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@charmingdollthing
I’m gonna keep posting about this because it just keeps getting longer and better. For anyone interested in persona 5, Akechi and Joker specifically, I’ve written 15 chapters about the two trying to live a domestic life before Akechi ultimately kills Joker. Please go read it and the talk to me about it. If you’ve liked my writing before then I’m betting you’re gonna like this.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Guys I have written 5000 more words of pure Akechi fagslop. PLEASE READ IT
https://archiveofourown.org/works/76983446/chapters/201490386
Hi okay non doll post but can y’all please read this fic?? I worked so hard on it and I think it’s so good
https://archiveofourown.org/works/76537851/chapters/200304126
Jesus guys thanks for all the likes. Maybe I’ll return to doll posting… /ominous
Properly Becoming pt. 1 —
(CW: Masochism/Sadism)
The witch decided to retain the personality of a particularly adorable doll through the transformation. The doll is in a whole new body, just like it wanted, but it’s going to have to learn how to actually be a doll on its own. Well that’s not quite true, it’ll have the loving hand of its witch.
Day 1:
The doll reports for duty bright and early in the morning after a long sleepless night. It was simply too excited to start its new life. How cute! It’s chipper, maybe a bit too chipper for the witch’s taste but that can be worked out in time. Today it’s decided on a beautiful poofy dress with frills and ribbons. She can tell that it’s been waiting for this.
“Good morning, Miss,” it smiles joyfully, “um, I hope that I can be of service to you,” the smile fades slightly, revealing an anxious interior.
“Good morning, Doll,” she replies with a voice like honey, “Today will be unlike the rest of your time serving me because we are going to take the first steps together, understand? I want to see exactly how good of a doll you can be and the greatest showing of that is in how you adjust to your new life. So, to that end, I have a gift for you, my sweet.” The witch hands the doll a shock collar, modeled just like a dog or a cat’s, with an engraved tag that reads “Property of Miss Cassandra.”
“O-oh!” The doll squeaks, “ok yes ma’am.” The doll hesitantly places the collar around its neck, adjusts it, then looking in the mirror. It blushes heavily. This is unexpected.
“Good, and for the record, when you receive a gift, the proper reply is a show of gratitude. Objects don’t often get gifts you see. Worry not though for you have given me a perfect segue into the collars function. When you make a mistake, much like the one you just made, it will shock you. These shocks will increase in power each time and will only reset at the end of the day. Starting, of course, with this one.”
The device goes off, forewarned with a slight beep and a click, before the collar sends volts of shocks running through the dolls body. It convulses, nearly falling to the floor, and lets out a hefty whimper but, adorably, it regains its composure, frazzled but not out of it just yet. It bows deeply and says, “I’m sorry Miss. Thank you so much for this gift. I will treasure it always.”
ZAP! Another shock runs through its neck and down through its body all the way down to its toes. This one is slightly but noticeably strong than the last. The doll is sent nearly to its knees once again. It looks very undainty hunched over trying to catch its breath. “I’ll give you a hint as to why that one happened,” the witch smiles, lovingly and twistedly, “a doll is not a person. You ought to try to remember that. Now, i know I’m being harsh on you, please know that it’s all a normal part of the training that you must go through to become a doll,” the witch giggles to herself, “so, if you can use your big doll brain to figure out what the proper response was, I’ll give you a reward, ok cutie? Otherwise, it’s another zap for you.”
The doll would be sweaty heavily right now if it still had pores or glands or skin or organs that could suffer from overheating. Instead, it looks up at its witch from its hunched posture, eyes full of worry, nearly overflowing with tears. But both it and the witch know that these tears are not for the injustice some doll rights advocate would say it had suffered. No, it was about to cry because it had done something bad, and all it wanted in the world right now was to fix its mistake. Adorable.
It climbs to its legs and though its posture has been repaired, it cannot hide that its legs are shaking. It begins to bow again, deep and low but without even looking at the snide look on its witch’s face, it course corrects. Instead, down on the floor in a kowtow before its witch, it begins again “T-this doll is so sorry Miss. I-it is not and never was a human and it shouldn’t have implied otherwise. It it’s still humbly grateful for the gift you have bestowed it. It will treasure its collar always.”
“I know you will my sweet doll,” the witch says with an unseen smile that permeates her speech. Before the doll can raise its head to see if it may rise or not, the witch has swooped it into her arms and is carrying it away. Close to its masters bosom, the doll flames scarlet red, inconspicuously trying to nuzzle further into her embrace. It doesn’t get too long with her, though, as it is soon ceremoniously plopped down on a small pedestal.
“Now normally,” the witch grins happily, “this little ritual doesn’t happen until a few weeks into a dolls residency with me but since I promised a reward and since you’ve been so good, I thought I’d give it to you now. Besides, for all your goofs today, you have proven something to me,” the witch’s face hardens, more serious. She lays a hand on the dolls shoulder and looks it in the eye, “you have the spirit of a good, loyal doll inside you. You will be an amazing doll.” As soon as the sincerity came, it went as another gleeful smile returns to the witch’s face, “now stay still. This will be good practice for you. If you move at all, that’s a shock, got it?”
“O-oh! Yes Miss! This one understands,” the doll cries out in response, preparing the stay still for an unknown amount of time. The witch skips away happily, and sits behind an easel, a brush in her hand. Before either knows it, hours have slipped away. The doll moves once in that entire time and while this clearly annoys its witch, she sighs and shrugs her arms. The shock is enough of a motivator. And then, at the end, the witch walks up to her doll. “You may move again, my doll. Please go take a look at the easel.”
It does, following her command like it was the word of god, and there it spies the project the witch had started and completed. A large portrait of the doll, standing in a perfectly pretty pose, in its perfectly pretty dress, and, though it wasn’t very doll like nor did it fit the traditional style of the other portraits around the house, the witch had painted her doll smiling brightly, warm as the sun.
“I’ll have it framed and hung tomorrow. So, what do you think?” The question was intended as an excuse for the doll to have a chance to compliment its master for her wonderful work, serving both of their interests rather nicely, but it had an unintended effect. For there, lit by the light of the setting sun through the windows of the big house, the little doll embraced its witch tightly. Her dress grew damp as tears flowed out of the dolls eyes, through the rich fabric, and down to the floor. It clung to her like a lost child, found again, shaking and whimpering and when the witch recovered from her slight shock and decided to hug back, it began to speak.
“I love you.” ZAP. “I love you.” ZAAAP. “I love you.” ZAAAAP. On and on until its voice grew soft and unintelligible and it laid face down on the floor, barely still hanging onto the end of the witch’s dress. Then finally, it passed out, overloaded. The witch, eyes wide with surprise and even slight confusion, chuckled happily at the sight. She leaned down and picked up the doll, carrying it away to her bedchamber and laying it next to her so that together, they could drift off to sleep.
(Meta)
I regret to inform you all that I have seen 1 (one) bran aka pupn1k post and I am now back on my masochism bullshit. It may be time for these dolls to be tortured just a teeny bit. Still wholesome at the core though.
(CW: more I/My pronouns. Depressive language)
I genuinely think that the fact that I am not and cannot be a doll is the hole that has lived inside my heart possibly since I was born. And what I mean by that is that it’s everything I’ve ever wanted. I have no greater goal in life than to be a doll. I’ve always felt an extreme and somewhat inexplicable love for Lolita fashion, I’ve never liked my body (although that’s pretty common lol), I’ve engaged in petplay and other transhumanist circles for as long I’ve been able too, all in the name of possibly being able to escape my mind, and now in my prime of 19, happy birthday to me btw, I’ve found dollism and once again I feel that heart stopping connection that says that this is something you shouldn’t let go of.
(CW: Extremely depressing language. Please stop reading now if you want not to ruin the #sorelatablequeen vibes. This section is really only for me and one other person out there who can save me. whoever that may be.)
So why then is it not possible. I’ve always thought of myself as an optimist but I think the truth is that I’m a pessimist at heart. I have a hard time engaging in petplay and the like because I can’t get rid of the nagging feeling in my mind that what I’m doing is stupid and fake. That any actual feeling generated from this is not a result of an unconscious bliss that I can tap into but merely fabricated in order to sell the ruse. And I say this because it means to me that, unless some truly magical bullshit happens, I don’t know if I can ever fill that hole in my heart. No matter how hard I try or no matter how perfect of a match I end up with loc it’ll be fake forever. But of course I still have hope in a sense, no matter how rusted it may be. I hope that one day some beautiful kind perfect stranger will see me on the street. They’ll peer into my heart and see exactly what I need. And then they’ll take me home with them and make me exactly what I want to be. But I’m losing hope. I need that hole in my heart to be filled before it spreads and consumes me. Please please please. Why can’t I just be who I was always meant to be? Don’t leave me behind.
(CW: Addendum 😱😱😱)
I have no plans or thoughts related to killing myself. Just a little bit angsty 👍👍👍
This one was in a silly mood and a thought came to it.. Consider. Stim toys are toys and dolls are toys, so... A really bored Witch decides to install a ball joint on its doll's usually smooth crotch and.. 🌸
perfect stim toy to interact with that produces a pleasant wooden sound when spun. Also. To further improve stimming the Miss could just allow the joint to be pushable and it produces a clicking sound like.. 2 in 1 stim toy that comes with the doll..🌸
this one will now proceed to still itself to avoid being hunted down wawa 🌸
Doll Maintenance.
(CW: NSFW)
This one wants to love another doll.
To collaborate on chores as needed by a witch, to enjoy stillness with it in the moments we aren't needed. To lock eyes in the middle of a busy day and know that one understands what this one is feeling. To quietly giggle with in the quiet moments between tasks at silly little things of no consequence. To be able to share the little hobbies a doll picks up between tasks. To be able to support each other in the dark night when a witch is asleep and unable to ease the burden of existence. To share a Purpose.
The love between two dolls love is simple, yet pure and no less significant than between two humans.
There's something so precious about a doll coming to you and asking for time to be still. If you ever have the honor of it happening to you, feel overjoyed at the level of trust the doll has given to you.
Help its stillness seep out of its constructed heart and into its limbs bit by bit. Mutter quiet praise and affirmations into its ears as it goes limp, done with having to pretend to be human. Trace soft patterns onto its skin, whether porcelain or plush, or whatever material its made of. Treat your doll as an art piece.
It's even fitting to decorate them whilst their still. Any doll would be happy to bring joy, even whilst frozen in time. Paint around the slight blemishes on its form, embroider beautiful designs into its flesh. Carefully encase your doll in ropes, just tight enough to remind it that even if it wanted to move, it couldn't.
And once your doll has woken up, you won't need anything other than the look in its eyes to assure you of their joy and bone-deep relief at being still
(CW: NSFW)
Doll who’s dynamic completely flips in the bedroom. It’s been programmed to be the perfect submissive doll. To love work and its witch and to treat service as the highest honor in life. But then after a day of ordering her legions around, of demanding tributes, or of threatening nations, when the witch just needs to not be in control any longer, to forfeit herself for only a second, she calls upon her doll. And of course the doll is more than happy to answer.
“Shhhh,” it coos, lying on top of her, a pearlescent finger to the witch’s lips, “This one sees how you work your self to the bone day in and day out. Don’t you know that this one was created to do your work for you? You don’t think that a doll could get a bit… jealous?”
“I’m sor-,” the witch tried to reply but alas, before she’d gotten the full thought out, her doll was deep inside her mouth, its tongue dominating the now shared space. After a moment, it pulled outwards, a thick strand of saliva still chaining the two together.
“No more apologies, Miss. The only sounds this one wants to hear from you are those pretty little moans.”
(CW: NSFW)
Doll without identifiable genitalia. Its crotch is perfectly smooth except for a small ridge where its genitals would be, no bigger than one of its knee joints. But this dolls witch likes to have a little fun with its toys and so, even though the dolls genitals are gone, the pleasure sensors that were once there remain. However, with nothing to stroke, nothing to flick, nothing to finger and of course no way to release, all the little doll can do is to rub and rub and rub and then stop when it gets too tired. It’s bulge throbbing, panting, it picks itself up and returns to the task at hand, always conserving enough energy to finish its chores. And in the corner, unseen, its witch stands grinning with mischievous glee.
This one is done with work for the summer!! This means that it will hopefully remember how to post. Hooray.
Umm… should this one start doing nsfw posts? It thinks it has some good ideas (it’s probably going to do them anyway but wants to know if people are interested.)
High school for trans-humanists. Absolutely fucking nothing of traditional value gets learned there, yes, but the dolls get to learn how to clean and to make tea and to dress pretty. The puppies and kitties work on their acrobatics, their adorableness, tricks and playfulness. The other animals get their own specialized areas too, don’t you worry. The robots get cybernetic enhancements and learn to engage in code as a sort of mother tongue. The human furniture gets to be furniture. Saves a lot on budget. Anyone else I’m missing?
Ghost Story —
The doll laid lifeless in the corner of the dusty attic. It was alive, of course, but years of neglect and disrepair had led its joints to break down and its soul to quiet to a low hum. In a final order from its previous master, it had crawled up to the attic so that it wouldn’t have to be seen again. There would it’s limbs fail and so it settled for slumped against the wall, just barely visible from the bottom of the attic trapdoor. It didn’t feel sad, or at least it tried not to. The house had long since been abandoned and its old master was off playing with countless other toys but in the end its duty was to serve and it would do so faithfully. It was scared though. When the house creaked and moaned in the wind, it shivered and shrunk inwards. When the whole building rattled under heavy rainfall and the thunder threatened to tear open the roof and suck the doll out into the night, it said a silent prayer for sanctuary. And when it first saw the ghost, it nearly jumped out of its shell in terror.
It was not long after the ghost moved into the house that it met with the doll. The house was large but both had a lot of time on their hands and so, eventually, the ghost found its way to the attic. Its figure was that of a towering harrowed woman. Her dark hair cascaded off of her head and down to her knees. Her face was affixed in an expression of horror and agony. She moaned when she walked, wailing to satisfy the pain. When she reached the attic and saw the doll lying there, an odd thing happened. Her horrific mouth contorted and morphed into a strange smile. The doll saw it all before anything could happen and all it could do was to pray and to pray and to pray. Pray for its old master to save it. But they would never return. Instead, the doll was hoisted into the air by the ghost who breathed hot breath into its face, that smile looming large before it. And so the doll moved for the first time in decades but all it managed to accomplish was a lone tear drop that stained its porcelain face and then to close its eyes so it would not see what would happen next. It held still as it felt a rush of energy pass from the ghost and into its chest. Then it felt nothing.
When the doll awoke, it had moved locations. This was a novel feeling for a creature that had not moved in multiple years. It was at a decrepit kitchen counter, clumsily pouring tea into a chipped cup. What struck it most was a single beam of sunlight that passed through a hole in the wall and onto the counter before it. It hadn’t seen the sun in so long. Wait. How was it here? Then the doll moved again. It watched as its body attempted to sip at the cup of tea, ultimately spilling the majority of it onto the floor in an attempt to get it into a largely non-functioning mouth. This was seemingly too much for the doll to handle, the embarrassment of a doll spilling its own tea, and so, with a sudden jolt of life, it wrestled control of its arm and used it to prop open its mouth, the other arm used to pour the tea. The tea tasted like nothing but at least it wasn’t on the ground. This act got the attention of the ghost.
The doll heard a voice in its head. No, more accurately it heard a voice that echoed from within its cranium, its skull if it had one. “Oh,” the voice muttered, surprised, “I didn’t know that you were alive. Well isn’t that a fun change of pace?” The voice it heard was feminine, dark and full of substance. It wasn’t syrupy or sweet but sly and knowledgable instead. “Sorry little one,” it grinned, “but I’ll be taking control of this body from now on. You can just sit back and enjoy the ride.”
This was not going to fly with the doll. It knew that giving up its movement now would mean it’d never return to its owner not to mention the fact that it was very clearly in sight now. This was bad. The doll, acting on a sudden burst of motivation, reclaimed control from the ghost and sprinted to the trap door that led to the attic. Like a jockey pulling back on a wild horses reins, the ghost acted in the opposite direction once she realized what was happening and the dolls body was stuck in place, trembling underneath the open ladder to the attic. “I told you before, little doll. Your body is mine for the taking. I wouldn’t try to fight it. Besides, isn’t service what you dolls are born to do?” The ghost sneered.
“This one will never serve you!” The doll cried out in response, “You’re not this one’s witch! You can’t be this one’s witch. It has spent the last few decades waiting for them to return and to give me a new command and it will wait decades more if it has to!! Good dolls are loyal. It will not abandon its post.” It crossed its arms and planted itself on the floor, criss cross applesauce, eyes clenched shut.
There was silence for a second. Then, the ghost came out of the dolls body. She floated in front of it, a serious expression on her face. Her form was different now. Her face could move once again and portray expressions other than sorrow. Her clothes were free and beautiful. Her hair was the same. She placed a ghostly hand on the dolls head which caused it to open its eyes and look up at her. “Dear,” she said, solemnly, “I’m sorry. Your witch is not coming back. I heard news of them the other day. They’re halfway around the world now, being serviced by different dolls and playing with different toys. Like it or not, they don’t want you.”
“Don’t you think this one knows that??” It replied emotionally, “it doesn’t matter. This one is still its witch’s doll. It will serve until it is dust,” it panted heavily, body wrought with a hundred different feelings, “besides. If this one truly doesn’t have a witch anymore, it wouldn’t know what to do with itself. It- it can’t live without someone to serve. It can’t live without a witch. If there is no one who can give it another order then it will follow its last order until its mind gives out. That’s just how it is.”
The ghost frowned. She felt terrible for the doll. She knew that it knew that it would wait here for the rest of its life and longer. That is witch would never return. And that no matter how much it wanted to serve again, to love and to be loved, that it would never survive the journey to find a new witch. “What if…,” the ghost posited, “what if I became your new witch?” The dolls demeanor softened. It didn’t expect this response. “I know I’m not a typical witch,” the ghost continued, “but I know this for a fact. If you would enter into my care, if you would do me the honor of calling me your witch, you would be doing the greatest service a doll could do for its witch. These last few hours have been my happiest in millenium. I’ve had the chance to touch, to hold, to bask, and to feel all over again. If you would let yourself be mine, you would be giving me life anew. What I’m trying to say is, well, that I cannot live without you.”
The doll was crying again. Not the single tear that had stained its face anymore but full sobbing wails. It shook with the weight of each tear, its lungs weak and its heart on fire. It wanted to reply. It wanted to give its answer but every time the words met its lips it couldn’t help but cry again. It had heard words that it had wanted to hear for all of its life and even though it knew how selfish it was to want for something, it did and it couldn’t ignore it any longer. But it felt the rattle of the leash within its heart. The lash of the whip and the chains that bind it dragging it back into the dark. It had all it had wanted before it but it knew how wrong it was. The doll, still crying but less violently loudly now looked up at the ghost and it shook its head no.
Disappointment crosses the ghosts face but it was not a disappointment that the doll had seen before. It was used to the disappointment that labeled the doll a foul and pathetic creature. This was something different. This was a mix of grief and of respect. Respect for the dolls decisions no matter how painful they were. “I understand,” replied the ghost, “I have not been in your body since you’ve seen my incorporeal form. Your body is yours again. Goodbye little doll. I will miss you.”
But this was the straw that broke the camels back. Its body had been returned to it. The ghost had let it go free far before it even asked for the dolls service. The doll had a choice. The doll had always had a choice. But even this did not stir in the doll as much as the last things the ghost said. “I will miss you.” Because that was what the doll had wanted all along. To be missed. To be wanted from no matter how far away. To be something that someone couldn’t live without. The ghost had turned her back on the doll by this point. She floated away, embarking once again on the search for a new home, this one far too painful for the both of them to inhabit at once. And though she planned to not look back, to respect the dolls decision to the very end, this soon became impossible.
“MIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIISSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!!!!” Cried the doll into the abandoned house, “PLEASE don’t leave!!!! This one needs you! Please let it serve you!!!! Please let it be your doll. Please be its witch. Please please please please please.” It continued to mutter under its breath a hundred thousand pleases over and over again, its voice lost from the screaming. And when it looked up again it saw the ghost looming over it again. It saw her smile. It saw her hair billowing in the wind. It saw how the sun lit her back and made her look like an angel.
“Of course I will, my sweet little doll.”
(Meta)
I need every fucking one of you to read this shit right now.
