#Opal my beloved twisted little bastard… how I hate to love u

[carnivorousyandeere]

Opal intrigues me a lot more than it should, imaging Opal slowly replacing the readers limbs with doll parts, working around making a doll by making them a doll, man The reader somehow loosing limbs but its ok Opal to the rescue

Goddddd Alice that’s soooo fucked up….. I love it 🤭

I was originally envisioning Opal attaching souls to dolls’ bodies like Fullmetal Alchemist’s Alphonse is attached to that armor… but this really scratches an itch for some darker content~

HEAVY CONTENT WARNINGS, PLEASE HEED THEM. Ask to tag if I missed anything.

CW: drugs/drugging, mutilation, surgery, unwanted medical procedures, amputation, body horror.

The first time the thought of taking you apart slowly to recreate you as a doll crosses their mind, Opal drops the block of clay they’re carrying, where it lands on and nearly shatters their own foot.

It’s risky… likely painful… but the chances of success may make it worth it…. No, no, I can’t possibly do that to my dearest… Opal shakes their head, trying their best to clear their mind of the thought.

But they already have so many of the doll’s limbs, even most of the torso, prepared just for you… waiting for you…

And every time sweet, clumsy, oh-so-breakable you trips and falls, or nicks yourself shaving or cooking, Opal can’t help but think about how much it would help you to have limbs that don’t bruise and hurt the way yours do.

The more dangerous situations you get yourself into, and the more you get hurt, the more Opal’s self-control wears thin.

~~~~

You blink awake slowly, groggily, from a grey and dreamless slumber. The white and grey-speckled ceiling of Opal’s workshop greets you. Then Opal themself peeks over, goggles and work mask obscuring much of their face.

“How do you feel?” They ask softly. Faintly, you can feel their gloved fingertips running over your shoulder, but the feeling quickly sharpens into a burning pain.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, my love,” Opal shushes you gently, increasing the drip of painkillers attached to your side. You look down, only to feel bile rise at the sight of yourself— doll’s limbs, like Opal’s, attached to your still-human torso. Clumsily you try to move away from the exploratory touch of their fingers as they continue to test the skin around your joints. A wet sob leaves you, a weak animal sound unlike anything you’ve made before. Opal pauses, moving to stroke your forehead and cheek.

“It’s going to be okay, dearest. You just need time to adjust.”

Your vision fades out once more, pulled under by anesthesia once more.