#haunted doll!moon

[cipher-the-sidhe]

Wheewhoo! Dolls of New Albion DCA AU!

Do you like:

Haunting the narrative?

Steampunk?

The damning hubris of man?

Necromancy in the name of love?

Highly symbolic cyclical storylines?

It’s got it all folks!

Taking place after the Bonfire of the Dolls (end of Act lll), Eclipse is a haunted doll- once one of hundreds, but now one of the few left not condemned to the purging bonfires that consumed New Albion. The two spirits inhabiting this doll don’t remember their name in life, or who it was that called them back up, but they each answer to Sun and Moon respectively depending on the time of day. When it’s Sun speaking through the radio in their chest, the volume turns up and the channels skip sporadically. Moon tends to stick to short clips of a single channel, but with a terrible, gravely quality to the sound.

You, on the other hand, are an enforcer. It’s your job to find stray dolls (and disobedient citizens) and to put them down. But when you come across this strange celestial doll, something about them gives you pause… now you’re the very kind of fugitive you were meant to hunt down, hiding this haunted doll and trying to unravel the mystery of their dual existence and their obscured past.

[lunarmoves]

you weren't sure what had woken you up.

you only knew that one moment you had been dreaming—of what, you could not recall—and the next you were staring up at the textured ceiling of your bedroom. your eyes took a moment to adjust. moonlight, dewy and milky, yawned along the walls from the open-curtained window to your right. there was a stillness to the air befitting of the late hour. you blinked once, then twice, your mind hazy with lingering sleep.

that was when you heard it.

scritch scritch scritch.

slowly, you sat up, your blanket pooling around your waist. you rubbed at one of your eyes, groggily trying to piece together some vague understanding of what you were hearing. your room looked no different, honestly. boxes were still lined along the leftmost wall that you had yet to unpack. a desk tucked in the far right corner had your hunting weapons scattered across its surface—your bow and arrows. your silver dagger. the door directly across from you was slightly ajar, just like you'd left it earlier.

faintly, you could see small specks of dust as they floated in the moonlit air. you wrinkled your nose. you had yet to do a deep clean, preoccupied as you were with everything else. you wiggled your toes slightly from where they poked up from underneath your blanket.

it was quiet.

scritch scritch scritch.

you turned around, craning your neck back as you stared at the wall your bed's headboard was propped up against. it was a plain thing, painted a light lavender that looked midnight purple in the darkness of your room. you watched it for a moment, like you were expecting something to reveal itself or change. but nothing did.

you reached up and ran the tips of your fingers along the wall. then, carefully, you stood up. your feet sunk into the plushness of your mattress. it would be easy to lose your balance. you braced one hand on the top of the headboard.

you stared at the wall some more. and slowly, ever so slowly, you leaned forward to press your ear against it.

the plaster of the wall was cool against your skin. you could hear your own breaths, your own heartbeat. a steady rhythm that nearly wiped out all other sound.

you waited, terse and quiet.

scritch. scritch scritch.

it was like it was directly inside your ear. incessant. like someone was scratching a thin nail against concrete.

you huffed and leaned back to eye your wall once again. this house was old, handed down through generations until your grandfather had eventually gifted it to you. and thus you knew the prospect of rodents running inside the walls was not too absurd of an idea.

you rubbed at your eye again, too tired to deal with this at the moment. gently, you banged your fist against the wall—a muffled thump thump thump that echoed throughout your room. and after a few moments of silence, you plopped back down in your bed. hopefully that scared the rodents off.

you'd deal with them in the morning.

the next time you heard the scratching, it was just past sunset.

you were in one of the halls on the first floor of the house, repainting it after having ripped off the old, yellowed wallpaper. the lights flickered for just a brief moment, drawing you from your work as you glanced up at the bulbs on the ceiling. but before you could squint at them for too long, you heard it.

scritch scritch scritch.

right in front of you.

you paused and looked back down at the section of the wall you were painting. your eyes were level with discolored plaster you had yet to cover up. you'd bought rat poison a few days ago at the small town nearby and crammed it into whatever cracks in the walls you could find. you had hoped it would be enough. it was not.

your lips twisted as you frowned at the wall. you really did not want to contact anyone to deal with the rodents. it would cost a pretty penny, and you were trying to save up so you could make additional repairs on the house. you grunted and set your brush down on the top of the paint bucket. then, you stepped back and wiped your hands on your overalls as you scrutinized the wall.

further down the hall, you heard it again. faintly.

scritch scritch. scritch.

your head turned to stare in its direction. and after a short moment of consideration, you trailed after the sound. maybe it would lead you to a hole you'd missed.

the scratching moved down the hall and to the right, trailing all the way up to a peeling, white door with a large lock on it. you grimaced. the basement. you never did find the key to open it—especially with how cluttered everything had gotten once you'd moved in.

you weighed your options in your mind for a bit, then turned around to make your way over to one of the storage closets. rummaging inside for a minute or two, you let out an aha! once you found the perfect tool. a hammer.

gripping it in your hand, you made your way back over to the basement door. and with a few well-placed hits, you broke the lock on it and kicked it off to the side. you tucked the hammer into your overalls and pulled open the door. dust wheezed into the air.

wooden stairs led down to a dark room. it was stifling. musty. you could see the cobwebs that lined the rail and the corners of the staircase. you shivered slightly. this door had not been opened in a very, very long time. you could only imagine the amount of work you'd need to do for restoration.

you tugged the collar of your shirt up so that it covered your nose and mouth. just past the door frame, there was a switch on the wall. you flicked it.

light spluttered to life from a bulb that hung over the middle of the staircase. you peered down and caught a glimpse of a concrete floor. off to the sides of the stairs, you could see more boxes, their shadows stretching languidly towards you. you strained your ears, listening past the deafening roar of the basement's silence.

scritch scritch scritch.

you started your descent.

the stairs creaked and groaned with every step, protesting against your weight. you winced slightly at the sounds and found yourself skipping a few steps so you could reach the bottom faster. your skin crawled as you made your way past all the cobwebs. your shirt slipped off your nose once you stepped further away from the stairs. your eyes trailed around as you took everything in.

the basement was just that: a basement. another room for storage. moonlight from a small, rectangular window on the wall directly across from you filtered through the air. it cast everything in an ethereal glow, illuminating things just enough that you could decipher what you were seeing.

there were more wooden boxes scattered about. old, antique furniture and other miscellaneous items were interspersed between them. a lamp in the shape of a flower with curled petals. a rocking chair with carvings of small animals along its arms and legs. a chest with another lock tucked in a corner.

you marveled at it all as you ventured around the room, stepping between stacks of books and ornate dishware. you wondered why your grandfather never sold any of this stuff. though, you supposed he was a bit of a hoarder.

you kept your eyes and ears peeled as you glanced at the surrounding walls. there was no more scratching. no pattering of tiny feet against the floor. no holes from what you could see either, though you were going off of the limited lighting from the window, so perhaps you missed something.

you frowned. you'd have to come back when it was brighter down here, maybe get a few lamps to chase away all the darkness. mind made up, you turned back to head towards the staircase.

as you did, however, your eyes caught onto an object just under the window. it was covered with a white sheet—stark like a ghost against the shadows that surrounded it. and it was such an odd thing, wasn't it? the only covered thing you could see. curiosity got the better of you.

approaching the object, you took note that it came up to about chest height. your nose wrinkled as you caught sight of the layers of dust upon the cover. you used your arm to shield your nose and mouth. then, with your free hand, you swiftly tore the white sheet off.

you weren't sure what you'd been expecting, but it certainly wasn't a small, metal cage stacked atop another box. you let the sheet flutter to the ground, waving your hand in front of you in a feeble attempt to disperse the cloud of dust that had burst in the air. on top of the cage was a slim, vertical piece of paper. you picked it up.

you... couldn't tell what you were looking at. there was some pattern of sorts on the paper, drawn in ink that nearly glistened in the dim lighting. squiggles and waves. dots and strange characters. you squinted at it—felt the thick material of the paper itself—then shrugged and let it fall to the floor to join the sheet. your grandfather had been a strange man, particularly in his later years. you'd learned long ago not to question the things you found in his old house.

bending slightly, you peered past the thin bars of the cage. you'd been expecting an animal of sorts, dead or taxidermied or something. what you didn't expect were two dolls.

you straightened up and reached up a hand to the small lock on the cage's door. what was with your grandfather and locks, honestly. you pulled out the hammer from your overalls and quickly disposed of the lock before shoving it back into your pocket. the cage door creaked open. you pushed past it to grab the dolls and tug them into the light.

they were similar yet different, with matching smiles and crescent markings on their faces. one was colored red and gold, with yellow protrusions from its head that you realized mirrored the sun. the other was silver and blue, a hat with gold stars nestled comfortably on top of its head. both the dolls had blank, grey eyes that stared up at you hauntingly. you ignored the goosebumps along your arms.

you squeezed them slightly, one in each hand. your fingers sank into the plush material of their torsos. your thumbs ran across the intricate stitching of their tiny clothes. and you wondered what they were doing down here, locked in a little cage seemingly made for their little bodies. it was strange.

shaking your head, you glanced up at the window to see the moon steadily rising into the sky. it was getting late and you still needed to clean up. you eyed the dolls in your hand and set them atop the cage, propping them up against each other so they were sitting upright. you'd come back for them later. maybe you could sell them to one of the kids in town.

as you turned around to make your way back out of the basement, you failed to notice the way the dolls' eyes suddenly glowed a gentle white. following your figure as you disappeared up the stairs.

[ako142]

Resident Evil Village Inspired Tarot Card, Donna Beneviento as "The Moon" Some things are not as they appear to be.

[jopzer]

do you guys think tommy jopson knows how loved he is by me

[weirdenbyferret]

A year ago I thought up a haunted doll au where readers the doll, and I wrote a fic about it, but I was always unsatisfied with it. Finally put it together in a way I like after seeing this post by @inkydoughnut!

More and more kids start being dropped off at the daycare, and at some point more toys are needed and bought. Including a certain haunted plush

[sleepyminty]

Dear project moon tumblr side,

Today i bought my binah plushie to my cat and he started to become aggravated and starting hissing, his fur all stand up and starting attacking her, leaving her a small permanent scar on her face. What does that mean? Btw he’s my sisters’s cat

[a-strange-inkling]

If Eddie and Chrissy had a favorite anime respectively, what would they be?

Please note that my anime phase consisted of just Bleach and Naruto, with some Dragon Ball Z and Sailor Moon growing up. Outside of that, I’ve got very limited knowledge lol I’m a pretty basic bitch when it comes to any of that 😅

I don’t know if either of them would be into anime, but if they were Chrissy would probably be a Sailor Moon girlie and Eddie would probably be into some obscure fantasy anime like Record of Lodoss War or something (it’s very hellcheer coded)

[moonstonemoonlight]

Day 3: Haunted

[sadslimecreaturearchive]

how do i tell a girl i want to kiss her-core

[calicedomeusangue]

eu converso com você na minha mente o tempo todo.

[hauntedwitchstitch]

🌛 Triple Uglydoll 🌜

[cipher-the-sidhe]

Listen. Listen, ok? Dolls of New Albion Fnaf/DCA AU. It’s ✨perfect✨

Steampunk London with life sized dolls inhabited by the resurrected spirits of peoples’ dead loved ones, but they can only speak what the radio has played (like the transformer, you know?).

Edgar: William Afton

Both Byron and Priscilla are narratively similar to Michael Afton

The DCA as Jasper the Doll but the Puppet/Charlie Emily also hella fits this role

SERIOUSLY. If you listen to only one song from this musical make it either “Annabel Raises the Dead” or “The Movement 1”

[nallarouge]

"haunted doll"

[jakethefurry]

pumpkin pie cookie 🎃🥧

[letsgethaunted]

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Episode 132: The Legend of The Moon-Eyed People Photodump

Image 01-03: Statue believed to be a Moon-Eyed People effigy (Cherokee County Historical Museum, found 1838). The lore of the Appalachian Mountains contains a legend of supernatural creatures littered among the trees. Cherokee legends of “The Moon Eyed People" describe a group of short round people featuring "milky white" skin, large moon-shaped eyes, and a nocturnal underground lifestyle. Who were the Moon Eyed People? Image 04-06: Fort Mountain State Park features a mysterious stone wall that was built thousands of years ago. Did the Moon-Eyed People build this wall? Image 07: Some people believe the Moon Eyed People were actually descendants of a Welsh explorer who came to North America before Columbus. Image 08-09: Cahokia was a thriving settlement in Pre-Colombian Northern America. At the height of Cahokia around 1100 C.E. , Cahokia was home to over 15,000 people and featured over 120 large earthen mounds. Could Cahokia be connected to The Moon Eyed People? Image 10: One of Louise Killgore’s dolls currently on display at The Cherokee County Historical Museum. Who do you guys think The Moon-Eyed People were? Also what is that doll doing in the Cherokee Historical Museum???

[fir3flytv]

Jason Todd can kill a man with his bare hands, but with you, they're as delicate as possible, like you're a porcelain doll, able to crack at the slightest touch. His fingers hover over your skin, a light as a feather you would think you were imagining things. He's cautious, carful, thoughtful. Everything else in his life has broke. Even him. But not you, never you. You can't. You're untouched. Perfect, never to do wrong. He worshipped you like a goddess, like you created heaven and earth. And you did.

You created his earth. His world. You were his heaven. When he died, he swore he saw you. You were his everything, his reason, his purpose, his love, his hope. He was so in love it hurt. Every look shared between you, his mind swirled with possibilities. He couldn't live if something happened to you because of him. He couldn't live without his world. It was an odd place to be stuck in. Scared of staying, scared of leaving. He kept his distance. Touches were never long. Lips ghost against yours. It's like he's never fully there. Every night, the cold side that was suppose to be his haunted you. It's hard to love a ghost. It's like being in love with a figment of your imagination. You find yourself questioning if he's even real. Every time he comes home, he proves to you that he is. That brought upon its own set of questions, heart crying out for more of what it was deprived. Were you not enough reason to stay? Were you not enough? Was he yours like you were his?

You felt like the moon, forever revolving around the Earth, compelled to, even. Always at a safe distance, longing for more. That is, until one night. He comes home, smashing his helmet to the wall. The landlord won't like that, but a problem for another day. Without thinking he crashes into your arms, head buried into your chest. The Earth crashed into the moon. Hell will follow, you both knew that. But it didn't matter. You had him. He had you. that was enough.