welcome-to-puppet-hell

[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]

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]

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.

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]

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.

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]

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]

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

[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.

[welcome-to-puppet-hell]

WIP Wednesday - Character Study/One Shot

AN: A snippet of something I'm trying to write with my OC. I'm not intersted much in doing RPs or anything, but I like writing oneshots and drabbles. This is something I'm writing to explore Jamie and their day-to-day life in Home.

It’s the same dream, every night.

I’m back at home, my real one. I just got off the bus, coming home from a regular day at work. My day hadn’t been bad or good, just a regular day. But I was eager to get home—eager to come back to you.

In a flash, I’m inside the apartment building and opening my door. Everything looks the same as when I left it that morning—not that I expected anything different—but it’s…quiet. Too quiet. And not the pleasant kind of silence either. The stifling, thick with tension, “something is very wrong but I dunno what” kind.

At first, I think it's my cat.

Tentatively, I gently call for her, fearing the worst. 

But like clockwork, her paws pad along the floor in her trotting towards me. She’s a small brown tabby, with stripes that make her look like a tiger and a face that's always silly, like she's still a kitten. She was obviously the runt of the litter, but I didn’t care when I saw her three years ago. She was small and cute and needed me; that was enough. It always will be. Second to you, she’s the only thing that fills my heart with joy, one of the only reasons this life makes any sense to me. 

But when she looks up at me, I know something is different. She senses it too.

She lets out a low meow of distress, her ears folding back as her big eyes look at me. Then her eyes roll to look in the direction of a door. The door to our bedroom. Although her fur doesn’t poof up, like there’s an intruder or some other force to fight, I still get this feeling.

Something more than fear claws at my gut.

Still, I go through the motions. I force a smile. I call your name, letting you know I'm home. Then I gently push the door open to see—

Nothing.

Just…complete darkness. But not like there's a lack of light. Everywhere around me, I can hear something dripping against a wall. Something deeper than black and slimier than ink. And, and the smell—God. It’s awful. Words fail to describe just how deeply disgusting the smell of it is. 

It starts to close in on me. I can't move. I can't stop it. I know I can't touch it, that the moment my fingers even brush against it, something bad will begin to happen. But it seems like it's not giving me a choice. I call your name, scream it so loud that my throat becomes raw. But you don't answer. You don't save me.

(You can’t.)

Then there's a spotlight, on a phone. An old toy phone.

And then it starts to ring.

==

[welcome-to-puppet-hell]

New Intro:

(images created on picrew, because i can't draw to save my life)

Name: Jamie

Age: 28

Gender: AFAB & Nonbinary

Pronouns: They/Them

Ethnicity: Hispanic-coded

Occupation: Bookshop Owner

Likes: Books, coffee, cats, rock music, and feeling safe

Dislikes: Judgement, censorship/repression, injustice, bullying, the act of cleaning, Home and Wally (for the moment), the sentient jukebox that wakes them up in the morning (sometimes)

Personality: Doesn't trust easily. Feels that at least a portion of the neighbors is out to get them, waiting to see them do something "bad" and then get ready to strike. Loves reading and believes that books and literacy help make the world better. Becomes more compassionate to others the more they learn about what the neighbors like to read.

Background Info: Jamie ended up in Home after crashing their car in the forest surrounding the neighborhood of Home. They don't really remember how they ended up here, and their memories of life before coming here are blurry. The most they remember is that they were once married and lived in a big city, working at a local library.

Despite their memories being mostly gone, Jamie still feels that there is something deeply wrong with Home. As a result, they don't trust many in the neighborhood, at first. Probably the only person she's friendly with is Frank Frankly, and that's only because they both share a love of books. But maybe, as they continue their business in the bookshop, they will start to change their tune.

(character/reference sheet is a work-in-progress)

[welcome-to-puppet-hell]

OOC: of a revamp, incoming.

get ready fuckers.