doll-library

[doll-library]

A Dolls Routine

The doll starts her day just like any other, its important to have a routine, after all. It winds its mainspring, struggling to reach all the way behind her, but she still manages to get the requisite number of clicks from its back, then she goes into the workshop, checking the mail to see if it has any new requests. It opens a letter to find a small request, written in a shaky hand asking it to come visit a client whose doll was repaired some numbers of months ago, who was once again having issues.

The doll thought little of it, and having packed the tools it thought it might need, it set off to see the poor doll in need of repair.

As the doll approached the door it opened before her. This, bothered it, as her routine was always to knock three times before entering a witches home, it's very important for a doll to have a routine, after all.

Entering the lovely little cottage it set to work without a word, it didn't charge for its services so it only sought to know more about the dolls problem, rather than haggle over things like price or parts, it long since left those things behind it. Those were things its witch worried about.

As the doll worked it hummed a little tune, one it knew for, well as long as it could remember, although it never knew where it picked it up.

As it finished, it reattached the outside panels and wound the mainspring back taught on the doll, finishing it's maintenance. Throwing away the empty bottle of oil, it would have to ask it's witch to buy it more.

"All better!"

The doll opened and closed its hand several times, testing the joint that had been repaired

"Thank you miss! I've been having trouble holding my duster recently and this should help a lot!" The smaller doll happily said.

"oh, no, I'm not, I'm no miss, I'm just, happy to help"

The smaller doll didn't notice, arms wrapped around it's witch, saying how happy it was to be back, even though it had only been asleep for several hours.

The doll repacked its kit, resealing its box of tools with the three latches on the top. Always starting with the left one, a doll has to have a routine, after all.

It went on its way home, faintly humming the same tune it always did. The sun was getting low by this point, and the sunset was quite pretty.

It arrived home, satisfied with its work, it put a pot of tea on the stove and waited for it to boil, wiping its porcelain and steel hands from the grime of being outside

"ma'am the tea will be ready in just a minute!" The doll called happily.

When it was, it carefully took a tray of tea up to her room, knocking on the door. There was whistling coming from inside their room, a familiar tune.

Miss must be busy if she didn't respond, it thought to itself. It gently set the tray of tea by the door. Picking up the now cold set it had left yesterday, teacups still full, like always. It was important for a doll to have a routine, after all.

The doll washed the set, placing it in the drying rack, before heading outside to watch the sunset. As it sat there, sitting on the porch, the second rocking chair creaking slightly in the wind, the doll watched the sunset. Thinking how much it wished its witch would just come watch the sunset with it. As it stood from the chair and the porch, a small mockingbird, whistling a familiar tune as it flew out of the open window.

The doll slowly curled in their empty bed, watching the curtains blow in the wind, counting the stars it could see through the window. Miss stayed up so late these days, it thought to itself, it can't be good for her. But once again, the doll slowly drifted off to sleep, tracing the stars that make up its favorite constellation. It's important for a doll to have a routine, after all, its so forgetful.

[doll-library]

Doing a magical girl transformation into a perfectly blank mannequin and dropping straight to the floor

[doll-library]

For the Dolls!

The little doll cries out while enthusiastically waving her tiny trans pride and rainbow flags. While her witch injected her estrogen shot into her thigh. Even before it became a doll did it have a great love for puns and wordplay and now that it had grown (or rather shrunk) into what I had always needed to be it took every opportunity to all out with them.

[doll-library]

wind-up mechanical maid doll who performs her tasks with utmost rigor and precision... so much so that if you so much as bump her she will continue the rest of her duties slightly off-position. it is unknown whether she's truly that mechanically restricted, otherwise incapable of adjusting her work, or simply wishes not to. when asked about this off-hours she merely shrugs. her artificer is similarly evasive of the topic- a hearty chuckle and a loving "eh, you know how she is."

[doll-library]

The Surgery Doll

There’s a sickening creak of metal as the well-aged door is effortfully pushed open. The operation room was lit with an aggressive white light, leaving harsh shadows angled into every corner. The cloth doll turns its head, trying to shield the buttons on its face from the intense glow. The flinch lasts only a moment, as it remembers its place. It turns back, facing the ball-jointed doll that politely stands in wait across the operating table.

It's... a kind of doll it hadn't seen before. It's seen plenty of ball-jointed dolls, of course. But none like this. The way its frame crawls upward, consuming the corner of the room like a spider web. The sharp edges of its thin, lanky frame looked as if they could cut the delicate flesh of any onlooker.

"Ah, it's... very nice to meet that one." The cloth doll curtsies, failing to hide its nervousness. "This one's name is Pudding. It's nice to, um..." The doll trails off before it can repeat itself, looking to the other doll for approval.

The ball-jointed doll is unfettered. It towers above the plaything, statuesque as it glares down at its patient. "Macabre."

"Ah, a pretty name!" It tries to smile, apprehension leaving the stitches in its mouth half-turned. "It's nice to meet that one!"

Macabre simply turns away, bending down to reach under the counter behind it. "Get on the table."

The other doll obeys, letting its soft body quietly thump against the back. With cloth mittens clasped together, resting on its belly, it stares up into the sterile fluorescent light.

The room is cold, the stone walls of the basement emanating an unwelcoming aura of stiff indifference. The lights, external fixtures crudely strung up with wire, leave a power cord that snakes into the corner and disappears behind a shelf of medical texts, for people and non-people alike. Spines coloured the same blue seen upon the walls of hospitals, the same colour Pudding has seen before when Miss cuddles it through her drama shows. They're outnumbered by smaller books; operating manuals, caring for clockwork, and a few books on sewing and crochet that it recognizes from Miss's shelf.

A moment passes. All that fills the room is a practised pattern, the routine movements of a doll at work as the shuffling of something accompanies its searching hands.

"So... um..." The doll tries to speak. This is not a bed for rest, Macabre is not a partner to sooth. It's far out of its element. "This one has never met a medical doll before. What's it like?"

There's a distinct creaking as Macabre turns, a clear strain against its old joints as it reaches for its implement. It holds sewing scissors, the blades hanging open and held over Pudding's body like a scythe.

Its face remains still, adorned with a pensive frown dotted with dark makeup. Only now does Pudding notice how... it wouldn't dare to say something as rude as inelegant, but it's never seen a doll wear something so pragmatic. A plain black t-shirt dress, completely without frills or decoration. Scrubs.

"It's wonderful." Its painted-on frown doesn't move as the monotone drips from it. It's lowered to a whisper, just as it was before, as if raising its voice above the minimum would be a strain. "This one gets to see the private insides of every doll it's ever met. It's a privilege to be trusted."

Its body curls inward, the lanky body creaking as it hovers over the doll like a beast about to pounce. A sleek and terrible monster of the shadows, one that lurks around the corner to dig fangs into necks. But, of course, its mouth remains politely closed. "Thank you."

"Oh!" The cloth doll perks up, a genuine smile teasing at its lips. "Um, this one is happy to help!" There's a hesitation in its voice, one of surprise and just a little confusion. But, just a little, it feels fulfilled. "That one should thank Miss Circe when she returns, too. She's what made this one so helpful." It echoes from a lifetime of habit.

With its reaction fulfilled, Pudding lowers its head back, flush against the table. The apprehension makes itself known again, digging in and rooting within the doll's mind.

Macabre lets out a gentle sigh, giving a barely-there curious tilt of its head. "You can't anesthetize a doll."

"Huh?"

"So that one needs to calm itself before the operation." It reaches back and places the sewing scissors on the tray resting on the counter behind it, next to bags of weighted beads. Its movements were smooth, unflinchingly elegant, to an unnatural degree. Movements uninhibited by mortal consideration, everything in service to a purposeful intent, with no room left for a flinch. "It's a comfort doll, yes? What would that one do if it were the one calming a patient?"

"Oh!" Recognition fades into concern. "Oh, um..." With no lungs left to fill, the doll mimics a sigh as it turns back to the room's only door. "This one would probably be most comforted by Miss being here, but she has such important things to be doing."

Before it can continue, before it can dilute its needs with practicality, Macabre accepts. "If that one needs a Miss, this one shall provide. Her name was Circe, yes?"

Comfort dolls, Pudding especially, must be attuned with emotion to follow their purpose. A comfort doll should recognize what will be enjoyed, appreciated, and most of all, comforting. So it knows. Immediately, it knows.

"Yes, Miss Circe." Pudding nods dutifully, smiling up at a doll that is not her witch. Its eyes are much too dark, its hair the same as its blunt bangs almost hide its eyes entirely. And that face, its frozen porcelain face, bereft of Circe's relief to finally be so close to her favourite doll and hold it tight after a long day apart. "...thank you for being here with this one."

"She is kind, isn't she? She must treat that one so well." Macabre can't help but let its thoughts drift away, head tilting downward to avert its eyes. "So refined, but so compassionate. Someone who can hug, who can cause smiles. What makes that one smile?"

It's then that Pudding sees something in the taller doll shift. Its posture loosens, just a little, just enough. It's all the cloth doll needs. It feels something light up, a drive, a need. This is its purpose.

Its focus shifts, away from itself. All it can do is look up at Macabre, a wistful compassion clear even through the darkness of its buttons. "You always tell this one stories about all the fun people you meet, Miss. You're so social, it's so natural for you to just attract people and make them happy."

Macabre doesn't sigh, hiding the refreshing relief to hear such a thing. To imagine it were true, that it was a vibrant thing of compassion and closeness. "Yes..." It hesitates, only for a moment, from its task. It takes that moment, just a moment and nothing more, to conjure a self to refer to. "I... I met someone, just at the store the other day. She was so kind to me. She just... came up to me and talked like we were old friends. She wasn't the least bit scared, she..."

Macabre flinched, woken from its lucid daydream, as it feels a soft mitten snake into its hand. Immediately, Pudding pulls away. "Oh! Sorry, this one didn-"

"No!" Macabre snatches its mitten back. "No, it's... please. It's okay."

Slowly, gently, the mitten closes around the other doll’s sharp and slender grasp. "Yes, Miss. Of course."

. . . . .

Thmp!

Such soft, gentle impacts ring into the concrete. Thmp goes an experimental first step, the doll's feet landing against the ground with a heavier and clumsier pressure. "Oh, gosh, this feels…"

The doll looks back to Macabre. "…it's strange." Another raise of the foot, and a gentle press against the floor, too softly to sound beyond the subtle rustling of its new beads. "It's a little heavy, but it doesn't feel… encumbering, it thinks."

Fixing its posture, Pudding's look turns from one of curiosity to gratitude. "This one gives its thanks, Macabre. That one is very talented!"

With a soft creak, the other doll lowered its head, a polite and dutiful gesture. "It was nothing. That one was a very good doll. Most dolls struggle to be still when they're being cut, this one is pr-"

It stops itself. "…that one did well."

Pudding knew what it wanted to say, of course. It had known all along.

"Thanks for acting as this one's Miss, as well. It was a great help." The doll bows and grabs its dress, a quick and light curtsy.

Then, it spoke one final thought. Just before Circe returned, and Pudding gave her all of its attention like any good doll would. Just before she left the payment on the table, one that an owned doll would have passed along to its witch. Just enough to almost force a soulful blush on Macabre's cold, painted face.

"That one would make a lovely witch."

[doll-library]

The doll has been struggling to sleep. Its clear in the way it moves. Sluggish, uncoordinated, weak and seemingly tired, though its mind is weaker, slower, its wit, humor, all unchanged as it makes dinner for its witch

"Doll, why haven't you told me this is happening?"

It blinks. Slow to process

"Miss, it's not sure what you me-"

"doll, come with me to your bedroom. Now."

The doll complies, turning off the stove mid creation. It sits on the bed, waiting for whatever it's miss is about to do

Doll. Sleep.

The order isn't out loud. Not verbal. But that's the magic of the bond a witch and its doll share. So the dolls eyes close. Stationary, still. Resting for a time. Something it clearly needed. The witch kisses its forehead, and returns to finish cooking dinner.

[doll-library]

A doll, made of steel, porcelain, brass, hard unrelenting materials that you could hit as hard as you'd like, and even if its porcelain chipped, she would still be more than functional. Its joints and mechanisms redundant, hydraulic systems doubled for reliability, core, synchronized and double calculated for stability. The most reliable system the woman had ever seen. Every joint precision ground. Every bearing press fit into a shock resistant housing. Even it's feet were custom made of hardened stainless steel, each toe and fastener made from a milled block of hardened steel, tamper resistant, naturally. But even as she marveled at the doll, she wondered who'd made such a thing so seemingly delicate in nature, a maid as its dress suggested, so reliable and damage resistant, why ruggedize something made to dust the frames of a house it might never see the outside of?

But that was the confusing part. The machine refused to function, it simply laid there, unmoving, unclicking, dead as if its mainspring had never been wound. Every mechanism she inspected was free of dust, every hydraulically actuated ligament pressurized correctly, it was the most peculiar thing.

But it still acted as if something were wrong. She scratched her head, clearly she were missing something. When it had arrived at her door, it had collapsed on the ground, with a note in its hand begging her to fix the thing. But she ran a leather workshop and the only possible piece of leather she could find was the belt affixing the dolls dress to its waist.

But still, she had once been a mechanic, so she began looking into the doll's problems. Off came the arms, legs, paneling. Still nothing revealed itself. She found its cores, humming magically, seals still intact, both of them synchronized by the most meticulous set of gearing she'd ever laid eyes on. But it was meticulously clean, as if it had never seen a speck of dirt in its life.

Eventually she reassembled the doll, dress and all, before noticing something, a small, well worn ring of parts around the dolls neck. The brass was shiny while the rest had acquired that patena that signified not wear or misuse, but age. Everything bore use, although still it was meticulously cleaned. But not this small stripe of doll around it's neck.

About an inch and a half wide, all the way around, and only in the one spot. She puzzled for a moment, before finally understanding that it wasn't something inside the doll that had broken, but something that it was missing.

She set to work, pulling out her leather working tools and creating a plain black collar. Set with steel hardware and a small brass lock in the back. As she placed the collar on the dollar, it's eyes began to glow again, she sat back, smiled and enjoyed her work for a moment while the doll began to smile.

A sharp rap on the door broke her from the trance of having done good work, and as she opened it a witch stepped in.

"thank you dear, I'm afraid she simply won't work without it, and she went running off to find you before I could stop her. It seems to be in lovely working order now, thank you"

The rudeness of the witch, barging into her workspace without even asking bothered the woman, but the audacity stunned her more than anything.

"How could you let such a thing happen. Arent you supposed to protect such a thing?"

She said this with anger, brows furrowed as clearly this was something a responsible witch would never let happen, she opened her mouth to continue before the witch interrupted her.

"What you see before you is something I have spent longer than you have been alive creating. Every gear, joint, bearing, bone, and set screw has been meticulously created with the precision that would rival anything you've ever done. I use my design as an act of love. I am no leatherworker as my doll knows, and she knows I'd never let something less than perfect grace her body. So she came here, the workshop that held your mother, all those years ago, who created the collar that helped the doll become what she is. She came to the one place in the world she saw as suitable to create what she needed most, the last token of love she could possibly give me, the final gift she could give of the free will she had after her last collar was ripped from her by someone trying to 'set her free from slavery'"

"The gift of her service, and a show of giving me back what others thought was forced from her. It was her choice, to never choose again. And I love her more than I could ever say."

[doll-library]

The Death of the Audience

A doll in front of an audience.

It's going to perform a piece for them.

But is it really?

That's something that its witch always told it.

That she doesn't write for an audience.

She doesn't write for the entities that follow her.

She writes for herself.

Okay, maybe that is an audience.

But that's the only audience she cares about!

Not even her doll!

She's glad that it enjoys her stories -

But she writes for herself and herself alone.

And so, tonight, the doll will follow in her footsteps.

And play a song in front of an "audience".

But in truth -

It will be playing for itself and itself alone.

Baring its heart upon the stage.

The death of the audience.

[doll-library]

Haunted doll in a public display case where it's gawked at by tourists. Occasionally it gives them a big scare just because it loves the look on their faces. After hours it hops out and its witch takes it upstairs for cuddles

[doll-library]

a witch tattooing doll joints on a human, causing the skin to turn to porcelain once she’s done

soon she’ll have a beautiful doll

[doll-library]

Separate

CW // identity loss, purposeful forgetting. imprisonment, forced back to a past.

A doll sits on a bed in a small room, it's legs pulled to its chest as it reads a book.

The sound of cold winds brush at the windowsill, locked and covered with iron bars. The yellow-white haze of the overhead light buzzes faintly as it reaches over the room, and the book the doll holds is left with dust smatterings and marks of fingers.

The words on the pages grow blurry as the doll holds back tears and exhaustion. If its witch were here, she would tell it to lie down as it hummed a melody to sleep. But its witch is not here. an unknown home and unfamiliar room far from its witches embrace.

"It will be safe here," the girl had said, "we'll be far from that evil witches clutches." Did she not know? Her witch was kind, there was no reason to leave its witch.

The girl had said she was her friend named Samantha. An old friend, from before being a doll. She said she wanted to save the doll, help her remember the past. That was not what It had wanted though.

It did not know Samantha. It did not know the person this woman kept speaking of. It did remember some of its past, before being a doll, but it had not wanted to.

Its witch removed most of those memories for it when it asked. and had kept it safe ever since. It did not remember much, but it did remember when it became a doll.

It had met the witch some time before, and had gotten to know her. It had been very sad for a long time, and one day, it had asked.

It asked to be a doll, and the witch said no. It then begged, and the witch still said no. On the third time though, the doll had prostrated itself upon the ground, tears in its eyes and agony in its heart, and staring in its witches eyes, the doll pleaded to be her doll.

Only then, did the witch say yes.

Time had passed. The doll cared for its witch, and the witch cared for her doll, and the doll was happy to be in its witches care. It was happy to be a doll.

And eventually it asked to forget its past. To forget of its pain, forget the sadness, forget being Human, or a friend, or a person. To be freed of its old name, and to exist as a doll and only a doll. And eventually, the witch complied.

And yet, the past has come back.

stuck in an old room, The girl, Samantha said it was the dolls room, but it knew it was wrong. Samantha was wrong.

Perhaps she simply wanted her friend back, or whoever it was before. but it had never wanted that, it wanted to be with its witch.

But a doll is just property isn't it?

Standing up from the bed and placing the book on worn and dusty blankets, the doll knock on the door of it's confinement, seeking to get the crying girls attention.

"Miss, shall this doll clean the house?"

[doll-library]

the reason people feel like their body is lighter and more drifty after being turned into dolls is b/c all unnecessary purpose beyond servitude has been removed from them btw

[doll-library]

what are dolls? and the institute? i’m interested but i don’t understand what’s going on !!

Hello! Sorry for the long reply, its been a hectic few weeks and I put a lot of time to thinking about how to explain.

So the first thing i think its that *what* are dolls? And this is were things immediatly get complicated but ill start by trying to define the main concept of a doll.

I defined it as "an entity created or recreated to serve a purpose or role, often by a dollmaker, who defines them and cares for them"

When I asked one of my Dolls for its answer it gave me this: "Doll: Any being that defines itself by simplicity of thought, yet untempered by the "feral" aspects of an animal. Most keep themselves through dedication to an "owner", "creator", or a single task or goal."

Defining dollhood and doll spaces is harder then just that though, because dollhood means a different things to many people. For some dollhood is a form of identity or way of exploring identity. A way of exploring the self and personhood through a lense of control and self determination. Of exploring the impact trauma and upbringing has on the sense of self. It Can be a way of exploring dynamics and forms of relationship, often through a lenses that de-focuses gender, and focuses on the exchange of self. For others its a way of exploring species and the definition of humanity, often attached to the alterhumanity/otherkin community. For others its a way of exploring expression, aesthetics and how you display yourself to others. For others its a form of creativity and expression. A way of expressing themselves through writing, art and creation. In exploring themes of humanity and the self, discussing trauma and de-personalization. Of creation and recreation, of hope and family. And sometimes its just about cool mechs in fucked up situations, and thats wonderful too. You can look at the Empty Spaces community, but ill touch on that later. See again for others dolls and creativity is about literal dolls, there is a decent sized scene of people who buy, sell, trade and customize dolls. From toy dolls to antiques, from just fixing them up to completely redesigning them from the ground up. Ill try to find some examples of some people to share sometimes because they do great things. And I think finally, for others its about community. whether that be the before mentioned Empty Spaces, a shared community of writers and artists that created a space to write about shared themes and emotions, a place where they can be with people who want to explore the same pain and themes together and give each-other a place of belonging. Or the even early mentioned doll otherkin, creating a space to explore identity and person-hood, trauma and the de-personalization that comes with it. Of exploring the self in a place of like-minded people who can understand each-other. Or so many other aspects of community, from kink and dynamics, to hope and family, from person-hood and authority and care to unperson-hood and service and devotion. For many its about the people that accept them and the lives they build together.

As for The Institute? Well it mostly is just a fun creative name and theme for my blog. Just a unique expression of doll exploration themed around a scientific institute who's tasked with the research and discovery of dolls and how best to treat, manage, and care for them. When I started the blog the doll community on tumblr wasn't all that large or active, it existed, but its strongest presence was on other platforms. There a lot of dolls in dollspaces, but less creators and caretakers, and even less "organizations", so its manage to stick out as a theme even as the community here has grown, and gratefully it has grown a lot. Its much less lonely now then it was when started. And the themes become less of just a theme as well! Me- The Director, and my staff, the Dollmaker and the Engineer, are all genuinely quiet devoted to studying dolls, as defined by people who identify as much, the communities around them, and were deeply invested in learning the best ways to help them, care for them, and manage them. so there you, not so shortly, have it. Dollhood is a form of self identification, but also a form of self expression, creativity, and community. And The Institute is a fictional organization dedicated to the science and discovery of dollhood, used as a theme for a blog, run by people actually invested in learning about and connecting the communities of doll-hood and the identity of those in it, and how to care for them.

[doll-library]

Actually, I do feel like a person...

The Witch had to have this conversation every few years at the least... often several times per year. They were good at it. Every so often, someone would come to them and say those words. "I don't feel like a person" was common. Sometimes "I don't feel like I should be a person". Almost always followed by sentiments that their life felt wrong, like they were out of place, like something was unfulfilled. She was no different. A deep haze of depersonalization. A desire to be something else. A desire to be a Doll. The Witch was also good at what followed from this, accomplished at creating that lovely aesthetic for the new forms of those who wished to become, in all its permutations. And as the Witch had none to serve her at that moment, they had offered a place at their side. Years later was a surprise however to them. "I feel like a person now" the doll had said. It had a smile on its face. Her golden eyes gleamed with that spark of genuine feeling. "Oh?" The Witch said, not quite knowing what to expect but definitely interested to see the Doll elaborate. "It feels now like its... Me, now. Like I am what I want to be. Can your doll be like this forever?" The Witch smiled. They reached out a hand to pat the doll on the head. A soft chuckle escaped their lips. "That sounds like a lovely plan."

[doll-library]

Gratitude

"Good doll."

"What did this one do, Sir?"

"You were here for me."

"This one is always here for Sir!"

"And it means more than you realize... Thank you."

"This one is grateful to Sir as well!"

"I've done nothing."

"Sir does more than Sir realizes!"

"Such as?"

"Calling this one 'good doll', giving this one direction, being present in this one's existence off the top of its head!"

"I see. I'm glad."

"♪!"

[doll-library]

A doll who has to go to work, it doesn't complain, but as it's about to leave, it hesitates at the doorway.

"I know my sweet toy. But it's only a couple of hours, this is just an errand, like all the others I've asked you to run with and for me."

The knowledge that she was doing this for her witch changes how she sees it, she would much rather do the work so that her witch doesn't have to.

[doll-library]

Humming Along

A doll humming a song to itself.

A song that its witch played on the piano!

She doesn't play too much anymore - but the song stuck with it.

Every once in a while, it will ask its witch to play it for it again!

She never refuses.

She knows how important the song is to the doll.

Even if she might not play much anymore, she's glad that she still has the skill to make her doll happy.

It deserves as much.