- Face-up artist(s):
- bought head from a friend on IG
- Reason for choice:
- I have always loved the vivien head and when my friend asked if i wanted to buy it of course I jumped on it!
- Best Points:
- Body poses SUPER well and stands like a rock without any effort
- Worst Points:
- Body doesnt have a second hip/torso joint so he kind of leans back when he sits
- Head Sculpt:
- Mystic Kids SD
- Name story:
- Deimos means "Terror" or "Dread" in greek
- Character age:
- Character gender:
- Offsite roleplay:
- This doll's character is not available for offsite roleplay.
D.O.B/Age: 21 January 8th (Capricorn)
Sexual Orientation: Pansexual
Relationship Status: Taken by Enzo Viddae
Likes: Hot food, fleece blankets, quiet nights at home
Dislikes: Hospitals, crackers and stale bread, mirrors
Raised in the same facilities as Sebastian and Avian, Deimos was from a second generation of experiments, funded by an unknown party. They kept him sheltered, fed him, gave him water, but the only contact Deimos came to know was pain. The tests were intense. They hadn’t always been, but his earliest memories involved his arms raised up, attempting to shield himself from boots and fists.
Helplessness is something that is learned. Deimos is knowledgeable in it. He curls in on himself, sucks air in desperately, he can’t breathe. He chokes on his own air, hands desperately trying to clutch at his own chest. The ball that they’d fired at him, it had done something inside. The facility they had couldn’t handle something this severe. Fear had him gasping for air, he was going to die.
When he came to there was a tan man in a lab coat yelling at somebody, “He has a collapsed lung!” His consciousness faded in and out, head dizzy with the amount of drugs pumping through his system. There was the harsh slam of the clipboard on the metal countertop, and Deimos flinched so hard that it hurt. “He needs to stay overnight for observation, this is ridiculous!” His head lolled to one side and he stared at the scene, watched as the man argued his point relentlessly. It was pointless. His eyes closed and he slept while he still could.
The feeling of ice cold water on his face woke him, “That it, you just gonna die on us, brat?! Worthless piece of --” He was on the floor, well so much for that hospital bed. He shuddered, arms wrapping around his shoulders. The torture was about to begin again.
His name was Dr. Viddae. Enzo Viddae. He was a good man. He was honest, and when he touched him, it didn’t hurt. “Hey,” His voice was always so soft, like he was talking to a spooked animal. Deimos closed his eyes as the good doctor examined him, listened as his words soothed him. “You’re alive.” He sounded relieved. Deimos was disappointed.
The wig was itchy, and the dress felt strange against his legs. The man holding his hand was Cairo. He knew that, knew that Cairo worked with the hospital like Dr. Viddae did. “Pretty thing like you shouldn’t be out at night all alone you know?” He was talking too loud, and he crushed Deimos to his side, to whisper something in his ear, “Taking you somewhere safe, now laugh like I said somethin’ funny.” Deimos tried to giggle like a girl, like he was drunk and delirious. The only thing in his system was pain killers. He wobbled as Cairo supported him. They say when one door closes…another door opens, and this one had the numbers 522 on it, but what was more important was the shirtless doctor who answered it. Dr Viddae. “Enzo.” Maybe he was dead after all.
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