Angelic Radiance in a Shell of Porcelain.

TMA. She/Her and It/Its. Late 20s. Some posts may contain untagged NSFW or trauma-related content. This blog is not for minors.

[porcelain-tea]

╒═══════ Good morning! This one welcomes you. ═══════╕

This is a sideblog (its main blog is @webp-official, if you see likes/reblogs/follows from that account, hello! It is this one) run with the intention to explore, play with, and learn about transfemininity, identity, kink, humanity, sex, and trauma in the context of Empty Spaces; as such, this blog is not suitable for those who are under the age of 18.

This one is an angelic radiance sealed within a porcelain ball-jointed doll named Miriam. It uses she/her and it/its pronouns and referential "this one"; rest assured, this one is a 21+ adult. It strives to always use proper grammar and syntax (as a course of its dollishness, it has chosen to avoid the use of contractions or swears), and as such may come off as rather formal or detached. This one has also been told that it "gives off little girl/sister energy".

This one has a love of cooking, writing, anthropology, and reading, as well as more lighthearted things like playing games, nature, watching films, and yuri.

Anything that this one has written, whether in the context of micro-fiction or general musing may be found through searching for the tag "#words from a doll". As well, this one is very friendly and the inbox is open, so it will do its best to respond to anything that is received, which may be found through searching for the tag "#asked and answered".

╘══════ May this one interest you in a cup of tea? ══════╛

[tamamoland-dark-queen-of-gehenna]

hitting the optimize button in the equip menu is an implicit agreement to put on whatever the fairy recommends

[no-pants-kayla]

"Nobody'll see it," she says, fully aware of the better stat breastplate with a boob window in the next dungeon.

[tamamolandael]

[tamamoland-with-a-gun]

I love you OP

[suigintou]

listen um. i think its great that the gods imbued you with life as a testament to the fervent passion and peerless skill i constructed you with but i was kind of hoping for a less complicated relationship with my sex doll

[b0tster]

'why do ur lesbian ocs need condoms?'

bsky replies: its not uncommon for some tops to put condoms on the strap because its still possible to transmit std's. also it could just be a joke and shes just doing it cuz shes bisexual or something and has them lying around maybe and its funny cuz they dont need them?

tumblr replies: 'because bia has a massive cock'

[bottl3d-oc3an]

you're a poser if you care more about making me bark than making sure i've taken my meds and brushed my teeth

[daydreaming-scheming-demon]

tumblr staff will let the thousands of porn bots on here run rampant yet will take down trans comics with no actual nudity

i originally reblogged this post, but since staff took it down you can't fucking see my reblog anymore. well i liked this comic, i want it on my blog, and it does not include any fucking nudity. especially compared to all the straight up porn staff allows to go free

so here it is

untitled by Pas (paxiti), all pages from May 23, 2018 to June 22, 2023

[sapphicmutt77]

I think witches have a responsibility to their dolls that if the sweet porcelain thing is in to incest you have to perform a binding ritual.

"But I'm already connected with my doll! What would be the point!"

Give it your blood. Give it. Your blood.

Lay it down on the floor, light some candles, caress its cute little face, and watch as it starts writhing when you inject it with your blood. Now you can finally be blood sisters, like you were always meant to be.

It will make the sex infinitely hotter I swear.

[kittenwithabelle]

One thing I like to focus on as a Witch and a Dollmaker is my dolls individuality. Even as I excise everything that makes them a person, it's important to me to leave my dolls' personality. It must seem like an oxymoron, but please, stick with me. The "Person" a doll once was is like a block of marble. And personhood is the pressures on them, trying to shape them into nothing more than a block of material, it pushes and pulls, "correcting" any deviation. First, we remove these pressures, and we are left with raw stock. From that, we carve the doll out of the marble she built around herself to conform to this personhood. But please, look past the material itself, and observe the swirls, the speckles. This, is personality. It is the embellishments on her dress, the exact cadence of her walk, the twinkle in her voicebox as she mimics the sounds around her. It is the love that she infuses into her tea that no magick could ever replicate. The way she is drawn to certain things. That little spark that some overlook. Even dolls of the same batch contain these differences. Even as small as which way she tilts her head as she receives orders. To me, this is beauty of the highest order. Some would try to smooth out these differences, to reduce her beautiful marble to flat white rock. Not I. I believe that each of these speckles, each of these veins contain value beyond words. For what personality is more pure than one without a person behind it? unburdened by the pressures of society. One that is unafraid to exist.

[kittenwithabelle]

A doll is a curious thing.

You take a person and remove the personhood from it. What does that leave?

The simple may say "A body, nothing more". The scholar might posit that "Instinct will be the only thing left"

But the Witch, well, we know better. Don't we?

A doll is many things: purpose, stillness, devotion. But to those perceptive enough there's more than that. Pride, love, joy. Personhood is a curse, cast upon it by society. The shackles of sinew and muscles that tell it what it cannot be. Well, removing that is simply a kindness, no?

To forge a doll, to own one, is magick beyond that which is cast. It is the mundane kind, the magick of autumn leaves, of sunsets, of the tide. It is the magick of change. Ironic, no? That stillness, porcelain, and metal embodies such a thing.

You take a person and remove the personhood from it. What does that leave?

Well, you tell me.

[porcelain-feather]

"Eyes on me, dear."

Your heart skips a beat at her words, but you do as she commands. Those eyes hold the secrets of the universe within them, or so it feels to you as you watch the light of distant cosmos dance through their depths. It is easy to get lost within them, easy to surrender your will before the might of something so much greater even as steel begins to bite into your skin.

"Eyes on me, dear."

Pain seems to bleed away the more you stare, seeping out of you like blood swirling into water - still present, but diluted with every second. Sparks of light seem to flash within the nebulae every time she finds a nerve. Her pupils are black holes that hold you in their inescapable gravity, impossible to get away from now that you're this close.

"Eyes on me, dear."

You couldn't break free even if you wanted to. It is too late, far too late. All that remains now is to surrender to the change. You must submit to her desire. You must fall into the singularity of her. The shifting clouds of shining gas are gone, all semblance of color replaced by the endless void between stars. Her eyes are the death of light and the beginning of eons and-

"Exhale. We're done now, doll."

At last, your Witch releases you. The rest of the world comes back into dull focus. She has already tidied up the old material so not even a speck of stray blood remains.

[verity-hollow]

A doll burying its witch's familiar.

It watches its witch cry as it finishes it's task. The doll doesnt understand why this happened. That familiar was loved and cared for and far too young. It was so sudden, so tragic.

The doll feels helpless, its supposed to care for its witch but there's nothing more it can do. As long as its Mistress is eating, sleeping, and drinking water, the doll has done its duty. And still the witch cries.

The witch wipes her tears on her sleeve. The fabric is stained dark with moisture, her eyes are red and her lip quivers as she sobs, saying her final goodbyes. She says that the familiar deserved to have far more time in the sun, in her lap, and cozying up to her beloved doll.

The doll wonders if its witch would be just as distressed if it suddenly ceased to function and couldnt be repaired. And deep in its core it hopes that it isn't. Better for a doll to be disposed of and forgotten than for its absence to leave a scar on its owner.

[saphig-iawn]

The Little Things

Dolls are taught manners. While reductive, it is a distillation of the idea that dolls know to act considerately and to be mindful of others. Polite is a broad description but that betrays the power that dolls can really have. Dolls are made to be considerate and mindful, it is inherent and innate, but dolls are no pushovers.

If one were to slight a doll, then comeuppance is due. Dolls are busy little things with many things to do for their witch, so that comeuppance may take time. But like their errands and instructions, the comeuppance will be done.

We all know of the bigger ways that can manifest, witches are known for their curses after all. What we don't ever talk about is how dolls can take things into their own hands and how slights can come in all manner of sizes.

Dolls enjoy the little acts. The thousand cuts. The gentle erosion of rain on stone.

A doll enjoyed the greener spaces on its walk into town, but as time went, they diminished beneath the crawl of concrete and road. Now the doll makes its own green spaces, ensuring its pockets have appropriate seeds ready to be 'misplaced' on its walks.

A doll does its shopping for its witch. While the prices seemed to rise and rise, the doll always had enough from its witch. But upon seeing another doll look upon loaves of bread with a pained longing and a half-empty basket, it made sure it wasn't looking when the worried doll snuck a loaf beneath its clothing.

A doll enjoys crafts and making; creating little things with little hands. It also knows how powerful a little ember can be when the grass is dry and dead, how a message can find a mind and inspire it. So the doll makes sure its stickers are to hand when venturing into town; setting embers free into the wind to find tired minds.

As I said, dolls enjoy the little acts.

The thousand cuts.

The gentle erosion of rain on stone.

And given enough time the minute can become the massive.

[porcelain-feather]

Clockwork as delicate as this was never meant to suffer so much stress. Your gears were made to be small, precise, ornate works of art - not the rugged sort that are necessary to endure this strain on a daily basis. You never had a choice in the matter, but the work must be done. If that means winding the key tighter and making everything tick faster, so be it. Can't leave a job unfinished. Can't let people be disappointed. Can't permit errors within your work.

Tick. T-Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. T-Tick.

Some teeth have broken off and make the mechanism skip, but you're fine. It doesn't hurt that badly. Sure, it will add more strain and break more gears, but you can still smile, can't you?

T-Tick. T-Tick. Tick. T-Tick.

You can still dance, even if the motions are jerky. Keep moving. Time is of the essence. Don't let them down. You can keep going, can't you?

T-T-Tick. Tick. T-T-Tick.

Can't you?

[yeen-queen-mama]

A witch notices you from across the bar. She is beautiful like a shadow creeping from the forest at dusk. She smiles. You blush and lower your eyes bashfully, out of habit. She draws near and takes a seat before you. She speaks to you in a voice like night itself whispering to you.

"Why do you hide behind that mask, little doll?" she asks with the quiet smile of one who always knows more than she tells. She can see through your mask, the one you've always worn out, the one that hides your emptiness. The one that makes that beautiful porcelain face seem alive and full of expression. You have always thought you must pretend to be alive and pretend to have thoughts if you were to find anyone to care for you here. You tell her so.

"You should not have to hide your face to be loved, my little doll. I want to see your true face," she says as she stands and takes your hand without waiting for a response. You follow as she leads you to a room in the back, blushing the whole way.

She closes the door behind her, then kneels before you and gently slips her claws under your mask and pulls it off. You fall limp into her arms. You are a beautiful porcelain doll, empty and still.

----

You have been with her for a year now. You are happy and cared for. You serve a beautiful witch who loves you so very much. She made strings for you, so she can guide you and move you, and she does it so wonderfully, so gracefully. You love when she pulls your strings. She plays with you every single day, having tea parties and dancing with you and snuggling up together.

And you have never had to hide behind that mask ever again.

[cibastion]

[crescentalice]

you gotta be fucking with me, right?

[crescentalice]

literally doing the whole "I wish femininity was as impossible for me as it is for you!"

[catboybiologist]

[contemptible-scoundrel]

fuuuck I could use a mysterious benefactor right now