clockyclockyclockwork

[clockyclockyclockwork]

It happens.

A doll was curled up in a corner of its room, something playing on its laptop though it wasn’t truly watching. A blanket pulled tight around them, their back resting against a pillow, and a heating pad’s cable leading out of their little enclosure. The doll’s Witch was familiar with this little ritual of its. It wasn’t the first time she’d seen it, nor would it be the last. The reason was usually different. Sometimes something had gone wrong; a favorite mug had broken, an ingredient or snack it’d been looking forward to had gone bad, something they’d wanted had gone out of stock before they’d been able to get it.

The reason didn’t matter. It never did.

So the doll curled up by itself, clinging to a favorite plush, trying to fill its mind with anything but its own thought. It was the only thing it could do to keep from hurting itself, or lashing out and breaking things. It was all it knew how to do.

So its Witch sat down beside, bringing the doll its favorite drink but not saying a word. Only sitting by the doll, not speaking, not touching beyond the lightest gesture of support, a brief palm on its shoulder, removed no sooner than it was placed. The doll’s Witch had seen this before, and would see it again, and this was all she knew to do to help.

It was probably more than could be done to help, but it was help nonetheless.

Ten minutes passed, twenty, half an hour and the doll allowed itself to lean on its Witch. The doll never cried, no matter how much its heart ached, it didn’t know how. It had forgotten long ago and hurt any time it tried, so it just didn’t. The doll simply allowed its weight to rest on its Witch’s arm, a small, silent gesture.

But it was progress. The same tiny gesture of progress that had repeated in the past, and hopefully would in the future. Sometimes things don’t get better. Sometimes they can’t. But they can get through it together, the Witch and her doll. Little by little, the doll moved, leaning a bit more weight on its Witch, then starting to relax its muscles, then finding its head laying on her lap hours after its Witch had sat down.

Slowly, the Witch started to stroke her precious doll’s hair, wishing only she could do more, even as she knew there were some things even she was powerless to fight. All she could do is be there when she was needed, just as her doll was for her.

Not a single word passed between them the entire day, nor did the doll do anything productive. They just stayed there, until the sun had long since set, watching this and that on the doll’s laptop, while it’s Witch typed away on her own, doing what she could to stay productive, else the doll would only feel worse.

The doll’s breathing never hitched, never sobbed, but by the end of the day, its Witch noticed a single shining trail of a tear down the doll’s face. It was progress. Her doll may not be able to get over whatever was wrong today, may not tomorrow, but it was progress. And sometimes, getting through it was progress enough.

[clockyclockyclockwork]

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.

[clockyclockyclockwork]

shelf life

[clockyclockyclockwork]

girl who is known for being independent and proud but deep down really wants to be a doll. exhausted by the years of only having herself to rely on, by putting on that mask of self-aggrandization. it would just be so nice if she could cut back for ONCE in her life.

and it wouldn't have to be a permanent change either!but more like. a vacation. a state she can retreat to when she's just so tired of having to think and feel and act for herself. letting someone she trusts call the shots while she just. comes along for the ride and does as she's told. happy to exist and be near her loved ones without all the obligation that comes with being a fully-formed self-sufficient person.

and if she's ready to take up her old role again once she's had enough time to rest, she can do so, but... even if she doesn't, that's okay too! she's loved, just for existing.

[clockyclockyclockwork]

Hey, sis

Sis. Dear

Look at Me, okay? Just a few minutes, I promise it's important

I know you're a bit busy with your game. But, remember how I promised you to, take you to the seaside sometime?

Well...pack your things! We're gonna, we're gonna go today!

Yeah! Isn't that, fun? Our. Our summer just started. You don't have to worry about school

What about our (Redacted)? I...she. She's, she's sleeping in the living room. Yeah, she's. She's sleeping. That's why you must not go there, okay?

Promise? Just. Just pack your things. Remember to take Saphie, okay? It would get lonely here if left behind. But I know you're smart, you wouldn't leave your plushie behind

Just. Just make sure to pack everything. I brought you a suitcase. Don't worry about your puter. I'll give you my laptop. Just, pack the rest, allright?

Come here. I love you. I love you a lot, dear. Just, promise Me you won't go into the living room. We're leaving as soon as you pack

Yeah! Of course we can stop for ice cream. But we're gonna have them in the car, okay? I just really want you to see the sea as soon as we can

-Crescent

[clockyclockyclockwork]

Lost and Found!

A doll in a lost and found box.

It sits quietly.

Wondering if its witch will come to pick it up.

It's possible that...

No.

It's not possible.

She wouldn't just let it go like that.

It knows her.

It knows its witch.

She wouldn't just lose it and replace it.

She wouldn't.

She wouldn't!

Right?

...

A rummaging through the box.

It's her! She's here for it!

The doll looks up!

And...

It's not her. Just the worker that put it there in the first place.

It looks back down.

And it's lifted out of the box!

And passed into the arms of its witch!

Who squeezes it so hecking tightly awawa!

With a sob, the witch manages out a thank you.

Thank you, thank you, thank you so much.

The doll, as well, manages out a thank you.

Muffled, from being pressed into its witch.

Home at last.

[clockyclockyclockwork]

okay sorry but how long has this been queued????????

this one's url has changed twice, maybe three times? its beeen at least a year

this is a niche fiction genre blog now

how long was this queued

what the fuck

>video claiming to be essay/history on a topic

>ask them if its analysis or summary

>they dont understand

>pull out detailed chart explaining what's analyzing the ideas and motives behind a text and what is just presenting information without thinking about it

>"it's a good video, ma'am"

>watch it

>summary

[clockyclockyclockwork]

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

[clockyclockyclockwork]

scrambling around the room like the woman from The Yellow Wallpaper begging its own brain not to turn this story idea into a serialized thing

[clockyclockyclockwork]

Photos taken at Royal Gorge in Colorado (Could not find concrete information on original inhabitants, however the Cheyenne, Arapaho, and Ute nations all lived at least nearby)

📷Olympus EPM1, 14-42mm 1:5.6

[clockyclockyclockwork]

failed utterly btw, its now looking like it will be 5 chapters plus an epilogue, 12-18k words total

scrambling around the room like the woman from The Yellow Wallpaper begging its own brain not to turn this story idea into a serialized thing

[clockyclockyclockwork]

scrambling around the room like the woman from The Yellow Wallpaper begging its own brain not to turn this story idea into a serialized thing

[clockyclockyclockwork]

might fuck around and post the short story this one wrote in college. it's not Empty Spaces but its pretty good. decent, anyways.

[clockyclockyclockwork]

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.

[clockyclockyclockwork]

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.

[clockyclockyclockwork]

Nameless Doll

The doll had a name. Of course, all dolls had Names even without names, but this one had a name as well. Its name was special though, a secret for only it and its Miss. They liked it that way.

Its head bobbed gently to and fro, in time with the steps of its Witch. They were in the park, and she held it gently in her arms, secure against her chest. Its head was free to look around, watching the trees, the butterflies, the flowers and the clouds. A cool breeze rustled the ruffles of its dress, hanging by its feet, and played pleasantly with its cloth skin.

It was small. It liked being small, held, cared for. It had been bigger, once.

First, it had been a surprise, new and unexpected.

Then a companion, reliable and with Purpose.

Then it was a friend.

A confidant.

A partner to its Witch, inseparable.

They had stayed that way, for a long time. It was reliable, capable.

More capable than a doll should, according to some.

But even dolls can wear and grow weary, though they would never show it to their Witch.

Its Witch saw, though, right through its façade, its veneer, even its dollhood, right into that Empty Space full of Love and Magic and Purpose and Stillness.

And so, they conversed, planned, plotted, and agreed.

A change of pace.

A new status quo.

And so, in a working of Three with the powers that See, it changed.

Ceramic and steel and brass and glass to cotton and buttons and ruffles and fluff.

It, and its Witch, retired for a time.

To enjoy the world they had worked for, to feast on the fruit of their labors, if only for a time.

The doll would be big and strong and capable again, but steel was cold, and porcelain hard.

Like this, it was warm, and soft.

Cuddled in the night and held in the day.

It looked at a particularly vibrant flower, purple and blue and red and orange. The colors would contrast well with its Witches dress. It gestured, half with motion and half with magic, and its Miss stooped to pick the flower. She would bring it back, of course. She was kind like that. It would be changed, and older, but certainly not worse.

Not unlike the doll.

It would be bigger, again.

But for now, it watched the flowers.