Live from Puppet Hell

just a schmuck who crashed their car and got stranded in a 70s kiddy nightmare run by Puppets. now I run a local bookstore next to the bodega. Super fun! ...no really, get me the fuck out of here. please. (based heavily on Welcome Home by Clown; I own nothing except the OC narrating their story) (that being said this blog will feature horror elements, especially mild body horror)

[welcome-to-puppet-hell]

Masterlist (Welcome Home Oneshots/Drabbles)

OOC Stuff, like headcanons or theories:

About my OC

Spring Update Thoughts

Oneshots/Drabbles:

Smile

Lovingly (Part 1)

Ring! Ring! (Part 2)

Requests:

The Fall

To Who It Entices (fanfic)

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

[welcome-to-puppet-hell]

OOC: BIG TIME SPOILERS FOR THE UPDATE

...

...

...

Ok so I'm not going to say I feel vindicated exactly, but seeing Eddie go to his knees in front of Frank? So naturally? That definitely hints to me that SOMETHING has happened between them. Eddie can't seem to remember this OR he's trying to stick to the status quo. Maybe as a result of what happened during Homewarming?

But also. Not only do the puppets curse, they also do drugs (at least weed), AND they can do fucky things with each other.

This doesn't exactly inspire me to write nsfw stuff, BUT the fact that it is probable in canon makes me giggle. Like, damn.

...

...

That being said, anyone who felt the ick over me writing my puppet!reader makeout with Barnaby owe me an apology lmao.

[partycoffin]

Hello! It has been awhile, but I am happy to type to you again! Since I’ve ended our Ko-fi and returned to work on Welcome Home, I was trying to think of a way to provide public updates on where we are in between updates for fun! So we created a segment called “A Minute with Wally.”  Please read below for more information on what's going on!

Every month you will be in the know about Welcome Home while you spend a minute… With Wally. I hope you enjoy this silly piece of work and stay tuned. Additionally, The Welcome Home Web Shop has reopened! So if you were thinking about bringing home a felted friend, now’s your chance!

Visit our Happy Home

For captions, please make sure to look at our Youtube version here! CREDITS

“A Minute with Wally”

Written by Clown

@partycoffin

Voice Actor

Huck Bedsole

@Downydig

Puppeteers

June Vanotterdyk

@Merrimonster and 

Rocky

@Rockabillybun

Puppet Wranglers

Triniecia Harbor

@Triniitea

Production Assistant

Sarah

@kiwicartwheels

Special Thanks to all of you! 

Thank you so much for your continued support! I will talk to you next month!

[welcome-to-puppet-hell]

To Who It Entices (Part 2)

Summary: Things have been different since Homewarming. Soon after Eddie leaves with Frank, Barnaby walks you home. What happens next leads to a series of situations no one could have predicted. And it all will come to a head during one of the most romantic holidays celebrated within Home.

Pairings: Barnaby x GN!Reader x Wally, Eddie Dear x Frank Frankly, Julie x Frank (onesided)

Rating: T+ (suggestive but no nsfw; at worst, lots of foul language)

Content/Warnings: Derealization, Unreality, Panic Attacks, PTSD, Memories of toxic relationships, Kissing (LOTS of kissing), Unhappy Ending, Jealousy, Multiple Relationships, Polyam, Angst, Explicit Language, Everyone is OOC

Note: This will include a LOT of shipping. If you’re against certain pairings, feel free to block and move on. I’m not huge with the shipping thing, I’m just having fun.

All dividers are from @saradika-graphics

Chapter 2: The Day After

The sun rises the next morning with as much fanfare as any ordinary day in Home. When you wake up at 7am, right on the dot, you look out the window and take in the wintery beauty of the neighborhood still covered with snow and holiday decorations. It’s all so untouched, so perfectly serene and wholesome, with a special sort of magic that reminds you of when you were a child and deeply loved childish things. On any other day, you would look out and feel like it’s just an ordinary day. That nothing has changed.

But, you think, once again pressing your fingers to your lips, that’s not entirely true.

Knowing this, you continue to stare out at the home you’ve come to know, just for a moment. Then you finally get up from the bed and get ready for another day at work.

You do your best to be normal. 

With hands in the pockets of your peacoat, you greet the neighbors you pass. 

Sally is too engrossed in the lines she’s reading to even notice you walk by. Even so, you are not offended. Seeing her in full thespian mode is enough for your smile to widen, amusement and admiration bubbling in your chest. You continue your walk, a slight bounce in your step. Perhaps she will visit your shop later, searching for another edition of Shakespeare or perhaps some other playwright.   

You pass by Frank Frankly’s house and pause to watch. Eddie Dear is in front of the house, hoisting a shovel over his shoulder as he clears the front of snow. You briefly hear him let out a grunt, his thick arms straining for a moment before he throws the snow over his shoulder. His brow is pinched, eyes clouded with a frustration that draws your attention instantly. You think about him at the Homewarming party, about how odd the neighborhood acted before his presence became known. It was like they’d forgotten his existence before Sally pulled him inside Home. Even you forgot about him, you realize, feeling a sharp pang in your chest. Should you even check on him, then…? Eddie might be mad.

Just as you get lost in thought, Eddie pauses and looks up to see you. His mouth spreads into a tentative smile and he lifts his hand to give a little wave. You smile back and give him a wave in return, before promptly continuing your walk. You still want to check on him, but that might have to wait until later. Last night ended up being an…adventure for both of you. Might be best to give yourselves time to process it all. 

You get your usual at Howdy’s store—you outright refuse to call it a bodega, the overgrown caterpillar doesn’t even know Spanish is a language, let alone a whole culture—a breakfast sandwich with fluffy scrambled eggs, crispy bacon, and the sharpest of melted cheddar on a toasted buttered roll. That and a small cup of coffee, and you feel a satisfaction that is deeply familiar. Like the motions of asking for something as simple as a breakfast sandwich reminds you of something—

(“Hey, can I get a baconeggandcheese on a toasted roll, please? Oh, and a coffee! Light and sweet.”

“Salt, pepper, ketchup?”

“Yes, god, you know me so well, my guy—”)

—another life, maybe.

Either way, it’s easy to shake off by the time you enter your bookshop. 

The minute you step in, a groovy sort of music comes to life from the speakers. A song you end up recognizing, especially with the croon of a woman whose voice always sent a pang through your heart. If you ever had a mother, you hoped that she was as kind and accepting as this woman and her words. 

Your eyes dart to find the jukebox near the front of your shop, its near googly eyes rolling to meet yours as it jostles cheerfully in place.

“Morning, Hendrix,” you say. “Mama Cass, huh? You seem to be in a good mood for once.”

A bit of static then a twitch. Then from the speakers comes Jimi Hendrix’s voice himself, the audio put together from separate recordings.

“As do you, baby! Somethin’ happen?”

You pause, mind rushing back to the night before. To Barnaby walking you home from the Homewarming party. To you and him kissing, how that kiss awakened something in you. Something that is making you begin to question everything you know—or what you think you know.

Staring off at a spot on a wall, you twist your lips around in a near pout as you think. Should you mention Barnaby and you kissing? Something about how Barnaby reacted tells you this should probably stay a secret, from everyone. With that being said, you paste on a smile.

“Nothing much. It was a good night. Homewarming is a…an interesting holiday.”

Hendrix seems to sense your hesitation, because its eyes squint at you to send this look. Full of suspicion. If it had a proper voice, it would probably tease. Would properly vocalize its thoughts. But for its current existence, there is only music and cut together audio of a great musician among many. And so, that will just have to do.

“So, tell me,” you say. “You ready for another day of music, selling books, and the occasional coffee and pastry?”

Once again, the jukebox jostles cheerfully. Then as it winks one googly eye, it quickly shifts the records inside to change the song—this time to a cheerful beat that also, somehow, manages to be ominous. Then comes the siren-like crooning of a rather familiar Southern drawl, bemoaning the act of tumbling out of bed and pouring a hot cup of ambition before getting ready for the day.

“Workin’ 9 to 5, what a way to make a livin’! Barely gettin’ by, it’s all takin' and no givin’!”

“Perfect choice! OK, time to get started!”

Getting the coffee brewing takes little to no time, especially after grinding the roasted beans Eddie delivered earlier that month. While the coffee maker starts up, you turn to your espresso machine and make sure everything’s in working order. 

Then with a few steps, you’re in the kitchen behind the café counter. You take out the quiches you baked near the start of the week out of the freezer, along with the ingredients for the cookies and other baked goods you sell. In a matter of time, your oven is warming everything up and the shop is more or less ready.

Ring!

A good thing too. There’s your first customer!

You spin to greet the person with a smile like sunshine. 

“Morning!”

“Morning, neighbor,” Frank drones with a tired smile. “How are you this morning?” 

“Eh, I’m alright. Still waking up, honestly,” you reply. “Last night’s party went on for so long…!”

“Well, that’s Homewarming for you.”

“Guess I’ll have to get used to it. What can I do for you, Frank?”

“Oh, I’m just going to browse on my own. Probably get a coffee and hang out here for a couple hours. If…if that’s all right?” he adds, his voice soft in hesitation.

You offer him a kind smile. The question is unnecessary, but Frank is polite to a fault. Plus, you’ve developed a sort of soft spot for him. Maybe because he’s one of your most dedicated customers. Maybe because, like you, he’s also a huge bookworm. But regardless, you’d nearly do anything for Frank Frankly.

“Of course, Frank! Stay as long as you want. We actually got a new shipment of books on butterflies and other insects the other day. They’re all shelved over there!”

Frank lets out a sigh, looking relieved. “Thank you, you are indeed a saint.”

“Aw, you’re such a charmer,” you grin with a playful wink and a finger gun. “Flattery will indeed get you everywhere, Mr. Frankly!”

He chuckles back, looking less guarded. And with a wave, he ends up disappearing in one of the spiraling aisles of books. You watch him, seeing how his brow furrows and his gaze seems to gloss over, darken with thought. Briefly, you wonder what he could be thinking this morning. For a morning after such a festive holiday, Frank seems to be carrying a lot on his shoulders. The image of him being stressed leaves you a bit—uneasy.  

…That’s right, you remember now. He had to take Eddie home, didn’t he? After the poor mailman went through…well, you’re not quite sure.

Hope he’s okay, you think, focusing on the solemn expression Frank is wearing while looking through the aisles. He cares so much about Eddie. Last night couldn’t have been easy…

Just as worry starts to bubble up inside you, the bell rings again. Immediately, you turn your attention to the customer walking in and put on a warm smile.

“Morning, Sally!”

“Morning, dearest Jamie!” Sally says with flourish. “And how are you this lovely morning?”

“Fine, thank you. And you?”

Sally beams, her presence resplendent as always. “Splendid! I actually just finished a book not too long ago. It’s part of a series, and I want to see if you have the next one.”

“Sure. Which one?”

You listen as she describes the book series, quickly recognizing it and which book she needs to read next. With a smile, you point in the direction of said series, to which Sally beams once again.

“Thanks so much, dearest Jamie! See you in a minute.”

And with a spin on her heel, Sally walks off into the aisle of books that suit her interests. You watch after her for a moment before turning back towards the door, just as the bell rings and someone else enters.

And that’s how your day goes. Pretty smooth, far as you can tell.

The morning is busy with the rush of customers looking for a good book and some coffee to drink as they read. Some even order the newest pastry you baked earlier, before opening. It’s funny, such a situation should make you feel anxious. As far as you can remember from Before living in Home, you have never been a fan of being in the middle of a rush. You always found it stressful and overstimulating, with a weight in your chest that just made you wonder why you got up from bed at all. But now? Just feels like another normal start. Seeing customers, most of whom are your neighbors, is a joy rather than a source of anxiety.

And by the time your afternoon starts, when things start to slow down, your day feels mostly over.

Just as you begin leaning your cheek against the heel of your palm, elbow on the counter, the bell rings again. You blink and look up, smile ready as you greet, “Hey there, welcome to—”

The moment you look up and see Barnaby, everything inside you freezes and melts at the same time. Words crawl back down your throat and make it close up, just as heat floods up your neck and then your cheeks. Butterflies flutter furiously inside your stomach. You get the picture, you are not prepared for seeing Barnaby this soon.

And yet, here he is.

Well, him and…

“Hi there, Neighbor.”

Wally, oh thank god…!

Yes, good old, Wally The Most Darling himself—a perfectly safe anchor to dispel awkwardness. Immediately, you reform your grin and turn your attention to him.

“H-Hi, Wally! Um, how are you today?”

“I’m well, thank you,” Wally replies, his mouth quirking slightly to spread his smile. “And you?”

Still smiling, it takes everything in you to resist swallowing, let alone taking another glance at Barnaby.

“Oh, I’m good! Thanks again for inviting me to Homewarming yesterday, it was so great.”

Wally stares at you, his expression—although still smiling—seeming to freeze. Something about his piercing gaze hit you right in the chest, making it go a bit tight. You suddenly feel very cold, every sound around becoming muted until it’s a faint ringing in your ears. Part of you wanted to look around, to see if anyone else is experiencing this, but you quickly realize that you can’t move. Not even an inch.

H-huh? What is…?

“Truly? You really enjoyed it?”

Your fingers twitch. But still, you keep that smile—make it even wider.

“Y-yeah, of course, Wally!” After a moment, you add, “In fact, we should party more often.”

And without moving his eyes from yours, Wally tilts his head. Seems to hum in thought, the black in his eyes widening—

But then his smile spreads into a grin, his cheeks aflush.

“That sounds like a great idea, Neighbor! I’ll have to Home about it.”

Relief eases through your chest, a deep exhale making you visibly deflate. Then you start to laugh, less nervous and more genuine warmth.

“I look forward to hearing about it. What can I do for you today?”

“Oh! There’s this book I’ve been meaning to find. About that Dutch artist…?”

Humming, you suddenly remember what Barnaby told the night before, and you beam.

“Say no more, Wally! Everything you need is right in that aisle,” you reply, pointing a thumb down a particular section of the shop.

Wally lets out another pleased hum, nearly bouncing on his feet. He turns on his heel and heads down toward the aisle of books on different famous artists and their paintings. You watch him with a roll of your eyes, barely remembering the unease from before. What had happened again, exactly…?

Huh. You don’t really remember.

Oh well! It’s probably not anything to worry about, especially if it went unnoticed by everyone else in the store. Just Wally being Wally, very likely. Silly guy.

Anyway. 

Can’t avoid him forever.

Chuckling, you turn to finally look up at Barnaby. Heat gathers in your cheeks once more, and you can’t help smiling. Barnaby is smiling back, and although it doesn’t really reach his eyes, you still feel every inch of your insides flutter. It’s been a while since you felt…something like the butterflies currently flying in your stomach. It’s something that brings up a tinge of dread, but mixed with this joy. Such a strange feeling, and yet, familiar. 

(What is it called again…?)

“Morning, Barnaby! Anything I can do for you?” you ask, nearly choking as the question left your mouth.

Because, oh, there was probably a lot you could do for him if he asked—

Wait, what?!

Where…where did that come from?

But you don’t really get a chance to contemplate it, because as soon as you start thinking, Barnaby responds.

“Just a coffee for me, doll. Black with two sugars.” And he pauses, before asking, his voice low, different, “And, uh, can we talk in a few minutes? In the back?”

This time, you do swallow, realizing just how dry your throat has become. Your smile widens, becoming nervous as your cheeks start to redden.

“S-sure! Just lemme get that coffee, first.”

A nervous excitement bubbles inside you as you lead Barnaby to the backroom of the bookshop. This space is mostly used as storage and a place for you to go during your breaks. It isn’t small, by any means—nor is it too cluttered—but it’s an intimate space and that’s enough to get your heart pumping. 

You’re not stupid, you know that this “talk” is going to be about last night’s kiss. Knowing this does nothing to keep you from feeling any less terror or excitement. What if Barnaby has feelings for you? Do you feel the same, at least to the point of risking a relationship? Are you even ready for a relationship? Is he? What if he just wants to ask you on a date instead? Or if he just wants to repeat last night’s kiss? Maybe even go further…?

With a glance up at him, you can’t help realizing just how big he is. Part of that excites you. But a good portion is suddenly wondering about the logistics of it all. After all, you’re nearly the same height as Wally—at least an inch taller, if you don’t include the guy’s huge pompadour—so while the idea of kissing Barnaby again is great, the reality might come with issues.

Shoot, how are we going to make this work…?

“Ahem.”

Your head shoots up, brain catching up with reality. 

Barnaby is standing in front of you, more looming, really. His eyes are glazed, as if his thoughts have moved far away. His paws are in the pockets of his vest and his mouth moves to switch his pipe to either side, as if indecisive of where to let it linger. Finally, he lets out a sigh. 

“So, listen, ‘bout last night—”

Your heart soars, making your face go warm and your lips spread wider into a smile. Every nerve is abuzz with anticipation, making you nearly bounce in place.

Here we go!

“—that can’t happen again.”

…Wait.

“Huh?”

“The kiss,” Barnaby reiterates, his voice soft but firm like stone. Looking at you, he shakes his head again. “That wasn’t supposed to happen to begin with, so…it can’t happen again. Sorry for causin’ you trouble.”

Oh.

Oh, it’s that kind of conversation. 

Something cold settles inside you, but there’s no pain, not really. Rejection is somehow a familiar feeling, although it is no less unwanted. Your mouth wobbles as you think of a response, eyes falling to the floor. Suddenly eye contact with Barnaby seems to be too much at the moment.

“Oh,” seems to be all you can come up with.

“B-but hey! We can still be friends,” he says, awkward but in that friendly way. He doesn’t mean to hurt, you realize. “I like ya, doll, and I like hangin’ with ya! We can still do that. We just…can’t do that…o-other stuff.”

You blink up at him, finally, an ominous feeling settling in your chest. 

Can’t. “Can’t”?

Your eyes narrow, facing downward. Your mind can’t help but hyperfocus on that word and its usage. Something about it…

The huge paw gently falling atop your shoulder shakes you away from the thought before it can really take shape. Blinking rapidly, you stare up at Barnaby, unsure how to feel, what you should even say. You watch as he seems to swallow. Perhaps he feels the same? But then, why…?

Why can’t you and I…?

“Jamie? Y-ya good?”

Your mouth parts. Then you pause to cough, to moisten your throat a bit. It’s foolish to delay the inevitable. You’ve probably had this conversation hundreds of times before in the past, and under more painful circumstances. What’s happening right now isn’t even heartbreaking. Just…confusing. Really confusing.

So, once you’re certain your voice won’t crack, you put on a smile and nod. 

“Y-yeah! Yeah, I’m good, Barn.” To reassure him, you place a hand over his—the one on your shoulder—and you widen your smile, putting in as much warmth as possible, and absolutely no hints of distress. “Don’t worry about me, I totally get it…”

(…But I don’t. I don’t understand at all—)

Shut up.

Barnaby stares at you some more, his gaze only faltering to linger on the spot where both of your hands are touching. He takes in a brief but sharp intake of breath and swallows again. But then he’s grinning again, like everything is all sunshine and rainbows.

“That’s a relief! Wouldn’t wanna lose a friend, ‘specially one like you, doll. I…ya know I care about you, yeah?”

This time, your smile feels genuine. Your chest still feels a bit hollow but knowing that the friendship you and Barnaby have is still solid makes the ache easier.

“I know, Barnaby. I care about you too. You were one of my first friends when I moved in, y’know? You made me feel so welcomed.” After a moment of thought, you add with a soft smile, “I’ll never forget that…”

Barnaby smiles, his eyes lidding over as his gaze turns warm. His paw squeezes your shoulder gently. Your hand strokes over the back of his paw as you hold his gaze. An urge rises in you, familiar and fervid as your mouth parts—

“Jamie!” Frank Frankly’s voice pierces through the air, penetrating through the door of the backroom and easily cutting through the tension. “I’m in need of a book! A very specific one! And I haven’t been able to find it...!”

Barnaby’s expression sours with annoyance as he turns to give the door a look, his eyes narrowing. Despite how out of character it is, you can’t help giggling a little.

“Well, someone’s got great timing,” he growls.

“He probably wants a book on flowers, to prepare his garden in the spring,” you say, finally removing your hand. “You know how Frank is….”

“Oh, all too well.”

Again, you giggle. Then bite your lip, thinking.

“That’s probably my cue then. Gotta get back to the grind,” you add with a grin.

Barnaby turns to look down at you, his expression soft and warm in a way that makes you melt inside, even now. His huge paw still lingers, but only for a moment. With more than a little hesitation, Barnaby removes his paw slowly to fist around his mouth, an attempt to hide a rather forced cough.

“Yeah, yeah, wouldn’t wanna keep ya,” he says, voice a bit too tender.

You linger for more than a moment, eyes still held in Barnaby’s gaze. Then, with a swallow, you smile and shrug—and then turn on your heel to walk away.

…

…

…

Barnaby lingers, watching you walk away with a tightness in his chest that becomes more painful with each inch of distance between you two. When you close the door behind you, his shoulders slump and his expression dims, making him look like he wants to be swallowed up by the floor. Maybe he does.

After a beat, he lets out a sigh and closes his eyes. With a grunt, he lifts his paw up and rubs the back of his neck. Did he do the right thing…?

Just as he’s about to step forward back into the reality of Home, Barnaby pauses. His eyes widen, and then narrow, his gaze hardening. He whirls around, focusing on a space above his head, on the wall of dark red brick. 

He stares.

When he is feeling as certain as he could feel, he finally turns and starts walking out of the room.

As he walks away, an eye appears on the wall, open wide with black nearly overtaking the white. Holding not precisely anger, but curiosity.

And somewhere in the bookshop, pausing his perusal of a collection of paintings he wants to master desperately, Wally hums.

“Oh, Barnaby. You really need to be more careful with these things...”

His hands squeeze around the book, his voice lowering as his smile widened to bare his teeth.

“Especially when you involve my most precious, precious neighbor.”

(Do I overuse this gif of Wally? Yes, yes, I do.)

[welcome-to-puppet-hell]

Opening up drabble requests!

getting a little antsy and need some inspo to write something for this blog. also wanna see if the Welcome Home fandom is still alive. (i hope so!)

so some rules:

SFW requests ONLY!

Character & Reader (platonic or romantic, whatever you request)

pls be patient, i have a job that requires a lot of energy and attention

can be themed! like if you want something with Halloween or anything else, i'm totally for that.

and...that's about it!

[welcome-to-puppet-hell]

so, now that the fandom is more or less alive again...

i still have requests open! i need some prompts to get the creative juices flowing as i finish up the chapter of this fanfic i'm writing. i also want to explore other ideas and dynamics between the characters.

the rules above still apply, i just have one addition:

i prefer to write with an adult!Reader in mind, if that's all right. not because i want to write about adult situations, it's just an easier mindset for me to get into as an adult writer.

[welcome-to-puppet-hell]

Could you do a howdy x reader, just something sweet :o)

Absolutely! Any other specifics about the reader?

[welcome-to-puppet-hell]

Hello! Can I get a Drabble of Teen Reader and Frank? Platonic please and thank you!

so i had to look back on this and really think about it. not gonna lie, writing as a teen reader feels...weird.

anon, would you be okay with me writing as an adult reader instead? it would still be platonic ofc, but i'd feel more comfortable writing as an adult.

[welcome-to-puppet-hell]

Opening up drabble requests!

getting a little antsy and need some inspo to write something for this blog. also wanna see if the Welcome Home fandom is still alive. (i hope so!)

so some rules:

SFW requests ONLY!

Character & Reader (platonic or romantic, whatever you request)

pls be patient, i have a job that requires a lot of energy and attention

can be themed! like if you want something with Halloween or anything else, i'm totally for that.

and...that's about it!

[welcome-to-puppet-hell]

so, now that the fandom is more or less alive again...

i still have requests open! i need some prompts to get the creative juices flowing as i finish up the chapter of this fanfic i'm writing. i also want to explore other ideas and dynamics between the characters.

the rules above still apply, i just have one addition:

i prefer to write with an adult!Reader in mind, if that's all right. not because i want to write about adult situations, it's just an easier mindset for me to get into as an adult writer.

[welcome-to-puppet-hell]

OOC: SPOILERS FOR THE UPDATE

...

So, APPARENTLY, the puppets curse. They can curse.

Which means everything i wrote abt Barnaby is actually possible lmao

[welcome-to-puppet-hell]

That being said, i think it's time i ramble about a theory that's been simmering in my head for a while. Granted, it isn't original by any means, but i get more certain of it with each update and I just need to yap about it.

Earlier, i saw someone say that the actors are bleeding through the puppets. I think that's partially true, but I want to take it a bit further. Again, this is likely NOT an original theory—take it all with a grain of salt.

I think the puppets are the actors.

The way i picture it is this:

Welcome Home is being conceptualized by Ronald Dorelaine. He likely has some puppets and other props already. He just needs an executive producer and a company that believes in him and the project. He finds all of that through Marlo.

Idk how exactly, but I think—to cut costs and to prevent actually paying people—Marlo convinces him to use ✨️other means🎩 of production. That's where the book with the eye comes in. I think it's a way to summon something that can create a whole world or other dimension—and it does! For a price.

And voice actors? I think Marlo had its agents and Dorelaine visit possible candidates—certain people that wouldn't be noticed if they disappeared from society.

Take that as you want.

They'd give the sell of a job in Hollywood, in acting, promising fame, and fortune—the typical Hollywood dream. Back in the early 1970s, i imagine that wasn't a hard sell.

So these actors each go to the Playfellow Workshop and audition. And they never come out.

Because instead of a studio and puppets, they find a vortex of the black sludge with a whirl of this white light that draws them in. And it not only takes them into the dimension holding Home, it changes them physically and mentally. Instead of flesh and bone, they become felt and fluff. Instead of memories of their old life, they just know the role they're supposed to play in the neighborhood, with vague memories of how they moved in and met already inserted in their brains. And their lives in Home are broadcast through Marlo's entity, somehow. (the Giant Eye in the Sky???)

That's why the WHRP can't find a cast and crew; the cast are all in Home, living as their characters, even now. And there never needed to be a production crew, because the broadcast was done through supernatural means.

Why did Marlo make merch? They're a company in showbiz, of course they're going to find ways to make a profit—especially with something that became so popular. So they're going to watch their "product" so to speak very carefully, to latch onto stories and other events that they can turn into storybooks or records. (Or the entity in charge gives it to them)

What happened to Dorelaine? Genuinely, no idea. I imagine he remained heavily involved tho.

What does this mean for Wally Darling and Home? I think they were the first residents of Home (or the dimension). Either they're made from someone like everyone else—a voice actor or a handler—or they are the only residents that are genuine puppets brought to life. As in, their sentience and their soul didn't come from another source (like a human being), it was something that was created through the entity running this world they live in.

I have no evidence for either. But I do think Wally's story is much like Pinocchio, in a way. The only difference is that he isn't trying to be real, he wants us ("You") to acknowledge him as real. He's trying to build genuine connections with us and he wants to learn how he could, especially now, when he has an audience again. He likely believes that we get him, that we understand him in a way that his regular neighbors, even Barnaby sometimes, can't.

Why did the show get canceled in the 1974? I think that—like everyone who is caught up in hubris and the supernatural, as well as corporate greed—either Marlo or Dorelaine realized that they made a mistake in contacting this entity. And they realized it when they began seeing that black, moldy substance, and seeing how it affected not only them but also their consumers.

Now, why are things falling apart now? I have some ideas, but at the moment, I'm finding it hard to organize them in a way that makes sense. But I think it's clear to all of us that a breakdown is (or has been?) happening. And what's happening with Julie, with her shifting from her regular puppet!voice to her humanish!(?)voice is further proof of that.

I'm going to look at the website again today and actually take notes. maybe next time I'll have ideas that actually make sense.

Either way, I'm so excited to see Welcome Home again. Clown and everyone involved continue to do an amazing job.

[fanoffandoms23]

HOW DID YOU FIND THAT AUDIO??? I BEEN SEARCHING FOR IT EVERYWHERE! If its not mean to ask....ofc, sorry if thats a pushy thing, i just wanna know cause im going insane😭

The one of Julie saying "shit"?

Is tearsrememberanceinstability

and is okay! hehe I'm actually happy that everyone is so excited about the update :)

[welcome-to-puppet-hell]

OOC: SPOILERS FOR THE UPDATE

...

So, APPARENTLY, the puppets curse. They can curse.

Which means everything i wrote abt Barnaby is actually possible lmao

[welcome-to-puppet-hell]

To Who It Entices (Part I)

Summary: Things have been different since Homewarming. Soon after Eddie leaves with Frank, Barnaby walks you home. What happens next leads to a series of situations no one could have predicted. And it all will come to a head during one of the most romantic holidays celebrated within Home.

Pairings: Barnaby x GN!Reader x Wally, Eddie Dear x Frank Frankly, Julie x Frank (onesided)

Rating: T+ (suggestive but no nsfw; at worst, lots of foul language)

Content/Warnings: Derealization, Unreality, Panic Attacks, PTSD, Memories of toxic relationships, Kissing (LOTS of kissing), Unhappy Ending, Jealousy, Multiple Relationships, Polyam, Angst, Explicit Language, Everyone is OOC

Note: This will include a LOT of shipping. If you're against certain pairings, feel free to block and move on. I'm not huge with the shipping thing, I'm just having fun.

All dividers are from @saradika-graphics

Chapter 1: Babes In Toyland

“…Do you think Eddie will be okay?”

“Hmm? Whatta ya mean?”

“C’mon, Barnaby. You know what I mean. Eddie didn’t look like he had a good time tonight, at all. He looked…looked…”

You pause to think, to come up with a way to describe what you saw earlier that evening. 

It had been only for a brief moment during the Homewarming party, but you managed to catch a lot in that brief moment. That moment in which Eddie Dear sat down in one of the armchairs in Home’s sitting room with his plate consisting of a single pea. How he smiled one minute, and then frowned the next. How his eyes glazed over, even as they darted around in this panic that you couldn’t really understand. How his mind wandered somewhere far away, enough that even Frank could barely get him back to himself. 

You tried not to watch the scene so deeply from your spot at the punch table, but it was still unnerving. How did no one else seem to feel the tension? Even Wally seemed ambivalent when Frank announced he was walking Eddie home, his smile wide and ever present.

Even now, your brow pinches downward at the memory as you continue walking next to Barnaby. 

I really hope Eddie is okay…

A huge hand falls on your shoulder, bringing you back from your thoughts. You glance up.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it, doll. I’m sure Eddie’s fine. He was probably still overwhelmed by all the stress from today. Plus, Frank’s with ‘im! Guy might be a stick in the mud, but even I can admit he’s nicer than he seems,” Barnaby says with a wink, looking unbothered but also confident at the same time. “Our mailman’s in good hands.”

Your mouth presses close together—but you nod. Maybe Barnaby is right? 

“What about you, doll?”

“Hmm?”

Barnaby’s grin widens and he leans down to gently elbow your arm. “Ya have fun tonight?”

Blinking, you pause to come up with an answer. Truthfully, you did have a lot of fun. More fun than you expected to have, especially after Sally’s rather eerie Halloween about two months ago. A lot of what the neighborhood did for Homewarming felt…familiar. In a way you can’t really explain. From the exchange of gifts to the winter carols your neighbors sang, a lot of it felt like an echo of a life you can’t seem to remember. Perhaps before you moved in?

One can only wonder.

Either way, besides what happened with Eddie, tonight was fantastic! 

So, with a beam of your own, you turn to look up at Barnaby. “I did, actually! I kind of like Homewarming, it’s very—sweet.”

Barnaby’s lazy grin widens even more, his lips twisting to make sure his pipe was hanging at the right side. “Glad to hear it!”

The two of you continue walking up the path that leads to your house, taking in a moment of peaceful silence. You find comfort in the crunch of snow beneath your boots, in the slight chill that seeps through your peacoat, in breathing the crisp smell that could only belong to winter, and in the bright lights that adorn every nook and cranny of the little hamlet. The neighborhood feels so alive, despite most of your neighbors still attending Wally and Home’s party.

A smile stretches across your face as you let out a sigh. It’s truly a lovely night.

Before you know it, just as the holiday cheer sinks into your bones with a special sort of warmth, your feet are right in front of your door. 

“Okay, here’s you.”

“Thanks for walking me home, Barn.”

“No worries, kid. Anytime,” he says with a wink.

Something about the gesture makes you pause, your throat going dry; but you don’t know why. To hide it, you clear your throat and smile up at him.

“Do you want anything before you go? Maybe some water or coffee…?”

Barnaby pauses, his expression faltering just a little. It makes your heart freeze, then jumpstart into an overdrive. Did you come on a little too strong? Does he think you’re weird now? So many thoughts enter your brain, making your fingers grow cold and start to shake.

But then he smiles again, his expression a bit…warmer than before. Your throat tightens.

“Eh, I better not. If I drink your coffee now, I’ll have a latte problems falling to sleep later!”

A snort bursts out from you, followed by a laugh that you wish you could hold back. God, but his jokes are awful! So bad they should be illegal. 

Barnaby’s smile grows at your laugh, then he quickly looks away from you, rubbing the back of his neck. “Besides, I gotta head back to the party to help Wally and Home clean up…”

Despite still giggling, you nod in understanding. Wally and Barnaby are inseparable, so it makes sense that the latter would want to help his best friend—even with this.

“I understand. Tell them I had lots of fun today! Can’t wait for the next Holiday party,” you say, starting to turn around.

“Sure will—whoa-ho-ho,” Barnaby exclaims, quickly followed by a chuckle. “Hang on, dollface, look up!”

You pause to glance up, blinking in bemusement. Hanging above your door, wrapped up in red silk ribbon, is a bunch of green stems with white blossoms at the end. You blink some more, feeling like this plant is familiar—and then your eyes widen in realization.

Mistletoe. Then you narrow your eyes, a thought coming to you. Wait, mistletoe? How did that get there? I-I didn’t—

“—Well, you know what the tradition says,” Barnaby teases, before clearing his throat dramatically and then removing his hat. His eyes are hooded now, making his expression look very sly, and he regards you with expectation.

However, you don’t falter. You just scoff and cross your arms, looking up at him with a smirk and a raised eyebrow.

“I don’t know what you expect me to do about it,” you reply. 

“Uh, to kiss me? Ain’t that how this goes?”

“How, you silly dog? You’re like a hundred feet tall compared to me. I’d have to do a running start to even get to you. Besides, I’m the one standing under the mistletoe. I shouldn’t have to put in the work.”

His smirk widens, just as his eyelids lower. “Oh, I see. So I gotta risk breaking my neck to kiss ya?”

“Well, you know what the tradition says,” you echo back to him playfully. Then you turn away, tapping your cheek in a mock demanding manner. “I’m waiting~!”

Barnaby gapes down at you a moment, at your absolute audacity—more daring than any other neighbor in Home—and then he releases a deep belly laugh.

“Well, excuse me, princess,” he retorts with a snicker, starting to lean downward. 

His lips are just about to brush against your cheek before you turn to face him, for a reason you quickly forget—perhaps a retort to the “princess” comment?—but the reason itself doesn’t matter. What is truly significant is the result. This result, of course, being his lips gently brushing against your own. Barely a kiss, really. More like the feel of a butterfly’s wing grazing your skin. 

With a gasp, you pull away, your gaze lifting to instantly meet with Barnaby’s. He stares into your eyes with a near blank expression, one you don’t really understand. The natural response should be to pull away, to awkwardly laugh about such shenanigans and forget it ever happened.

But then his paws are cradling your face and he leans forward again, his eyes closing. You do the same, letting out a sigh as his mouth meets yours in a kiss that is so soft, gentle. The sort that melts your insides and makes your knees feel like jelly. His arms slowly move to wrap around your body, lifting you up in the air, feet off the ground and kicking a little. You let out a soft moan, your hands sliding up to squeeze his shoulders as your mouth presses against this, perhaps attempt to deepen the kiss—

But then, with a sort of hiss, Barnaby breaks away from the kiss and leaves you rather dazed, even as he settles you back to the ground. Did…did that really happen?

You shake away any thought when you hear Barnaby cough. You look up to see him adjusting his hat and then turning around, keeping his expression hidden.

“W-well, time to call it a night!” he says while walking away, huge hands in the pockets of his coat. “I-I uh. Gotta get going. Help clean up and all that…”

“Um. Um, right. Okay.” A hard swallow, then a cough. “See you tomorrow?”

Barnaby pauses. Then he spins around, wearing his usual grin and throwing in a finger gun, his voice back its usual humorous inflection.

“Absolutely! Bright and early as always. Kid was talking earlier how he wanted to look at that new book that came in. ‘Bout that guy with the ear?”

You smile back, falling back into your role easily. 

“Of course. I’ll make sure to set a copy aside for him. And to set aside a coffee for you,” you add with a pointed wink.

Barnaby winks back. “Appreciate it, doll! Just like always.” Then he gives a nod, along with a tip of his tiny hat. “G’night!”

You continue playing along and lift your hand in a wave, your smile unfaltering. 

“Night, Barn! Happy Homewarming.”

“Same to you, kid.”

With that said, you both spun on your heels and went on your way. You, inside your house, intent on heading straight to bed. And Barnaby, down the pathway towards Home again.

The minute you close the door behind you, though, you nearly crumble against the door. Harsh breaths leave you like you’ve just run a marathon, heart hammering and causing a ringing in your ears. Heat fills your cheeks. Both of your hands lift to go to your mouth, as if Barnaby tattooed his own lips to yours. 

You’re filled with a lot of emotions. Anxiousness, definitely. But there are other feelings that leave you…confused. 

Joy is one, sure, and that might make sense—being kissed is usually enjoyable—but there’s also something else. 

An emotion that brings images in your mind, of a life that is vastly different from the one you’re living now. One where you come home from work, and there’s someone else waiting for you. Your cat, sure, but this other person is about your height. Their face is  a blur, but their aura full of—comfort. Someone else who kisses you softly and gently, their touch full of something that fills you up with warmth. Someone who made you feel safe…very much like Barnaby does. 

You let your mind dwell on those images for a moment before shaking it off. Why…why would you think of something like that? That imagery looked so specific. Almost like a memory. A memory of another life, one that you lived before moving to Home.

But that—that just doesn’t make any sense. You’ve always lived at Home.

You have always been here.

So, why…why is it that you find your gaze now falling to your hands. Your fingers, which keep curling into your palms to drag their pads along the surface, over and over. And even deeper, your skin. The way it feels. The way it looks, compared to the mock memory that had entered your brain—how that person’s skin felt in that moment, their hand in yours, compared to how your skin feels now.

Slowly, your gaze lifts to stare ahead, eyes blank and glossy. 

Has…has my skin always been this…fuzzy?

Barnaby waits until he’s far from your house before pausing. His brow is furrowed, eyes narrowing as he searches the sides of the road, towards the forest. When he finds a direction that feels right, he continues in that direction, just off the path toward Home.

He power walks until he’s deep inside the forest, away from anyone in the neighborhood who would question him or worse, until he finds a tree—on which he decides to lean against, his paw flat against the bark as he starts to breathe again.

At first, he’s staring at the ground and then he stares upward with blank eyes, breathing so heavily it’s painful. His heart is pounding so hard, feeling so heavy, that he’s worried it will tear from his chest and be lost to the snow. As what happened starts to weigh on him, his gaze darts along the sky, filled with an intense fear that’s enough to freeze his very limbs more than the chill. Then his eyes lower, staring off unseeing, back in the direction of your house. His mouth drops open as his body swings, his other hand forming into a fist.

“…Fuck! Shit!” And once it starts, it becomes difficult for him to stop while slamming his fist against the tree, “Fuck-shit, fuck-shit, fuck-shit, fuck-shit—!” 

Barnaby can’t help the profanity leaving his mouth. His hands go to the side of his head as he pushes off the tree, his huge paws leaving heavy craters as he paces back and forth. 

“What the hell were ya thinkin’, ya stupid dog? Why would you risk everything, knowin’—? Of all the times to lose control—?”

Barnaby continues this for some time, rambling and ranting about things he doesn’t even understand. Not fully, at least. But he can’t seem to stop the feeling building inside him, threatening to make his whole body burst at the seams. The feeling that fills him up when he closes his eyes and sees you. The feeling that’s been building in him these past few months since you moved in, seeing you smile at him whenever he enters your bookshop. The stimulation that feeds him whenever you two have one of those talks filled with banter and never ending conversation, in a way that food can’t seem to satisfy. And the way you looked up at him tonight, your eyes gleaming like starlight and your smile sweet like that damned cereal Howdy sells in his store—

Stop…stop!

He lets out a tight groan, stopping in place. His hands become fists and press to his closed eyes, as if to press to his brain, to stop the images and these…these feelings from rising. The sort of feelings you can only hear about in a book, or see in a movie. Things that are only talked about, but never really known, until they happen to you. 

The thing is, what Barnaby is feeling—this desire, this want, this joy, and this deep, deep, deep ache of hope—it can’t happen. Ever. He’d never forgive himself if something were to happen to you as a result.

And neither would Wally.

…Honestly, when the old dog starts to really think about it, the whole thing is just absurd. Like one big joke. And hey, his whole thing is jokes, right? Even ones played on himself. 

Realizing this, Barnaby can’t help but let out a laugh—one that starts off small, a near giggle, then turns into a full belly laugh. 

“Can’t believe I’m making such a big deal over this. It’s just a kiss! Friends kiss each other all the time. Hell, I’ve thought about layin’ one on Walls at least once. Even Howdy, sometimes. That thing back there…? A whole lotta nothin’.”

He pauses, his gaze lifting again to regard the sky, his expression falling serious once more. If one were to look closely at his eyes, one might think they were set in a furious glower. 

“Hear that? It was nothin’,” he adds in a growl, regardless of any prying eyes or ears focusing on him at the moment. “I didn’t break any rules. I didn’t do nothin’ wrong. And neither did they.”

Barnaby pauses, seems to wait. But he only hears the muted sounds of the neighborhood, of other neighbors walking to their homes and settling down in the final hours of Homewarming, of the snow still falling gently to coat every inch of Home in winter white. Knowing that, he takes in a deep breath and fixes his face. Puts on a toothy grin. Adjusts the pipe to hang from the corner of his mouth. Makes sure his winter clothing is in place. And then, he starts heading towards Home to check in with Wally.

In his haste, he does not realize the set of wide eyes from the bark of a tree, watching him closely. And he does not witness those same eyes blinking out of existence. 

[welcome-to-puppet-hell]

Hi! can i request of a reader who falls into Home?

a bit late, anon. sorry about that! but i hope it was worth it~

if anyone else wants to request something, click here for info.

I don’t remember much from the Before. There’s only bits and pieces, flashes of arbitrary images that I can’t really make sense of—a shattered puzzle that I’ll probably struggle to put back together for a long, long, long time. But what I do remember is the smoke entering my nostrils, filling my lungs. The struggle to move, to break free. And then, something even stranger.

A spiral. This endless loop of white spinning and spinning and spinning into a black void that seemed to carry this Hunger. For what, I didn’t know. Still don’t.

But there was no other way out. No way to escape.

So, through the difficulty to breathe, through the tears streaming from my eyes, through the pain entering my limbs and trying to shut my body down, I reached my hand out towards it.

And that, I can only assume, was enough.

.

.

.

“…Oh my gosh!”

“Are they okay…?!”

“Where’d they come from?”

Oh my god, can anyone tell them to shut up?! Some people are trying to sleep here. 

Well, if you can call this sleep, really. Now that I’m actually a bit conscious, I can actually feel the agony weighing on me. Every inch of my body is crying out in the sort of pain that will leave bruises and scars and aches for days. Either I’m having the hangover of a century or I got hit by a semi, and neither seem appealing.

A groan leaves me at the thought, my eyes moving behind eyelids. I need to get up at some point. Get to my phone. Call my—

“…Hey, I think they’re comin’ round,” a deep Southern drawl above my head. 

“Step back!” Another voice, nasally and anxious. “Give them some air!”

The shuffle of many feet makes me feel a little less stifled. With a deep breath, I force myself up on my elbows. Then grasp my forehead, feeling pain pain pain, god, ow! Feels like I was run over by a truck, shit. Did I drink anything last night…? 

Actually, what did I do last night? 

Blinking, I keep trying to remember…but it just makes no sense. I came home from work, pet my cat, went into the bedroom to greet you, and then—nothing. Nothing except the memory of smelling smoke.

All my focus returns when a huge hand lands on my shoulder. I blink again and look over to see that it’s blue and…fuzzy. 

What the hell…?

My eyes follow the length of the arm to see a huge, huge blue dog staring down at me. His brows are furrowed and his eyes seem to hold worry. And even worse, in a way that disturbs me right to my bones, his mouth parts and a voice comes out.

“Hey, buddy,” he says softly, almost comforting. “Ya good?”

A ringing starts through my ears.

(Wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong.)

Immediately, I push away from him and scramble to my feet. I look around, seeing all the bright colors—too bright. Doesn’t look real. The grass, the trees, the flowers, and even the houses—none of it look real. Looks too bright, too colorful. And the…the people.

Wait, no. Not people. Not with those eyes, and that…that skin? Grayish-purple, orange, y-yellow…is that a bird? A sun? And omigod, what the hell is that?

(—Not human!)

“Whoa, they, uh. They don’t look too good, Barn,” says the big green one with too many arms to the big blue dog, his eyes narrowing slightly. 

“P-perhaps we can bring them some tea,” says the huge red bird, a fucking bird, her eyes soft and full of worry.

“Maybe they just need to lie down,” says a huge one with orange skin, wearing a hat. A mailman? His mouth spreads into a gentle smile as he walks over to me, his hand lifting, possibly to calm me down. “Hey pardner, just relax. Everythin’ is okay…”

(DON’T TRUST THEM.) 

And despite my heart pounding so hard it feels like it’ll burst out, despite my lungs pinched from a lack of air, I look around at all of them and scream.

“Get the hell away from me…! Who are you? Where am I? What…?”

As I lift a hand to point, I pause. A dread creeps over me, coats my back in a cold sweat. My gaze falls to my hands, my arms. My fingers are spread as I spin my hands palm up. Then they curl to stroke over each other, to touch, to feel.

(No skin. No skin, no skin, what the hell happened to my skin? It’s just. Just—)

Again, I can’t seem to breathe, my heart hammering so loud I can hear it. But then again, do I even have a heart anymore? Lungs? My hands go to my face, feel the fuzz there and a sob starts to tremble from me. Impossibly so, water flows from my eyes and down my cheeks, making my gaze blurry. Noise happens around me, like yelling but not, just voices full of worry and confusion.

And then, yellow hands grasp my own and it all goes silent.

“Neighbor…?”

That…that voice. I know it. I know him. But how? From where?

“Jamie?”

How does he know my name?

“Jamie, look at me.”

Despite everything, my eyes lift from where he’s holding my hands and meet with his.

You’d think that it was his hair that would catch my attention first, with how blue it is and how it seems to curl in on itself  in a pompadour. But no, it’s actually his eyes. They are huge in how open they are, pupils too wide, and black like the void as they stare into my own. The smile he wears is too wide, it should be splitting his face apart, and yet I kind of know it’s not with anything malicious. He’s excited that I’m here, like he’s been…waiting for me. 

I’m both unnerved, yet drawn to the gaze, despite all the alarms going off inside my skull. Like he is slowly sucking me in—

But then in a blink, his eyes look—normal. Neutral? 

“There we go. Are you all right, Neighbor?” he asks me, his smile not as wide, but still holding warmth…I think. “That was quite a fall.”

I blink. “Fall? F-from where…?”

His eyes dart pointedly upwards, silently coaxing me to follow his gaze. For a split second, high up in the clear blue sky above us—almost too high to see—there’s a black hole with a spiral of white. But then, just as quick as I see it, it closes up and blinks out of existence. I blink again and then start actually looking around me, feeling a sickening thud through my chest. 

What…what is this place?

“I…what…who…” 

Groaning suddenly, I squeeze my eyes closed and let my head fall slightly forward, the nausea making my stomach twist. Fuck, it hurts! But why does it…?

But then he squeezes my hands again, grounding me.

“Of course not, that was a dumb question,” he says in a monotone, but still somehow sounds warm and welcoming. “Come, let me take you to Home. You can have tea there, and we can talk.”

“I’ll come with!” the huge blue dog adds with a grin, and then a grin. “Walls and I can show you ‘round afterwards.”

“That’s a great idea, Barnaby! He’s really good at explaining things, much better than I am.”

At this point, I feel so numb. I can only stare into the slightly shorter man’s dark eyes. Finally, after a beat, I dare to ask:

“Who are you?”

His expression goes blank for a moment. And then, he smiles wide.

“Wally,” he says. “Wally Darling.”

[welcome-to-puppet-hell]

Opening up drabble requests!

getting a little antsy and need some inspo to write something for this blog. also wanna see if the Welcome Home fandom is still alive. (i hope so!)

so some rules:

SFW requests ONLY!

Character & Reader (platonic or romantic, whatever you request)

pls be patient, i have a job that requires a lot of energy and attention

can be themed! like if you want something with Halloween or anything else, i'm totally for that.

and...that's about it!

[welcome-to-puppet-hell]

Ring! Ring! (Part 2) - Wally Darling x Puppet!OC (Character Study)

Content Warning: Paranoia, Wally's ambiguous motivations, Disturbing Imagery, Mind Control (HEAVILY implied), Mind Reading, Creepiness in general

[Direct sequel to this]

I’m still screaming as my eyes snap open, my body jolting up in my bed. My eyes dart around desperately, seeing the brightly painted wallpaper that has slowly become familiar and then the ceiling that had been painted like a night sky full of glowing green stars. Sobs then began to wrack through me, almost drowning out the patter of the heart that still managed to beat beneath felt and fabric. My hands press to the place where it must be, a weak attempt to repress it.

When my breathing and sobs begin to calm, that’s when I become aware of the sound blaring through my bedroom. The sound of a phone ringing.

I blink, my tears blotting to drip down my cheeks. A phone call in the middle of the night? That never happens, not in the Neighborhood. 

Despite my anxiety, I slowly get up and walk to the stand. Then I pick it up, once again blanketing the room in silence.

“H-hello?” I say with a swallow. When there’s only quiet, I clear my throat. “Who is this?”

“Sorry, I…I’m just so happy you finally picked up the phone.”

My eyes blink, then I turn to give my phone an odd look. What…? Hang on, I know this voice.

“…Wally?” 

Why would he be calling me? He never speaks to me, hasn’t said one word since I walked into this neighborhood weeks ago. For the most part, whenever he’s shadowing Barnaby or any of the other neighbors, he only stares at me with his big eyes and even bigger smile. It’s pretty unnerving, honestly.

So…why?

I’ve gotta know.

“I—”

“Don’t speak,” he says, voice suddenly cold. “Go to the bed, right under the covers. Don’t move until I tell you.”

My frown deepens. I open my mouth to speak again, but then I hear a sound outside that chills me to the bone. The sound of feet dragging against the ground. Huge feet. Right near my window.

“Jamie, now.”

Wally’s voice—like ice and full of…anger?—springs me to action. Dropping the phone to the floor, I run back to my bed and throw the covers over me, turning to look at the wall. My hands tremble as they clench around my blanket, my breathing becoming shallow the closer the feet outside become. Despite the phone not being in my hand, I still hear his voice whispering in my ear. As if he’s curled around me. 

“Stay quiet. Don’t even breathe.”

Shaking, I place my hand over my mouth and nose, leaving just enough give so I wouldn’t suffocate.

Suddenly, a light blares through the window, much like a spotlight. I freeze when I sense the light behind me, see the hint of it on the wall. Then, as it starts to shift from side to side, I realize what it is. 

An eye. Just how giant is this thing?

…Actually, I never want to find out.

My eyes squeeze closed, all sound becoming this low yet piercing hum to my ears. It hurts, but I dare not move, do anything. Except maybe pray. Just let this end, soon. Please.

I don’t know how long I remain there. Part of me worries that I’ve fallen asleep, considering how closed my eyes are, how deafening the silence is.

Then, finally, spoken from the dropped phone:

“Okay…it’s all okay now, Jamie. You’re safe.”

The breath I’m holding finally leaves me in a rough exhale. My hand goes to my chest as I try to calm my breathing, but I still feel so dizzy. What was that? What’s going on? And Wally—

Wally. How did he know…?

My eyes dart to the phone still on the floor. He’s still there. I don’t exactly know how I know—he’s not breathing or making sounds like it—but he is. Would he answer if I asked?

Only one way to find out.

I get up slowly from the bed and walk back over to the phone. Once it’s to my ear, I drop down to crouch away from the window. Then I clear my throat, but my voice stutters out anyway.

“Wally, w-what was that…that thing?”

Pause.

“A nightmare,” he replies, his tone dim. “One I hope you never meet.”

…That’s not really an answer. 

Then again, I should know better. From the few conversations I’ve had with him, Wally has never been really direct when it comes to certain things about the neighborhood. He can say anything about the other Neighbors…but questions like, “What state are we in? Why does Home sometimes stare at me for so long? Who owned my house and my shop before me?” Usually, at those questions, Wally’s eyes cloud over as he stares at me with his frozen smile. And then, he shrugs.

Still. He’s telling me more than I expected. And maybe…I don’t want to know the answer to this question.

I’ll just…add this to my list of newly discovered mysteries in the Neighborhood. A list that has been growing and growing. Not sure what kind of sign that is.

But still, something is bothering me. And while I have him on the phone—well. Can’t hurt to ask, right?

“How did you know I’d be awake?”

“Oh! I didn’t.”

My eyebrows draw downward as my mouth twists. Yeah, that sounds like an absolute lie, straight from a goddamn liar. No matter how neutral he keeps his tone, I’m just not—

“It’s the truth!”

…the fuck? I pull the phone away and stare at it, my heart thudding like a drum inside my chest.

“To be fair, Neighbor, I’ve been trying to call you for a long time. I didn’t think you’d ever pick up the phone.”

My throat goes dry. Ever since moving here, I’ve been having these—weird dreams. Dreams of not only you, but also dreams of this ringing. Ringing from a phone, from within the depths of my mind. Like a memory I kept at the back of my mind, one I can’t seem to remember. Images from those dreams keep flashing through my mind’s eye, particularly of a phone surrounded by dark. A plastic toy phone with dials, much like the one in my house. A phone that always seems to ring.

“What the hell does that mean?” 

“I couldn’t sleep,” he says, still sounding too innocent. “And you happened to be the first neighbor I called!”

I lean back against the wall near my window. “Did you know it’d be there? When I woke up?”

“No,” he says, his voice hinting at a tremble. “It doesn’t always show up. But I know it doesn’t like when we’re awake.”

“…W-what does it do when we’re awake?”

“You don’t want to know.”

Suddenly, I feel so cold all over. I wrap the blanket around my shoulders and squeeze it, trying to get the warmth of the wool to bleed into me. God, this neighborhood just keeps getting weirder and weirder. My only mistake was thinking all the weirdness was coming from the neighbors alone, and that the weirdness couldn’t really hurt me.

It all makes me so tired. How am I supposed to do this…? I just wanna go home. I wanna go back to you, to the life we had. Are you even looking for me? Is anyone…?

I don’t realize that I’ve started crying until Wally speaks again. 

“…Jamie?” His tone is shaky. Scared? But why? “Are you okay?”

“No. I’m so tired, Wally. I can’t do this anymore, I can’t be here,” I croak out, leaning forward with my hand on my forehead. “I just wanna go home. Please, let me go home!”

“But Jamie…you are at Home.”

My hands go to my nose, pinching the bridge with my pointer and thumb. I can’t do it anymore. I’ve never been good with mind games. And I hate being toyed with. And I get the feeling that Wally, he doesn’t want to hurt me. Not really.

“You know what I mean. I know you do. Please, Wally, don’t lie to me…”

“…”

I wait for his response, my eyes sliding closed. Doing this is risky, I know. I still don’t even know what to make of Wally. Is he a friend? An enemy? Part of me wants to believe he doesn’t want to hurt me, based on how he’s behaved since I got here. But I know for certain now, that he isn’t as oblivious as the other neighbors, no matter how monotone or innocent he sounds.

Whatever is going on here, he isn’t just on the level or in the know. He’s not even caught in the middle. He’s neck deep in it.

“…That doesn’t mean I can give you what you want,” he interjects, not unkindly. “It doesn’t mean that I’m in charge.”

I swallow. Who is, then? Or, perhaps, what?

Wally doesn’t answer that question, but he does continue to speak.

“I think that’s enough excitement for you tonight, dear Neighbor. It’s time for you to sleep.”

Something about his voice freezes me in place, making my mind feel all fuzzy. Suddenly, the exhaustion I feel isn’t just emotional. It’s a weight on my eyes, on my shoulders—on my whole body. I’m filled with an intense desire to go to bed, one that I acknowledge in a floaty sort of way.

“Yeah, you’re…you’re right,” I say, my voice sounding so foreign to my ears. So empty, vacant. Is that really what I sound like? I feel my body start to sway in place, almost weightless. “I’m so tired…”

“Get into the bed, Neighbor. Things will be better in the morning.”

(Will it?)

“Promise?” comes out of my mouth instead, my voice almost childish.

“I promise,” Wally says, his voice soft but emphatic.

…Yeah, that feels enough for me. I’m too exhausted to fight anyway. 

So, finally giving in, my body sways to one side and I end up falling back into my bed. A giddiness bubbles from me the second I land. How did I get here so fast? It was at least a few feet away, no? 

Oh, well. It doesn’t matter. The pillow below my head is so soft and the bed is so warm. What even happened? Did I actually see something? Why was I so worried? Why did I even have that nightmare? I’m safe here. 

(Am I?)

Yes. Yes, I am.

My eyes flutter a bit before finally shutting. And as my breathing slows, darkness takes over once more—but this time, as a comfort.

Not long after, my blanket lands back on my body, engulfing me in warmth. Then someone whispers in my ear.

“Sleep well, neighbor.”

==

Wally lingers at the window, his eyes glued to your house. Staring straight into the window of your bedroom. His hand is lifted in the air, lingering with all his fingers spread and bent, like a puppeteer handling strings. He stares and he waits, his expression like stone and his eyes never blinking.

Finally, with a hum of satisfaction, he curls his fingers back into his palm and lowers his hand to his side. Then he folds both hands behind his back.

“Good,” he says. “That was a close one, no?”

Frantic creaks of doors and cabinets echo through the walls of Home. Wally turns slightly from the window to look behind him, wearing a blithe smile.

“Don’t worry, Home, I know what I’m doing. When they wake up tomorrow, they won’t even remember what their nightmare was about. Or our conversation.”

More creaks. Some clashing of dishes from the kitchen. Wally isn’t offended though, instead he only nods in understanding.

“If you must tell him, just report that I’m only doing what I’m told. Keeping an eye on the neighbor, making sure they follow the rules and that they’re following the script given to them. That’s all.”

Another creak, this time in warning.

Wally turns entirely and stares up at Home, his expression stoic. And then, with a squeeze of his eyes being closed—only for a moment—he starts to laugh, the sound hollow as it reverberates through the house.

“Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha…”

When his eyes open, Wally’s gaze remains sharp as he regards Home’s ceiling. His hands unfold behind him and rest against the window sill as he leans back, keeping his body right in front of the view towards your house—towards you. 

“Home, please. I’ve been doing this for long enough. You don’t have to remind me,” he says, his voice cold in its shrewdness. “I know where my loyalties lie.”

[welcome-to-puppet-hell]

Lovingly (Part 1) - Character Study (Puppet!OC)

Content Warning: Disturbing imagery, slight violence, mentions of Dermatillomania (skin-picking disorder), subtle references to OCD, a special appearance of the WH black mold/sludge

[divider credit to @saradika-graphics]

There’s comfort in doing crochet. Something soothing about the motions; the insert of the hook into a hole and the yarning over of the working yarn and the pull and loop, the completion of a stitch. Sure, sometimes a cramp started from the fingers when first working on a project; but once you get used to it, the ache barely comes.

I loved doing crochet. It kept my mind calm during my commute to and from work, muffling away the other voices on the bus. It kept my hands occupied, especially when my mind would begin to wander to nightmarish scenarios that I knew would never happen—but would still result in me obsessing and obsessing until I felt ill—when my fingers would twitch with a familiar compulsion to pick the skin along my body until my nails drew blood. Fortunately, I haven’t done that in years. Therapy had helped a little, learning to organize my life and my mind, even better—but crochet still worked very well.

You would always smile at me when catching me work, eyes soft and full of love. You never figured out why I practiced such a hobby, about the nightmare I carried—the one that killed my father, made my grandmother into a monster—and I liked it that way. I liked having some secrets to myself.

One night, though, worry was wrinkling your forehead. Your eyes looked far away, your mouth twisting with an anxiety that made my own flare up. Then you pulled your lips into your mouth, a shift indicating you were gnawing on them lightly. I finally put down my needle and yarn, unable to take it.

“What is it? Something’s clearly on your mind. Just say it.”

It came out so harshly—sorry, I’m not good with being nice or gentle when I’m nervous—but you didn’t flinch. You never did.

“I got a job offer. Y’know that archiving project I interviewed for? For that old show? I heard back. But,” you hesitated. “It’s going to be in this small town in Montana. I’ll have to relocate.”

Montana? That was so far from New York, where we both came from—where we’d lived our entire lives. That part of the country felt like a whole new world compared to the familiar sounds of trains making the tracks above tremble, of cars honking, the pungent smell of the city streets, the taste of fresh, crispy pizza or the softness of freshly baked bagels. The idea of leaving that behind made me tremble all over.

But when we’d gotten married six months ago, I’d vowed to follow you wherever, just as you had with me.

So, I made sure to force a casual tone when I replied, “Okay, then. When do we move?”

Your eyes blinked, shining as if in shock. Then your mouth spread into a grin, much like I remember, like the first warmth of sunshine in the morning.

And then, the grin continued to grow. And grow. And grow. And grow. And grow. And grow. And grow—

By the time I realized there was something not right about your open mouth, that mockery of your smile, your eyes started to drip with this oily black sludge. I followed the path of the sludge down your cheeks, until it was dribbling down your neck. Then it started dripping from your mouth.

I tried to speak, but immediately felt the urge to gag. My hands slammed against my mouth and my nose. God, that smell. I’ve never come across anything like it, more pungent than sulfur, more insidious than mold. Pure rot, it was. It made me feel so sick, gave me the urge to repel, to run—but I couldn’t. I couldn’t move. I could only stare and watch, tears coming to my eyes. 

What was happening to you? What was doing this? How can I stop it—?

Any more thought in my head froze, my eyes widening. My pulse pounded sickeningly in my veins, despite a chill coming to my fingers.

Because, right from your gaping mouth—coming deep from your throat—was a huge pale hand, dripping with the sludge. Palm open, fingers out and curled, as if in a climbing gesture. Even under the fingernails, I could see a hint of the sludge mixed with the red that must have been your blood or tissue. My stomach dropped to my toes.

What…what is this? Why—?

The hand thrust forward and wrapped around my throat, cutting off my air. I gasped, heaved, and clawed at it, but it just pulled me forward. Spots appeared in my vision, I couldn’t breathe—and yet I still caught how your empty eyes dilated, how you seemed to be shaking with a silent laughter. The tears in my eyes fell as black started filling my vision, my own sobbing voice becoming muffled, drowned.

And then, somewhere in the void, a phone began to ring.

[Next Part]

[welcome-to-puppet-hell]

Smile - (OneSided?)Wally Darling x Puppet!Reader

One can tell a lot about someone based on their smile, Wally thinks. Can tell who actually likes you—a wide and warm spread of a mouth, showing something genuine and honest—and who just tolerates you, at most, based on how small their smile is. Even in the neighborhood, Wally is able to distinguish how a neighbor might feel about him, just based on a smile.

Something Wally noticed about you, right away, is that you don’t smile all the time. Even if you’re smiling for customers entering your bookshop, it doesn’t always last long—unless it’s with neighbors you’ve decided are worth smiling for. Unlike the other neighbors, you don’t put on smiles or airs. You wear all your emotions on your sleeve…which is, admittedly, quite a feat considering you exist as everyone else does.

(As a puppet.)

But one day, Wally is watching you talk to Barnaby.

He was a bit distracted by a book about a painter—a man haunted by night terrors and other horrors from his own mind, but still saw the world so beautifully—when he heard you let out this laugh. 

He is drawn back to reality right away, his eyes immediately darting to land right on you. You are still laughing, this beautiful mix of giggles and snorts and a bit of gasping, while hugging your belly and your eyes clenching closed as your mouth widens in this smile—this grin that glows like sunshine, in a way that slams him right in the chest. It occurs to Wally then, not for the first time, that you are beautiful. He always thought so, since his eyes first found you; but it’s all so different now that you’re so close, now that you’re finally in the neighborhood, now that you’re finally within reach after all this time. And your beauty absolutely shines when you smile.

(I just…I wish…so badly…) 

Barnaby watches you with a lazy smirk, his eyelids hooding over to emphasize the mischief in his expression. He bends his elbow right on the counter and leans in a little towards you, his smirk widening a little.

“What’s this? A laugh? At one of my jokes?” He teases. “I thought you said my jokes are so awful that I should be in prison.”

You let out another laugh, then open your eyes to smirk up at him. “And they are! I’m not wrong. That joke was particularly heinous, in fact.”

“Was it?”

“Indeed, it was. I only laughed because I feel sorry for you.”

“Oh, do you?”

“Yes, I find you very pit-i-bull.”

Barnaby’s face falls as he gapes at you, his mouth drops open. You merely smirk up at him, your arms crossed over your chest. Despite being rather short, at least an inch taller than Wally, you look up at Barnaby with no fear or hint of intimidation over his severe height. Wally swallows into his rather dry throat, his hands clenching as his whole being fills with warmth. Gorgeous and brave, you really are the full package.

I just wish, he allows himself to want, if only for a moment. While it’s safe to linger on such thoughts. I wish you would smile like that for me. Just once. Just a little bit.

Suddenly, Barnaby lets out this choking sound, while grasping his throat.

“I think that one did it! Finally found a joke terrible enough to kill me,” he keeps gasping dramatically, spinning to lean back against the counter, one paw over where his heart rests in his chest. As he continues his fake cough, Barnaby’s eyes roll to land on Wally, his expression turning playful. “Little buddy! Remember me as I am…!”

Wally finds his own smile widening, despite the sting in his chest. He steps forward to join in, falling into his role seamlessly.

“What’s wrong, Barnaby?” he asks, his tone innocuous.

“What’s wrong is that a murder is being committed—and they’re the culprit!”

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic, Barn!” you say, still grinning. “A killer joke won’t hurt you.”

“Ah, it just keeps happening! Will my suffering ever cease—?”

Wally’s grin widens, amusement bubbling in his chest and growing as he watches Barnaby rolling on the floor in “pain” and you continuing to laugh. His eyes catch the width of your smile and immediately, his insides begin to melt. All the words he knows he should say—like a script he’d long memorized—freezes in his throat. His hands squeeze tightly around the book he’d previously pulled off the shelf, one consisting of paintings made by that sad Dutch painter with the one ear. Despite the smile forever glued to his expression, every inch of him begins to tremble, his hands itching to hold yours, just for a moment, just once—

(“Waliford?”)

Wally Darling freezes in place, all thought turning to static.

(“What are you thinking?” The voice reaches his ears, despite the distance. Something inside him turns to ice and pulls, almost choking him. “I know you are not thinking of breaking The Rules…are you?”)

No. No, I can’t.

He swallows and turns away before anyone notices.  

But you do. A frown settles back on your expression, your brow furrowing to narrow your eyes.