thedollmakersmasterpiece

[thedollmakersmasterpiece]

Knowing the major parts of a story and not being able to connect them in a satisfying way is hell.

[thedollmakersmasterpiece]

The Doll Makers Masterpiece part ??

(post capture pre doll)

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Trigger warning: graphic descriptions of violence, torture, abuse, captivity, blood, self deprecation

(this is later in the story)

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Anya's chest heaved as she cowered against the wall, her tattered shirt soaked in her blood. Pierre's face was split into a horrific grin. “Excellent! A marked improvement! That brings us to sixteen hours! That's more than enough time!” He twirls the branding iron between his fingers, lost in thought. “Perhaps some training with a higher intensity…?”

“No!” Anya's voice cracks as she throws herself at his feet, tears streaming down her face. “P-please sir! I.. I'm at my limit!” her shaking fingers hike up her shirt revealing the angry and inflamed marks still lingering on her stomach. “I can't take anymore! Please!”

Pierre clicks his tongue, wrapping his gloved fingers in her hair as he inspects the marks. “Oh dear, What a disappointment.” He hisses between his teeth as he yanks her head up to meet his glare. “How can you ever expect to improve if you're just going to give up at the slightest sign of difficulty? And after all the effort I put into you?”

Fresh tears pour down Anya's cheeks, clearing trails in the dried blood. “Please sir! I.. I'm sorry! I'll do better! I'll BE better! I…!” She slams into the floor so violently she can taste blood before she even registers the pain.

“Shut up. Your whining is giving me a headache.” Pierre tightens his grip in her hair before grinding her face down into the concrete below. “If you weren't so utterly incompetent, we’d be done already! Instead, you make me waste my time teaching you something you should have mastered years ago!”

Anya screams as the branding iron is pressed into her back.“I.. I'm sorry! I…”

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry! Then do Better.” Pierre mocks as he twists the metal rod before pressing it down even harder. “And not only are you incompetent, but you're ungrateful too! Not once have you even thanked me for the hours of effort I've spent fixing your inadequacies!”

She can feel the hot metal melting past her skin, digging deeper and deeper into her muscle, the rod threatening to burn its way into her lungs. “Th-thank you sir!”

“Thank you for what?” The pressure on the back of her head increases to the point where she can feel her scull creaking in protest.

“Thank you for taking in a stupid, incompetent, brat like me! Th-thank you for putting up with my pointless whining and my idiotic questions! I'm sorry for being so ungrateful! Y-You deserve a more competent subject than me and I know that I'm only blessed with your tutelage because you haven't found a better option!”

The pressure on her skull lifts slightly as she feels him readjust his grip on her hair. “There we go~” she can hear the predatory grin in his voice even over the pounding in her ears. “You wouldn't get yourself into these situations if you just understood your place to begin with.”

She can feel chunks of her flesh tearing out with the rod as he tugs it free. “Now why don't you be a good girl and clean up the mess you've made?” the fingers leave her hair but she doesn't dare look up.

“When I come back, there better not be a single trace of any of this. Not on the floors, not on the walls, and most importantly…Not on you. Understood?”

Anya can't suppress a whimper as Pierre drags the tip of the rod along the marred flesh of her side. “Y-yes sir! Thank you sir! I’ll… I'll be ready for my lesson tomorrow!”

“Good.” Anya finches as the branding rod is cast into the corner, clattering against the stone tiles. “I hope by this point I don't need to show you where the cleaning supplies are”

“N-no sir!” The cleaning supplies are in the cabinet out in the hall. She's thankful most of her injuries are abdominal this time, wincing at the memory of dragging twisted legs down the hall.

She doesn't pick her head up off the floor until the sound of his footsteps fade. Sitting up slowly she takes stock of her body. She's covered in partially dried blood, her head is pounding, and residual burns and bruises litter her stomach. her fingers graze over them as she inspects herself causing little sparks of pain to shoot around inside her

She reaches around to feel her back, searching for the puncture. It's difficult to pinpoint givin the radiating pain and her tattered blood soaked shirt, but it's found suddenly when one of her fingers sinks inside her causing a flash of white hot pain.

She thinks she screams but she's not sure.

As the room stabilizes she takes a shaky breath, ever so gently pulling up her shirt. The strands of ruined fabric stick to her wounds and tug sorely. Fortunately it doesn't seem like to much has gone inside, but she has to get what did out before her body encases it

He fingers once again find the hole and she bites her lip, tasting more blood than she ought to. She's vaguely aware that her nose is leaking blood and a few of her teeth aren't as attached as they should be, but it doesn't matter, it's not a priority right now.

She carefully probes the injury until she catches the edge of the embedded fabric. Hissing in pain she loops the strand around her finger and tugs, slowly drawing it out of her flesh. It sloughs out with no more fanfare than a pained gasp.

She collapses back against the stone floor exhausted, the cool tile soothing against her heated skin.

Maybe she can rest her eyes for a minute before she drags herself out to the closet? Pierre shouldn't be back for a few hours so she should have time… God she needs some rest…

Her vision swims a bit as she looks up at the ceiling lights, head pounding. She must have lied down in one of the blood smears though because she can feel her hair getting slick and tacky.

A little nap should be fine right? He told her to heal and she needs energy for that! Maybe she'd be able to think about it more if the room would stop spinning… she's unconscious before she can give it another thought

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[thedollmakersmasterpiece]

The doll makers masterpiece: part 1

(pre capture era)

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Shards of porcelain flew through the air as Max swung his iron bat into another monstrous doll. Anya was barely able to cover her face in time to protect herself from the shrapnel, the thin sleeves of her jacket offering little protection as the sharp fragments peppered themselves through the fabric and into her arm.

“Hey! Watch it!” She shot a glare at her teammate. He quickly returned the look with a sneer.

“It's not my fault you can't handle a little scratch.” Max’s voice was laced with his usual venom. “Just stay home next time if all you're gonna do is get in the way.”

Anya’s face flushed with anger and embarrassment. “Well… Well maybe I won't come help you guys next time! Since I'm just ‘getting in the way!’” She flinched as her voice cracked, ruining any of the confidence she had hoped to convey. “And you'll just have to deal with the consequences of your reckless actions by yourself!”

Max rolled his eyes, smashing yet another doll that had been lurching its way towards the pair. ”It’d be exactly the same as every other fuckin' mission dumbass. Sable just decided to bring you along so you could feel useful. After all, it's not like your stupid healing ‘aura’ or whatever does anything anyway.”

Max punctuated his statement by punting the remains of a severed porcelain leg toward the crates Anya was cowering behind. The heel of the ball-jointed foot loudly smashing inches away from her ear, causing her to let out a pathetic yelp. The limb ricocheted off the box, clattering to the dirty concrete, twitching and spasming like a dying worm on hot pavement.

Even with the threat of more flying shrapnel being launched at her, Anya still peered around the crate. She'd always been captivated by the pseudo-biology of these creatures, and any chance to observe how they possessed the ability to move without any muscles or gears enraptured her.

She'd always wanted to get the chance to study one up close, even if she was absolutely terrified of them…

The sensation of something hard wrapping itself tightly around her ankle rips her out of her thoughts. looking down, Anya feels her stomach twist itself into her throat.

The remaining upper half of a mangled doll stares at her with vacant eyes, glass orbs clouded from scratches and debris. It's cold hands gripping one of her ankles with strength no one would expect from such delicate looking fingers.

Its misshapen jaw cracks open wider than it looks like it should, chips of porcelain falling to the floor as its needle-like teeth are exposed in a mockery of a grin. She doesn't even have time to scream before the doll is smashed into nothing but shrapnel, the head of a giant mallet resting where the doll's own once was.

“Sorry about that!” Sable gives a sheepish grin as she swings the mallet back over her shoulder, dusting flecks of porcelain from the front of her overalls. “Little creep slipped right by me! How are you two holding up on this side? Find his workshop yet?”

Anya collapsed against the wooden crates, too shaken to respond, heart still pounding in her ears. Max didn't even bother to look up, picking the shrapnel out of his jacket. “No. And the next time you decide bring the dead weight along, You're the one whose gonna fuckin’ carry it.” He flicked one of the larger shards from his jacket in Anya's direction with a scowl.

“Max!” Sable glares at Max reproachfully as she checks Anya for injury. “That is completely uncalled for!” Her large calloused hands gently brush the pieces of debris out of Anya’s hair. “Anya isn't ‘dead weight’. She just… has a different set of skills! It's her first time coming out with us, she'll get the hang of it soon!”

Max rolls his eyes. “Seems like dead weight to me.” Sable pinches the bridge of her nose and inhales deeply, collecting herself and placing her free hand on Anya’s shoulder. Anya winces as Sable squeezes just a little too firmly.

“Anya, why don't you go help Aron outside in the van? hmm? You can keep a lookout for Pierre! It'd be a big help!” Sable’s well practiced smile and upbeat tone does nothing to lessen the twist in Anya's stomach, nor the hitch in her throat.

“U-uh yeah… Sure...” Anya barely registered Max’s snickering as she rushed out of the room, almost tripping over a broken doll. She only makes it a few steps into the hall before her tears spill over. They drip down her cheeks, cool and soothing against the flush of embarrassment.

She mumbles to herself as she makes her way outside, her worn in sneakers crunching against the shards of shattered porcelain that blanket the halls of the decaying warehouse mirroring the snow outside. “I-I'm not dead weight! I might not be strong, but I can… I can handle myself!”

Her tears sting the scrapes on her arm as she wipes them away. “It's not like I can't fight… S-Sable just hasn't had the time to teach me yet...” Anya hugs herself tightly as she walks. Maybe once she's had a few lessons everything will come together… Maybe Max will even stop harassing her…

A gust of frigid air from outside shakes her from her thoughts, nipping at her as she struggles to push open the heavy rusted door. The derelict warehouse isn't warm, not in the slightest, but at least the walls kept the wind out for the most part. She pulls her thin jacket tightly around her small frame as she heads out into the cold, tucking her hands beneath her arms.

The van isn't too far away.

As she steps over a shattered arm she briefly wonders if the dolls could feel the winter chill, how horrible it would be to be stuck, broken to pieces in this awful weather with no way of warming yourself…

Anya quickly dismisses the thought before she can dwell on it. The Dolls aren't alive. The Dolls aren't people, Porcelain can't feel.

Although to be fair, it also doesn't usually move…

She convinces herself the shiver that runs down her spine is just from the freezing wind. Sprinting the rest of the way she knocks loudly on the back doors of the van. “Hey Aron! Let me in! It's freezing out here!”

He opens the door a crack, his freckled face breaking into a toothy grin as soon as he sees her. “I dunno… What's the password?”

Anya can't help but crack a smile as she playfully tries to tug open the door “You're such a dick! Let me in!”

Arons grin gets even wider, mischief flashing in his eyes as he keeps the gap in the door just wide enough for him to peek out. “Mmm.. no! I don't think that's it, guess again!”

“Hmmm…” She places her hand under her chin, pretending to think. “Is it: ‘Let me in because you'll feel at least a little bad if I freeze to death’?”

Aron gasps theatrically, flinging the door open. “Let my best friend freeze to death!? How could I?” He reaches out a gloved hand and helps Anya into the van. “Then I'd have to deal with Max on my own! No thank you!”

Anya laughs as she shuts the door behind her, the comforting warmth of the van melting away any remaining tension from earlier. “What a nightmare that would be!”

She sinks onto one of the well worn back seats as Aron turns his attention to one of the many computer monitors lining the inside of the van.

Blowing warmth into her hands she takes a moment to ground herself. The humming of machinery and the smell of old leather and herbs quieting her mind.

The van was almost like a second home. It's insides gutted and refilled with bits of her friends. Aron had the biggest piece of course, all the computers and gadgets that lined the walls, but he was also in the many plants scattered around and the grow lights soldered to the walls.

Sable was in the hand woven rug that covered the back floor, the repairs to the seats hidden with embroidery, the cushions and throw pillows stacked in the corner

Max had carved himself a niche in the front, the steering wheel wrapped in vibrantly colored tape that hurt to look at too long and an assortment of chipped and broken knick-knacks he’d picked up on outings that he'd since glued to the dashboard.

Her favorite of these was a small wooden turtle whose head was made of a separate piece of wood so it would bounce around when you tapped it. Max had yelled at her more than a few times for fiddling with it too much.

She'd secretly named it Tula.

Anya can't help but smile as she takes in her own additions to the van: small claw hair clips repurposed to organize the numerous computer cables, some old bins she found the fit perfectly under the front seats, and a forest green rectangle painted on one of the back doors so everyone knew where to put notes and memos.

“I am a part of the group.” She thinks to herself. “I belong here even if Max doesn't want to admit it!” and for a moment, everything is okay.

She's ok. She's not a failure or an imposter or a burden.

She belongs.

And then the van's alarm goes off.

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[thedollmakersmasterpiece]

Max 25 he/him

Piccrews:

Main body

Closeup

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Aron 21 he/him

Piccrews:

Main body

Closeup

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Pierre 34 he/him

whumper

Piccrews:

Main body

Closeup

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Sable 42 she/her

Piccrews:

Main body

Closeup

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Anya 22 she/her

whumpee

Piccrews:

Main body

Closeup

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[thedollmakersmasterpiece]

Masterlist:

Pre-capture era:

Part 1

Post capture era

Part ??

Piccrews:

Anya (whumpee)

Pierre (whumper)

Max

Aron

Sable

Icon art

[thedollmakersmasterpiece]

Hey! This is my first time doing a blog like this and posting my writing so I'm not totally sure what to put here!

I'm planning on doing a whump story although I may post it a bit non chronologically! It's a bit magical - post apocalyptic, and follows a girl named Anya through a bad time, a worse time, and a dependent time

My writing isn't great, but I hope you like it!

No Minors please! At the very least, minors please don't interact! I don't want to worry about making this kid friendly!

Masterlist

This story is going to cover some uncomfortable topics so here's a trigger warning list, I'll do my best to tag individual chapters but maybe don't get invested if these aren't your cup of tea:

(If I miss any please let me know)

Graphic descriptions of violence, death, abuse (verbal, mental, and physical), body dysmorphia (forced into an inhuman body), self deprivation, conditioning, imprisonment, self injury, bad support, servitude, idolization of an abuser by the abused, consumption of non edible items, infantilization of someone experiencing trauma, needles, claustrophobia, straight up torture, dehumanization, dissociation, limb removal, degloving.

Possibly intimate wumper but I'm not sure yet

(link to the icon artist in the piccrew link in the master list)