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#perhaps these two will be my little barbie dolls. what of it

avocado-writing · 6 months

Note

Hello, hope you're doing okay! 😊

About that good omens requests 👀 how about reader finding out Crowley has been living in his car so they offer for him to move in? At first it's all awkward but they quickly fall in a weirdly domestic routine?

Would also love to see Aziraphale's reaction when he finds out the two has been living together. 😀

notes: avo don’t mention bakeoff in a fic challenge level impossible

pairing: crowley x reader

rating: T

Day 1:

“Your car?! Crowley, you can’t be serious.”

He’s certain he’s told you about his living situation. Well. He was certain. You’re looking at him now with such horror it’s like he kicked a puppy in front of you, and he wonders if perhaps he let it slip his mind.

“I don’t have the flat any more, do I? Where else am I meant to go?”

You open your mouth to retort and then realise… where can he go? Aziraphale’s? God, you love the angel, he’s one of the best friends you have — but he is a bit obtuse when it comes to social things. And you’re not sure Crowley actually has any money, so he can’t rent anywhere else to live.

Well, no matter. You shan’t let it stand for a moment more.

“You’re moving in.”

“What?!” he looks appalled. You put your hands on your hips.

“I’ll have no complaining, Crowley. That car is not a home. You’re coming to live with me.”

You’ve been with Crowley for a couple of months now. This is perhaps expediting the process of a relationship - the moving in stage usually takes a bit longer - but you’re pretty sure this constitutes an emergency. He is, for all intents and purposes, homeless.

Besides, having a live-in boyfriend might be nice. He could make you tea.

So that evening finds the two of you unloading his few possessions from the car and finding space for them in the flat. He takes a long while to work out where the best place is for his house plants, but eventually the two of you are left sitting on the couch surrounded by your joint belongings.

“Would you like a room to yourself? The spare is my office at the moment, but I can always move my desk into my bedroom.”

“Do you want me to have a room to myself?” he asks, arching an eyebrow over his sunglasses.

“Well, no, I want you to share the double with me—”

“Then there’s no conflict of interest, is there?”

You smile and he kisses you.

Day 2:

It doesn’t feel strange, waking up with him next to you. He’s slept over a couple of times at this point. What does feel odd is the way he doesn’t head off as you start to make breakfast, instead he asks to borrow a towel and use the shower.

He doesn’t even have any bloody towels, you think, but acquiesce to his request.

He spends a lot of time in the shower. You’re not sure how hot he has it running, but by the end of the affair steam is leaking out from the gap between the bathroom door and your stone tiling. When he emerges with the towel wrapped up on his head, it is with a billow of clouds.

“Have you turned the extractor fan on?”

“Hmm?” he asks, looking up from drying his hair. He hasn’t manifested anything on his body, so he’s smooth as a Barbie doll - it’s a bit disconcerting just having him stand there like that. You try not to look at the featureless mound.

“Extractor fan!”

He sighs and moseys back into the bathroom, walking into the wall a little where his glasses have fogged up.

As you watch your flat fall foul to condensation, you consider that this might take some adjustment.

Day 3:

“Bake-off tonight.”

“Must we?”

“We must.”

Crowley groans and flops onto the sofa. It occurs to you that you’ve never actually seen him sit. He’s always flopping, like everything is constantly far too much effort for him.

“Please, it’s a show made with the sole purpose of torturing me. It’s so… twee.”

“Well buckle in, matey. We have ten weeks of it.”

“Ugh.”

“You can go and read in the bedroom if you prefer.”

“Fine. I will.”

But he doesn’t move an inch and complains throughout the whole program. However he does swing his legs up onto yours for comfort.

Day 7:

You’re falling into a routine.

You wake up, perform your ablutions in the bathroom, then start on breakfast. The sound of the kettle lures him out of bed and into the shower. He spends so long in there you don’t bother making him a drink, instead you wait until he deems it fit to emerge and he reboils the leftover water. He takes his coffee black and the two of you chat about your plans for the day.

Unfortunately you have to work. You have a pretty well-paying job so the slightly increased energy bill and thoroughly increased water bill aren’t too much of an issue, but it does mean you can’t spend as much time with him as you’d like.

At least the flat is always spotless, though. To be fair to him he is an efficient housekeeper. There’s always a new configuration for the plants, too, as if botanical feng shui is all he does while you’re away.

It’s nice. It’s… domestic. And it’s utterly Crowley.

Day 30:

His belongings are mingling with yours now. Combined bookshelves with his new purchases. His record player set up on your side table with a mix of records. He has a special blend of tea which sits right next to your earl grey, and a single black mug which stands out against the rainbow of your collection.

At night he wraps around you and tangles his legs with yours. His hand slides onto the plain of your stomach and you thread your fingers through his while he feels you breathe.

He no longer wears his sunglasses around the flat.

It is wonderful.

He still claims not to like Bake-off.

Day 45:

“Crowley? Why can I smell burning?”

You know he’s opening his mouth to lie, deciding against it, and instead making the choice not to say anything at all. Bracing yourself, you walk into the kitchen.

“Oh! Crowley…”

“Not a word,” he says, trying to finish the decoration on the chocolate cake. It stands three tiers tall and, though the kitchen is a mess and he is somehow covered with buttercream, you can tell he’s actually pretty proud of himself. One last squeeze of the icing bag and he’s done, triumphant and grinning at his creation.

“Why all this?” you ask. He shrugs.

“You said the cakes looked good on Bake-off last night. Figured they couldn’t be that hard to do.”

“And do you still stand by that assessment?” you wipe some icing off of the tip of his nose.

“Just eat the bloody cake.”

You laugh, and you do. It’s delicious. But not as delicious as the kiss he gives you.

Day 64:

“You’re living together?!”

You peer up at Aziraphale from over the top of your novel, then exchange a glance with Crowley.

“Well, yes.”

“For a couple of months now actually, angel.”

“You never told me!”

You’re certain you did, but don’t object. He’ll get all persnickety if you do.

“Did you not think it was strange we always took the Bentley ‘home’ together?” is what you say instead. “And that we always arrive at the same time, too?”

Aziraphale fumbles for words and comes up empty. He settles on:

“Hmm. Well, I expect to be invited over for dinner.”

“Of course. Crowley will make dessert.”

The angel’s eyes light up, and Crowley looks at you as if you’ve cursed him.

Taglist: @angiestopit@dazed-soul@foolishprincipalitee@smile-eywa@staygoldsquatchling02@underratedboogeyman@specter-soltare@cool-ontherun-world@emilynissangtr@willbedecided@cool-iguana@this--is--music@ilyatan@lxsm2@clarina04@wtfhasmy-lifecometo@mrgatotortuga@wereallbrokenangels@night-affiliate@kimqueenofhell@chewbrry @bajablast23 @h3k3t@am-i-obsessed---maybe@bakerstreethound@darktealrat@chaospossum@belilwen@rex-ray@hunterispunk

#crowley x reader #david tennant x reader #my writing #request

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katakaluptastrophy · 17 days

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This may be something you have already covered, or considered and discarded, but. Thoughts on Jod being trans?

Because it seemed slightly odd to me, that a AMAB kid going to his grandmother’s house would be allowed to play with his mum’s toys. Especially if they’re “traditionally girly” toys, as opposed to being told to run around or given a ball to do sports.

Whereas a little AFAB kid would gladly be given his mum’s dolls by a traditional grandma and told to play nicely and quietly. Not identifying with the Barbies so much as finding them so pretty (especially compared to the Ken dolls that look nothing like him, which he feeds to Ulysses the dog).

And then, two or three decades later and finding that he is now God. He has consumed the Earth and her siblings and made her anew.

How easy is it to change the bits about himself he never felt were right? To remake himself as God in the flesh? To look upon himself and say, it is good?

"When I was seven, you know, all Nana had to play with in her house was some of Mum's old toys. And my favouite out of all of them..." He gave a long, shuddering sigh. "My favourite was her old Hollywood Hair Barbie," he murmured. "I loved her little gold outfit and her long yellow hair. She was the best. She got to have all the adventures. There was also a Bride's Dream Midge, but Mum had cut Midge's hair into this weird mullet. It was Barbie for me." She looked at him. He looked at her. He added, "Not Hollywood Hair Ken. Mum had him too, but he was a creep. I gave him to Nana's dog to eat."

This is what we get when John is describing the "scraps of id" that lead him to make Alecto look like some kind of nightmarish Barbie. The 'id' is, psychoanalytically, the most instinctual, basic part of the self. If John is being truthful here, then he's expressing something very basic about himself and his motivations in making Alecto.

I'm not convinced that we can infer anything about his Nana's attitude towards what toys a child should be allowed to play with. John is probably born somewhere between the mid 90s to the mid 20s, so it's just as possible that John playing with his mum's old Barbies is evidence that his family was fairly progressive. Or too poor to afford new toys. Or just ambivalent about the toys he played with.

In terms of John and gender, or at least John and masculinity, this interview has an interesting insight into what Tamsyn might be doing with that:

the God of the Locked Tomb IS a man; he IS the Father and the Teacher; it’s an inherently masc role played by someone who has an uneasy relationship himself to playing a Biblical patriarch. John falls back on hierarchies and roles because they’re familiar even when he’s struggling not to. Even he identifies himself as the God who became man and the man who became God.

Though of course, to quote a different interview, this is a series where "readers will end up STICKY and GREASY with GENDER and BIBLE" and where Lyctorhood is "a huge genderfuck".

So I think there's certainly scope for trans readings of John, which shift the framework for the way that John is positioning himself in relation to his masc roleplaying of god. There's a number of elements that would have a very different resonance in such readings, not least putting Alecto into such a specific version of a woman's body, and the tension between his own exercise of bodily autonomy and his utter restriction and violation of others' bodily autonomy.

Personally, my take is that John is meant to be a type of cis man I'm sure many of us have met - one who is at pains to demonstrate his feminism, who perhaps finds the boundaries of masculinity confining to some extent, but who is ultimately unwilling to examine how deeply those boundaries are part of the way he views the world and interacts with others. And with John, this is writ large, quite literally: endowed with godlike power, he falls back on the patriarchal image of god. John may go out of his way to tell us that the maternity problem was important to him, that he played with Barbies, that he *cares*, but at the end of the day that introspection doesn't translate into his actions.

Regardless of how John came to his relationship with masculinity, he's stuck with - or perhaps in context we could say haunted by - a very particular conception of patriarchal masculinity.

#the locked tomb #tlt meta #john gaius

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barbielore · 1 year

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The History of Midge

I fully intended to do a breakdown of the history of Midge as soon as I started this blog but it has occurred to me that I just... never did.

Midge was originally introduced in 1963, ostensibly to make the Barbie line a little less sexy and a little more down-to-earth.

As you can see, Midge was marketed pretty similarly to Allan (He's Ken's buddy! Ken's clothes fit him!). Midge and Allan were new characters in the line, but the clothes and accessories you already owned for Ken and Barbie were still compatible.

Midge was discontinued later in the 60's. For a while she was usurped as Barbie's best friend by PJ, a made-up, fashionable blonde character.

I am picking up some vibes that perhaps PJ, Ken and Barbie were more than friends, if you catch my drift.

But PJ was discontinued again and in the 1980s, Midge made a triumphant return as a part of the California Barbie line.

But Midge had her sights set on something more. See, Midge had been seeing someone.

So it was only a matter of time before wedding bells were ringing.

For some reason, Allan has changed his name to Alan for the wedding. There is some inconsistency over whether Allan and Alan are the same person, or perhaps whether Midge split up from Ken's buddy Allan only to wed a similar-looking man named Alan. I like to belive that Barbie's best friend and Ken's buddy are now sharing each other's clothes instead of Barbie's and Ken's.

And sharing their clothes it seems like they were, for a year later a Barbie booklet advertised that they now had twins together. No dolls were released to reflect this, but it was mentioned in an official Barbie product so can be assumed to be canon.

A few years later came the release that everyone seems to remember - the Happy Family line. Alan and Midge wanted to expand their family, so now Midge was with child again.

This was a wildly controversial set, and yet Mattel did it twice. There were a lot of reasons given for why it was so controversial that Midge was pregnant - that it's age-inappropriate to sell a doll to children that depicts pregnancy, that Midge was not depicted wearing a wedding ring, among others. (Later releases gave Midge her wedding ring back.) The doll was famously pulled from Wal-Mart shelves.

Just briefly I need to note this - Alan and their son Ryan was sold separately, as a father-son picnic. But I have serious problems with that. Didn't they have twins? What happened to Ryan's twin sister? Or does Ryan have two older twin siblings that are not being mentioned? Mattel, I need answers here.

By the way, Midge and Alan's infant daughter from the controversial doll was named Nikki, and they subsequently had another baby released as part of the "Happy Family Neighbourhood" line. Their youngest was named Cassandra, but was originally referred to as "baby" on the doll releases so it was a surprise whether she was a boy or a girl.

Unlike the previous Happy Family set which only depicted Midge, Nikki, Baby Doctor Barbie, and Alan and Ryan, there were additional characters as part of the Happy Family Neighborhood set, including proud grandparents.

It's so unusual to see older dolls in the Barbie line so this is super interesting to me!

#barbie #barbie lore #barbie history #midge #allan

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cantfuckbracket · 1 year

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Can't Fuck Bracket. Round 1, Side A

Ken (Barbie) versus LD Curtain (The Mysterious Benedict Society TV)

[ID: The unfuckable pride flag overlaid with the "no bitches" meme. Over it are pictures of the contestants. Ken is a blonde doll, and is shown screaming; and Curtain has hair slicked to the side and is shown pursing his lips and throwing his hands back. Over them are sparkles and a heart with a butt, and in between them are peach emojis crossed out with the word "vs" in them. End ID]

Propaganda:

Ken: "he's built like. well. a ken doll perhaps. also re:barbie trailer ken doesnt know what sex is so. he cant fuck its canon godspeed"

LD Curtain: "He's both a cringefail loser (See: 1. repeatedly beaten by a group of literal children, at one point even saying "they have proven to be my only worthy adversaries" (<- man talking about a group of eleven year olds), 2. screaming at a child, while visibly tearing up, "I AM NOT SAD! I AM *FINE!*", 3. genuinely thinking he can simply say no to having narcolepsy, 4. keeps little painted figurines of his brother and co and does magic tricks with them to intimidate an eleven year old, sincerely thinks this is an extremely cool thing to do), a bad dad (terrible both in the sense that he's emotionally abusive and in the sense that he thinks he's doing suuuuuuuch a good job and he very much isn't), and just like. evil?? but not in the sexy way. and also he's in denial about it which makes it even LESS sexy. Negative sexy if you will. "I'm not bad. who thinks that" sir you are standing in your mind control machine. "Sticky! Friend! Evil is a bit harsh!" sir you psychologically tortured him. anyway he does stupid little magic tricks and is a complete failure but somehow manages to convince everyone that he's charming and actually very cool. while obviously like, starting a cult or being just visibly a cringefail maniac two seconds from flying off the handle. anywya this got out of hand the point is: UNFUCKABLE."

#barbie #the mysterious benedict society #mbs #ken #ken barbie #ld curtain #lepdopithera curtain #polls

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experthiese · 1 month

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WHAT MADE YOU PICK UP THE CURRENT MUSE/S YOU HAVE?

Much like how I started writing my others: I was talking with some friends on discord, expressed an interest in possibly-maybe-perhaps writing him, and was encouraged to do so. That aside, I've been a fan of Lupin III for years, and find Lupin himself to be a fascinating character. It helps that there's a lot of backlog to draw from, each part and movie with its own spin on his Core Characteristics, and as it's constantly retconning and contradicting itself, there's no pressure to be "canon compliant" and up to date on every tiny bit of lore ever introduced.

Do you follow TWCFM? Do you follow Lupin Zero? Do you gloss over it like the main parts do? Do you have your own, headcanon-based idea of how the group all came together?

There's a lot of freedom there. I like that :)

IS THERE ANYTHING YOU DON'T LIKE TO WRITE?

I struggle with one-liners, at least if we actually intend on continuing the interaction. My replies only tend to grow over time, and I need at least a couple sentences to get all of my dialogue out (Lupin likes to yap).

IS THERE ANYTHING YOU REALLY ENJOY WRITING?

Developing relationships is sooooooo fun. Literally nothing like it.

I love love LOVE working with my partners to decide how we're going to take our barbie dolls from their initial vibe to whatever dynamic we've got planned. Sometimes things go even further than we were expecting! Sometimes a whole new direction comes hurtling out of left field and we find a way to work with that. It works with everyone, too-- crossovers, canons, OCs, AUs, even duplicates.

HOW DO YOU COME UP WITH HEADCANONS?

Depends. The big ones are usually because I was rewatching something and found a Fun Little Detail I can expand on and flesh out. Things like the Lupin Empire, for example -- if his father was so clearly en route to building it, why is it absent from Lupin III's life? Outside of two Part 1 references, he's never even mentioned it, much less played any significant role in its development or function. Why is that?

I mean, realistically it's because Lupin Zero was made in 2022 and the show debuted in 1971, and they weren't planning a canon for 51 years into the future. Of course there's going to be inconsistencies.

But in-universe, from the perspective of Lupin III being an individual that exists within his setting... What could explain this? How can I take this inconsistency and use it to add some dimension and depth to his world?

That's usually how it happens, anyway. Other times I just get brain blasts, thoughts beamed into my head direct from god themselves, and I type them up in three sentences or less and press post.

DO YOU WRITE IN SILENCE OR PLAY MUSIC?

Music all the way! I have a Lupin playlist I listen to a lot of the time.

DO YOU PLAN YOUR REPLIES OR WING THEM?

I usually plan out Lupin's vague response, how he's feeling and what options he's likely to weigh up before actually deciding what direction to take my writing. Specific descriptions and things like dialogue are all improvised in the moment, and only really revisited if I'm not feeling the vibe or need to reshuffle the reply about.

Dialogue is always written first.

DO YOU ENJOY SHIPPING?

Yes, and having a muse like Lupin makes shipping pretty important. Sex and romance are a big part of his character and behaviours, and so it follows that ships are likely going to come as a result of that. He's quite the Casanova!

However, platonic shipping is also incredibly fun to explore. Rivals, enemies, "friends of the family", actual friends, coworkers, etc. etc. etc. are all things I'm happy to develop and write more of. I encourage people to come to me with dynamic ideas if they've got something specific in mind.

#▸ out of character

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plastiquehaven · 4 months

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Review: Barbie Looks #10 Simone and #11 Heide

After about a decade of not buying and playing with Barbies, I got back into the hobby as an adult. I'd always wished Barbies came with more articulation, so the fact that these dolls have the Made to Move bodies really played a large part in my decision to buy them.

❖ Comparison: old vs new

I've heard horror stories of the good ol' "pixel face" syndrome where dolls come with godawful, pixelated facial screening. Fortunately, both of my Looks dolls are ok. No pixelation and I don't think I noticed any serious wonkiness either.

Their facial screening is, however, a lot glossier compared to my older dolls. Flash photography is a little trickier and requires some post-production corrections.

See Looks #10 Simone's eyeshadow reflecting the flash's light much more compared to Barbie Fashionista Girly first wave (2009).

❖ Overview

Each doll came with a stand and a certificate of authenticity, which got all wrinkled up in a plastic bag. The certificate was printed on regular, photocopier paper and not cardstock.

My Simone comes with a scratch on her chest and Heide has a loose ankle joint.

Very faint when photographed and isn't too much of a hassle to photoshop out, but it is unfortunate that both of my dolls came with some sort of defects. But well, at least their face screenings are alright.

❖ Clothes & Accessories

Honestly, nothing groundbreaking in this category. The majority of the Looks line, much like the Barbie Basics, comes with a single clothed doll and no extra accessories. The clothes are simple but well-made and comes with a "Barbie Signature" tag inside.

I don't know how long the lamé material would last and have some doubt regarding the longevity of the PVC faux leather skirt that came with Looks #10, but for now, it's still alright.

Their box art!

My doll clothes did not come with any defect, but I saw on Myfroggystuff's YouTube channel, her Looks #11 doll's jumpsuit has a missed stitch, and thus, a hole on the side of one leg.

❖ Hair

From what I've gathered online, all Looks doll have saran hair. It's both very soft to the touch and beautifully glossy. I have little to none shedding when brushing #10 Simone and some light shedding on #11 Heide.

The way #11 Heide was packaged squished her curly hair so bad. The middle patch of hair behind her head got it the worst. I used a bit of hair cream to gently fluff it out and she eventually did end up more or less resembles her box art than before.

Before and after. Regrettably, I don't have any pictures of the back of her head, which would've shown the difference little better, but see how her curls goes taller than her head on the second pic. All of that were pressed flat against her head by the packaging before.

The packaging on #10 left some mark on her hair too, but nothing too serious. After a few brush, it was gone.

❖ Poseability

The poseability of the dolls, thanks to the Made to Move body, is unparalleled. The dolls can touch their own faces, bend their legs back due to their double-jointed knees, but cannot hold their knee like so.

Perhaps customising the dolls by shaving their underwear/hip area a little smaller could possibly allow the joints to move closer, but I don't think I'll be doing doll surgery any time soon.

❖ Final thoughts

Overall, I'm really happy with my purchases. Looking forward to future release of this doll line. I wasn't too big on the colour block theme of last year's wave and the first wave has gotten too expensive to purchase where I'm from, so for now, I'm more than pleased with my two girls!

If you want to see more pictures of my dolls, including Looks #10 and #11, check out my #my pics tag.

Thanks for reading 💖

#dollblr #doll community #doll collector #barbie #barbie looks #my blog post #barbie dolls #barbie doll

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tallulahowens · 1 year

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INTRODUCING 𝒯𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓊𝓁𝒶𝒽 𝒪𝓌ℯ𝓃𝓈

｡⋆｡˚ ʚïɞ ˚｡⋆｡｡⋆｡˚ ʚïɞ ˚｡⋆｡｡⋆｡˚ ʚïɞ ˚｡⋆｡

Ally here again! This time with my Texas sweetheart & former Miss America 2009, Tallulah Owens. She’s a newer character for me, so her backstory is a work in progress BUT below the cut is what I have for her so far.

STATS;

Full Name: Tallulah Jean Owens

Nicknames: Tully, Tul, Lou

Age: thirty-nine

DOB: May 1st

Height: 5’7

Preferred pronouns: she/her

Parents: John Owens (father), Suzanna Owens (Mother)

Siblings: two older brothers and two younger ones (potential connections perhaps??)

Birthplace: Dillon, Texas

Occupation: Former Miss America, Philanthropist

Sign: Taurus

(+) ; resilient, reliable, kind, organized

(-) ; materialistic, perfectionist, has a rebellious side

Sexuality; heterosexual, bi curious

HISTORY;

TW drinking, husband death, domestic violence mention

Tallulah Jean Owens wasn’t supposed to make it out of Dillon, TX let alone become the belle of the South. From the moment she was born, the odds were stacked against her, a beautiful wild flower born into a family of chaos. She was the only daughter of four unruly brothers. Her daddy was the local drunk, unable to cope with his time spent in Vietnam while her Momma was a failed pageant queen turned hairdresser making minimum wage. The Owens were trouble, trailer trash, and broke as hell with too many mouths to feed. But Tallulah was their meal ticket.

Like her brothers, she had a wild soul but her natural beauty seemed to surpass it all. She was taught to wave and smile, wow the crowd with just the bat of her lashes.

By the time Tallulah was six, she was entered into pageants all over the state. At first as a last resort, and to appease her mother’s failed dreams, and then because the girl actually had a knack for the stage and her winnings kept food on the table. Even if she was the dime store contestant draped in her mother’s repurposed hand-me downs while her competitors were dolled up by the pros and donned the latest fashion trends, there was something about the little girl in bedazzled riding boots hidden beneath layers of tulle that judges couldn’t get enough of, a quality that couldn’t be bought and one that earned Tallulah sponsorships that took her all the way to the big show.

Tallulah went on to become Miss Teen Texas, Miss Teen America, Miss Texas three years in a row, and at long last the most coveted prize in the Beauty Pageant World. She was twenty- five when she secured her Miss America 2009 crown and caught the eye of James Calloway, cowboy casanova and heir to the Texas oil fortune. It didn’t matter that she may have been sort of into a guy she grew up with or that James would eventually urge to quit the pageant circuit. The family had old money, the kind that demanded respect and bought them class and prestige not to mention summer homes on the coast. Tallulah was no fool to pass that up.

For a while, it was magic and they were in love. All roses and champagne, whirlwind rendezvous, and summers on the coast (the Cape May house was always Tallulah’s favorite). Much like the judges, the Calloways loved her, too. Church bells rang not long after she finished her Miss America tour, and they were married in the most lavish country wedding Texas had ever seen.

Tallulah not only had a platform now, but access to more wealth she could wrap her head around. At James’ request, Tallulah retired from the pageant circuit to become his trophy wife and raise their daughter. She focused on her philanthropy specifically helping veterans return to civilian life after war, ran the junior league, mentored pageant girls, and was a prominent figure at the country club.

From the outside, it all seemed perfect, but there were cracks in this Barbie and Ken, ones that Tallulah occasionally had to hide behind large designer sunglasses. Whiskey and jealousy were to blame, and eventually it got the better of her husband. There’s a certain mystery surrounding the specifics of his death. A part of Tallulah blames herself, that she didn’t stop him when he took the keys to the Mercedes three sheets to the wind. But in the end, she got everything.

Widowed three years, Tallulah now resides in the Cape May house she inherited with her twelve year old daughter. She hopes to maintain a quiet life, use the Calloway money to grow the many charities she is involved in, and of course, for world peace.

(tldr; church bells by Carrie Underwood gives you a pretty good gist. she’s straight out of a country song)

AESTHETICS;

Million dollar pageant smiles and practiced princess waves, bedazzled riding boots beneath layers of tulle skirts, glittering tiaras under a confetti explosion, cowgirl boots filled with flower bouquets, blue jean queen, country songs,1 oz whiskey 3 parts champagne, barefoot on the beach, oversized sunglasses, white cable knit sweaters, sipping sweet tea out of mason jars on a wrap around porch, more denim, and a fading butterfly tramp stamp

PERSONALITY;

RESILIENT (+): No matter what was thrown her way, broken family, alcoholic husband, daddy issues, Tallulah learned, for better or for worse, how to pick herself up from her riding boots and put on that million dollar smile of hers and wow the crowd.

GENEROUS(+): Miss America gave Tallulah a platform and she was recently given access to her late husband’s fortune, so she certainly intends to use it all for good. She is very focused on her philanthropy, specifically helping veterans return to civilian life after war, running the junior league, mentoring prospective pageant girls, and being a prominent figure at the country club and her daughter’s school.

MATERIALISTIC(-): Being thrust into the world of pageants at a young age, Tallulah can be superficial at time.s She loves keeping up with the latest fashions and treating herself to a spa day here and there, not to mention the newest pair of Jimmy Choos.

REBELLIOUS SIDE (-): Tallulah has a wild soul, one that was tamed at an early age for the pageant circuit. But growing up in Texas Tallulah always had her horses and riding made her feel free. She’s a down home girl at heart who loves a good dive bar, and can shoot whiskey like the best of ‘em. And don’t even get her started at billiards.

HEADCANNONS;

The talent portion was always her favorite part of pageants because she got to let her wild soul show a bit more. Her talent was horseback riding. She now keeps her horses at her Texas property. They are always the first she goes to see when she visits home. Marigold is her prized horse.

She did actually love James, and it kills her to think that she could love someone with demons like his. She can still picture the first day she met him, posted up against the record machine in some dive bar they wouldn’t have been in. Naturally, she blew him off at first, but he was persistent and she liked that about him.

Still toying with this one BUT I like to think Tallulah wasn’t directly involved in James’ death but it was orchestrated by someone close to her (a brother, her mother, father?? close friend etc.) because they knew she’d never leave him and she deserved better. something along those lines. Potential connection perhaps?

Though Tallulah grew to become eloquent and poised, her southern drawl always comes out when she is angry, upset, or is passionate about something.

She has a 12 year old daughter named Miranda. Tallulah is that mom who’s super involved in the school, junior league, etc. and would do anything for her baby. She calls Miranda her little lucky charm.

#cape.intro

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hartbreak-motel · 2 years

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Best Crue Looks 2: The Road Warriors Shout With The Devil

Last year I made this extremely important post analyzing the outfits of our favorite trash man in their larval Too Fast For Love era. Since my life is clearly still a joke, I've decided to follow up with another installment of bad fashion analysis of the outfits worn by our boys Nikki, Vince, Tommy, and Mick, in their sophomore Shout At The Devil era. Buckle up, kiddos.

Overall Look: While Too Fast For Love may have been their debut album, it wasn't until their sophmore release, Shout At The Devil, that the band began to garner mainstream attention (and infamy), opening for acts like KISS and Ozzy. Slightly more established, with a bigger budget, and fueled by the rise of MTV, it would appear that the outfits worn by our boys were simply a more realized vision of their punk meets metal look of the Too Fast For Love era. While this might be partially true, the boys may or may not have also taken inspiration from a cute little dystopian action film called Mad Max 2: The Road Warrior. Part Lord Humungus' Marauders, part Satanic Barbie dolls, the boys most certainly made an impact in Reagan's America.

(Lord Humungus and his Marauders, in all their studded, shoulder-padded glory)

(Our boys in all their studded, shoulder-padded glory)

Mick:

Our resident alien/guitar gremlin/team dad, Mick looks more extraterrestrial than ever before. The only member to have blue incorporated in his outfit, it sets him apart from his younger, wilder bandmates. The cooler color scheme definitely highlights his more subdued personality, as if saying "been there, done that, now leave me the fuck alone." I'm honestly dissapointed he didn't keep the silver shoulder pad featured in the album art as I think it makes him look more badass and really compliments the blue straps, making him look more like an alien bounty hunter than a post-apocalyptic marauder. His makeup also gives off extraterrestrial vibes with purple lipstick, dark eyeshadow, the black contouring, and what appears to be a complete absence of eyebrows (seriously what happened to them? Did his bandmates singe them off?). Like with his previous outfits, Mick is more covered up than his younger bandmates.

Tommy:

The youngest member of the Crüe and still practically a teenager, Tommy's SATD outfit is bit...all over the place. Featuring cut up fishnets, studded leather straps, a studded leather top that shows off his midriff, and a fucking codpeice, our boy is looking sluttier than ever, despite being the only one to incorporate white, a color symbolizing innocence in his outfit (we know that boy was far from innocent). Notably, he is also the only member to not have some kind of shoulder pad. He seems to have taken queues from Nikki, with the two stripes on the side of his face complimenting Nikki's football inspired eye black and the writing on his arms (probably to compensate for the lack of tattoos since they still young and only just getting a taste of money), perhaps depicting the influence his older bandmate had on him during the time. His makeup, featuring bright contouring, silver/blue eyeshadow, and bright red lipstick gives him a youthful appearance. Like a teenaged girl experimenting with makeup getting ready for her first date. Overall, Tommy's appearance perfectly captures his personality; youthful, slutty, and scatterbrained.

Vince:

The undisputed pretty boy in the band (sorry Nikki), Vince looks like a Barbie doll commissioned by Satan himself. His platinum blonde hair giving him an otherworldly appearance in a sea of red, black, leather and studs. As previously stated, the Crüe's frontman continues to present himself as the peacock of peacocks, with his black and red studded geddup (if you could even call it that), featuring nothing more than some studded straps and chains, proudly showing off his chest and biceps. The man is not afraid to show off his body, knowing full well the ladies won't be complaining. His makeup accentuates his high cut cheekbones with deep contouring. He's everything a heavy metal frontman should be: provocative, androgynous, and dangerous.

Nikki:

Last but not least, we have the Mötley maestro himself, who understood the fucking assignment (we would hope so considering this whole thing was his dumb idea). As we all know, the higher the shoulder pad, the closer to...Satan, and Nikki was definitely closer than ever to the red devil. Nikki's outfit has all the elements that would make him right at home pillaging the wasteland. The black leather straps, the elavated spiked shoulder pad, torn fishnets, and custom pentagram studded gauntlet, give him a distinct appearance and let us know who among this pack of Satanic marauding Barbies is large and in charge. A lifelong football fan, this is around the time he started to incorporate eye black in his stage makeup - something that would become a staple in various forms for years to come. In addition to being iconic, it also makes him look more like a warrior, perfectly capturing the kill or be killed attitude he had adopted during this time. As mentioned previously in my Too Fast For Love analysis, Nikki is still more covered up when compared to Vince and Tommy, a possible sign of insecurity.

Closing Thoughts:

Dripping with danger and decadence, this is probably one of my favorite eras looks wise. Each member having their own distinctive style while also coming together in a cohesive theme that looked sexy and badass enough to put conservatives in a tizzy. Corrupting America's youth never looked hotter. Next up is Theatre of Pain. Maybe I'll get to it next year.

#ill probably get to dr. feelgood by the time im 40 #once again im deeply sorry for this #mötley crüe #nikki sixx #vince neil #tommy lee #mick mars #shout at the devil

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nancypullen · 2 years

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Good Furniture and Bad Hair

When I’m not having fun with our princess-SpiderWoman-fairy-CheetahDragon (that last one is an original) grandgirl, you can usually find me in the garage huffing paint. There’s not much I love more than finding an old piece and turning it into something delightful. Did I tell you about the nightstand we needed? Here’s the story, morning glory. When the mister flew up here and toured this house we were both happy with the extra space that would allow us to have family gatherings and still leave room for an office. There are four bedrooms upstairs - the master with attached bath, then two fairly small rooms, a hall bathroom, and a huge room that I’d guess might have been intended for a bonus room, based on its size. It’s got a closet so it’s tagged as a bedroom. Anywho, downstairs is the whole open concept kitchen, living, dining area, and at the front of the house is a large extra room (probably meant to be a formal living or dining room) that I thought would make a beautiful office for Mickey. Big double windows provide natural light, loads of space for his many desks and monitors and whatsits. I told him that we could add French doors and turn it into a fabulous space for him. Once we got here, he said no thanks. He claimed one of the small upstairs bedrooms and filled it to the rafters with all of his work and photography stuff. It’s a lot. So that gave me one less bedroom upstairs for kids and grandkid. One room for Matt, one room for Mickey, and now the huge room has been turned into a family suite for the trio from Edgewater. That was always going to be the grandgirl’s room because I figured there was plenty of room to sleep and play. So the area where I’d planned to make a reading nook instead got a bed for her parents. They’ll really only have to use it when everyone is home, when Matt’s not here they can use his room - but they choose to bunk together when they come over. Long story even longer, I needed a bedside table for that bed, and a little lamp, and you know I’m not buying new if I can help it. Nothing wrong with buying new, but that wouldn’t give me a project, would it? A couple Saturdays ago we drove over to Canterbury’s, a wonderful curiosity shop of old furniture. I found an old, solid (heavy) nightstand for $35. Old furniture is made well, real wood, and hopefully a tiny bit haunted (or at least has some stories to tell). Of course it was dark brown and we all know that’s not going to last. I wiped it down really well and covered it in white chalk paint. Then I added glittery gold stars.

I think that open shelf would be a great place for some Barbie furniture and the drawer underneath can hold the dolls and clothes. The grandgirl really likes to play “Bobbies”. I haven’t changed the hardware yet, I’ll find a prettier drawer pull. But for now I just added glitter - because, why not?

I poked around Goodwill and found a little gold lamp for $4 (score!) and it’s just right for this table.

I topped it with a print I made using the lyrics from Skinnamarink - any old moms here who still tear up when they sing that song?

youtube

Anyway, that was the latest paint project. Now that it’s cured for a few days I’ll go in with a white paint pen and tidy up some of the edges on those stars. Perhaps you’ve noticed that I’m not a perfectionist. That was the good furniture, now for the bad hair. Whyyyyy? Why does the universe hate me? I chose a stylist here in Denton (shop local!) and she was so nice, so funny, so personable. Sadly, she may be blind and deaf. I sent this photo to my sister before my appointment and exclaimed, “Say goodbye to the Love Boat hair!” I was feeling very dated.

Wayyyy past time for a hair cut. I found a photo of what I wanted, sat down in the stylist’s chair and very clearly stated what I wanted. Then she repeated back to me what I’d told her. Here’s what I asked for - lose a bit of length, I want it to just brush my shoulders. Shape it up, neaten the layers, and fix my bangs where I’ve hacked away at them. I was clear that I needed it long enough to still clip up or put in a ponytail. This is what she did to me.

What’s that? I look hot and sweaty and my forehead wrinkles seem more pronounced? That’s because she spent two hours wrecking my hair while I was under that sauna of a cape (you know the one) and I asked for bangs to hide those freakin’ forehead wrinkles. I did not ask for a swoopy side part, I did not ask for bubble hair. She gave me the hard sell on some blow dry product which I bought just to get the hell out of there. I used it this morning and the performance is fine, but the smell is too heavy. Yuck. I spent a small fortune on hair that I don’t like. Story of my life. My hair needs some length to tame it. the weight of longer layers is like a Thunder Shirt for my hair, it’s calming. Now I’ll spend the next few months fighting these short layers that all have a mind of their own (that’s why I was there so long, she didn’t believe me and had to beat it all into submission). At the back of my neck the shortest layer is about an inch and a half long. I’ll give her a million bucks if she can make a ponytail out of that. Because this was my first visit to a salon in this very small town, I didn’t express my unhappiness. I don’t want to be blackballed from every salon on the Eastern Shore. I paid, gave her a tip, bought the stupid blow dry concoction, and silently vowed never to darken her door again. She probably watched me walk away and hoped I’d never return as she plunged her tired hands into an ice bath. So, I’m going to be ugly for the next few months. It’s not the first time, and I certainly know the routine for growing out this mess. I realized after I returned home that she’d basically given me the same haircut that she has - maybe she’s only really good at one style. Wish I’d known that going in. But it’s hard to stay unhappy about something as trivial as hair when your grandgirl comes for a visit over the weekend. We spent some quality time playing Barbies, CandyLand, splashing in her personal mermaid lagoon (blow up pool), making PlayDoh pizzas and cookies, reading books, and then she had a ball at Summerfest - Denton’s big farewell to the season. I can’t post videos or photos of her here, but she was absolutely the cutest girl there - my unbiased opinion. Oh, here’s a photo I can share! It’s just a bride enjoying a Lunchable while watching an episode of SpiderWoman. That veil is from her dress-up basket, it’s got a little of everything - but she likes that “bride hat”.

That’s a much cuter picture to stick at the end of the blog. No one wants to leave here with that image of my shiny, old face in their mind. A 4 year old superhero in a veil is where it’s at, right? She sure puts a smile on my face. Hope you’re smiling today as well. If not, maybe put on a veil and watch a cartoon. Can’t hurt. Stay safe, stay well, stay young at heart. XOXO, Nancy

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gertsencompton49 · 1 year

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lyreleafblog · 1 year

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The Legacy

A (very long) History of Lyre Leaf

Well, it’s come time to do some real talking. I previously introduced myself on a more baseline level, but today I would like to go into some more depth about what this blog is, why it is what it is, and how I’m going to move forward with it. Let’s get into it.

I grew up on the internet—and I think that’s one of the most important talking points to start out with on this blog. A lot of people in my generation grew up on the internet. We were the children of an era with divorce rates higher than ever seen before or since. We became latch-key kids with social anxiety and developmental giftedness that wore off in middle school. Many of us were incredibly poor because of our familial division, what with un-met child support and undocumented hereditary gambling running rampantly outside of the sanitary family courts that determined our custody agreement. We weren’t going out because we couldn’t afford to. Breaks from school were spent at home, most often alone, if not left to mingle with a sibling or two, with nothing to do besides satisfy our curiosities. Of course, when we look at history, it all seems so simple and crisp; Of course children are curious little things, even the older fifteen-ers who think the three long years separating their consciousness from a voting ballot are mostly pointless. Without present guardians to answer our trivial curiosities—without a voice waiting to answer the utterly predictable “why is the sky blue?” banter—we defaulted, simultaneously, to a different authority. We grew up on Google.

As I typed that, just then, this reality manifested in the between-the-lines crevices of societies’ infrastructure. Allow me to clarify: Sally googles all her questions. Did you see that? The word “google” is a verb now. It no longer requires the elegant capitalization of a typical proper noun, such as Bing. Nobody “bings” a question—and Microsoft Word knows so. Google raised a generation. Just like how the heaviness and context of the word “Mother” as a formal, brand-name account of an individual becomes the given expectation of “mothering” as we age into our theory of mind, with our awareness that our parents are not “God” but “gods” with a noteworthy little “g,” and so “Google” becomes “googling.” It starts at the first sign of a book report for which one has never read the book in question.

I didn’t have the chance nor the sense to consider actually asking a parent what the hell had gone wrong with me. I had grown up googling, with a little “g,” every time I had a question. At six years old, my mother gifted me her dinosaur; a Windows 98 PC. I was diagnosed with asthma after a bout of pneumonia around six years old and I’d been prescribed daily breathing treatments. Those treatments went down with a lot less fidgeting when they occurred in front of a computer, so my mother was sold. Little would she know that I would soon take over her brand-new Windows XP computer to live vicariously though The Sims. My own googling started out gingerly: Diva Stars, Barbie, My Scene, Polly Pocket, Cartoon Network, Disney Channel, Winx… I am bating you for nostalgia without shame. It escalated alongside my (perhaps unfortunate) rapidly evolving preference for the written word. My search history evolved into how-to-add-hexed-files-to-Babyz and how-to-add-custom-Catz3. By the time I was 8 or so, I was fully enthralled in The Sims and almost all my time on the internet was spent learning about how to make objects for the game. Somehow, I actually achieved this, which shocks now-adult-me.

Google helped me discover things all on my own, too, such as the landscape of online friendship. My first account in what I guess one could call the online-social realm was none other than the massively underrated Barbie Girls franchise. (For anyone wondering, I am still most certainly obsessed with Barbie and closely follow Barbie content—please feel free to send me pics of any cool dolls or other Barbie things you might have.) I realized right away that this early MMO-esque digital universe model suited me much more than socializing in real life. Canned chat (pre-written dialogue options used in place of traditional instant messaging in online multiplayer worlds) generally prevented me from being bullied, which had been a significant problem for me at school. I especially appreciated creative elements in these kinds of online environments. Google helped me find more of them.

Eventually, I got into the world of MMORPGs. It’s all my mother’s fault. Before a custody agreement changed, I grew up with her and her unbelievable addiction to Adventure Quest. She was on the leaderboards (The Feline Fatale, if you’re wondering, way, way back in the late 00’s). While living separately, we played Mabinogi together (Long live Elrinnia, elven savior of the goddess!). As I got even older, we became more and more distant for a number of reasons, and google persisted as my primary authority on information. I found more communities in which to practice my social skills.

I got into sharing my writing online and even went on to make a few YouTube videos with my stepsiblings and friends. I won a few writing awards back in the hay-day of the Young Writers Society. I experimented with art communities and game groups. I eventually found my way to Tumblr, which, at the time, I had only even seen before while peeking over the backcombed mane of our middle school scene-queen in typing class.

I had a few friends who had made pages on the site. I decided to make one, too! It serves to share that, like any teenager, I was, at that age, desperately trying to fit in with my peers and would quickly involve myself in their activities in any way I could find possible. I was utterly unaware of the scope of my disability at that age and couldn’t understand why I struggled to maintain fulfilling friendships in real life, so the idea of virtually-fitting-in using a digital avatar was especially appealing to me. Unfortunately, because of my age and autism, I was also exceedingly impressionable, and would find that this borderline underground social media / blog platform was mostly unregulated. That’s when it all started getting serious.

I had always been sick, I just didn’t know it. As an infant, I was born with an ongoing infection and couldn’t go home after birth. I had several serious allergies and intolerances. At age six, like I mentioned, my breathing problems began. Soon after I would be diagnosed with migraines and chronic morning sickness (from stomach problems). I was six or seven years old when I was first diagnosed with childhood depression by Christian counselors. My mother told me that I had nothing to be depressed about because I had never known suffering (she was, quite literally, violently incorrect). When I was about seven years old, I would have a three month-long bout with strep throat which was eventually culled by surgery removing my infected tonsils and lymph nodes. Every year I would spend a minimum of six months dysfunctional and sick from various colds and viruses, occasionally requiring hospitalization to get my breathing problems under control. I missed more than two combined years of school, but still graduated on time despite never getting a chance to make up my lost education. Around ten, I got my first endometriosis period. My so-called period cramps would last for one week before, the week of, and one week following my menstrual period. By this point, I was disabled for 75% of my entire waking life at least—but my predisposition to develop very severe, very long-lasting viral infections would most often cancel out whatever pain-free-days I might otherwise have. I was a completely hopeless human being and my mental health showed this.

The older I got, the worse my health became. My incredibly vicious periods became less predictable in my early teens, and longer. My digestive issues were so pronounced that my stomach was regularly distended and painful. I threw up most mornings before school, so my step mother gave me unrestricted access to PeptoBismol, explaining my dangerous symptoms away as school-anxiety. Around this age, I developed severe skin and sinus allergies to a massive host of proteins, including seemingly all animal proteins. I had a shampoo with egg protein that caused my scalp to flake and itch painfully. I would develop massive welts all across my skin when washing the family dogs. My parents supplemented me with Zyrtec and other baby-problem allergy mediations at which my immune system cathartically laughed and howled. On top of everything else, my walking problem (a usually unnoticeable limp) became apparent when I was about fourteen, and somehow, my family members were allowed to decide for me that corrective shoes would be too unflattering to be worth saving older-me from chronic hip pain. My suffering was genuinely unthinkable, even to the me of today who some would argue is only remotely better than the me of then. I had nothing and nobody in my corner—nobody cared about the fact that I was constantly in pain, constantly suffocating, always covered in hives with raw, itchy skin. I remember feeling as if they were applying a band aid over a burst jugular.

I had to smile and nod. Any time I expressed my medical needs, they were not only invalidated, but I was often criticized for expressing them at all. In my real life, I was a theatrical, dramatic liar who would rather fake her own death than even sit in a room with family members. I was evil—so very, truly evil—the production of a voodoo curse or a gnarly past life—and all I did was pretend to be sick, all to use it for my tiny mastermind plan of laying in bed and doing nothing all day long—the true pinnacle satisfaction of the human boredom that birthed stone tools (this is sarcasm). In my real life, I had absolutely no control over anything that was happening—but I did have one thing; I had google, with a little “g.”

I’m an American woman, and it’s no secret that one of the leading health problems in the USA is obesity. In reality, it’s a hell of a lot more complicated than “obesity,” which itself is a symptom and not the actual problem, in my personal and utterly unqualified opinion, but that’s how the media portrays this phenomenon. So, naturally, when I angrily googled “why the fuck am I always in agony” as a fourteen-and-a-half-year-old, the GPS-localized Google Search feature on my laptop’s browser pointed me to the answer that most locals wanted and expected to hear.

[why the fuck am i always in agony]

“you’re overweight.”

Me? Not possible, I had thought. All of my life, everyone had told me I was too skinny. I remember my weight being a constant conversation in the pediatrician’s office. I googled deeper.

BMI. Hip to waist ratio.

You ex-anorexics know how the story goes.

Standing in front of the archaic Victorian-mansion-darkwood-vanity with a construction-grade measuring tape stolen from the garage, I lifted my shirt up and took my measurements. I don’t remember what they were, not that the internet would need to know about a minors waist-to-hip-ratio, but I was satisfied enough to loosen to grips of my rapidly developing eating disorder upon the realization that society had determined the proportion of my stomach to be acceptable. That couldn’t be it, I thought. Whatever was wrong with me was not my weight.

Well, a not even another year would pass of my daily melt-on-the-tongue-allergy meds, my stupid chalky bismuth tablets, and my period cramps that had me sobbing through French class, before I would again refocus my blame for my suffering on the enemy that society said was behind it. The next time I went to evaluate my stomach was right before one of those lovely endometriosis periods, and immediately after eating half a bag of lays potato chips on my couch, with a step brother, as soon as we got home from school. This time, my belly was totally massive, and I didn’t need to measure it to see that.

I thought I knew what to do. I thought I had gained belly fat. I was fourteen, freshly out of a situation legally described as neglect, and I had grown up hating and blaming myself for serious physical ailments that I happened to endure. Every resource I could google said that belly inches are belly fat. I probably never even heard the word “bloat” until a year later. I had no idea that one of the very most common symptoms of endometriosis, or gastroparesis, or hernias, or any one of the number of the things wrong with my abdomen, was abdominal distention. I was fat. The billboards said I was fat. Magazines said I was fat. Posters in the doctor’s office said I was fat. Commercials said I was fat. The news said I was fat. Every single possible resource I was exposed to universally agreed that the cause of misery was being fat and that the solution to every perceivable problem a person might face, from poverty to extortion, might be weight loss. I became determined to get un-fat-- to take my health into my own hands, once and for all.

Google with a little “g” wasn’t doing enough. I would drink extra water, choose whole grains, eat fruits and vegetables and ride my bike as often as I could get away with. No matter what I did, about 75% of the time, I had some degree of abdominal distention. It changed dramatically throughout the day, leading very-dumb-bless-your-heart-me to believe that I was rapidly gaining and losing weight and fat. Since seemingly nobody ever cared about my unending medical symptoms before, I never even considered bringing this up to my care-givers as a problem, though I was open about my desire to lose belly fat and feel better. One day, I decided to explore the weight loss realm of Tumblr to see if I could find more personal experiences to study, hoping to apply others strategies for weight loss and health to myself. That’s how I fell down the rabbit hole.

Now, I was never one of those pro-ana types with the weight loss groups and the ana-buddies or any of that crap. I was already extremely hard on myself all the time, and I didn’t want or need motivation to lose weight. What piqued my interest were the “tips and tricks” they shared around for how to avoid food and suspicion. Those spheres utterly discredited the conventional weight-loss advice, the food pyramid and any medical knowledge about weight or metabolism. They believed in fairytales—that eating only chocolate would make your body “reject absorbing the chocolate” and that you could throw up enough food to cancel out whatever energy your saliva sent straight to your blood stream. I was desperate, young, and whole grains weren’t making my endo-belly stay small, so I opted to give these wild ideas a chance. More importantly, I took to the philosophy of self-proclaimed pro-bulimics, and decided to stop using anti-nausea medication. The result of that was that it became unnaturally easy for me to vomit up virtually anything that made it past my esophagus in the first place, and so I did.

Things rapidly got out of control. I lost weight so quickly that everyone around me noticed and cared very suddenly. I lost my period right away, which became the single greatest incentive behind my disordered eating as my chronic pain was dramatically reduced. I was eventually slammed into eating disorder treatment. Minnie Maud, Renfrew—I’ve seen some shit. When you’re diagnosed with an eating disorder as a minor, there are some prerequisite appointments that must occur to assess damage from the disorder. I was diagnosed with my mitral valve prolapse, the supposed explanation to a lifetime of ignored heart palpitations until then, and gastroparesis, which I was told was a temporary side effect from my history of multi-day fasts and vomiting. I also had a host of dental problems and to this day have extremely fragile teeth.

Eventually I found my way into a real-life support group with a bunch of other Tumblr teens. I started a recovery blog and so did most of them. That’s where the story starts to get good. My recovery friends nursed me into my eighteenth birthday. By this point, I had become one of the token-teen-anorexics at my high school and had the disturbing experience of being asked for weight loss advice by my academic peers. I hated this with all of my soul and eventually, so much so, that I wanted to publicly open up about why I had been skinny, why it was bad, and why nobody else should want what I had. I made myself public. I looked up to Amalie Lee and Sarah Frances Young who had similarly bridged the communities in their real lives with the online recovery communities, producing an incredible amount of positive support for themselves whilst also serving to show struggling individuals what’s possible, so I opted to do the same and “put a face to the name.” My plan worked.

The same therapist who supervised my real life support group had been helping me plan a very big move. She’d determined that the problem with my mental health wasn’t that I had been neglected, but that I still actively was being neglected. I needed to be able to be fully responsible for tending to my own needs, or those needs would go on being unmet. I was seventeen when I signed my first lease and was eighteen when I moved 500 miles away from home to a town I’d never been to, in the single greatest escape of my life. My public openness with this experience attracted many people to me, who finally, rather than asking me for weight loss advice, were benefiting from my knowledge on moving out young, finding work, finding shelter and food, and best of all, recovering from disordered eating.

Everything was going great. People would message me for support or resources, I would share it. I bullied a few pro-ana people and launched secret campaigns against various pro-ana spaces on the internet. Somehow, me and all of my friends were those new-age 2015 hippies that don’t mind being broke as long as they’re, like, California-broke, and still eating vegan avocado toast every morning. We were a little subculture of our own, finding our healing through the extremely culturally appropriated words of white male authors who were profiting off our spiritual vulnerability—but it was mutualistic enough that everyone kind of turned out okay, mostly.

I was one of the first flies to drop. My moms death coincided with the terrible worsening of the my endometriosis and PCOS symptoms, long after I had weight-restored. I first shared about it online because I had grown desperate and felt lonely in my circumstance. At the time, I only knew I had endometriosis. My partner immediately became my full time care-taker.

Thanks yet again to the internet, namely Facebook support groups, eventually I got health insurance and got my excision surgery. I was sent off from Dr. Fox with a warning that I probably had more problems going on, and not to blame endometriosis for any ongoing pain, but to seek out other answers until I’ve found them and not be misled. Around the same time, I noticed Amalie posting about her own PCOS—with photos of the same distended belly that I had, that had started it all, maybe for both of us, even. No fucking way.

Yes, fucking way, indeed. Dr. Fox had already alluded so himself, but seeing it happen in real life was a very unexpected experience for me. I still remember him inferring to me that PCOS correlates with bulimia, so casually that it was almost mean, as to bundle up someone’s complex, perceived-to-be-psychological struggle into a little blood-sugar package. It all went against the accepted modality for eating disorder recovery, which insisted that the phenomenon was purely psychological. I then noticed my other hero, Sarah, sharing about CFS. As it turns out, an abundance of research exists linking chronic illness to disordered eating. I already had been diagnosed with my endometriosis and the issues I had in childhood, but I had no idea that the experience of chronic illness and disordered eating might be so common.

I became vocal about the observation of the overlap in patient demographics. It still seems like nobody cares much, but I continue to try to raise awareness of the subject because I know one day people will care. People only care about endometriosis excision thanks to anecdote-advocates like myself, but now, they care a hell of a lot more than they did before anecdote-advocates existed.

In 2020, I moved again, back down to the metropolitan area I was born in, but not close to where I grew up. In December of 2020, I first dislocated my shoulder. After a couple of days of walking around in horrible pain, I hesitantly made my way into an urgent care where my x-ray was questioned. I had a dislocation, but absolutely nothing else was wrong, not even bruising, which was extremely unusual. The Urgent Care doctors told me to tell my normal doctor about everything.

My normal doctor then referred me to rheumatology and cardiology. It all happened faster than anyone could have seen coming—and so fast, specifically, because while I was tangled up in my endometriosis treatment back in 2017, the entire diagnostic criteria for my underlying condition, Ehlers Danlos Syndrome, was professionally altered to make it exquisitely better at locating and diagnosing individuals like myself. I have almost every single known feature associated with the condition. I passed the Beighton score with a 9/9, had been diagnosed with my hernias during endometriosis surgery, had the heart stuff and the skin stuff and even the startling scar stuff that made my doctors demand I see a specialist in my condition before I ever try to conceive.

“You’re so soft!” Was something my friends had been saying to me all my life. I thought they were trying to compliment my choice of moisturizer—I didn’t realize they meant that I literally felt like velvet to them.

Ehlers Danlos turned out to be responsible for a lot of my experiences with poor body image and food—pretty much whatever endometriosis and PCOS didn’t inspire. As I discovered, things like “walking funny” affect one’s posture, which can cause us to carry ourselves in a way that slouches our guts forward and makes us appear to have a rounder middle than we would if postured correctly. I remember standing in a bathroom with a bunch of girls as a teenager once, and all of us, being toxic south Florida suburb kids, were comparing our bellies. Everyone was stretching and pulling their bellies out and talking about how big they were. Of course, as EDSers know, the belly is upon the stretchiest of our portions, so I shocked even myself when I saw my belly kept going and going as I pulled it away from my waist. Humiliated, I was apparently visibly distraught, because the other little girls immediately began comforting me. “You’re not fat! It’s just skin!” “Yeah, you’re definitely not fat, but you are really stretchy."

(A primary feature of Ehlers Danlos is soft, stretchy skin)

Finally aware of the terms for my innumerable ailments, and many more appointments and diagnoses later, I decided to seek out a more specialized kind of therapy. Back in 2018, I had been diagnosed with OCD whilst grieving the loss of my mother. OCD is commonly considered a neurodiverse condition, meaning that while it most certainly can be mentally debilitating, aspects of it are more neurological than specifically psychological. Rather than working against thoughts and feelings, neurodiverse individuals are working against immutable developmental traits to fit in to a conventional world. I eventually found myself under the care of a doctor who was well informed and established with neurodiverse clients, who explained the state of affairs with neurodiverse psychology and insurance in the United States, with adult diagnosis, and most importantly, with what specifically is wrong with me.

This doctor helped me overcome lifelong learning difficulties and discover my actual identity. Slowly but surely, I have been coming around to opening up about the uniqueness of that entire experience online but sharing about being neurodivergent is a hell of a lot harder than sharing about physical ailments. The longer I endured through my new format of therapy, the easier it was to have conversations about the actual logistics of my conditions and how they work in my head. Why can't I do math? It's too noisy.

Understandably, it can feel very dehumanizing as a patient to have conversations like that with a new therapist or mental healthcare team early on. I eventually learned that, yet again, chronic illness tells a story about our so-called “mental health” but in a way much more important than I had ever dreamed possible in my old ED-recovery-days.

Not only is there a well-established co-occurrence between these “neurodiverse” conditions and the form of chronic illness that I have, but many of the psychological symptoms of said neurodiverse disorders specifically co-occur with relative physical features, such as in the case of TMJ (TMD) and hearing or even attention problems. It’s all just fascinating. With this knowledge, every detail of my life started to make sense. Why had I been neglected? Hereditary-neurodivergent mothering, firstly, compiled with my own inability to recognize or speak about my physical state or needs with enough detail to mean anything—combined with just the perfect amount of white coat syndrome to make me lie, cheat and fake my own wellness or do anything else to avoid cancelling my plans for a doctors visit. Why was I so good at all of school besides math? A learning disability, attention problems, a total inability to interpret mathematical data when it’s spoken directly to me or drawn at me, an inability to properly decipher the symbolism that has come to be known as numbers. Why did nobody notice? I have been intimidatingly pedantic nearly since birth—reading early, writing early, despite never developing hand coordination superior to that of a four-year-old, and practicing the one and only communication skill I was born with an inclination towards being good at. I would write them all clear out of bounds, with a nerdy, pompous level of self confidence that offended and tickled my instructors and fortunately satisfied those meant to judge my writing. It had been that way for me all along, but somehow, it slipped away from my memory. My ability to sound smart is what got me through elementary and middle school.

I am pedantic and intimidating and usually seem much, much smarter and more in control than I actually am. Whether or not I’m a compulsively-faking antisocial psychopath is still up for debate in my own psyche, but my healthcare team has assured me that, what I am, in fact, is a stereotypically neurodivergent person with some trauma around my previously unmet healthcare needs, and also, having lots of healthcare problems that I very much haven't made peace with having.

I also don't want to have these conditions-- not that anyone ever truly wants something like that—I know that would be very unusual—but the diagnosis and treatment of everything besides endometriosis was somehow even more traumatic to me. My mother, the parent I inherited my wonky body from, of course also had my condition and arguably my neurotype, too. I grew up watching the healthcare system fail her and addict her to needless anxiety medications while ignoring her impending early death. I had no interest in reliving another second of that experience. A big part of my disordered eating had stemmed from that fear—the fear that being fat was the cause of sickness and misery.

Finally, I had gotten all of the answers that have for so long plagued my mind.

Now it’s been well over a year, almost a year and a half since I got diagnosed with the last thing I’ve been diagnosed with that wasn’t a random emergency. I’m still adjusting to life with this newfound understanding of my body and my brain. While some of my conditions have significantly improved, like my endometriosis and the joint-injury involved in my Ehlers Danlos, other aspects, like my ongoing mast cell problems and frequently flaring stomach problems, persist and occasionally worsen.

At the point where all of the diagnoses piled up, I felt extremely vulnerable, especially with sharing on my most public, this-is-my-face platform. This isn’t solely of my own, accord, either, as my still impressionable brain is sensitive to the rising criticism against people who talk about their disabilities or chronic illnesses online. At the same time, I too am able to step back from my pedestal and analyze the real implications behind individuals who might be identified as chronic illness influencers. While most individuals in this demographic are viewed positively, a dangerous amount of controversy surrounds their community. Individuals point out the frequency of grifters and scammers.

In my own time among the environments of Facebook support groups, and in the micro-communities I found by publicizing my own experience with mental and physical illness, I too had noticed a highly disturbing trend. It’s one that brought me all the way back to my beginnings, and one that hopefully will justify this absolutely gargantuan transcript of a post. People were competing. These environments, those focused around various chronic illnesses, fostered a competitiveness between patients. One image specifically struck me; a young, emaciated woman, with a feeding tube, posting a selfie from her hospital bed took me all the way back to Wintergirls. I’m not that sick, I told myself the moment I saw her. What is that sick? What is sick enough?

I never want to be part of that atmosphere. I never want to be viewed as competing or be caught belittling someone else’s anguish to better highlight my own. I am utterly petrified of accusations of hypochondria as I’ve lost some family to that very insistence. At the same time, I am perfectly ordinary— blending in well enough to have an ear or two on me at least, compared to the rural, disfigured Appalachians on the other side of my genetic lottery number. Especially when the common conversation focuses more on grifting and scamming than awareness—who is going to practice blatant, blunt, ugly and unwarranted honesty, besides someone who can’t help themselves?

Fortunately, life has backed me up against the wall yet again. Everything will be okay, this time, for real, and I’ve just convinced myself otherwise out of anxiety that’s real enough to be acknowledgeable. I am afraid of the impending changes and transitions that my state of being require. I am hesitant to do this, to sit at home and write and write and write, despite knowing there’s not much else I can do to be heard. I realized through my work and college that my experience has permanently defined my perception, and that perception is an inherently wonderful thing. I’ve learned from the experts that diversity is what strengthens a population and is a tremendous part of what makes us human. I don’t have to look or be normal to be meaningful; in fact, just like the back-of-cereal-boxes love to remind children, being unique is a good thing.

Now, I’m focusing on that; I’m exploring the things that make me different. One of them is that I’m sure many of you do not spend the entirety of your pain-stricken day off writing a 5,000+ word article for an insignificantly tiny audience. I’m sure many people haven’t needed to source out sliding-scale healthcare institutions. Plenty of people don’t currently think maybe there’s a cyst on my right ovary again.

Nevertheless, my story is unthinkably common. The only issue is that a lot of people like never get the pen in their hands, literally and figuratively. Genetic and developmental conditions will seriously damage individuals’ prospects without proper early intervention. I got diagnosed with what I’m hoping is pretty-much-everything by 24. A lot of people won’t be so lucky, and whenever they go through a major life change, and their bodies and brains fail to bounce back, it’s a total, life-ruining surprise. If not for my own “great escape” and my very much updated family, I probably wouldn’t even be here writing right now.

One thing that people like me all have in common is that we will spend as much time in front of a computer screen or cellphone screen as we are able to do so, because the low-activity stimulation involved with today’s technology is a dopamine-godsend to a kin like ours. So I know that by sharing, I am able to touch the lives of individuals who may have no idea just how much they have in common with me, or the rest of people like me out here in the world.

The internet is a giant library of information, and the more we engage with it, the more accurate it becomes in meeting our needs (specifically in terms of web crawlers). If someone googling joint pain, with a little “g,” happens upon my story, maybe they’ll be more inclined to make that first appointment or take a leap of faith and make a move or escape their unhealthy home environment. I can’t do anything meaningful to really raise us up for the revolution we deserve-- I mean, I try to donate where I can and I'm a big believer in mutual aid, and I struggle, too-- but I can play my part in practicing honesty and vulnerability, in sharing my information by word of mouth, or in this case, by word-of-eyes.

My life isn’t meant to be an advertisement, and neither is yours. Besides, the best kind of revenge against people who have wronged you is to unashamedly own and love yourself and your story—and you need to discover who you really are to do that.

I’ve been blessed to be able to aid a few people in their personal struggles. I’m by no means some kind of mentor, but simply a fellow ally in our fight together, extending whatever resources and support I am able to offer to those who ask for it (and occasionally to those who don’t!). This realization of my ability to contribute to other peoples self-discovery and growth, simply by sharing my own, has made me realize that sharing might be the single most important thing I can do. Honesty is powerful and openness is not weakness, but a way to build strength. I believe in a world where we should not censor our suffering for the convenience of those around us, nor should we withhold immaterial or literal nourishment from those in need if we can spare it.

I found my truths out thanks to "the community" being honest, open and vulnerable-- and I feel endlessly inclined to do my part in paying it forward.

So that’s that! That’s the history of my oversharing on the internet, which I find fully necessary to explain myself and the subjects I cover because of my own unique brain. If you're anything like me, in just about any way, feel free to reach out as I love connecting with people and learning about the diverse range of experiences people with my conditions have.

#lyreleafblog

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marzipanandminutiae · 2 years

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I’m one of the people who’s a bit spooked by older dolls; my beloved late aunt collected Shirley Temples in bad shape with the intent of restoring them, and they usually got to convalesce in the room I stayed in until then. It was formative in the most unfortunate sense, ha. But I’m really curious to hear about your Mademoiselle Leonore - what age group would she have been intended for, originally? Would they have seen her more like a friend, or as something to mother? Is she a typical model for a doll from her era, or would she have been considered old-fashioned or even new for the time?

Sorry for all the questions, you definitely don’t have to answer them all! I’m only like the anon who’s trying to think of dolls less as “eek spooky uncanny valley” and more as companions that would’ve been dearly loved. Thanks for your help in that! :)

Oh NO. Yeah, not the best way to introduce a kid to old dolls. I'm sorry you had a bad first experience with them.

(To be honest, damaged composition dolls like that sometimes creep even me out. I know they were loved too, and they have artistic value, but their eyes are just so flat and they feel so weird to the touch- not plastic, not bisque, not wood or leather, not cloth, not even rubber/gutta-percha...even earlier dolls with composition bodies and bisque heads don't trip the same Nope instinct in me. And sometimes they have TIN EYES which make scraping noises when they open and close, get yellowed, and look even flatter than the painted ones...brrrr. But! Still worthy of appreciation.)

French fashion dolls like Leonore are in a really interesting position re: intended age and common types of play. When the movement started in the 1850s in Paris, it began with dolls in the "Mode Enfantine" style- fashions for children, with the dolls meant to represent girls of perhaps 9-12.

(Doll by Huret, c. 1860, dressed in the enfantine style. Note relatively short skirt, less shaped bodice, and fluffy unstyled lamb's-wool wig.)

However, by the mid-late 1860s, the same sort of doll was beginning to be dressed as a fashionable lady, too.

(Doll by Dehors, late 1860s. Same manufacturer that made Leonore's head. Here we see a long skirt, a more sophisticated dress design, pinned-up hair, and a silhouette that mimics an adult woman's shape rather than a child's.)

The two styles existed contemporaneously for a while among French fashion dolls, with the taste for lady dolls coming to dominate in the 1870s and early 1880s. However, children will always play what they want with what they have, and one occasionally sees original French fashion trousseaus that include both opera dresses and christening gowns. It's not common, but it does happen.

And how exactly children played with these dolls was a subject of some concern among contemporary commenters. Many articles in at least American and British magazines expressed concern that Young Miss would lose her maternal instincts playing with dolls that were adults rather than babies. One particularly nauseating story I read on Google Books features some Little Sally or other throwing over her "Paris doll" at once when Mama is persuaded to buy her "a real baby-doll." Gag.

(There was also debate over whether a little girl could truly be content with ordinary outfits when her doll had such fabulous treasures as were sold for French fashions. I'm rather glad we're past the "will this doll make my child Too Worldly" hand-wringing. At least modern "will this doll damage my child's self-esteem" is well-intentioned, even if it often backfires in practice.)

So it seems like, with a few exceptions, they were mostly vehicles for girls to imagine their own futures. And interestingly, those futures were wider than simply being a wife and mother. As with Barbie, French fashions may have presented a circumscribed adult life, but it was still a life outside the home. With sporting outfits, promenade dresses, formalwear, traveling clothes, etc., the average Parisian doll of the day certainly didn't seem to be entirely focused on hearth and household.

The target age range for these dolls is a little bit murky. One generally sees them in photographs with children around ages 8 to 14, but occasionally one will be clutched in the hand of a younger child. It's hard to imagine a truly wee one working the minute fastenings of their clothing or keeping them unbroken, so I imagine they were generally for today's Barbie crowd (Monster High? Rainbow High? what's hot right now, anyway?). There are rumors of adult collectors, including Napoleon's niece Mathilde Bonaparte, but I haven't actually read the sources that information comes from to check for myself. Still, with entire miniature worlds available for these dolls, it wouldn't surprise me!

And finally, Leonore would have been considered a very fine modern doll indeed when she was new. Her jointed wooden body was a cut above the most common stuffed leather bodies, though her average size (17"/43cm) likely made her easy to find clothing for in doll shops. Collectors often now call this "size 4," after some markings consistently found on dolls, and it seems to have been the most usual size for French fashions. Though of course, there's massive variation in the "genre," from tiny 9"/22cm fairies to exhibition models that can reach 3'/91cm tall.

Rather long-winded, but I hope that answers all your questions! I'm really glad whenever I can help shed some light on my much-maligned antique darlings. Best of luck in your journey towards de-creepying dolls for yourself.

#ask #anon #dolls #long post.#antique dolls #french fashion dolls

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ethansakura · 2 years

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Two days ago I had to move my car so the snow could be removed from the car lot.

I went to savers.

56$ later jackpot 😅

I’m glad I decided to get the Barbie cube. It unzips into a little stage studio but I now have a storage bin for my Barbie theme stuff. It’ll help me downsize since I only want to use that bin for storage.

Forgot to put these two in the pile. I put the outfit on the l.o.l. doll. She was a bit naked with just her bottoms on.

Then there’s this lovely. I’m just gonna assume she’s a very unique custom of sorts. Not sure what I’m going to do with her but she makes me smile. Perhaps I’ll start by giving her a new outfit.

Edit: my unique custom is indeed not a custom. Just a unique way of turning Princess Leia into figure/doll. Thank you dat2ndaccount97 ❤️❤️ for showing me the actual doll 😊

That’s about it. 😃

#doll #Barbie #lol omg dolls #monster high dolls #ever after high doll #custom doll #loads of stuff #savers find

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127-mile · 3 years

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The drug in me is you.

Pairing: Doll maker!Kun x female reader.

Genre: Strangers to lovers, doll making | Fluff, angst, mature content.

Warnings: This is NOT what a healthy relationship is, this is pure fiction.

Manipulation, obsession, explicit major character death, non-explicit mention of death, violence, blood, alcohol consumption, oral sex (fem. receiving), fingering, orgasm denial, overstimulation, slight dirty talk, protected sex, drug use (note that the reader is unaware of the drugs being used at first, Kun tells her later) + The sex happens before Kun starts using the drugs on the reader.

Plot: One night, you met Kun in a bar. Kun was handsome, kind, caring, intelligent but he was also obsessed with dolls. You thought it was funny, until he made you one of his many dolls. Fear not, you are not just any doll, you are his best creation.

Word count: +10k.

A/N: Happy Valentine’s day guys! This is part of the 21 ways to kill your lover collab hosted by @du0tine. Please mind the warnings. Title from Falling in Reverse.

Tag list: @moondustaeil, @prettyjaems, @svchengss, @jaehyvnsvalentine, @xiaojunssmile

Chapter zero: his best creation.

It is said that the eyes are a window to the soul, but when they look at you, your eyes are glassy, it is impossible to read the slightest emotion, your soul is empty, your soul has been replaced by a void, by the nothingness. Yet, you smile. A smile that is hard to describe, it is not forced, but it is not genuine either. It's just there.

You look at yourself in the bedroom mirror, and you hardly recognize yourself. Your fingers rest on the choker that adorns your neck, and for a brief second, your smile wears off, and your eyes seem to clear, but it disappears just as quickly. The choker is in red satin, a heart-shaped pendant in the middle. A letter is engrave on it. K.

The alarm on your phone makes you jump, and you turn to the object on the nightstand. It's time for you to go downstairs for breakfast. Kun must already be waiting for you. You turn off the alarm, and leave the room. If the bedroom is warm, the hallways are cold, or maybe it is just the cold from the tiling under your feet creeping into your body.

The marble stairs shine under your passage, and you do not dare to put your hand on the railing, of fear of leaving a trace. The house is immaculate, pristine. Anyone entering the house unexpectedly would think that no on lives here, that this is just a show house. This is what you also believed the first time you came here. Everything is in its place. Everything is perfect, just like Kun.

You walk into the dining room, and you see Kun. He is seated at the table, his laptop where a plate should be, but you know that in the morning, he likes to work while you eat, so he can spend a little more time with you before going to work. And you appreciate that. At least, you think you do.

The chair creaks as you pull it away from the table, and Kun looks up from his screen. He takes off his glasses which he puts on the table, and he smiles with a sweetness that warms your heart. "Good morning, my love, how are you?" you hold out your hand for him, and he takes it to place a tender kiss on the back. "I'm fine. I missed you in bed this morning."

Kun nods, and he gets up from his chair to fill your plate with fresh fruits, and pancakes drenched in maple syrup, just the way he knows you like them. "I'm sorry, doll, I had some late work to finish." if you live for Kun, Kun lives for his work. It is sad, but that's how life is sometimes, but that does not mean he does not love you.

"Eat everything." he says, and you nod, picking up your fork. He takes your glass and pours some squeezed orange juice into it. He turns to a locked glass cabinet, and takes out a small bottle filled with a translucent liquid. He drops a few drops in the glass, and you watch him to it, your head cocked to the side. "What is that?" you ask, and he sighs.

"I told you before, it helps keep you a sweet little doll." you nod again, you seem to have heard that phrase once or twice before, even though Kun has had to remind you every morning for months now. But he doesn't mind, he likes to remind you that it is thanks to him that you are such a sweet doll. He kisses the top of your head, and you close your eyes at the contact.

"Am I your favorite doll?" you ask before stuffing a strawberry into your mouth. Kun sits down again, and he watches you for a second. "Of course. Of all the dolls I made, you are the one I love the most, you are my best creation."

Chapter one: finding the doll.

"Can I buy you a drink?"

You are surprised to hear a voice above the hubbub of music and conversations in the bar where you are. At first, you expect to find Taeyong grinning like an idiot, cheeks flushed from the alcohol he's been drinking ever since you arrived, but when you turn on your stool, you frown when you see a man you've never seen before. You tilt your head to the side.

"And why would I say yes?" you ask, and the man smile. He has two dimples that make him look a little more childhish, a thin layer of sweat sticks his hair to his forehead, but he is still handsome in the dimmed lights of the bar. The first two buttons of his shirt are open, and you can't help but glance at the sliver of skin. "The question is, why would you say no?"

You do not have an answer to that, so you nod and the man sits on the stool next to you. He calls out the bartender, and asks to put two glasses of whatever you were drinking. "My name is Kun." he says, turning to you, and he holds out his hand. Hand that you squeeze for a brief moment. "Y/n." he smiles once more. "Pleased to meet you."

"So what is a pretty girl like you doing in a place like this?" he asks, and you shrug, sliding your index finger across the rim of your glass. "This is my brother's bar." you explain, and you see the colors disappear from Kun's face, and when he is about to open his mouth, probably to apologize, you smile. "I'm just kidding. My best friend got dumped, so I'm here to support him as he drowns his grief in overpriced cocktails."

Kun's shoulders relax, grinning. "What about you?" he brings the glass to his lips to take a sip, and he winces at the sligh burn of the liquid in his throat. "Terrible day at work, I needed to relax." he explains in a low voice. "It's true that being in a crowded bar that smells like sweat and cheap alcohol is the best way to unwind from a day at work." you say, looking at him above your glass.

Kun chuckles softly as he puts his glass back on the bar, he rests his fingers beside it, and immediately regrets his decision when he feels how sticky the bar is. "It's always better than being alone at home." he says, and you agree, altough you are more the type to relax in bed with music rather than in a crowded and noisy bar. You would never have entered this place in your life if Taeyong had not begged you to come with him for over an hour earlier.

"Tell me about you, Kun." you ask, finishing your drink in one go, and you turn on your stool to face him. "I work in my best friend's law firm, I have a dog, and I love reading." he speaks in a bored manner, and you bite the bottom of your lip so as not to laugh. "I'm not the most interesting person here." you shrug, putting your hands flat on your thighs. "That's true, but there must be more than that, come on Kun, don't be shy."

Kun seems to think about it for a minute or so, yes he has more than that, but he can't really afford to tell you, not during your first meeting. His idea is to have a good time, and why not bring a girl back to his house, not to scare anyone and end up in prison that same evening. "I have an obsession with dolls."

This time around, you can't contain your laughter, and Kun is not offended, this is what he was expecting. "Dolls? Like barbies, or porcelain dolls?" you ask after catching your breath, you appreciate his presence, you do not want to see him go so soon, so you have to look and sound interested. "Porcelain dolls, but they are different, they all have stories."

"Stories? What do you mean?" you tilt your head, and Kun turns on his stool too. His knees bang against yours, and you glide your gaze down your legs for a brief moment. "These are not just porcelain dolls you would find in a store, they all come to my house with a clear story, and it is up to me to make sure they end their lives peacefully, and happily." that's fucking weird. "I don't know if you are being serious, or if you are making fun of me Kun, and you know what? I'm not sure I actually want to know."

You do not know how, but you went from an odd discussion about Kun's obsession with dolls, to this situation. Pressed against the door of Kun's room, you pant while feeling Kun's lips on your neck, his teeth digging into your skin, his tongue soothing the burn right away. Kun's hands are everywhere, under your top, along your still clothed thighs, you do not know where to focus.

"You are so hot, doll." Kun whispers hotly against your ear, and you bite your lower lip. "Is that why you brought me here?" Because I remind you of a doll?" Kun's gaze meets yours and he smirks. "Perhaps." you roll your eyes, and before you have a chance to open your mouth, Kun drops to his knees, ignoring the burn of the carpet, and when you give him permission to continue, he busy himself by removing your pants and panties. He slips one of your legs over his shoulder, and he covers your thighs with hot burning kisses and bites.

Kun does everything he can to avoid the area you want him the most, and you begin to whimper impatiently. He laughs as he licks his last bite to soothe the pain, and he looks up at you. You look like a work of art, with your head thrown back against the door, your eyes half-open and parted lips. "What do you want, doll?" he asks, and you sigh. "I don't know. Everything. Give me everything Kun, don't be an asshole."

"Everything?" Kun asks, and you nod with vigor. "Alright, your wish is my command, doll." he kisses your ankle, and he brings his lips up close to your core, and he blows gently. The cold air makes you shiver slightly, and you close your eyes, resting one hand in Kun's hair, and the other on the door for stability, because as he slides a finger in between your folds, your knees buckle.

"You are so wet doll, and all because of a few kisses? Cute." you pull his hair lightly, and he growls. "Stop talking please." you mumble, and Kun shrugs his shoulders but with your eyes closed, you can't see him. Neither do you see him approach his face and replace his finger with his tongue. "Oh." that's all you can say before he lays his tongue flat against your clit.

You are convinced that Kun will spend the next few minutes teasing you, but he does not. He licks your clit with vigor, and you can't help but roll your hips for more contact, and his free hands keep your from moving too much, which make you whimper loudly. His mouth is hot, insanely so. He pushes a single digit into you, making you mewls, not expecting him to do so. "Such a good girl." he says, moving his face away to watch you lose yourself to pleasure.

"More, more, please." you whisper, and Kun obliges. A second, then a third finger join the first, and you bite your lower lip to cover your moans that are getting loud, and embarrassing, but Kun doesn't seem to agree with you. "That's what we are not going to do. I want to hear you." he says in a firm voice, slapping your thigh. You almost lose your balance, but he stops you from falling by resting his hand on your waist. His grip is strong, and you know you'll have bruises of the shape of his fingers for days.

You already feel so close to your orgasm, you can feel it, you can taste it on your tongue. Kun keeps stimulating your clit with his thumb while pumping his fingers in and out of you, your muscle tightens around his fingers and he loves the feeling of your hot, wet walls, so much that he feels himself throb in the confined of his jeans, he can't wait to put his cock to good use inside of you.

When you feel heat spreading through your body, Kun's fingers pull back and you whine. You feel empty, and you do not like that feeling, not with how good Kun's fingers made you feel. "No, no, why, I was so close." you sob, and Kun smiles when he sees a single tear run down your cheek, it is so beautiful to see how fucked out you look with only his fingers. "You will cum. Later. On my cock, doll." fuck. "If you are nice, I'll make you cum twice, how does that sound?" you nod, that's all you can do right now.

Kun puts your leg back on the floor, and when you lower your head to look at him, he slides his fingers into his mouth to lick them clean of your juice, and you roll your eyes. "Kun." you are out of breath, and he straightens up before kissing you. He doesn't wait to get your permission before sticking his tongue into your mouth, and even though the kiss is sloppy, teeth clashing and salive gathering at the corner of your mouths, he puts his hands on your waist, to keep you upright because this simple kiss makes your legs feel like jelly, and he can feel it.

"Lie down on the bed." he orders, and you obey. You do not know how, but you get to the bed without tripping. Before lying down, you get rid of your last pieces of clothing before throwing them somewhere in the bedroom. You lie down, your head resting on Kun's pillows which smell of his perfume, and a mixture of sweat and soap, which is weirdly addicting, you think.

When you turn your head to look at him, you are disappointed to see that he is already undressed, but that's okay, you'll find another opportunity to touch his soft skin. He rummages in a drawer, and you see him walk up to the bed with a condom in hand, and without waiting, he climbs onto the bed to hover over you.

He places a quick kiss on your lips, and he begins to open the condom's packet, but you shake your head, resting your hands on his. "Let me do it." Kun nods, but he gasps when you push him to the other side of the bed to straddle his thighs. His cock is hard, the tip is red and leaking precum. You lean in, and run your tongue through the slit before swallowing the sticky liquid, all under Kun's hungry gaze.

"You drive me crazy." he groans, and you smile, perfect, you like that. You throw the condow packet on the floor, and before rolling it over his member, you lick the vein on the side from bottom to top, a groan snarling out of Kun's mouth. "Can I ride you?" you ask, while rolling the condom over his thick member. "Whatever makes you happy, doll."

You take his cock in your hand, and you nudge the tip over your entrance, you take a deep breath, and you ease the member gently. Kun's hands rest on your waist, and he gently helps you, and when finally you bottom out, he stays still. Yes, he wants to fuck you into oblivion, but he is also human, and he doesn't want to hurt you. At least not that way.

When you feel ready, you put your hands flat on Kun's chest and you roll your hips. "So tight, doll. You were made for me." Kun looks handsome from above, you think, looking at the way he bites his lower lip with every movements of your pelvis, the way his fingers tighten around your waist. But after a while, Kun starts to get impatient, and he plants his feet on the mattress to thrust harder into you.

"Oh fuck." you moan following the movement of his thrusts, but soon, you feel the burn in your thighs. You, who wanted to have a minimum of control, are already losing it as your legs fall asleep on either side of Kun's thighs. "Kun, Kun." you sob, your vision misted with tears once more. "Yes, doll, I'll take care of it." he pushes you onto the bed, and you wrap your legs around his waist when he enters you again.

He nestles his face in the crook of you neck, and he bites, hard. You close your eyes, a lewd sound coming out of your mouth and you throw your head back. Kun's thrusts are quick, strong, and deep, so much so that if you legs weren't secured around his waist, you would be pushed against the headboard. He is not holding back, and fuck you are grateful for it.

Kun sits up, and his hands grip the headboard to speed up his thrusting if that's even possible. His cock rocks against your sweet spot, and your orgasm crash over you without you even realizing it. You vision turns black, and you see stars for a moment as Kun growls when your walls tighten deliciously around his lenght. "Oh fuck, yes." he kisses you but fucked stupid like you are, you are unable to kiss back, all you can do is pant, and whimper at how sensitive you feel.

"One more?" he asks in a soft voice, which contrasts with the way he pounds into you. You are not sure you can do it, but you nod anyway, your body might hate you tomorrow, but it will be worth it. Despite everything, Kun opens his mouth. "What's your color?" he asks, and even though it takes a minute for you to figure out what he is asking, you speak out, in a broken voice. "Green, green, Kun." Great.

Kun doesn't know if he wants to cum, or if he wants to spend the rest of the night fucking you. It is so good, and at the same time, he wants to taste the sweet release he can feel creeping up slowly. He keeps thrusting, his knuckles turning white from the force with which he squeezes the headboard, and even his growls get louder. As for you, a flood of moans mixed with his name flows from your lips which he kisses, and bites hard enough that the skin breaks and a drop of blood flows before he licks it clean.

"Close, close." that's all you moan, and it's enough for Kun to understand. He nods, and one of his hands slides between your bodies to your clit, which he strokes with his thumb. You grab Kun's shoulders and dig your fingernails into the skin, and that's what seems to do, Kun cums in the condom. You feel it. You feel the hot cum against your walls even with the latex in between, and your legs start to shake with the intensity of your second orgasm.

Kun continues to thrust, slowly this time, riding his orgasm, but you are so sensitive that you shake your head. It is too much. "Stop, stop, please, I can't take it anymore." Kun obeys, and he stops his movements and he cages your face with his hands, being careful not to put his full weight on you. "It was perfect. You were perfect, doll." he whispers near your lips before kissing you for quite a while, and much more tenderly than before. And when he pulls out for air, he gets up from the bed to remove the condom and put it in the trash. You feel really empty, but ready to fall asleep.

When Kun returns to the bedroom with a damp cloth, he finds you asleep. You seem peaceful, so much that he doesn't want to wake you up and force you to go home, not that he wants you gone, so he doesn't. He puts on some sweatpants, and he lies down next to your after cleaning you briefly, and covering your naked body with a blanket, and he watches your for a moment before he too falls asleep, a smile on his face.

Chapter two: the morning after.

It is around 11am when you open your eyes. At first, you are lost. You do not recognize the sheets your are in, and you do not recognize the scent around you. The presence next to you is foreign, and it takes you two or three minutes to remembers. The bar with Taeyong. Your meeting with Kun. Kun! You spent the night with Kun, now you remember, and when you turn your head, you see a tuft of blonde hair coming out of the comforter.

Oh fuck, Taeyong!

You left the bar last night without telling him you were ditching him to go home with a complete stranger. You get out of bed slowly, ignoring the pain in your legs, and you find your pants neatly folded on what you supposed is Kun's desk, and you are definitely not the one who did that. Your top and lingerie are laid aside, and you wonder if all the one night stands are as kind and considerate as the sleeping man. But you doubt it. In your pants pocket you take out your phone, and you are surprised to see only two messages from Taeyong.

From Yong: I'm leaving with someone, don't wait for me. From Yong: Can you come get me? Pretty please?

The last message was sent less than twenty minutes ago, which means he must still be waiting for you, and probably with one hell of a hangover. You are glad you didn't drink more than two drinks last night. You put your clothes on, and before leaving the room, you find a piece of paper to write down your number, and a little note. "Call me." and you leave the room.

The problem is, you do not know where you are. You do not know which part of town he took you to, you were to busy cleaning Kun's tonsils with your tongue in the taxi to watch where they were driving you. All you know is that you are in a house, with marble stairs, and modern decor without a hint of dust around you. You go down the stairs, not daring to put your hand on the railing, and you wonder if Kun decided to illegaly enter a show house the night before.

Everything is clean, tidy. Everything is in the image of Kun, perfect. The front door is unlocked, which greatly simplifies the task of leaving like a thief. You dial Taeyong's number, and the boy answers immediately. "Where are you? I'm tired, I want to go to sleep." he says in a hoarse voice, and you look around. "I wish I knew, Yong." you walk down the street, at least until you find a street name. You are in a nice neightborhood, the kind you never go to, way too far from your comfort zone.

"What do you mean you don't know where you are?" Taeyong asks, and you roll your eyes. "I left the bar with a guy last night, and I don't know where I am!" you hear Taeyong giggle before growling, probably from his pounding headache. "Slut." you sigh, as you look around. You probably look suspicious. "You can talk, you did the same." you mumble, and you hear him say something to an unknown voice, so you take the opportunity to hang up to call a taxi, it's the only way for you to get home. Or at least to get to Taeyong, then you can figure it out together.

Chapter two and a half: Kun.

The following week, busy with work and with well, life, you stopped thinking about him, about Kun. You stopped thinking about the night you spent together, you stopped thinking about his hands, his lips, his scent, you just stopped. Work is mostly the cause, and also Taeyong who spends most of his time whinning about his ex partner, he is not recovering from his breakup, and it's tiring, really.

And when your phone rings, an unknown number appearing on your screen, you answer without a second thought. The perfect way to get you killed, Taeyong said once, but maybe one of your friends changed number and need something, you can't take the risk. But when you hear the voice, you do not recognize it. "Hello?" the silence is rather short. "Y/n, hello! How are you? Sorry I took so long to call, I was busy and didn't know if you actually wanted that." you frown, sitting on the sofa, the rerun of a show playing on the television. "I'm sorry, but who is it?"

"It's Kun?" the man says in an uncertain voice, and you remember. "Ah, Kun. Hi, I'm okay, and you, are you doing alright? Sorry for leaving last time, but my friend needed me." Kun makes a sound of aknowledgment before speaking. "Don't worry, I understand. I wanted to know if you wanted to meet?" you hesitate. You are not used of sleeping around with a man you met in a bar, so you are not sure if you really want to see him again. But also, why the hell not, you have the next week free of work, might as well make the most of it. "Yeah, why not."

"Do you remember the bar where we met? There's a café across the street, maybe we could meet up there later. Is around 3pm okay?" he asks, and you nod even though he can't see you. "Yeah that's fine with me. See you later." the man lets you know that he is excited to see you, and you hang up. You have a few more hours left, so you huddle once more in your blanket, and watch the television, wondering if going out is actually worth it.

Chapter three: How to make a doll: step one.

The meeting/date in the café is what changed your life.

You were not sure you wanted to see Kun, and yet, a month later, you are unable to part with him. There is something appealing about Kun, something highly addicting. He is kind, caring, smart and of course, he is breathtakingly beautiful with his dimples, soft eyes and honey-like voice.

The mere thought that one day he might not want you anymore is painful. You can't imagine your life without Kun, without his smile, without his kisses, without his hands that make you feel things that you've never felt before. And without his love, because Kun's love is amazing, it's like he has not limit to the love he gives, no matter what he receives in return.

When he tells you that he loves you, you feel like hearing it for the first time, every time. You have butterflies in your stomach when he looks at you, or when he talks about you like you are the eighth wonder of the world to his friends and colleagues. You are proud to be with Kun, because you know he could have had any girl, and yet, you are the one he decided to choose. The one he decided to love more than anything.

"Y/n? Come have a glass of water." you smile when you hear your name coming out of Kun's mouth, it's like hearing the most beautiful melody, the way it rolls on his tongue. And he is so attentive too, you think and you leave the living room to join him in the kitchen. He is sitting on a stool around the kitchen island, and he hands you a glass of water, which you take, smiling. "Thanks Kun." you say, and he smiles too, dimples in full display. "You are welcome, doll."

You take a sip of water, then a second, and you grimace. "What's wrong?" he asks, tilting his head. "I don't know, the water tastes weird." Kun shakes his head, and takes a sip of hiw own glass. "I don't feel it, it must be you. You stay too long without drinking, you forget the taste." when Kun says something, you take him at his word, so you shrug and finish your drink. "Sit down with me for a bit." he pats the stool next to him, and you settle down, your head immediately resting on the shoulder of your boyfriend who kisses your forehead.

You stay like that, in silence, for a few minutes before Kun opens his mouth. "How are you feeling?" he asks, and you frown. If he had not asked you the question, you certainly would not have realized the fatigue that suddenly fell on your body. Your eyelids are heavy, and you limbs feel numb, your mouth is dry, and movements around you seem to be slowing down. "I do not know." you whisper tiredly. "My poor little doll." Kun responds, without a hint of pity in his voice.

Chapter four: Bad doll?

This is not the only time the feeling of losing control of your body sets in. At first it's once a week, and now it's every morning, but you adjust pretty well to the side effects, and Kun is so nice to you when you feel bad, he takes care of you, he makes sure that you drink enough water, and that you eat enough food. He regularly returns from work at lunchtime to cook for you, and to remind you how wonderful you are, and how proud he is of you.

He gives you presents, but the one you prefer is the choker you never part with. You love the color, and the pendant reminds you that Kun is near you, even when he is not at home, and that's all you need. Time passes, and yet you do not realize it. You stopped responding to Taeyong, and even going to work. Kun said you did not have to go anymore, he may very well support the two of you with his job alone. No, you do not realize anything. You only see Kun, only hear Kun. Kun. Kun. Kun. Kun. His name echoes like a mantra in your head.

Today, going down the stairs, you are surprised to not hear the slightest noise. When Kun is at home, he enjoys playing music on his turntable. He says that even though the sound is not as crisps there, it is much better, he can appreciate the music more, but now you can't hear anything. Not even the sound of his computer keyboard where he spends most of his time when he is not at the office.

"Kun?" you ask, poking your head through the living room door, which is empty and as clean as usual, if not a little cleaner. You walk into the kitchen, and you pout when you notice that he is not there either, but a note is stuck on the fridge door.

"My doll, my beautiful doll. I'm sorry, but I had to leave for work. I know I promised to take you to the movies, but a case we are working on must be finished today, the trial having been brought forward. Unfortunately, I didn't have time to cook for you, and I'm so sorry. You can cook for yourself, but please be careful with the knives. Remember to drink at least 5 glasses of water today. I have my phone if you need anything. I love you. Kun."

You silently read Kun's words and nod. It's a shame, you were excited to go to the movies. You really haven't been out of the house since moving in with Kun. At least you think you moved here. Kun bought you enough clothes to fill a full closet, and your mind is far too cloudy to think about the clothes you already own, and the apartment you were renting back then.

You do not know if it's because Kun is not here, or because you are too lazy to cook, but you are not hungry. You come out of the kitchen, and once in the lobby of the house, you look around. You do not know what you are supposed to do. Even though Kun leaves you alone to go to work pretty much every day, he still advises you to do certain acitivites, or you usually feel far too tired to do anything.

But today, you feel good. Still a bit groggy, but much better than usual.

A name suddenly comes to your mind, for the first time in months, and you frown. Your heart does a weird thing when you think of this person. Not the same as when you think of Kun, but differently. A certain warmth spreads through your body, and you realize that you actually miss this person. Taeyong. You know you were used to spend a lot of time together, and that you even decided to save your money to find a big apartment to live in together.

He forgot about me, you think.

But you do not realize that you forgot about him, not the opposite. But you are too lost in your own head to realize it. You walk up the stairs, being careful not to put your fingers on the white wall or the railing, and push the door to the room you share with Kun. The decor has changed since the first time you came here. Several pictures of you, and you and Kun together are on the walls, and your favorite color can be found in small touches on the satin sheets, on the curtains, and a few trinkets here and there.

You find your phone in the bedside table drawer, and when you try to turn it on, nothing happens. After so long, the battery must be dead. Finding a charger is not difficult, you just have to walk around the bed to Kun's place. You take it, and you return to the living room. For some reason, you do not like being in the room on your own, you feel like you are being watched, it makes you uncomfortable.

Once in the living room, you plug in the phone, and while waiting for it to turn on, you turn on the television. A serie is playing, and even though you do not understand it, you watch, your head resting on a pillow, and soon, you find yourself wrapped in your favorite blanket, ready to fall asleep. So much for feeling full of energy.

When you open your eyes, you are hardly surprised to see the living room bathed in darkness. It often happens to you, to close your eyes before realizing that night has already fallen. It takes a moment before your eyes get used to the darkness that is only broken by a lit bedsite lamp next to Kun. Kun who is seated on an armchair, his arms crossed against his toned chest. You sit up, smiling. "You are back."

Normally, Kun would smile. He would get up to give you a long, tender hug and ask you how your day was. But today, he doesn't. He looks tired, stressed and disappointed. It is indeed an emotion you have never seen on his beautiful face, disappointment. "What's wrong?" you ask as you sit on the couch, legs crossed, your blanket falling from your shoulders, revealing the same pajamas you wore last night.

You look down, and notice that your phone is in Kun's hand, and tild your head. "Why?" he asks, pointing to the phone. "Why what?" He gets up, and he sits down next to you. You are not afraid, you know Kun will never hurt you, but you also do not know what to expect. You have never seen him angry except at one of his colleagues on the phone, and each time he makes sure to leave the room so that you do not see, or hear anything.

"Am I not enough?" he asks in a voice so weak that you wonder if you heard correctly. "Why do you ask me this?" he sighs and puts the phone down on the coffee table, it's on this time, and you can see the many notifications when the screen lights up. That can't be good, you think, but you do not even think about reaching for the phone, since Kun turns your head to face him by gripping your chin between two fingers.

You frown, your mouth opening slightly at his sudden move. "You haven't touched your phone since you've been here, and today you decided to do it, because you knew I wasn't coming back, why?" he asks in a firm voice, and you avoid his gaze, which doesn't seem to please him. "Good dolls look at me when I talk to them." he says with clenched teeth, and you shake your head. "I- I'm not a doll."

Kun scoffs, rolling his eyes. "Of course not. You are not, you are right. You don't deserve to be one of my dolls." this sudden realization makes you open your eyes wide, shaking your head. "What? Of course I deserve it!" when he shakes his head, your eyes fill with tears and he refrains from stroking your cheeks to calm you down. "No. A doll doesn't look to see someone else when I'm not around." it's crazy how fast a few words made you change your mind about being a doll.

You manage to extricate yourself from his grip, and you climb onto his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck. Kun is surprised at your sudden behavior, and even though he knows he cannot give in, stay firm, he does nothing to stop it. But he doesn't touch you either, even though his hands only want one thing: to rest on your waist. "You are wrong, Kun, I didn't want to see anyone. I just wanted to watch, and I didn't even do it, I fell asleep before it turned on." you speak in a quick manner. "Hey, breathe." he says, and you take a deep breath.

Kun looks at his watch, and he makes a noise of surprise or aknowlegdment, you don't really know. "Did you drink any water today?" he asks, and you are surprised at the sudden change of tone in Kun's voice. "No, I was sleeping." now, he understands. "That's why you decided to act like this! You silly goose, you know you need to drink." you pout when Kun puts you down on the couch, because you already miss Kun's warm touch and scent. "I'll be right back."

A minute or two later, Kun returns with a glass of water in his hand, and he hands it to you. "Drink it all." you nod and take the glass to drink the content. Over time, you started to ignore the weird aftertaste that burns your throat a bit when Kun give you something to drink. He settles down next to you again to pull you onto his lap without waiting, except this time, he wraps his arms around your waist to press your chest against his. "You can't disobey me anymore, okay?" you nod.

"Yes, I will not do it again, I promise." he puts his hand on the back of your head, and he pulls you in for a languid kiss. But before you can initiate anything, he breaks the kiss. "I'm so sorry, I just want to be a good doll." you whisper close to his ear, and he smiles weakly. "I know that my love, and you are, it's just that sometimes you get distracted. But that won't happen again, I'll make sure of it myself."

Chapter five: Taeyong.

For the following weeks, Kun makes sure not to leave you alone for too long. And the more time passes, the less able you feel to regain full control over your body. Kun does everything for you, he doesn't let you lift a finger, if only to clear your plate. If your thought were yours, you would wonder when he plans on spoon feed you himself, but they haven't belonged to you for a long time.

Sometimes you have moments of lucidity. Your eyes clear, and your memories come back, the times you spent with Taeyong, the life you had before meeting Kun, and during those brief moments, you wonder if you'll ever get back to those times you genuinely took for granted. You began to write in a notebook what you remember in these moments, and the time when it happens. And every time, it is before breakfast, when you get out of bed.

Like all plans, Kun's isn't foolproof, luckily you manage to keep it to yourself. You refuse to think about what would happen if he ever found out that sometimes you become yourself, Y/n, and not Kun's doll. Even in these times, you are not afraid of Kun, because you know he'll never hurt you, at least not physically, he is way too sweet, and too in love to do it. Because yes, despite the mental ordeal he makes you live on a daily basis, he loves you, you know it.

Maybe you should stop forcing yourself to remember your old life, and come to terms with what you have become. Maybe you'll get used to it, and start to appreciate what is offered to you, you think, looking at yourself in the bathroom mirror, the only place you can have a little bit of privacy. You rub cold water on your face, because you know that in a few minutes, when Kun gives you your drink, you will not be yourself. And when you turn to take the towel, you hear a little noise coming from the bedroom.

You frown, it is not Kun, you can hear the noises coming from the kitchen. So you come out of the bathroom, and you follow the noise that continues, to Kun's bedsite table which you open, and what a surprise when you find your phone. It's on, and Taeyon's photo appears on the screen. You take it, and with a trembling hand, you answer.

"Hello?" you ask, and the noise you hear coming from Taeyong is barely describable. It's a mix of surprise and relief. "Oh my god, Y/n! Do you have any idea how scared I've been for months?" you bite your lower lip. "I'm sorry." you answer, and he growls from the other side. You can't imagine what he felt. "Where are you? Are you okay? Are you safe?"

When you are about to answer, you hear footsteps coming towards the bedroom door. "I have to go." and you hang up before shoving the phone in the drawer before closing it. And when the door opens, you turn to him, smiling. "Is everything okay?" Kun asks, and you walk up to him, nodding your head. "Perfectly fine, I was ready to come down." you put your hands on his chest, and you kiss Kun softly.

Kun answers to the kiss, one of his hands fiddling with the pendant of your necklace. He doesn't express it very often, but he is extremely proud to see you wearing it every day. It shows that you belong to him, even if you do not need it, you prove it to him every day. "Come eat." he says against your lips, and you take his hand to exit the room.

Once in the kitchen, you drink the glass of juice offered to you, and the effects come much faster now. And when you are finally in Kun doll's mindset, you feel stupid for answering Taeyong, so much so that you feel ready to confess everything to him, and ask him to throw the phone away for you to no longer be tempted, but you do not. "I love you Kun." you say, which surprises the man who smiles with a sweetness that warms your heart. "I love you too, doll, more than anything in the world."

Chapter six: Yes, bad doll.

Kun has to go to work.

To do that, he made sure to give you a double dose last night, to make sure he wouldn't have to deal with another scene like last time. He trusts you, but you can never be too careful, he thinks, looking at you. You are sleeping peacefully, and you are so beautiful, he wonders what he has done to have a person like you in his life. You are the most beautiful doll, his best creation. However, when he met you, it was not a won situation. But you proved to him that you were capable of changing, and he would give his life for you.

He places a kiss on your forehead, and he pulls back when you stire in your sleep. For a second, he thinks he woke you up, but no, you turn, your breathing still deep. His little angel. He gets out of the room, takes his satchel, and leaves the house.

When you open your eyes, it is not because of the sun coming through the curtains, but because of the knocking on the door. You whine, and wonder when the noises will stop, but they don't. Kun must not have heard it, or he is not home. So reluctantly, you get out of bed. You have to hold on to the wall to walk, to avoid tripping. You feel feverish, and so so tired.

When, at least, you arrive at the bottom of the stairs, you approach the door. Everything is silent, and you regret having moved, but as your turn on your heels, the knocking on the door resumes. You open it, and you frown when your eyes fall on a man. He is not very tall, his hair is pink and washed out. He looks like he has not slept in weeks, and when his eyes fall on you, you wonder if he is going to cry.

"Y/n!" he throws himself on you to hug you to his chest. You know if Kun witnessed the scene, you would be in trouble, and yet, you stay in the man's arms. The warmth that he gives off, his perfume, his simple way of being are not unknown to you. "Taeyong." you breath, and the boy pulls back, his hands still resting on your shoulders. "I hope you have some explanations for me, young lady. I've been looking for you for months!"

"How did you find me?" you ask, cocking your head. He is truly struggling to recognize you. Your eyes are glassy, and he can no longer see the happiness and mischief he used to read in your eyes back in the days. "Thanks to your phone. I just wanted to make sure you were safe." you nod, hugging your body with your arms. "Of course I'm safe. Kun takes good care of me, and he loves me very much. I love him too."

Taeyong frowns, he feels liks he is listening to a robot, or a pre-recorded message. It is no longer his best friend that he has in front of him, but someone else, and he does not know how to explain what exactly has changed so much, or what could have happened. He even wonder if you weren't brainwashed, joined a cult, or had a frontal lobotomy. He knows it's stupid, but he is stupid, and those are the only thought that come to him. He is far from reality.

"Can I come in?" Taeyong asks, trying to see the inside of the house over your shoulder, and you bite your lip. You are not sure Kun would enjoy seeing a stranger in his own home, but he is not here right now, and a good doll must also be a kind and welcoming host, so you shrug. "Yes, of course." you push yourself out of the door to let Taeyong in, he wolf-whistles when he sees the inside, and how clean and shiny everything is. "Wow.

You head for the kitchen. "You can sit if you want. Do you want something to drink?" you ask, but he shakes his head. "No thanks." he sits down on a stool around the kitchen island, and you sit across from him, your hands resting on the cold surface of the counter. "So? Tell me everything that happened." yes, you suspected he would ask you the question. "I met Kun in the bar where we were that night. And I don't know, things happened naturally after we saw each other again. I think moving here was the next logical step, it just happened."

"But that doesn't explain why you stopped responding to my messages, and giving signs of life." Taeyong's voice is painful, even for you. You sigh, playing with a thread on your pyjama sleeve. "I don't know, Taeyong." it's the truth, you do not even know why you stopped caring about your phone, you who spent most of your time on it. "But I'm sorry." are you really? Not really.

You spend the next two hours talking. Well, Taeyong talks about things that have happened over the past few months, and you listen. You try to smile, nod at the right time, and be happy to be with him again, but you can't stop thinking about Kun, and what he is going to think when he finds out he's been here today. Not that he is preventing you from having contact with the outside world, but seeing how he reacted when you wanted to use your phone, you suspect that he is not going to be very happy.

"...and Ten started screaming." Taeyong says, and you open your mouth to laugh, but instead, your mouth opens in a silent cry as Taeyong's face makes contact with the kitchen island in a violent manner. So violent that he loses consciousness almost immediately. Behind him, you see Kun, and what you read in his eyes is nothing but pure rage. Your breathing is plowed, and you get up from your chair.

"Why would you do that?" you ask in a panicked voice, and he shakes his head, clicking his tongue. "You should thank me." he says as he approaches Taeyong. He grabs his hair to lift his head, and you gag when you see the amount of blood on his face. "But he didn't do anything!" you defend, and he laughs coldly, so much so that an unpleasant shiver runs down your spine.

He lets Taeyong's head fall back, and he looks at you. It's not longer disappointment he is showing, but something more intense. He is scary, and yet he smiles at you. "You know, I really thought you were different. When I met you, I finally thought I had found it, the perfect doll. I loved you so much, and I would have given you everything, even my life, and yet you decided to betray me." you shake your head as you join Kun.

"I didn't betray you Kun. He came on his own, I didn't contact him. I didn't tell him anything, we didn't do anything either." you say, cupping Kun's face, but he takes a step back to avoid the contact almost immediately, and ouch, that hurts. "I love you Kun, I love you so much." you continue in a whisper, and he shakes his head.

"If you really loved me, you wouldn't have let him in. You would have told him to go, and you would have moved on with your day. But no, you decided to be a little slut." A little slut? You would never dare to do such thing. You love Kun, and only Kun. No matter what he puts you through every day trying to make you the perfect doll, you have never loved anyone as much as you love Kun.

"I'm not a slut, Kun. I'm your little doll." you say in a low voice, not daring to look Kun in the eyes anymore. You feel him approaching you, and you refrain from taking a step back. "Are you sure of that? Are you my perfect doll?" he asks, and you nod. "And what would my perfect doll do for me?" you lift your head, and run the tip of your tongue over your dry lips. "Anything Kun. I would do anything for you."

"Very well." that's all he says before heading to the locked cabinet. The one in which he takes the small bottle of transparent liquid every morning. The bottle is full, and you wonder how get manages to get so many. You follow his every move with your eyes, and you frown when you see him emptying the entire bottle into a glass. And he pours a small amount of fruit juice into the glass before mixing everything.

He hands you the glass, and he says. "Drink."

You shake your head with vigor, you do not intend to drink the content of this glass. Only god knows what could happen to you. "You said you would do anything for me, and I want you to drink." he walks up to you, and every time he takes a step forward, you take a step back. At least until your back makes contact with the kitchen wall. You are stuck, you know it, Kun is too fast, if you try to escape, he will catch up with you in an instant.

"You said you were a perfect little doll. And you know very well that dolls listen and obey when I ask them something." his voice is much softer now, and you get lost in his big dark eyes. So much love are in his eyes, so he might not be able to hurt you, right? He is just playing with you to see your reaction, to see what you are ready to do for him, right? Taeyong growls behind Kun, but he doesn't pay him the slightest attention. "So?"

"I'm going to drink, because I love you Kun, and I want you to know that I am your perfect doll. Your best creation." you say in a whisper as you take the glass, and Kun looks satisfied. You pursue your lips, and it takes a minute for you to muster the courage to open your mouth and drink the content of the glass. The taste is horrible, and the burning sensation in your throat makes you cough hardly. You drop the glass which shatters to the ground. Kun hasn't moved, unlike you, he is too busy looking at you. He knows what is going to happen, and for many reasons, and he doesn't want to miss a thing.

"You know, Y/n, I've had a lot of dolls before you. They were different from each other, and each time I thought I had found the right one, but each time, I was wrong. They always found a way to lie to me, and betray my trust. But when I saw you, when I saw the effort you were willing to make to please me, I really believed you would be the last." he cannot hide his disappointment, and his disgust.

"I loved all of my dolls, trust me, but you... I never felt something so strong for any of them. You were the exception. The one and only." you are having a hard time keeping your eyes open, and slowly, you slide along the wall. Not only do your legs seem to weight a ton, you feel like your heart is doing things it shouldn't be doing. It beats too fast, and too slowly at the same time.

You have chills, and a cold sweat covers your forehead, and rolls down your spine. Soon, your lungs are racing, and it becomes more and more difficult for you to breathe. Kun crouches down in front of you, his fingers sliding down your wet cheeks from the tears you didn't know were rolling. "You are lucky, because your life will end in a much more peaceful way than theirs."

"I could have let them go. I could have helped them get rid of the drugs in their bodies, and let them go back to a normal life, but I couldn't afford to risk being reported to the police, or to see them with someone else, I hope you understand." he turns to looks at Taeyong who gradually regains consciousness. "And unfortunately, your little friend won't have an ending as sweet as yours. It'll teach him to not stick his nose where it does not belong."

Kun talks, but it's just gibberish to you, you can't concentrate. You can't. All you can do is put your hand down to your chest, it's so painful, everything burns. You are hot, and cold. A broken sob escapes your lips, and Kun places a kiss on your lips. "I will never love any of my next dolls as much as I loved you, I promise." he whispers against your lips. "I don't think I can love anyone after you. You were all I ever dreamed of."

You vision gradually fades. You see nothing, except the contours of Kun's body. You do not feel anything either. You do not know how long you've been on the ground, but you are not in pain anymore. You are at peace, you think, as you take your last breath.

A single tear rolls down Kun's cheek when he sees you take your last breath. His heart breaks, but he gets up. Kun could have forgiven you, of course, he dreams of nothing other than spending the rest of his life with you, but he hates being betrayed. No matter how intense his love for you was over the past few months, he refuses to be used. Trust is what matters most to him, and he knows the next few months will be horrible, it will take time for him to recover from your death, your "accidental" overdose, but he will. And he'll try again.

One more name to add to his list of failure.

But first, he has to take care of Taeyong. He can't have a witness in his house, or maybe he can use him. He is a handsome boy, he could be useful in his search for the perfect doll.

#nct imagines #wayv imagines #nct scenarios #wayv scenarios #kun imagines #kun scenarios #nct smut #wayv smut #nct angst #wayv angst

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