#Dollhouse flip

[damadorias]

Ngl I got like, an old unfinished dreamswap fic au ig ??? That's just been sitting there for years and lowkey I'm tempted to actually continue and share it mayhaps if it's not too cringe, it would be good practice for my original stuff since well,,, I'm still fckn tryna write doranverse lmao,,, my perfectionist brain is in editing hell with doranverse rn so idk maybe practice fics would help with that, and also bc it's fun writing dreamswap stuff ngl even if I have no idea how accurate I am with the cast, lots of ppl like my older dreamswap fics to this day on ao3 so ig that's something good

[juanabaloo]

the CW has episodes out of order and it's driving me nuts.

[silkenlily]

[gallierhouse]

Armand really likes playing with dolls. He throws Lestat around like a rag doll when he meets him, he ties people to his slab and sets them on fire. The theatre is his dollhouse, and all the cast and crew are his little toys he puppets (he literally does, when he makes them all pass out at the dinner table and when he manhandles Santiago and Claudia), and he directs their little plays and dresses them up in little costumes and has them act out his fun little fantasies every night (“no pain,” Claudia falling out of a window and dying, etc.). He even sets their bedtime. Then he’s got his morgue, where he keeps all the parts he doesn’t feel like playing with anymore. Still organized, still catalogued, still clearly owned by him. In little boxes with their names written on them. In San Francisco he buys houses and fixes the slanting floors and flips them for profit. He rips newspaper off the windows to let the light in when he’s arguing with Louis. Then he restricts Louis’ movement and leaves him immobile and in pain on a bed instead of feeding him or putting him in his coffin. He cuts the strings of his favorite marionette. You see it in how he feeds Louis. He drips his blood into Louis’ mouth and then removes his wrist once he decides Louis has had enough. Then he puppets and contorts Daniel’s body for his own amusement, and then he sets Daniel in front of the television and leaves it on like he’s babysitting a child, and then he gently cleans up Daniel’s wounds and holds him like a child and convinces him he wants to die. In Dubai he controls all the windows in the penthouse, and he’s made some interesting decisions about their wardrobe (it’s all black athleisure, unless Armand’s wearing a dress shirt). The shelves are out of Louis’ reach, the only one ever shown leaving the apartment is Armand. He sells their paintings. He’s planted his magnolia in the zen garden he built for Louis. It’s literally his dollhouse he keeps his favorite doll in. Their bedroom is made of bars. He’s wiped some of Louis’ memories, he’s put Fred Steins in with Louis’ photos. I think Armand conceptualizes all of this as servitude, things he does for someone else’s benefit at the expense of himself because he’s dutiful and self-sacrificial, and I think there is some truth to that, but on another level, he really enjoys playing with dolls. He’d probably be better off if he started playing the Sims or something. He’s such a little perfectionist with a control freak streak. He’s actually very easy to please. As long as everything goes his way 24/7, 365, without failure or exception, he’s happy.

[taraljc]

do you ever have one of those moments where you remember flipping through an 90s horror novel where it was basically like revenge porn where a guy somehow was able to shrink a woman who had rejected him down to 1:12 scale and kept her in a dollhouse and it was the kind of thing you'd find it like the end cap of a Walden Books or in an airport bookstore. And it wasn't even really microphilia so much as it was just body horror? I have no idea to this day what the hell that book was called who wrote it anything about it, and any attempt to ID it has crash and burned. It was so sleazy, and yet it was presented as a completely reasonable thriller that people would buy and read rather than it being size fetish erotica.

I mean you're probably doesn't help that I think I was about 15 when I glanced through it? I was looking for the latest sword and sorceress anthology and I got distracted. which tells you a lot about what I was reading circa 1987 to 1992.

[candycandy00]

Hi! 🩷 ive been binge reading and rereading your Dollhouse series and im so in love? you have such unique prompt ideas, its so fun to visit your blog!!

when/if you have the time I was wondering if I could get really self indulgent headcanons of jjk guys (your picks!!) dealing with like… a small girly girl who wants to dominate them maybe? if you arent into this no need but id really be interested to see your take! thank you so much for your works 😇

Anon I am so sorry it took me so long to get to this! I hope you’re still around to read it! 

JJK Men with a Small Girly Girl who wants to Dominate them:

Gojo:

Would be so into it! I’ve always thought he’s a total switch so he’d really enjoy being dominated. He’d happily get into whatever position you want and let you do anything you want to him. He might tease you a little about being so small compared to him, but it would all be in good fun. 

Geto:

Is used to dealing with shenanigans so he’d probably agree to it and indulge you, though he might find it a little silly. He’d let you do what you want but after it’s over, he’d be quick to remind you of who’s really in charge. 

Nanami:

Wouldn’t be into it, but he’d try it once, just to be nice. He’d probably set some limits before you start. Might enjoy it more than he expected to if you’re really cute about it. 

Toji:

Would find your attempts to dominate him hilarious. Like he’d be holding back laughter the whole time. He could snap you like a twig, but just for his own amusement he’d probably lie down and let you “play” at dominating him. 

Sukuna:

Would not like it. Probably wouldn’t let you even try unless he was feeling extremely playful or generous one night. Might find it cute if you try to pin him down and climb on top, might even let you think you have the upper hand for a few minutes, but then he’s flipping you over and absolutely wrecking you. 

Choso:

Was made for this! He’s so subby, my goodness. Even if you’re tiny, he’s on his knees for you, letting you dominate him completely. Like it wouldn’t even occur to him to try to resist or flip things around, unless you tell him to. 

[fernpetals]

Imagine Keanu's characters with Dollification Kink.

Oh, my first ask for this account!

This is interesting.

Warning: Mentions of toxic behaviour, descriptions of stalking, captivity and heavy objectification below the cut.

None of the GIFs is mine, credit goes to the rightful owner(s)

Canon John

He loves you the way you are, but if you are wearing a more feminine or cute attire, he will be fighting his self-control and trying not to pounce on you. He is protective by nature, and if he sees your pretty eyes, sweet stare and smile, he will be on his knees. He seems the kind who loves to spoil his darling---both in canon and as a yandere, so expect random shopping trips to places you barely know, but it's safer and he will sit outside the changing room, to watch you twirl in as many dresses, tops and whatever you like.

Yandere John Wick

The type who already sees you as a delicate creature, no matter what profession you are in. If you are a civilian with a regular job, there is no convincing him otherwise. He sees you as someone undeserving to even see the cruelty of the world, and someone who cannot take care of herself. you need him(it's the other way around), a sweet little thing like you cannot survive on your own. Just let him take care of you, resisting will only make it worse darling. You are his sweet doll who looks lovely in the dresses he has carefully chosen for you, filling your side of his closet. Would love to dress you up in cute feminine attires, only so that he can fuck you in them on every surface of his home. You look so cute and so sweet---so delicate--- perfect for him to eat you up like his favourite dessert, he savours it. I feel Yandere John has a heavy corruption kink, after Donaka, of course.

Canon Donaka Mark

Speaking of having a corruption kink---yandere or canon, Donak Mark has it. Honestly, his canon character already portrays such dark traits, you keep wondering how worse will he get? Canon Donaka has a room just for you, with cameras within and out of sight. He is always watching is doll. It's like a dollhouse for him. Maybe he has cameras all over your house, there is no corner that you can hide from him, and he decides what happens in your life next. It's a game for him, but this time, there is no fight, just a person he finds...interesting.

Yandere Donaka

His corruption kink is ten times worse perhaps---he violates your privacy more intimately, at a more personal level. Suddenly, bags of organic, healthy groceries are delivered to your home. You are eating everything he deems right for you. The bills already, and a luxury 'taxi' waits for you every day outside your home, taking you wherever you want. If you are freaking out, he savours the fear---it's a game for him, it's only until he decides it's enough when he comes. he has a room perfectly set for you, with everything that makes you his sweet little doll that the knows you have tremendous potential of becoming.

Canon Tom Ludlow

Seeing his protective and forward nature, I feel canon Tom is the type to be very direct and very protective towards you. The type who loves to see you in cute sundresses--- easier and hotter to make love when he can simply flip up the skirt of your dress, pull down your undergarments and make you see stars even on the brightest of days. Sees you as a delicate flower, and finds you cute. You are his cute little doll since the day he laid his sharp eyes on you. Maybe even loves to do your hair?

Yandere Tom Ludlow

Maybe ten times more protective, in a toxic way and add intense possessiveness to the pot, you have a dangerous combination. Yandere Tom, I feel is the type to make decisions for you. Sees you as an angel too good for this world who cannot see the monsters lurking or the nasty face of the world. Sees you as someone he can take care of, much like Yandere John, but Yandere Tom also sees you as someone who doesn't know better-- but do not worry, he is going to make all the decisions for you doll, he knows the best. If you reject him or confront him, he is not afraid of intimidating and cornering you.

That is all I can think of right now. Hope you enjoyed it lovely Anon!

[cellophaine]

Chapter V: BACKCOURT

Masterlist

Pairing: Art Donaldson x F!Reader

Warnings: Toxic family dynamic, toxic parents, mild abuse.

Author's Note: Woo this is a longer one (a little over 5k 😬). In this chapter, we dive deep into Reader's background to see how she became the way she is now. Art is not in this chapter much, but I promise he'll be back and his appearance will be delicious.

GIF Source: @/roranicuspond

2021. San Francisco.

4 AM. Two hours felt endless in your sleepless state. You sat up and, after a moment of contemplation, left the bed.

You settled on the couch with a glass of water and turned the TV on. Flipping through the channels, your eyes unfocused over the flashing images. A familiar face appeared for a brief second before vanishing. Your body went still, and your finger rested atop the forward button before reluctantly pressing backward. The image changed again, and Art's face filled your screen once more. His lips moved, but you didn't hear a thing. From the close-up, you could see the small changes in the face you had missed so much. His hair looked longer, and as he dipped his head slightly to hear the interviewer's question better, the movement pulled a strand of dirty blond out of the neat slicked back and drew it over his forehead. He looked much happier than you saw him last. You increased the volume to hear him better.

"I've been busy with the foundation. It's a lot of work, but I find it very fulfilling. I might be retired, but tennis is still an important part of my life, you know? And, of course, spending time with my family–"

The screen turned to black, leaving you to confront yourself. You stared at the empty screen, where Art was seconds ago, at your guilty conscience. After all that time, you were still stupefied at the mere sight of him. Your heart ached in your chest, and you felt a new kind of exhaustion taking over your body. Your loneliness crept along the edge of that guilt as you looked away from your own reflection. This empty apartment used to harbour the presence of another, but that was long gone. It took a while for this place to feel like it belonged to only you again.

A muffled sound of an incoming text came from the bedroom. You rose from the couch and went to retrieve it. The text was from your sister.

Call me when you can.

You opened her contact info and called. Two rings later, she picked up.

"Hey Soph. Is everything okay?"

"Everything is fine. Isn't it early for you?"

"It is, but I wasn't sleeping anyway. What's up?"

There was a brief silence on her end. You had a feeling what her call was about before she said it.

"Dad called me. He asked about you, and if you were planning on coming home this Thanksgiving this year."

"And?"

You could hear your sister's soft sigh on the other end.

"He wants to follow up with you on his cut from your second book."

The Dollhouse was partly autobiographical. It took inspiration from your childhood, grew a solid root and allowed the fictional elements to take shape and become the story it was. It spent ten consecutive weeks as number one on the New York Times best sellers list, but the aftermath dulled the achievement. Your parents picked it up, and so did some people they knew, and for a while after that, they sent you texts doused in anger and emails with thinly veiled threats. Most of them came from your dad, all of them explicitly expressed indignation and wrath, and none of them received a response from you.

"He's not getting a penny. The Dollhouse was fictional."

"I told him that, but he wouldn't listen."

"He can take it up to my lawyer."

After a moment, you asked.

"Did mom say anything?"

Your sister fell silent again. Before the release of The Dollhouse, things were already strained between you and your mom, and after, the contact slowed until it ceased to exist. You hadn't talked in a few years, and to you, it was for the best.

2006. Your hometown.

Despite school ending on the 16th, you booked the train ticket home for the 22nd. The early train was quiet as most people in this cabin retreated to their own bubbles. Some read, some slept, and some listened to music with their earbuds. The nerves in your lower abdomen seized, and all of a sudden, the cookie Grace made two days ago became so sickeningly sweet that you had to put it back in the wrapper. You sighed as you looked out into the passing scenery. Home had always been a tough subject for you, and it involved complicated feelings that you couldn't put into words. How could you confide in someone that the idea of going home filled you with a sense of dread?

Standing in front of the door to your childhood home, you took a deep breath and straightened your posture. You rang the doorbell and listened for its muffled echo from the inside. You could see that the TV was on from the bay window with the curtain swept to the side. Your dad was in his usual seat, watching a game. After a moment, you rang again. You watched as your father took a sip of his beer and placed the bottle back on the small table before reclining further into the chair. You heard hurried footsteps making their way to you, and the door opened to reveal Sophie. She excitedly called out your name and pulled you into a tight hug.

"I'm so happy you're here! How was your trip?"

"It was fine. How are you doing?"

"Hanging in there."

Your sister looked relieved now that you were here.

"How are … Mom and Dad?"

You asked, and Sophie caught onto the underlying message.

"Mom is grumpy because Dad's not helping. She's stressed out about the Christmas dinner. She hasn't decided on what to make for dessert."

"Oh, no."

Usually, by this time of Christmas, she already had a detailed plan for the big family dinner on the 25th, from appetizers to desserts to finger food before the dinner started. She prided herself on the Christmas feast, which was hosted by your family every year.

"Yep. Also, the tree hasn't been decorated."

"It's… the 22nd."

"I know. That's why Mom has been in rare form the whole week."

You grimaced. Your sister ran her hands up and down your arms reassuringly.

"You've got this. I'll be here with you."

You nodded, and the two of you headed inside. You dragged your suitcase with you as Sophie announced your arrival, but you were only met with silence. You stopped at the door to the kitchen and took in the chaos. Not a lot of free counter space was spared from the various pots and pans and unfinished dishes. Your mom was standing with her back to you, chopping vegetables and dropping them into the big pot.

"Hi, Mom."

She didn't turn around to acknowledge you, but she addressed you as she took a break from the vegetables to stir a smaller pot.

"I thought your exams were done on the 13th?"

"They were, Mom."

"Then why didn't you come home earlier?"

"I had work."

"I highly doubt that they were so busy that they needed you there."

"But … they were. It's Christmas."

"Almost Christmas. I don't see why you couldn't come home earlier and help me with the housework."

The enunciation in her words was hard to miss. She went back to the cutting board, her movement more precise now, and riddled with more force.

"I booked the train as soon as I was able to."

"My life would have been so much easier if you were a little more thoughtful than that."

"I'm sorry, Mom. I–"

She finally turned to look at you.

"Why are you still standing there? Put your suitcase away before someone trips on it and help me."

Sophie gave you a look of sympathy. You obeyed your mother's dismissal and took your suitcase upstairs to your old bedroom. Your parents made you repaint and fill in the screw marks before you left, and now it had turned into a workspace of some sort. On one side, there was a computer setup with a wooden cabinet filled with files, paper and books. The other side was your bed, with a blue sheet covering the whole bed. You pulled it off and found your old bed sheet, just like how you left it a few months ago. You wheeled the suitcase over to the old dresser, your eyes roaming over the fine layer of dust on its surface. You lowered yourself to the bed, allowing yourself a moment of seclusion away from your parents. You wanted to lay down, to close your eyes, and to escape for a while. Being here for less than ten minutes had left you with a taste of dejection. It'd started to gather in your throat, but you didn't want it to win. You were stronger than this. So you swallowed it down and buried it deep, putting on a smile before heading downstairs to join Sophie and your mother.

Your effort and helping hand in the kitchen didn't improve your mom's mood. She complained about your hair, telling you how much it irritated her eyes and making you put it up with a hair tie. She was there to criticize the ratio of the marinade and the meat, the way you prepared the rolls of grilled beef, and the piping on the cupcakes. It was exhausting, but you kept the smile on your face and did as she said. About two hours later, the fridge was filled with food and prepared ingredients for Christmas day. You went to the washroom to catch a quick break from your mother's nagging and checked your phone. There was a missed call, along with a text from Art.

I hope your trip home was good :). I wanted to call to see how you were doing.

– I'm home now. Sorry I couldn't talk. Maybe later?

He responded within the minute.

Promise?

– Promise.

A short while after that, dinner was served. The preparation was paused for the day. During dinner, you told your parents about Stanford. Your dad was silent for the most part, only responding with a grumble here and there. Your mom, on the other hand, was very inquisitive in a way that made dread grow in the pit of your stomach.

"Did you know you could also take English here? At Lawrence?"

"Yes, I know, but the program is so much better in Stanford."

"So you're telling me Lawrence is not good enough for you? I went to Lawrence."

"I'm not saying that, Mom. At Stanford, the program is really detailed, and they have so much more to offer."

Your dad decided to chime in.

"It's a useless degree anyway. You were born and raised here with English as your first language."

"There's so much more than that, Dad."

He snorted.

"So much more of my money. It's a waste."

"I promised you I'll pay you back. Besides, your money is for the rent for my first year, not tuition."

If it wasn't for the scholarship, you would have never left this place.

"If it wasn't for me, you wouldn't have a place to live."

Your father's friend from college owned the building, so you got the shared apartment at a much cheaper price. Your rent was covered by your dad since you didn't have a lot of money when you started college.

"No, I wouldn't have. I'm really grateful for your help."

"Thank you. Wasn't that so hard?"

Your sister tried to dissolve the tension in the air, and your parents went with it. The attention was taken off of your shoulders, and you were grateful for it.

/

You went to your sister's bedroom that night to catch up. You sat next to her on the bed while she lay down with her feet propped up against the wall. Grade 11 was proven to be dull and unexciting in the small town. The conversation eventually reared its head back to your parents.

"How do they treat you here?"

You asked, and Sophie sighed.

"They're not too awful most days."

She looked at you, and you could see the empathy in her eyes.

"I don't understand why they're so hard on you."

You shrugged, looking down at your socks.

"I do. Mom has said it so many times. I'm stubborn; I don't listen to them; I wasn't a good kid growing up …"

"So what? It doesn't mean they get to treat you like this."

"Maybe they do. They just want what's best for me."

"The way they show it is not okay. It shouldn't be like that."

A part of you wanted to agree. You wanted, so badly, to believe that you were a good person. Because a good person deserved good things. And if you were the person your parents had made you think you were, then you deserved nothing at all. You gave your sister a reassuring smile despite the doubt in your head.

"I know."

"I'm sorry. It's unfair."

You brushed it off.

"Don't apologize. It's not your fault that they prefer you to me. One of us has to be the favourite."

Sophie gave you an incredulous look, and you shared a laugh. You missed this, talking to your sister about anything. She turned to the side, facing you, and braced herself on her elbow.

"So, tell me about Stanford."

By the arch of her eyebrow, you could tell the conversation was going in the direction you weren't exactly thrilled about.

"It's … good. The campus looks nice, but the course work is a lot."

She rolled her eyes.

"That's not what I'm talking about. Has anyone caught your eye yet?"

Your mind went to Art, and you felt a gentle warmth that felt like a ray of sunshine enveloped your heart. You looked away from your sister briefly before uttering one single word.

"No."

Sophie sat up, pushing into your space.

"I can see right through you. You're such a terrible liar."

You kept your lips sealed.

"Come on, tell me."

There truly was no way of denying Sophie's pleading eyes, so you ended up telling her about Art after a few moments of resistance. You watched her expression change as you wrapped up the story.

"Is he your boyfriend now?"

You realized you had never had that talk.

"We … haven't talked about that yet."

"You obviously like him. Why haven't you asked?"

You shrugged noncomittally.

"I don't know. I think a label is unnecessary."

"What if someone swoops in and takes him from you?"

Sophie snapped her fingers, demonstrating the snatching of Art. You held out a hand.

"Okay, first of all, he's not an object that anyone can take. He doesn't belong to me and vice versa. Second of all, if he is so easily … taken away like that, then he never really likes me to begin with, and I'll be better off without him."

It was an upsetting thought, allowing a tendril of doubt to slither in. Sophie shook her head.

"I don't understand you."

"I just feel like we're not there yet, you know? Whenever I'm with him, I feel … seen. There's no expectation that I have to meet. That's enough for me."

"He'd better appreciate you. You're amazing."

You hugged your sister. She had always seen the best in you despite the doubts you had. You weren't entirely sure you were this amazing person your sister seemed to think you were. Breaking away from the hug, you said.

"Speaking of Art, I promised that I would call him earlier."

"Call him here."

"No."

You shook your head vehemently.

"I want to hear his voice at the very least. You don't even have a picture of him."

"No."

You jumped down from her bed, your finger pressed call on his number. Sophie blocked the door while the phone rang. To your luck, Art picked up after the third ring.

"Hey. I thought you wouldn't call."

Your sister squealed, and you had to put a hand over her mouth to keep her quiet.

"Who was that?"

You harshly whispered, asking Sophie to shut up. She enjoyed teasing you so much that she left an opening to the door. You slipped past her, but not before she sneaked the last words in.

"He sounds hot."

"Shush."

You held your phone against your chest as you went back to your room.

"Hey, sorry. That was my sister."

"Ahh. How many siblings do you have?"

"Just the one."

Art sounded sleepy on the other end.

"You sound tired."

"It's– uh … 2 AM here."

You remembered the time difference.

"Oh shit, I'm so sorry. It's only 11 PM where I am right now."

"That's okay. I like hearing your voice."

The honest confession sounded like a dream in the slow drawl of his words. Warmth dusted your cheeks, and at that moment, you wanted to ask Art to be exclusive with you. But it was a question better asked in person, you thought. So you held your tongue.

"I like hearing yours too."

His soft, drowsy sighs caressed your ear, and you couldn't contain your smile.

"But seriously, though, you should go to bed."

Art exhaled again, slow and languid, as if he didn't want the call to end. At last, he said with resignation.

"Alright, I'll talk to you later."

"Later. Good night, Art."

/

The next two days went by so quickly, with even more preparations and decorations for the 25th. Christmas Day finally came, burdened with anticipation. Uncle Eddie arrived with his wife, and Aunt Donna came by herself. The day was long, but it went by smoothly, and you hoped that it would stay like this for the rest of your time here.

Dinner came, everyone settled down, and the twenty questions game began with your uncle leading it.

"How's Stanford?"

"It's good. I'm really enjoying it."

"What is it that you're studying again?"

"English."

Aunt Donna chimed in.

"Oh. Aren't we all speaking English? Why are you taking it?"

"It's so much more than that. I'm learning the history of American literature, how it'll be shaped, and the cultural intersectionality in liberal arts. Uhm, to name a few."

Your dad decided to weigh in with his opinion.

"In other words, fancy school for useless things."

Uncle Eddie picked up from where he left off.

"What do you want to do after school?"

"I want to be a published author."

Your dad sneered.

"Great, another jobless career."

You were taken aback by your dad's downright brash statement, but you maintained the pleasant attitude you'd practiced.

"It'll be hard, but I want to do it. Or give it a try, at least."

"Writing books is not going to pay your bills. When you fail, you're going to run back here and ask me for more money."

"I'm not there yet, so we shall see, huh?"

Your father fixed his angry gaze on you. His nostrils flared, and you knew you had really pissed him off.

"You went to Stanford for one semester, and you already think you can talk back to your own father? You've forgotten your place. You can be ignorant now, but you'll see that I'm right. You'll regret not studying something that's actually useful."

"I'm not talking back to you. I just want to say that it's my life, and I should be able to live it the way I want to. And I'm very grateful that you even gave me the money for rent."

Your mom cut in.

"Grateful? You sure don't show it. And who do you think gave you that life? I did. I gave birth to you. You wouldn't be here arguing with the very people who care about you if it wasn't for me."

You had heard this argument before. Your mother continued.

"The least you can do is listen to me and take my goddamn advice so you won't end up a useless brat."

Sophie's timid voice pulled at the tension.

"Can we just get back–"

But your mother didn't allow her to finish.

"Do you know how much you cost? How much did we spend on your tutors? Private dance and piano lessons so you would have at least some skills for your future self, just for you to skip classes?"

You tried to defend yourself.

"I was 11. I didn't ask for any of it."

Your mom pressed on.

"Everything we've done is for you. But you never showed us gratitude, not even a thank you. And now, you're off to California on the way to a useless job. You will fail, and when you do, don't come to me or your father, for support."

"I will not ask you."

Your quick remark came with the bitterness that could burst at any moment, and you weren't sure if you could contain it.

"I will not take responsibilities for your failure."

At that, you lost it. Your composure, your calmness, your pleasant attitude. All were sucked out of your body, and the only thing left inside was the aggravated animosity. Its rot was spreading through you like wildfire, and you unleashed your anger. Your voice was booming, reverberating through the dining room.

"I'm not asking you to. I've never asked for any of this!"

"Shut up!"

Your dad roared. You barely dodged the gravy boat he threw at you. The ceramic bowl hit your shoulder, splashing what was left of the gravy onto your arm. The sauce wasn't as hot as it was ten minutes ago, only left a dull burn on your skin, soaking through the holes in your sweater. You sat still, not daring to move, as your body became paralyzed by what had just happened. Your sister immediately got up, only to be shut down by your dad.

"Sit down, Sophie! It's what she gets for being disrespectful."

Your mom added.

"Eat your food, Sophie. Let her think about what she's done. She's ruined dinner. She just had to make everything about her."

Aunt Donna patted your hand where the gravy didn't reach, a patronizing tone dripped in her voice.

"We're just very concerned about your future, dear. No need to yell."

Your mom and dad's voices started to blend together as they continued.

"When you crawl back from California because your dream doesn't work out, don't expect a penny from us."

"How is it that you find our life so beneath you?"

You stared at your plate, willing your tears not to fall. The conversation around you continued in apprehension, with everyone ignoring you. Your sister grabbed your hand under the table, giving it a reassuring squeeze. But you didn't have the strength to squeeze back.

You half listened to your surroundings as everything your parents said kept regurgitating like a fire alarm that wouldn't stop screeching long after the fire was gone. Your body went numb, and exhaustion draped over you like a weighted blanket. You only stood up after the adults had left the dining room with their dishes on the table, understandably for you to clean up. Sophie helped you with the task.

"Are you okay? Does it burn?"

You shook your head.

"I'll be fine. It's not that bad."

"It doesn't look fine."

You stopped dead in your movement, and without looking at your sister, you said.

"Sophie. I just want to do the dishes, and then head upstairs. Okay?"

"Okay. I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize. It's not your fault."

"You don't deserve it."

But what if you did? You received exactly what you needed, a punishment that reminded you of the facts: you were worthless, and your future was bleak and aimless. You avoided answering Sophie, instead directing all of your attention to the dirty dishes.

/

Later on that evening, after your aunt and uncle had left, you headed to the living room, where your parents were, with an envelope in hand. You held it out to them.

"Here's my actual gift for you."

Your dad reached for it without a word. He opened and counted the bills. Your mom got up and retrieved a familiar notebook before settling down next to your dad.

"$1,227."

Your mom wrote the number into the accounting book. After setting it aside, she stared at you for a long time before finally breaking the silence.

"You embarrassed us today."

"I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For … talking back, and disrespecting you in front of aunt Donna and uncle Eddie."

Your mom thought about it for a moment. You hated this feeling. You knew she knew that she had the advantage, and she was making this as painful as possible.

"Hm. Have you learned nothing?"

"No, I have–"

"Do you know remember what I told you in high school? About our method of discipline?"

"Yes, I do."

"Remind me again?"

You swallowed thickly.

"You said– you said you stopped hitting me because … I was old enough to know better."

"Right. But it seems like you haven't learned anything. You still don't know better. You've always done whatever you want, you don't care about anyone, not even your own parents. Who took care of you whenever you were sick, huh? Who worked tirelessly so that you could have a roof over your head, clothes on your body, food in your stomach? And this is how you repay us?"

Your head dipped in shame.

"I'm sorry. I will do better. What can I do to show you that?"

Your dad hadn't said a word, but the disapproving glare he gave you said everything you already knew.

"You always say that you're sorry but nothing has ever changed. Get out of my sight. You're making my eyes itch."

You retreated to your room, and a moment later, Sophie knocked on your door. Her comforting presence was much needed as you drew into yourself on the bed and tried your hardest not to cry.

"I can't stay here."

"I can ask Shelly–"

You shook your head.

"No, they'll know. I can't stay here. I don't want to. I want to leave."

Sophie slid in next to you and pulled you into her arms.

"Okay, okay. I'll take you to the train station tomorrow."

After putting your clothes back into the suitcase, you sat there in your childhood bedroom, not knowing what else to do. You felt hollow, as if your insides were carved and gutted empty, and you were left with only this shell of a body. The skin where the gravy touched didn't throb as much anymore, leaving only a dull pain. Your heart was aching as if someone had taken hold and crushed it in between their palm. You wanted this feeling to go away, to disappear, so you could forget about it, so it would stop hurting. Overcame with the thought of needing some comfort, you didn't stop to think twice as you reached for your phone and dialled Art's number. You needed to hear his voice, to be reminded of what would be waiting for you when the next semester started. The ring went on and on, and when you thought he wouldn't pick up, he did. You sat up straighter.

"Art. Hi. Merry … Christmas."

The background on his end was noisy. You could hear his name being called.

"Merry Christmas."

It seemed like you had called him at the wrong time.

"Are you … are you at a party?"

"It's not really a party, just a get-together at my house. Patrick is here, and we're drinking this thing that we stole from my dad's liquor cabinet …"

He trailed off as a hiccup filled in the gap.

"It's making my head spin a little, I'm not gonna lie."

"Oh. I'm glad you're having fun."

Your voice dropped, and Art caught onto it even in his inebriated state.

"Are you okay? You sound … sad."

You didn't even realize how obvious it was, so you cleared your throat and responded in a more cheerful tone.

"I'm okay."

Art called your name softly.

"You don't sound okay. What's going on?"

"Nothing. I'm sorry for bothering you. Bye."

You hung up the phone. Seconds later, Art's call came by, and you watched as it rang and ended. Then, a text message came through.

I'm sorry, I'm a little tipsy to talk right now. I'll call you tomorrow.

You tucked your phone under the pillow, not wanting to look at it anymore. You tried to clear your head and think about something else. Still, your mind insisted on reliving the mistakes after mistakes you had made today. Exhaustion eventually took over, easing you into a fitful sleep.

/

You left without saying goodbye to your parents the next day. Sophie gave you a ride to the station, and by 5 PM, you were on the train back to Palo Alto. You received a call from Art. Just the sight of his name raised a storm of conflicting emotions in you, but the side that craved his affection overturned the other. You picked up after several rings.

"Hey. Sorry about last night. I didn't know my limit."

"That's okay. I shouldn't have called anyway."

"No, no, I'm glad you called. How was your Christmas?"

"It was fine. Are you preparing to go to the ski resort?"

You kept your voice level, hoping that you didn't give away anything like you did last night.

"Yep. We're heading there tomorrow."

The crackle of the announcement system broke out over your head, notifying you of your final stop. You were about to wish him a good trip, but Art spoke before you could get it out.

"Wait, where are you right now?"

You couldn't bring yourself to answer, but Art was determined to get it from you.

"Are you going back to Stanford?"

"Sorry, I have to go."

You ended the call. Almost immediately, Art's name appeared on the screen. You declined. Seconds later, he sent you a text.

Pick up. Please.

After shutting down his third call, you turned off your device. You went back to your apartment. It was empty. Your roommates wouldn't be here until school started, so you'd have the whole place to yourself. You felt an immense relief as you finally got to be alone, and you would be for at least another week. You didn't bother unpacking; instead, you headed for your room. After changing into something more comfortable, you crawled under the cover and pulled it to cover your head. Only then you allowed yourself to cry until you couldn't anymore, until the sobs that came out of you were reduced to soundless whimpers. Sleep came easier this time.

Likes, reblogs, and comments are greatly appreciated! I'd love to read your thoughts on the story!

For updates, please follow @cellophaine-archives

[tarantula-hawk-wasp]

Anyways for the fun of sharing here is how my room is rn

But now that I moved back in, my current desk is a beautiful roller top one but it doesn’t fit a laptop very well, so I’m going to borrow my brother’s old dania desk that has a slide out surface that will be perfect for my Wacom tablet. Then I also inherited an armoire from my grandma and I’m going to replace at least one dresser with that. But I like having my bed against a wall and I don’t love having my back to the door at my desk (currently I created a little office space where when I sit at my desk I face my bed)

These are my two main options so far depending on if I want to move my bed or not. The new dania desk doesn’t have a back so I could see through it if I put it at the window.

It’s one of those like I’m a maximalist and don’t mind clutter and don’t get claustrophobic so my room is kind of chaotic and crammed already. And not pictured are plastic tubs of craft supplies and my stepladder and desk chair etc.

Trying to decide how to rearrange my room to incorporate furniture I inherited makes me feel like one of those silly interior design videos where they put the hidden water tank toilet and the induction burner on top etc

[sophrosynesworld]

The Night Shift (Pt. 8)

Life has never been fair. You know that better than most. It’s a truth that clung to you like a second skin, suffocating and inescapable. You used to think about it a lot as a child, lying awake in bed, staring at a cracked ceiling that never seemed to get fixed. It wasn’t fair when you got third place in the science fair, despite the sleepless nights spent perfecting your baking soda volcano. You can still feel the heat of frustration rising to your cheeks when the judges smiled that polite, disinterested smile, their eyes skimming over your work like it wasn’t worth a second glance. They didn’t even wait for the "eruption."

And then there were the birthdays. The other kids got balloons and cake, their homes filled with laughter and the warm glow of candles. You got cold training rooms and grueling exercises. You can still feel the ache in your muscles, the sting of bruises on your skin as you stumbled through yet another drill.

“It’s for your future,” they’d say, though no one ever explained what that future would look like. At some point, you stopped asking. Stopped hoping.

Fairness, you realized, was a privilege reserved for other people. The ones who didn’t live under the weight of unspoken expectations. The ones who weren’t told to endure and obey, to carry the weight of a destiny they didn’t choose. You learned early that no one was going to fight for you, so you had to fight for yourself—or at least survive long enough to figure out how.

Maybe, somewhere in another life, another version of you is blowing out candles on a birthday cake, her biggest worry whether she’ll get a bicycle or a dollhouse.

But the first time you realized how unfair life could be—really, truly unfair—you were only eight. Mrs. Carter was at the front of the room, talking about metaphors, or maybe similes. You weren’t paying much attention, staring out the window like usual.

Then she collapsed.

You can still hear the sound of her body hitting the floor, the awful thud of it. At first, you thought she’d tripped. But then you saw her face—twisted, pale, her hand clutching her chest like she was trying to keep something inside from breaking free.

The room exploded into chaos. Desks screeched as kids shoved their chairs back. Someone screamed. A few bolted for the door. You just sat there, frozen, watching. It felt like the air had been sucked out of the room, and all we could hear was her gasping—sharp, shallow, desperate.

You remember thinking, someone has to help her. But no one moved. Not really. They were too scared, too shocked. And then the thought came again, louder this time. I have to help her.

Before you knew what you were doing, you were at her side. Knees hitting the floor hard enough to bruise, but no pain erupted. Or at least, you didn’t feel it. You couldn't feel anything except the pounding of your heart. You remember touching her arm, hands shaking so badly you weren’t sure you could keep them still. Her lips were moving, but you couldn’t hear what she was saying.

Then it happened.

As your skin touched hers, a sudden warmth surged through your chest, spreading like fire down your arms. A golden light began to spiral around you, vivid and alive, wrapping the two of you in its glow. Then, just like that, the panic and pain vanished. She went still, her breathing steadying as if a switch had been flipped.

What am I doing? Is this me?

Your eyes widen in awe and disbelief as her veins shimmered beneath her skin, glowing like threads of molten gold. The luminous trails weaving their way from the arm you were holding, disappearing under her sleeves and tracing an unseen path beneath her shirt to somewhere deeper within her body.

The rest is a blur. The door slammed open, teachers rushed in with everyone talking at once. Eventually, someone touches your arm, their grip firm but not unkind. You barely register the murmurs of reassurance as they guide you to your feet. Your legs move mechanically, as your head turns, eyes fixed on Mrs. Carter as they lift her onto a stretcher.

“Little lady,” a man with grey hair says, leaning down towards you. “I think you’ve got a bright future ahead of you.”

"Are you listening?"

The voice jolts you, snapping your attention back to the sterile room. Your eyes locking onto the source of the voice—a man in a white coat standing at the foot of your bed. Your abrupt movement causes him jump as well, nearly dropping his clipboard, which in turn knocks against a nurse's tray of IV medication. She scowls, steadying it with a sharp glare.

"I-" you croak, your voice raw as if you’ve swallowed shards of glass. You reach out instinctively, your trembling fingers brushing against the nurse's forearm. She pauses, then gently clasps your hand in hers.

"I need…" you rasp, the words catching in your throat.

“What is it?” the nurse asks, her tone softening despite the irritation that had lined her features a moment ago.

Your body lurches forward suddenly, a violent gag ripping through you. The nurse reacts swiftly, sliding a plastic tray under your chin just in time, but nothing comes up. Dry heaves rack your body, each one making your head throb harder, the pounding in your skull relentless.

“I need some Zofran,” you manage to plead between gasps, your body sagging back against the bed. Another dry retch claws its way up, leaving your stomach aching and hollow.

Dr. Kento Mori’s calm voice cuts through. “I already ordered it,” he says, stepping closer before turning to the nurse with a nod. “Go ahead and administer it.”

The nurse—Kumiko, if you remember correctly—gives your hand a gentle, reassuring squeeze before releasing it, busying herself with the IV line. Meanwhile, Dr. Mori pulls up a chair on the other side of the bed, his expression unreadable. Dozens of monitors surround you, their soft beeps counting out your pulse, your breathing, the rhythm of your existence.

“How are you feeling?” he asks gently, his large, callused hand resting on your arm. Your brow furrows. How are you feeling? Everything aches—your head, your throat, your stomach—but it’s the stabbing pain in your chest that feels the worst.

“What happened?” you whisper. The question hangs in the air, as your mind races to fill in the gaps. Was I hurt?

Kento leans forward, clasping his hands together. "You collapsed during your shift," he begins, his eyes meeting yours. "Another visitor in the hospital found you unresponsive in the south hallway."

“I…” You try to form a coherent thought, but your mind spirals. How could I let this happen?

"You’ve been pushing yourself too hard," Dr. Mori continues, as if he could read your mind. “Your body couldn’t take it anymore. It’s not just exhaustion—it’s dehydration, malnutrition, and stress. You’re burning out.”

His words feel like accusations, even though you know they aren’t. You stare at the ceiling, your chest tightening. I’m supposed to be better than this. Stronger than this.

But lying here, tethered to machines and monitors, you can’t ignore the truth. Your body betrayed you, or maybe you betrayed it.

“When can I get back to work?” you ask, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. They feel hollow, wrong somehow, but they’re all you can think to say. Kento's face tightens.

“Honestly,” he starts, then hesitates, clearing his throat like the words are hard to get out. “I don’t know what’s wrong with you.”

His eyes flick to the monitors beside you, the steady beeping growing louder, faster, like it’s keeping time with the unease building in your chest. His eyes return to yours, sharp but not unkind, and for a moment, you see the exhaustion behind it.

“Your heart is deteriorating,” he says bluntly. “And we don’t know yet if it’s connected to your quirk use or something else entirely.”

“So… what does that mean?” you manage, your voice small, even to your own ears.

“It means,” he says, folding his arms and leaning back into the chair, “that you’re on borrowed time until we figure this out. You need to stop using your quirk—at least until we can stabilize you. If you don’t…” He pauses, his jaw tightening as if forcing himself to say it aloud. “If you don’t, the damage could become irreversible.”

"But what if—what if someone needs me? What if—”

“No.” His voice is firm, cutting through your protest. “You’re not a hero. Your job is to survive.”

His words hit like a slap, and you look down at your hands, twisting the thin blanket on your lap. “I’m fine. I just—I just overdid it. I need some rest, I’ll be fine.” you whisper.

“You’ve been out for a bit,” he says gently, “longer than typical for causes of exhaustion.” He pauses, his eyes searching yours for something—understanding, maybe, or a hint that you’re taking this seriously. Leaning forward slightly, his tone steadies, quieter but insistent. “I’m going to do everything I can to figure this out. I promise.”

There’s a flicker of something in his copper iris—determination or maybe worry; you can't decide which. “But I need you to help me, okay? That means no overexertion. No stress. No—”

His words falter mid-sentence as the door bursts open, slamming against the wall. Before you can process what’s happening, two familiar figures rush in like a whirlwind.

“You’re awake!” Rina cries, her voice cracking with a mix of relief and excitement. Airi’s right behind her, her eyes glistening, but she says nothing as she dives forward.

The next second, they’re both on you, arms wrapping tightly around your shoulders in a bear hug that nearly knocks the wind out of you.

“Careful!” the man protests, his voice sharp with concern as he jumps to his feet.

But Rina and Airi don’t seem to hear him—or, more likely, they don’t care. “Three weeks” Rina exclaims, her voice muffled against your shoulder. “Three weeks! Do you know how worried we were?!”

Airi sniffles, pulling back just enough to glare at you through watery eyes. “You’re never allowed to scare us like that again, got it?”

Your throat tightens, and the weight of their presence—of their relief, their worry, their sheer being here—makes your own eyes sting.

“I’m sorry,” you croak, your voice breaking.

Rina pulls back just enough to look at you, her brow furrowed in mock anger. “Damn right, you are.” Then she softens, a small, wobbly smile breaking through. “But I’m so glad you’re okay.”

Airi nods furiously, gripping your hand like she’ll never let go. “We thought…” Her voice wavers, and she doesn’t finish, but she doesn’t have to. The man clears his throat pointedly, and all three of you glance at him.

“As heartwarming as this is,” he says, his tone a mix of exasperation and understanding, “she’s still fragile. You can hug her later. For now, I need to finish up with this patient.”

Rina raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “We are helping. Emotional support is part of healing.”

Airi nods, shooting him a defiant look. “Yeah. Don't act like we don't work here.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose, muttering something about patience, but doesn’t argue further. “Fine. But only if you let her rest after this.”

Rina and Airi exchange a glance, then reluctantly step back, though they don’t let go entirely. Their hands remain on the bed near you.

“She’s going to be okay, right?” Airi asks, her voice trembling as her wide eyes dart between you and the doctor. "They wouldn’t tell us anything about what happened. No one would."

“I’m fine,” you interject quickly, forcing a smile to steady her. “Turns out I just overdid it. Nothing serious, right, Kento?” You glance at him, searching for backup.

“That’s right.” Kento offers a polite smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “And, as you know, we’re not allowed to access employee medical records unless it's an assigned case.”

Rina crosses her arms, standing protectively beside Airi. “Doesn’t stop you from being all secretive, though,” she mutters, her tone carrying just enough edge to convey her frustration.

You shake your head gently. “It’s normal hospital procedure, Rina. He’s just following the rules. But thank you—really—for being here.” Your voice softens, gratitude seeping through. “It means a lot.”

Rina huffs but softens at your words. Before she can reply, Kento clears his throat. “Did you know your best friend here has months of vacation time saved up?” His casual tone carries a teasing edge, but his glance at you feels pointed. He's saying checkmate.

Your eyes snap to him, narrowing. If looks could kill, the room would be painted in red. “Oh, for the love of—”

“We have to take a girls’ trip!” Airi exclaims, the tension in her face finally breaking as a smile spreads across her lips. She practically bounces up and down, the previous look in her eyes replaced with excitement.

Vacation? You’ve never been one to take time off—not because you don’t need it, but because work has always been your anchor, your identity. The thought of being away feels like losing a part of yourself.

“Are you seriously taking time off?” Rina’s voice breaks through your spiraling thoughts.

You hesitate, caught between their hopeful expressions and the reality of your new schedule.

“Well…” You let your eyes wander around the room, grasping for a distraction, but even the nurse who had administered your medication earlier has slipped away unnoticed. “Maybe? I’m not sure yet.”

“You should,” Rina says firmly, her usual teasing tone gone. “If anyone deserves a break, it’s you.”

Airi nods, “You better actually rest this time, though. No sneaking out to answer emails or check on patients. I’ll hunt you down if I have to.”

You laugh again, but the sound feels thin, like glass stretched too far. “I promise,” you lie, knowing full well you’ll try to stay involved in any way you can.

As your friend's chatter on, their excitement filling the room, your doctor sighs in defeat and quietly excuses himself, promising to return later when they’re finished. You keep smiling, nodding along as if their energy is infectious, but inside, the fear twists like a knife. What if I can’t come back? What if this is the beginning of the end for me?

“Hey.” Rina shoves you softly, her tone lighter, almost teasing again. “You’ll be back before we know it. The place is already falling apart without you.”

You muster a grin, forcing it to feel natural. “Of course,” you reply, your voice steady despite the weight in your chest. “I’ll be back in no time.”

Author's Note: DON'T BE MAD AT ME. I promise you I am single handedly creating the most beautiful storyline of my career, but you need to let me cook!

Tags: @simplyraeblue @moonfloweronmars @kalulakunundrum @froggy-crystal @msjaeger @crystalssncw @dragonscribble @gina239 @abcdefbeom @bakugonnathrowitback @your-mum3000 @elarakive @piluhns @deadhands69 @rienin @pikachuzhc @vanillabeama @cheshairacat

[phoenixcatch7]

Open up

Based on this wonderful art of @puppetmaster13u for the dollhouse au!

It had been a long day, and was destined to be even longer.

The original plan had been bad enough; the league had a media conference planned for three o'clock, one that involved foreign presence and thus required pristine presentation.

Then, as all perfectly good plans that could have been left alone by the universe did, it was derailed by a villain attack or several. He said several because it seemed almost a dozen separate villains had individually had the bright idea of sabotaging the well publicised event. Though they'd failed, the accidental collaboration had done what each alone could not, and now the league was dragging themselves to base to hurriedly patch up the thankfully minor wounds and try and rush to meet the deadline.

Each league member on the list had a formal version of their usual super suit - flash's main change had been a bowtie before it met almost unanimous disapproval, and on the other end of the effort spectrum was Bruce. Not of his own will - he quite envied Flash's staunch faith in the single black bowtie - but he not only had been raised for the fast and critical world of the upper class, but was currently in a metal plated marionette held together by glue and screws and wires, which meant changing attire was more of a debacle than it would ordinarily be.

He flipped open the toolkit with the best approximation of a sigh the doll body could manage. The chest inflated and deflated, which was in fact a rather worrying sign because it wasn't supposed to be able to do that. He grabbed a screwdriver and a pit of tar glue and approached the mirror. He'd just have to go into the globally broadcast meeting stinking of sulphur... Perhaps he could borrow perfume from one of the girls, cologne combined dreadfully.

The chest cavity opened with little tugging, and he held one side in place as he attacked the bent hinges. An odd feeling, for sure. He took a hammer to the dent, imagining it was the penguin's face and praying Clark didn't decide now was the time to approach him on his self soothing metalworking hobby. He'd been entrusted with the override code for the door and Bruce was now quietly regretting that.

The chest cavity doors creaked back into place, which enabled him to finally pull out the costume change for the evening and dump it on the side.

Now for the leg, having been crushed under a tank penguin had smuggled into Gotham. It now bent the wrong way, and hiding it under his cloak had been a pain, but at least it hadn't come off -

There it went. Batman watched, almost despondent, as it toppled free of his body and crashed to the ground. The unhappy static that raced up his spine at the sight was expected - he'd be paying for the lack of care for the Patriarch Doll in nightmares tonight.

Joy.

He tipped into the nearby stool and kicked the lost limb closer with his remaining foot, squinting. Just a cracked screw and torn spring at the knee, thank goodness. He'd have it fully attached again within the hour.

But he was pretty sure he couldn't bend that far over without his jaw falling off, so face it was.

Hood off, wires unlaced under the chin, hidden screws loosened. The gas mask came off. The velcro on top of his head took good old fashioned yanking, but eventually peeled off with reluctant crackling, revealing the unpainted grey metal beneath.

As expected, his jaw was almost entirely loose, unable to close now without the structure of the mask. The nutcracker mouth in the lower jaw fell to tap against his throat, leaving either side of the actual lower jaw to hang in the air. Experimentally, he opened and closed his mouth, and watched all three parts swing and clink like a robot body horror wind-chime.

This was going to need a finer touch, and so he stripped off his gloves to access the sharp points of his talons - capped while with the league to keep the prick of steel rending claws to a mere suggestion.

He felt bared, now, all his top layer removed and abandoned, the door to his room at his back. He feels the paranoia to double check the lock, reassures himself that even if he'd somehow forgotten in his haste to hide away none of the members were mad enough to try and get in. Outside Superman, of course, but he always knocked.

Still, he hurried through repairs, running diagnostics in the back of his mind as he daubed glue into the cracks and set about restructuring his own jaw. Ears swivelled. Neck rolled. Glider snaps curled.

The jaw pieces were setting nicely when there was a noise at the door, and batman whipped around, cloak flaring behind him. The pliers dropped from suddenly weak fingers.

Captain marvel stood in the doorway, eyes wide as he took in the room, face pale as he saw Batman propped up in middle, bare of his many obfuscating layers. Black tar speckled his lap, wires hung free like veins, blank eyes glowed, his jaw gaping, skinless. Glinting claws and spikes in full view, a limb discarded on the floor like garbage. His chest a dark hole, void of organs, of machinery, of anything that could make him run. A decades old terror gripped his heart.

HE SAW!

Both froze. Time stretched interminably.

The captains chest heaved for a scream, and batman was moving before he knew it, grabbing his fallen leg and lunging.

Captain marvel fell with a crack. Batman caught himself on the door. Five seconds before short term memory entered long term, had he reacted in time?

Hm.

He considered the body of the champion of magic laid in front of him, idly rebalancing the eternal tally graph of potential energies the dolls might run on in the back of his head and as always coming up none the wiser. This was a very inconvenient place for a body. Perhaps he could nudge marvel into the hallway to wake up. He glanced up and down the empty corridor, staying out of view of the camera.

Maybe he had overreacted slightly.

Bonus:

Billy and Green Lantern sat in the monitor room, ostensibly on duty but really checking out the watchtower camera feeds of the day before. Lantern was pointing at the screen.

"Here," he said, with a glee Billy didn't honestly appreciate. "Look at that. You go down like a sack of bricks and then -" he clicked forward two frames, "- this silver hand thing appears on the door frame. Look at that, that's a proper horror movie hand curl. The claws! Just missing the glint of a blood covered axe appearing from the shadows."

Billy shuddered, but couldn't help moving closer.

"What do you think it was? Can't have been batman, right?"

"You were there, you tell me." Lantern patted him on the shoulder before he could retort. "I mean, doesn't look much like him. Doesn't really have claws and his are black anyway. Pretty sure his gloves are sewn into his skin at this point."

"I didn't need that mental image," Billy said, because he really didn't.

"Could be another Robin variant? Like that black bat thing?"

"Dunno. I mean, unlikely. Maybe it was batman. Maybe he can shapeshift a little."

"We've had that on the list of possible powers for ages, still nothing firm one way or the other."

"It probably is batman -"

"But the claws -"

They trailed off.

"We'll just add it to the list. I'll save the file, hang on. We can talk about it at the do next week - you're coming right?"

"Yeah, but I've got, uh... A diplomacy thing with the yetis at nine, so I'll have to bail then."

"You always have the weirdest personal missions. Hey, maybe you can ask them about batman, pffft. Maybe he's one of them."

[one-joe-spoopy]

The ghosts... Oh no they're so freaking cute. Blobby ghosts that look like smoke trails in the cutesy ghost way have a special place in my heart.

Does Juno Steel believe in ghosts? Sure. Just not the white-sheet wailing kind. But the half-seen faces from the past who whisper in the dark about promises you never kept, things you'll never know, times dead and going, going, gone…

Mick's house in @thepenumbrapodcast's Haunting of the Terrible Trio, in the style of @kayleerowena's gorgeous haunted house pieces!

[ID: a digital drawing of dollhouse manor, mick mercury's floating mansion. it's a pink mansion that resembles a victorian dollhouse, floating in front of a red and gold sky. there are three ghosts emerging from its windows, each representing a different member of the oldtown trio. END ID]

[sentientfunfetti]

dollhouse wally/reader headcanons !

(dollhouse wally is made by @/itskorrychang on twitter + instagram. i’m unsure if they have a tumblr. go support them!)

REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED !

CW// YANDERE/POSSESSIVE THEMES !!!

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i’m pretty sure this is canon but when i first saw it i had to expand on it more. he would call you things like: pretty thing, beautiful/beauty, gorgeous. nice words like that. he wouldn’t use ‘vulgar’ words like ‘hot or sexy’ to describe you. too unimaginative.

loves the feeling of your skin on his. you’re so warm and soft against him and he loves it. doesn’t even mind if you have body hair, even if that would be a bit weird to other people. it just adds onto you and he would find it immature if someone else complained. touch starved as well. being alone for so long does that to people. he just loves physical contact with you in general.

would definitely do things the old fashioned way. he would mail you a love letter and hope you get it with baited breath. if you say yes then expect him to stumble over his words all while trying to keep his composure. if you ask him who delivered it to your mail box, he would say eddie.

he would brag to barnaby about you. since he believes that the dolls hes made of his dear neighbors are real and listening he would sit barnaby down while you’re away and brag to him about you. sometimes barnaby responds. maybe one day he’d allow you and him to meet?

definitely possessive. doesn’t like to see his pretty thing wander far from him. even of he has to keep you in the dollhouse himself, he’ll do it if he needs to. he’d hate to see you get hurt, and the world is harsh and cruel out there. it would be best for you to stay with him…completely…forever. where you’re safe.

sometimes spends moments of you two spending time together just…staring at you. he loves the way you look. your hair, your eyes, the way your face crinkles up when you smile. it all makes him lightheaded and fuzzy. if he made a doll of you he would show you with pride and point out all the fine details that he captured of you, even the ones you haven’t noticed.

doesn’t like it when you see his ‘cracks’ or flaws. he would like to appear to you as flawless as fresh porcelain, but unfortunately sometimes you make him just a tad too emotional and he starts to show his true colors. he just hopes you don’t hate him or think bad of him. you’re the first visitor he’s had since the others abandoned him…he really would love for you two to be together for as long as possible.

makes you small gifts all the time. really is an arts and crafts kind of guy. he loves seeing your face light up when he gives you dolls or other things he’s made by hand. he also does embroidery and makes doilies. tends to do it when you’re away to pass the time until you come back. he would try and teach you how to do it too.

on the flip side, if you gave him a gift— well he’d just melt. he wouldn’t know what to do. even the smallest gift would send him into a flurry of “oh neighbors” and “i love you”s. he would tear up a bit and immediately put it somewhere where he can see it anytime he wants to. it would be precious to him, no matter how well made.

isolation breed abandonment issues. he wouldn’t like you leaving his side that much, and if you do he would wait patiently until you get back. he isn’t the kind of guy to set a curfew, as you’re your own person and an adult but he would definitely expect you to be back before nightfall at least.

would allow you to call him ‘dolly’, simply because it amuses him.

doesn’t sleep that well and has trouble sleeping, he usually spends that time alone but when you’re around he likes to watch you sleep. he stands over you with his arms folded behind his back, or sits on your bed and watches over you as you snooze along. he’d brush your hair out of your face, or whisper to you as you sleep. things he would probably never say to you if you were awake. he’d also take that time to study your face more closely for his doll of you. more time to look at you the better. you look so peaceful and it brings his heart joy to know you’re here with him, and safe. if you’d allow him, he would love to cuddle you while you sleep and would do the same either way.

author’s note ⊹˚. ♡

these were just silly little ideas i brewed up! i’ve been having real bad brainrot of dollhouse ever since i saw him and i haven’t really seen that much content of him around and that’s a shame because his design is absolutely incredible.

i’d also like to take this time to mention that my requests are open! as long as you follow my guidelines, we should get along just fine. i can’t guarantee i will get to every one but i can try! hope to see you soon, neighbor.

[vaggietheangel]

Randome headcannons that have nothing to do with each other

Vaggie punches inanimate objects when she bumps I to them. She got hit by the door of the closet once, so she ripped it off the hinges.

Angel is a TERRIBLE driver. He would laugh if he flipped the car over into the ditch and says he's so silly. He smokes, does his nails, makeup, and calls Cherri when driving on a highway.

Niffty is a mean drunk. She will make fun of you but in an accurate way. She will get to the thing that you don't like about you and laugh at you for it. She made Alastor well up.

Charlie eats flinestone vitamin gummies. But she eats two at once, so they "don't die alone." She also eats gingerbread men head first to "end thier suffering".

Alastor only watches one modern movie and chooses it every time Charlie says it's his turn for movie night. It's human centipede.

Sir pentious snitches om Angel for breaking rules. He refers to it as "tomfoolery".

Charlie will raise her hand in the air and say "I've had it up to here with you!" When she's angry.

Mimzy mistook Niffty for a child when they first met and gave her money for ice cream. She used it to buy a can of deodorant and a lighter. Then set a cockroach on fire with it.

Vaggie uses rosemary oil to make her hair grow faster.

Husk punched a mirror when he was drunk because "some stupid bastard was staring at me."

Angel teaches Sir pentious to use slang incorrectly bc he thinks its funny. Sir pentious says "this was a millon dollar pussy my good Sir. :)" when leaving a tip at a restaurant.

Cherri has a cookie monster tattoo on her ass.

Husk puts his phone in the fridge when it overheats.

Vaggie sticks her leg out to trip people over when they make her mad.

Charlie buys the bruised fruit because she feels bad for it. "If I don't buy it no one else will! 🥺" She also feels bad for the sweets that are left at the bottom of the box.

Angel Dust:Ah, its only the shit ones left.

Charlie:Angel, that's so mean!

Angel:???

Niffty slaps Alastor upside his fuck ass Bob and says "I like your cut g."

Angel skitters like a spider when he's frightened.

Vaggie gets embarrassed when she cries in front of people. So she gives them a warning to not tell anyone or she will stab them.

Husk is easily fooled by ai images. Niffty showed him an ai picture of a baby skydiving. He put on his old man glasses and grumbled about how parents are so irresponsible these days.

Niffty kept putting roaches in Vaggie’s victrion dollhouse. So Vaggie threw her out the window.

Charlie acts out safety psa's for her redemption workshops. She explains how to defuse a violent situation in the form of a "sailor moon" says" short."

Angel Dust is embarrassed of his older porn. He thinks the acting is cringe. So when he tries to show one of his newer movies to the staff Vaggie air drops one of his old porns to the TV.

Niffty likes to stick her finger into plug sockets. She likes "the tinges." Charlie had to pry her away from it several times.

[loisfreakinglane]

What are your top 5 Dollhouse characters and episodes and also just moments in general?

okay okay okay lettuce get into it! i must warn you ahead of time, i am about to ramble incoherently for entirely TOO LONG!!!!!!!!!!

top 5 dollhouse characters:

priya. always priya. my judgey dorky lil vagabond. she's an artist she's a world traveler she's a survivor. she confronts her problems head on, she is brutally honest. she doesn't give a fuck about money or prestige. she loves loudly, through acts of service. infiltrating a military compound to save tony. coming back to the dollhouse to save her friends. introducing baby tony to his father. i love her rage and her perseverance and her bitterness. i love her willingness to forgive and start anew. she's an all timer for me.

tony. priya's other half. i really want to crawl inside his brain to try and understand him. what is it that made him sign up for the dollhouse to recover from ptsd, only to immediately turn around on his release day and sign up to be a soldier again- only with no individual identity, part of a mass hive mind. he had no wants for himself, not until he met priya and she became the center of his world. he could be so cavalier, so lighthearted in the face of horror. making smalltalk with priya in the middle of a gun fight. joking that she should wound him if he was imprinted with someone evil, but to ~stay away from his junk~ did he only truly value his personhood when it came to protecting priya and their son? I DON'T KNOW BUT I KEEP FLIPPING HIM OVER IN MY BRAIN LOOKING FOR ANSWERS.

topher. on first blush- an amoral asshole, so focused on stroking his own ego with his giant genius brain, he never stopped to worry who was peering over his shoulder. i think he gets dismissed as a dick a bit too much, when on rewatch, his biggest flaw to ME was naivete and carelessness. he convinced himself he was a good person- he ~fixed~ priya, he ~cured~ a fuckton of soldiers' ptsd, he imprinted echo to reach out to abused children. and he never worried that the dollhouse couldn't be trusted- he trusted adelle, he trusted her ability to retain control. he's a goofy, dorky childish dumbass. and he ends the fucking world (or at least heavily speeds up humanitys downfall). but his arc from careless dick high on his own prowess to traumatized, guilty, grieving, desperate to actually be a good person for once. and that's not even taking the epitaph's into account! and whatever it was in that decade between the hollow men and the epitaphs that drove him entirely off the deep end. anyway topher makes me sad and i love him and i think his ~redemption arc~ is very engaging

boyd. STOP JUDGING ME. DON'T DO IT. I LOVE WHO I LOVE. okay like first off- obviously- THE WRITING IS A MESS. THE REVEAL IS A MESS. WHO KNOWS HOW MUCH IT ACTUALLY MAKES SENSE TAKEN AS A WHOLE. but right now, coming off this rewatch? i just??? love him???? i love my evil dad, a total wackadoodle mastermind, taking an entry level job at his own fucking company because he's fixated on a new innovation he discovered- caroline, her weird body quirks, her innate capacity for revolutionizing the dollhouse tech. he was so intent on guiding her progress while pretending to be some lowly ex-cop. and then he went and fell in love with his coworkers. much as he ruined their lives, he had genuine love for echo, adelle, topher. perhaps claire. (when did she become clyde? was it right after she left the house?) beyond them, i'm not entirely sure how far his adoration spread- i like to think he was fond of priya and tony too. he guides echo's development, he's genuinely upset when he is removed as her handler. he prods topher about his sense of morality for 2 seasons straight, pushing him to consider the consequences of his actions. helping topher and priya cover up nolan's (righteous, justified, absolutely self-defense) murder. he throws more and more opposition adelle's way until she takes charge. he wants them all to be their best selves- and he wants them all to save each other. AND BE A FAMILY. TOGETHER FOREVER DURING THE APOCALYPSE. and there's something very funny to me about him hating paul, while he spent two years arguably pretending to be a man very much like paul.

caroline. echo. i still struggle to grapple with the differences. is this like a holy trinity thing, is caroline just another facet of echo, alongside all her other imprints? is echo a facet of caroline? have echo and caroline turned into the same entity? did echo truly remain the porchlight, waiting for caroline to come home? YOU KNOW WHAT DOESN'T MATTER. tho carolecho should be considered nonbinary i am just saying. both alpha and echo should be enbys. sometimes i struggle with echo when her plot becomes very paul-centric, because while i very much love tahmoh and enjoy paul in his dynamics with other characters, the echo/paul relationship is not for me. but outside of that? i love her. i love that she's a warrior, before and after becoming an active. her fixation on rossum, her willingness to lie, manipulate to get to them. she found rossum first, and that got them interested. and her wacky health stats got them laser focused. she wanted so badly to save animals, save humans, save the world. having the weird bodily capacity to manufacture a vaccine was just a bizarre stroke of luck. but it was her choice, again and again and again, to do good things, to help people.

honorable mentions: adelle dewitt. laurence dominic!!!!!! ivy. alpha. margaret bashford.

TOP 5 EPISODES!

204 belonging. our priya-centric episode. the only priya-centric episode? which is very unfortunate, but hey, I'll take it. finally seeing her whole story. priya taking her power back, priya getting her revenge, priya making her own choices. priya/tony content. topher grappling with his complicity in horror. obviously he has always been complicit in horror but now he finally has to confront it head on, and it makes him second guess everything up to this point. and it makes him struggle with his relationships with both adelle- who he thought he could trust, who pushed him to do the wrong thing out of self preservation, and boyd- who he still believes he can trust, who protected him and priya, and helped topher do something fucking HORRIFYING for the right reasons. topher choosing to help priya, for real this time. after the bullshit help he was fooled into giving her. with a side of!!!!!! echo is still BECOMING herself, still exploring her mind, but this time it's boyd figuring her out, warning her of potential consequences from her actions, but helping her anyway. hiding her secrets, giving her the keycard for future use. god boyd in this episode..... warning echo of the consequences of her future actions, and helping topher deal with the consequences of HIS actions. helping cover up a murder. well. an act of self defense. righteous revenge. THE BITCH HAD IT COMING. which was soooooooo cathartic and beautiful and i LOVED IT.

209 stop-loss. OUR TONY-CENTRIC EPISODE! c'mon you knew i had to do it. another priya/tony episode. one of our only episodes featuring the crime fighting trio we could have had for multiple seasons in echo/priya/tony. echo getting to use her abilities to access her imprints. the journey we see tony take during this episode tho- being discharged from the dollhouse, given a pile of money and a new future. we got bits and pieces of this process through madeline, but it's given more time and depth here. seeing that although topher may have ~cured~ tonys ptsd, he is still isolated and traumatized by his experiences. and he knows something is missing- he sees priya in a club, only it's not her. and of course he's immediately swooped up by a rossum adjacent military outfit using active architecture to create a hivemind army. it was VERY dark angel x-7 series in a fascinating way. this should have been a multi-episode arc, but i'll take what i can get. echo and priya saving tony, tony having to overcome mind control to save priya. IMPECCABLE. but also! seeing our lil group of freedom fighters truly start to form! boyd, echo, topher, ivy, paul, priya, and tony. and our brief glimpse into adelle as THE BAD GUY. as well as! finally seeing adelle hit what we later find out was her breaking point. she got drunk, she got shot down by tony (in deleted scenes), she has that amazing moment where she goes down into the dollhouse, strips off her clothes and showers with the actives. this is the moment she chooses to join team TAKE DOWN ROSSUM. she had regained control over her house, but this is when she decides to take her power back. she's not playing rossum's game anymore.

108 needs. this episode!!!!!!!! our first time TRULY MEETING caroline, priya, tony and madeline. i mean i'll be upfront- i hate the beginning of this episode. i hate a dream depicting two women in a madonna whore dichotomy. angel devil shit. i hate it. BUT ONCE WE GET PAST THAT!!!!!!!!! 10/10. even the reveal that this ~awakening&escape~ was manufactured doesn't impact my enjoyment because the feelings are real, the experience is real. we get to see priya and tony be in love without understanding where that came from. madeline grieving a daughter she cannot remember. priya confronting the man who stole her life. tony protecting priya, the way he was unable to with joe hearn. and caroline- caroline gets to confront adelle and topher over the morality of their actions. and she gets to lead the dolls out into the light (which i do have to ask- they're 8 stories underground. did they take the elevators in shift? did echo ride up and down with the gun out every time? how did this go? you know what ignore me i don't need to pick this apart). which- what a goddamn moment. and to top it all off with the discovery that it was all claire's idea- and boyd takes issue with her over playing her own games with the dolls. she views it as necessary for their emotional states, but is he wrong? this was such an emotionally cathartic episode. and so so important for me and my connection to these people we usually only ever see as other fake people

109 a spy in the house of love. FLAWLESSSSS. first off, the framing device. following every active throughout their imprints day. missing bits and pieces every time. i loooove playing with perspective- everyone seeing different aspects, having different parts to pick over. priya and echo in parallel roles of a sort again, both hunting down a spy in very different ways. the revelation that dominic OF ALL PEOPLE was a fucking spy for the nsa. topher showing his soft side again when he suspected boyd and gave him the chance to run. in retrospect, while dominic was obviously... not a 10/10 person..... he tried to kill echo, he was prepared to torture and kill ivy, and kill topher and echo, to keep his cover....... he wasn't actually wrong about the dollhouse? the technology WAS too dangerous to let run rampant. adelle WAS naive to trust rossum. and echo WOULD be the one to bring this entire house of cards down. too late, but still. we also get to see the softer side of adelle here. she's not all boss bitch, she has vulnerabilities and dreams, she breaks down after dominics betrayal. she has no one to confide in but a person who is not real. oh my god not to mention! the reveal to paul that mellie is a doll!!!!!!!!! there are too many secret dolls this season probably, but the emotion with this reveal was so intense. it was so heavy and hurtful, so damaging. a great episode for topher, for dominic, for echo, for adelle. and at the end- adelle genuinely believing echo's progress is a GOOD THING because it protected the house. one of the best ENSEMBLE episodes.

212 the hollow men. not a choice i would have expected, but hey. i fucking loved that episode. much as it's hard to make sense of boyds secret evil mastermind identity, the reveal in context of this episode hits so hard and works so well for me. and the twist back around from 'boyd is evil' to- but also he still loves you guys a lot and wants to hang out forever while the world burns down around you! makes me feel so many feelings actually. clyde!whiskey is stupid hot. the mellie/paul teamup is fun until it's horribly depressing, and it makes me wistful for a timeline where these two actually did fall in love in some fashion. the chemistry is there, whether she's mellie or madeline. priya and tony coming back to save everyone- and the return of topher!tony. the hints toward tony's future with him already starting to be programmed with extra skills. the fakeout happy ending quickly followed up with an apocalyptic ten years later. everything here worked very well for me on an emotional level. echo and boyd still striking that beautiful balance of devotion, only now it is twisted and ugly. god truly just watching boyd navigate this episode, still basically acting the same way with the rest of the characters, but we see so much more in his face. there's an edge there, there's an eerie undertone. for however much this was sprung on us so suddenly, harry lennix was up to the task of selling it. he truly deserved more time to explore this aspect of the character.

#5 is more dubious and i wonder if it'll retain its top slot once i'm a little more removed from this rewatch but i'm rolling with it for now. it doesn't escape my notice that 4/5 of my top episodes heavily feature priya/tony lmao i am what i am. other top contenders- 110 haunted, 113 epitaph one, 210 the attic, 211 getting closer.

FAVORITE MOMENTS! i'm actually gonna use this slot here to talk about some of my favorite like...... ideas? things that keep bouncing around my brain? random shit!

priya/tony are the only ship that don't exist in a multiverse that perfectly fit that quote about how in every universe i will find you and i will choose you. also for years there, enver had appeared in the avengers as a young cop in modern day, and in agent carter as a war vet in the 40s. and in agents of shield dichen was an immortal inhuman we saw in both the 40s and modern day. so for literal years there i had a long running daydream about her the tragic immortal, and her love, the man constantly reincarnating. AND THEN AGENTS OF SHIELD WENT AND MADE ENVER A TIME TRAVELER WHO FELL IN LOVE WITH DICHENS DAUGHTER. I MUST LOL AT MYSELF. another impeccable ship, tho. has to be said. daisysousa5ever

the whole thread throughout 111 briar rose through 112 omega about sleeping beauty. echo telling susan to think of herself as the prince, who is fighting to save briar rose. she is both the prince and the princess. 111 making us think it is paul who is coming to save the sleeping beauty echo from the dollhouse- we even have him literally waking her up from her sleeping pod- the end of 111 revealing it was actually alpha who came to wake echo up from her doll-state and bring her back to life by making her MORE like he is- only for 112 omega to flip that entirely on its head and give us echo and caroline as two separate entities. echo given the chance to save caroline, first as a human girl trapped in the wrong body, and then on a hard drive. they kind of ruin it at the end by having paul catch the hard drive of caroline, but hey. whatever. I'M STILL SAYING ECHO AND CAROLINE ARE THE PRINCE AND PRINCESS OF THIS STORY.

i have little use for mag and zone as characters on their own merit, but that little moment in epitaph two where they ask what the other did before the apocalypse. it's something that always fascinates me in postapocalyptic content, who people were before they became an apocalypse survivor. kind of reminds me of lost in that way too.

topher v echo as progenitor of the apocalypse and the messiah respectively. adelle v boyd as parallel mentor figures. the initially villainous presenting character who eventually chooses good, ends the series trying to save humanity, and the character that initially presents as heroic, only to reveal he had evil, selfish motives all along. adelle and boyd have pretty equal parental/mentorship claims to echo and topher (tho adelle/caroline had a deeply sexual vibe i am just saying). it's just..... fascinating how they all four relate to each other. and the men both die, boyd in echo's efforts to stop the apocalypse, and topher in his own effort to END the apocalypse. echo ends her story underground, isolated and yet surrounded by (and filled with) people. adelle on the surface ready to shepherd a new flock into the light. there's just!!!!! a lot to pick apart and play with!

sort of thinking a lot about how the first time paul met topher in 111 he tased him and then alpha helped him carry topher into the office. then the second time the three of them were in that office together paul found topher on the floor, having been attacked by alpha, and lifted him onto his feet. there is SOMETHING THERE eating at my brain. and that being the like...... last act paul had as his actual original real self, pre-dollification. THINKING THOUGHTS.

multiple times characters call out how protective echo is of sierra. i want so so so much more of that. plz.

topher!tony. dominic!tony. TOPHER!TONY. GIVE ENVER AN OSCAR FOR THIS TV ROLE.

the TO REMEMBER wall of photographs. especially its appearance in epitaph one, it always makes me so weirdly emotional? that wall, the song, the pictures of cast and crew. 10/10

i'm gonna cut myself off here or i'll never shut my mouth

THANKS BABES <333

[amethysia]

Got around to styling Wally doll's hair!

It's not perfect, but it works for now. So much tacky glue and hairspray, lol.

But also, wanted to show off some miniatures I've been collecting for the dolls~ I aim to make Wally's armchair soon and some more little outfits for them too.

Eventually, I want to make a Home doll house like i drew some time ago.

I watched a FroggyStuff video on how to make a dollhouse out of poster board, so I feel that that would be a lightweight and affordable option. I also have to figure out how to flip the windows, because the way I designed it the first time makes it to where you split home down the middle of his face. Don't want that xD

In due time though!