#puppet writes

[puppetmaster55]

it's always the final chapter where I really get that sense of "am I a real writer? am I actually terrible?"

like, the whole entire rest of the writing process is me entirely certain that I have built up the skill level to be a good writer and the story being told is good and the job being done is good

[bixels]

Posting a sneak-peak of this now because I'm about to be In The Shit school workload-wise, so this'll take me a while to finish.

Doing some character design exploration/expression sheets for Celestia and Luna. Figuring out Celestia's weird ass anatomy while I'm at it.

[matchingbatbites]

Based on this thought I had.

"So, come here often?"

Steve snorts a laugh and looks over at his "co-star". The puppet is a pretty sunset orange with big, excited looking eyes and a bit of spiky fur resembling a hairstyle on the top of its head. It's wearing a little cyan t-shirt and its hands are patting the low wall in front of it, like it just can't stay still.

That fits, considering the scene they've been doing is about excitement, and that people show excitement in different ways - kids shows, Steve loves working on kids shows. He can't quite see the puppeteer behind the barrier, but he smiles at the puppet regardless.

"Uh, this is my first time here, actually. You?"

"Oh, yeah, all the time. I'm lucky they haven't started charging me rent."

"You're here that much, huh? You must know every inch of this place then."

"Oh for sure!" Steve sees a sliver of a nice hand and black painted nails holding the control stick as the puppet's hand comes up to brush over its hair, smoothing it down a bit. "If you want a look around, I'd be more than happy to give you the private tour later."

Its tone is definitely suggestive, and Steve bites back another laugh. He can't help his own teasing tone as he replies "Yeah? You'd do that for me?"

"Oh, I'd do a lot of things to you- for you! I'd do a lot of things for you."

Steve does laugh at that one, a giggle that usually only appears when he's a few glasses deep into a bottle of champagne. It's refreshing to have someone who blatantly flirts with him instead of simply fawning over him, even if the person on the other end isn't actually a person.

"Do you usually flirt with guests like this?" he can't help but ask, and the puppet moves like it's glancing around before it leans into his space a little.

"Only with the pretty boy movie stars, but between you and me, you're the prettiest one out there."

Steve blushes, and fuck, is this-? It is, this is working for him. He bites his lip and prepares to say something else when a voice cuts through the stage.

"Alright!" the director calls, and Steve's attention is pulled away from his co-star. "Let's get ready to go again! Eddie!"

A head pops up next to Steve, causing him to jump. The man grins at him and oh, he's handsome. Big brown eyes framed by an attractive face and brown hair pulled into a messy bun. He turns his gaze to the director and calls a "Yeah?"

"I need you to exaggerate Cody's movements just a little more. We want a big contrast between him and Joni."

"Can do," the man, Eddie, replies. He throws a wink at Steve before ducking back down behind the wall and the puppet is brought to life once again.

"Ready to go again?" it asks him, and Steve is surprised at how breathless he feels, at the butterflies currently swirling in his stomach. He hopes that Eddie will fulfill his offer of showing Steve around later, because fuck, does he want to know more about this gorgeous, goofy man.

"Ready when you are."

[anatomical-puppet]

my source is that i am autistic about horror

[achillean-knight]

[pillowspace]

you think you understand the fnaf lore, then you try to write a fnaf fic, and boom. when and where did literally any of this take place

[north-noire]

marionette trying to communicate with henry be like

[bluesnailsstuff]

yay shes done :D i think the song kinda suits her i was very inspired by @happy-thou9hts 's design for sally it was so pretty, loved the freckles so i just had to snatch that

[syn0vial]

shane in unsolved/ghost files: unnervingly fearless, irreverent, acts like a cartoon villain, called a demon/psychopath/robot, etc.

shane in puppet history: what if we didn't characterize the Chicxulub asteroid as a destructive aggressor bent on ending life on earth but instead as an innocent bystander just as inescapably bound by cosmic forces as we on earth are? how would it feel, going through it's entire existence falling through the infinite void and then to have its last moments to be filled with the vibrant, awe-inspiring beauty of earth hurtling up towards it? would it be joyful? nervous? or would it be just as terrified of its inevitable end as all the doomed little creatures below? 🥺

also shane in puppet history:

[muffinlance]

Do you get the impression the live action is treating us like utter morons?? Like I thought that making it aimed at an older audience would open the doors for more subtle story telling, but no, they're just using monologues to tell us eveything! Like in the second episode Katara's like 'oh his power isn't that he's the avatar, it's that he ~connects~ to people'. Girl we're not idiots we can see that!! And the first episode with Aang's goddawful 'I don't want this responsibility' monologue

THIS, YES. The word that keeps coming to mind is definitely "subtlety". The show for literal children? Had it. The remake for adults? Not so much.

[puppetmaster55]

Taking the Oda approach to storytelling (what is the character’s history that led them to this moment in canon; also do they have a connection to some piece of lore revealed later on) has definitely felt like an improvement of my storytelling

Like it deepens the world so dang much just by having the characters, however minor, be characters who live in this world

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

still unwell over the prospect of Howdy slowly putting the pieces together and having a complete mental breakdown over it. Laughingstock edition!

[after-witch]

Horrorfest: To Make me Fret or Make Me Frown [Yandere Scaramouche x Reader]

Title: To Make Me Fret or Make Me Frown [Yandere Scaramouche x Reader]

Synopsis: You bought a life-size puppet in terrible condition and restored it. But now it doesn't want to let you go.

For Horrorfest request:

Might be cheesy, but Scaramouche haunted puppet for horrorfest? Maybe reader inherits an uncannily lifelike doll, or finds him as an antique?

Word count: 1156

notes: yandere, puppet shenanigans

“He’s creepy,” your friend says. Her nose crinkles and she puts a hand up as if she can ward away whatever haunting abominations she imagines must be inside the doll, waiting to slither through her nostrils. “And weird,” she continues. “And broken.” 

The doll has colorful blue hair and most of his strings are missing; one of his eyes is missing its pupil and an arm is cracked, a jagged wound that goes all the way to the fingers. If the doll were to be lifted, the damaged pinky on that arm would probably come right off--maybe the forefinger, too. He’s dirty and wearing only some cast-off shirt, itself probably too damaged to be sold by the secondhand store. 

Your friend moves on, eager to head to the second floor where all the nice, expensive secondhand goods are kept, often behind glass cases so they don’t get damaged by looky-loos.

But you stay where you are.

Because the moment you took one look at the damaged life-size puppet propped up at the back of the store, in the same pricetag-less limbo as piles of tupperware with no lid, ripped books and ugly dolls missing arms, and your heart swelled. 

“He’s perfect.” 

--

The pinky on the damaged arm did come off before you even left the store, but you were able to salvage the original forefinger. The pinky, sadly, couldn’t be repaired--but you made a new one using the original as a mold and unless you’re staring quite intensely (which to be fair, you often do, when working on the puppet) you wouldn't be able to tell that it’s not original to the hand. 

“I’d like to keep all your original parts as much as I can,” you murmur in the direction of the puppet, currently propped up on a chair you’d dragged into your workroom for the sole purpose of letting him have somewhere to sit while you worked. “You really are exquisite, you know? I can’t believe someone let you get into such rough shape.” 

You sigh, lamenting the treatment of such  a unique piece of craftsmanship, and place the finishing touches on the puppet’s repaired eye. The pupil needed to be filled in with new material but you went ahead and refreshed the iris of both eyes to make them look newer. 

“Good as new, see?” You hold up both repaired eyes to the puppet, but realize your mistake when you’re greeted with a prim looking puppet with two black holes where his eyes should be. 

“Oops.” You carefully slide the eyes back into the socket, fiddling with your finger until they slot right into place. “Sorry about that. I wasn’t thinking. There!” You grab the magnifying mirror from your desk and hold it up in front of the puppet. “Now, see? Much better.”

It took a few months of work, but the puppet was just about restored, in your view. You’d even bought a new outfit for him, a simple white blouse with ruffles and plain trousers. It wasn’t exactly what you imagined he might have worn originally, but that was fine. 

“I’m glad I found you,” you say, to the puppet--and to yourself. “I’ve had a really nice time working on you!” You hum to yourself and start tidying up your work bench. “Now all that’s left is attaching your new strings, and I can have you picked up.” You smile, to yourself, to the puppet, to no one in particular. “I can’t believe that antique shop gave you away for free--they had no idea they were sitting on such a rare item!” 

But you, who repaired dolls and the like for a living, immediately knew what the puppet was worth; and who to contact as soon as you were able to get it home, as you knew a friend with an antique shop that took special requests, and he had a particularly wealthy customer who was dying for one of these rare life-sized pieces. 

The puppet with freshly painted eyes stares back at you and says nothing.

--

Something is sitting on your chest. Something heavy and cool to the touch. 

Sleep paralysis?  It wouldn’t be the first time. You did sleep on your back, after all, and your nights were sometimes restless. 

But you open your eyes without trouble, and the sensation does not go away. It takes a few moments, blinking in the dark, to realize who (no--what) is sitting on you.

It’s the puppet. 

Freshly painted eyes stare down at you, a face framed by the carefully sewn-in hair. In the dark, you can’t see the wood grains of his skin or the repair marks that you’d buffed until smooth. All you can see is his human shape, the gleam of glass eyes. 

“What--” you say, before a wooden finger presses to your lips.

“You were going to sell me.” It’s the puppet--the puppet is speaking.

You nod, terrified, every nerve in your body inflamed.

This can’t be happening, and yet it is. 

“Why?”

Your lips are dry and you stutter out an answer, hoping to wake up from this dream at any moment. But the more time goes on, the more you realize that you’re living in reality. An awful one, but reality all the same.

“I-I needed the money, you… you’re worth a lot.”

There’s a sound that comes from the puppet’s wooden throat, but you can’t quite place it. 

“You can’t sell me,” he says, simply. If you weren’t sure that you’d lost your mind, you might say that he sounds upset. Not just angry, but--hurt. 

“I-I won’t.” You swallow. “Just um. Get off me and I can…”

“No.” The glass eyes bore down on you, and you wish your eyes weren’t becoming accustomed to the dark. It was better not to see the cool stillness in them, unmoving, unblinking.

It’s then that you notice the strings.

Not on the puppet--but on you. 

The strings are wrapped around your wrists, tight, pinching into the skin. When you look up you see he’s attached them not to a marionette control bar, but to his own fingers. To himself. 

He raises his repaired pinky and your wrist goes along with it--too fast and harsh, nearly flopping over your face.

”Ah.” He regards your flopped appendage with curiosity, before simply lifting it himself and placing it back on your chest. “Well. I’ll have plenty of time to figure that out.” 

He leans forward, pressing his weight down on you, until his face was close enough that you could spot your own work; spot the little fine details in the paint, the grooves of his wooden flesh, the way his hair fell in a certain manner thanks to the placement of your carefully created knots. 

Oh, you thought, as his face came closer to yours, as he kissed you with puppet eyes wide open and wooden lips stiff. 

The paint on his lips needed to be touched up. 

[dreammeiser]

✨"I've Lost track of My Story long ago. Are You Lost too?"✨ Archie Aster is Dreamalong's Errant Storyteller, weaving stories about his nocturnal adventures. He moonlights as the town's Dream Maker, hopping around the Dreams of citizens to see what ails them. Archie and his trickster Living Shadow like to trivialize whatever danger they're in with cartoonish mockery, ha! Goodest Night, Starbright!

[achillean-knight]

Safe Haven.

[yugsly]

The TV star must look his best!