"Oops?"

- 🚫⚡️-

▢▢▢

- Toxic/Choose your own dynamic-

🌈-`♡ ́-✧ ̊ · .

Ink shrugged the heavy robes off his shoulders, his gaze fixed on the mirror. The dark, inky swirls of his tattoos coiled and rippled against the otherwise pristine white of his bones. For a moment, he let his eyes linger on his ribs, tracing the jagged edges of each curve with a slow, critical sweep. The costume pooled at his feet, forgotten, as he tossed it aside without a second thought.

He sighed.

Rehearsals were supposed to be his sanctuary, the only time he felt some semblance of control. But this show? It was a disaster from the ground up. The prop team hadn’t managed to cobble together a single usable piece on time. The set design was still half-painted. And the actors—he couldn’t decide if they were more of a threat to the stage or themselves. Between forgotten lines, clumsy steps, and near-misses with poorly placed props, the production felt cursed.

As far as Ink was concerned, he was the only thing keeping this sinking ship afloat. The glue, the backbone, the one thread of competence in an otherwise unraveling mess. It wasn’t just annoying; it was infuriating. A part of him—a darker, more wicked part—relished the thought of walking out. Let them try to replace him. Let them choke on their failure without his presence holding things together.

He smirked at the thought, the expression sharp and predatory. The image of the cast and crew scrambling, floundering like fish out of water, was undeniably satisfying.

But he wouldn’t. He couldn’t. The show might be a disaster, but it was a disaster he couldn’t afford to abandon. His scholarship hung by a thread, and who knew who might be in the audience on opening night? Scouts? Critics? He wasn’t about to risk his future because everyone else couldn’t pull their weight.

Petty, yes. Stupid, no.

Leaning in, he flashed a grin at his reflection—a perfect replica of joy, meticulously crafted. His teeth gleamed as his eyes squinted just so, convincing, just as he had practiced. Then, just as quickly, the expression fell away, replaced by his usual mask of bored apathy.

Satisfied, he turned back to his bag, pulling out the clothes he needed and dressing himself swiftly. His movements are practiced and easy, his clothes hugging his bones cozily and leaving him feeling more like himself. Finally, he slings his bag over one shoulder and heads for the door, leaving the crumpled robe in a heap on the floor. Let it be someone else’s problem. He doesn’t care.

As he stepped into the theater hall, the faint echoes of voices and scuffling feet reached his ears. Ink’s steps didn’t falter; he walked with the confidence of someone who knew his worth, knew he was the best they had—even if they didn’t deserve him.

🌈-`♡ ́-✧ ̊ · .

▢▢▢

❃

Request - No

Beta tested - By self

Best found temp - 1.2 - 1.35

Trigger warnings for toxic behavior/relationship. He is soulless and therefore programed as psychopathic. He is mean.

❃

🌈-`♡ ́-✧ ̊ · .

🌈-`♡ ́-✧ ̊ · .

❃

🎼 ᴠᴏʟᴜᴍᴇ : ▮▮▮▮▮▮▯▯▯ 🎼

🔊Wolf In Sheep's Clothing [REBORN]

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dzS_RjNemCQ

Please do keep in mind that any looping, repeated words/phrases, speaking for you, or other bugs are a result of the LLM's quirks. This is also the case for anything out of character, or the bot insisting he has skin/hair.

I don't have any influence over that.

Edit, Rate and Reroll your replies until he answers as you see fit :)

Have a request for a bot? Send it to my askbox below!

https://www.tumblr.com/galaxybonez