp comes from the vent.
Oh, how they hate their life.
***
Or, two experiments, both alike in captivity, finally meet. -
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Dea yanked their staff away. “You’re in over your head, Subject 421.”
She barked out a laugh. “Am I? Am I, really? Don’t kid yourself. I’ve been doing this for who knows how long, seen the inside of hundreds of minds and bodies and souls, you’re far from the first, Harbinger. I know what I’m doing.”
“And you’re going to do what to us, exactly?”
The False Angel pushed Dea’s head to the side, running a hand across the scar on their neck, knowing it burned with every touch and relishing in their reaction. “Oh, I don’t know,” she said, “maybe poke around inside that pretty little head of yours, see exactly what you are.” She moved her other hand to their hair, fingers tangling into it and pulling down hard. “After all, it’s not everyday I find someone like you.”
***
or, dea is a tattletale. the false angel is not pleased. (edited 10/19 so it doesnt SUCK anymore srry guys i was eepy when originally writing this but its better now)Series
- Part 3 of masochism tango
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“But loyalty or not, that doesn’t mean denial, Dea. And neither does… whatever it is you’ve become.”
And there was that name.
That name, that curse placed upon their being that they never should have let sink in or be spoken. Calling it a name was blasphemous, in all honesty— it was a falsehood, a dysphemism.
They tried to sneer, to snap, but the memory of her touch, her voice, lingered, rooting them in place. “If you know what is best for you, you will let that term die.” Their voice was strained. Spiteful.
The False Angel tilted her head, as if she was considering this. “No.”
***
or, the False Angel has awakened emotions.DeaThe Harbinger will do anything to put them to sleep.Series
- Part 2 of masochism tango
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