meli-writes

[meli-writes]

Immaterial Chains

TW: slavery/indentured servitude, murder by drowning, references to real world witch hunting, choking

Author's note: This is just creative writing, not be subtly moralizing or commenting on things. Mostly just thinking about how an "independent" doll might see someone who makes and keeps dolls like one might keep servants.

The sleepy village of Westonfeld-upon-Blackburn has had three of its local witches die under mysterious circumstances in the past five years. What was once mere coincidence is now suspicious, and the Academy has dispatched a promising new hunter-witch, Tansy, to resolve the issue. However, the Academy has not prepared her to face this type of threat.

The young witch stepped confidently out of her carriage, one hand holding her black pointed hat against the strong breeze, even as her platinum blonde hair was tussled, and the other hand gripping a handhold. It wouldn't do to stumble now - she had an image to build and maintain, nay, a reputation even. Competence and confidence would be key pieces of said reputation.

She stepped down from her lacquered carriage in a smooth, steady stride, her black jacket heavy and immaculate, her new boots gleaming black and clacking slightly against both the metal step and the stones of the ground. The town of Westonfeld-upon-Blackburn spread out before her, and she smiled broadly at no one in particular, even as the villagers gawked at the neatly dressed witch and her horseless carriage. The town was nothing compared to the gilded and bustling streets of the capital - but it was hers.

From behind her, one of her dolls called out gently. "Are you certain you wish to go alone, milady?" Truly considerate, but perhaps not understanding the situation. Were the townspeople to see the new witch in her own little cloud of dolls, they might think the situation more dire than it was. Or, worse, think the new witch scared of the task laid before her.

The witch shook her head no, took a moment to find her bearings, and upon seeing her target, strode confidently towards the town's general store. Conway's. A singular place the whole of the town would know, where she would collect - and spend - her disbursement, and where she would begin her work. The work which would assuredly earn her place in the world of witching.

She swung the creaking door open, ringing a bell at the top of it. Not a soul in the store paid attention to the sound, but upon seeing her peaked black hat, a subtle hush fell over the establishment. Whether 'twas fear or respect mattered not.

The shopkeep - presumably Conway - stood at his counter, wrinkles plain on his face and bolder than his thin gray hair. He was counting coins for an elderly customer while chatting. She would start with him. Her boots click-clacked against each nail in the wooden floor, and eventually his eyes narrowed, realizing that he had drawn the attention of someone far more powerful than himself. He finished the transaction promptly, and the customer, annoyed, turned in a huff, before seeing her black hat. Knowing their place, they scurried away, only casting a single gaze behind them.

"You must be our new witch from the Metaphysical Academy." His tone and expression were flat, not disrespectful but rather a sort of worn out that spoke to the situation at hand. "We've all been expecting you, miss..."

"Tansy Hathaway, hunter-witch 2nd class, at your service. I presume you are Mr. Conway?" She offered the barest hint of a smile back. There would be plenty of time to play nice once the crisis was resolved.

"Yes'm, same as me father and his father 'fore him. The Academy sent word of yer arrival. Cleaned yer place up, set up an account for you. The last one's gold kept flowing for a few weeks 'fore we found the body, so, yer all paid for for a little while yet, miss Hathaway." He smiled that same little bit back, showing at least one missing tooth. The other customers were starting to gather around her, looking nervous. Perhaps she did need to play a little bit nicer...

She curtsied slightly, her boots a touch too tall and stiff to make the motion look effortless. They would be broken in soon enough. "Tansy will do, Mr. Conway. Thank you. I was hoping I could gather a bit of information from you, actually." She swallowed, a touch of fear surfacing in her gut. "About the body."

"Well yes'm, ain't much to say that yer coroner didn't tell us herself though." He scratched his head, a gray hair falling to the counter. "One of the locals, a fisher, Lovell, found her all tangled up in one a his nets in the big lake. Drowned."

Tansy frowned. She had been hoping for something more. "Perhaps you've forgotten the tales, but witches float, Mr. Conway."

"Of course miss Hathaway, but that don't change the facts. Miss Romilly drowned, some way, some how, and now yer here to replace her. Maybe was drowned, miss?"

She sighed, already weary of this yokel. "Is there anything you saw or heard that might be related? No matter how small, no matter whether the coroner-witch rejected it out of hand or not, any hint might help, Mr. Conway."

Mr. Conway glanced past Tansy, at his other customers, who all seem equally nervous. "Well... yer not gonna believe this, 'cause no one does, miss Hathaway, but miss Romilly was all in a huff 'fore she died. Something about a doll wandering off, or something like that."

The witch wanted to sigh again. Who could believe something like that? "A doll does not simply wander off, Mr. Conway, it's simply impossible."

"Still, that's what miss Romilly was up to 'fore last we saw her." The look on his face was one of total honesty. Perhaps he knew how the Academy tended to interrogate suspected witch-killers these days.

Not that she had any cause to conduct such a thorough investigation, not yet. All that could be done for now would be to interview the rest of the customers, she decided. It was going to be a long day.

When Tansy's carriage arrived at what was to be her new home - a nice cottage situated conveniently on a ley line and adjacent to a patch of virgin forest - with her carriage and her hand-picked dolls, the sun was setting. The rest of her dolls had preceded her arrival here, and were standing at attention outside in a neat line, the cottage door open.

As she stepped off her carriage, the witch's gaze flicked over each of them before settling on her head housedoll, an older doll Tansy had inherited from her instructress as a graduation gift. "Kelsea. There's no need to be so formal -"

Unexpectedly, the housedoll interrupted her, the metal of her clockwork voice box giving it a musical quality. "Lady Hathaway, you have... a visitor."

A single interruption could be overlooked in such unexpected circumstances, then. "Already? Very well, then why are you not serving them, is there - "

Again, the housedoll interrupted. This could not become a habit, not in the slightest, and Tansy made a note that correction was necessary. "She has asked to see you, and only you. Ordered the rest of us out."

Tansy frowned at the words. A second impossibility - the dolls could only be ordered by one who knew the right binding phrases, and those could only be revealed by powerful magic. She was, by all accounts, the only witch in this town, and the first in at least a month. That meant this was not a visitor, but an intruder. "Stand back, then. I shall deal with this."

The housedolls all bowed their heads, and stepped another few feet away from the cottage as Tansy stormed past them and inside. If this intruder thought she could be intimidated by invading her house, she was about to be proven sorely mistaken.

The witch seethed as she stepped into her new abode, surely tracking in mud with her boots, casting her gaze in all directions, before spotting a humanoid figure in the drawing room, sitting in a red velvet chair. With curses on the tip of her tongue, Tansy stomped in, standing in front of the figure.

For a moment, Tansy didn't believe what she was seeing. A doll, of some variety. Gemstone eyes and yarn hair. Skin of white porcelain, decorated with arcane symbols but scratched and worn. Cracks filled with some silver-y dull metal, as opposed to electrum or gold. Well-worn plain clothes in black and white and red, not dissimilar to the fashion of last generation's rural witches. Vaguely feminine, but sufficiently neutral to potentially be any of a hundred genders, human or inhuman.

The two simply stared at one another for several moments, before Tansy broke the silence. "This is a joke. Miss Romilly is having some fun, is she, pretending to be dead and proceeding to send one of her dolls to her house to scare the new girl from the Academy?"

Slowly, agonizingly slowly, the doll's face contorted into something resembling a rictus grin, and a very hollow laugh echoed out. "Oh, darling, did you know she thought the same thing?"

The witch straightened her body, recognizing that something dangerous was afoot. "Then you're not a doll - you're simply... something pretending to be a doll. This house is supposed to be warded - if you tell me how you got in, perhaps I won't vaporize you."

"I walked in the front door, little witch." Something in the not-doll's tone implied honesty, but creatures of magic could not be trusted so simply.

"You lie. Perhaps, you think, you can simply escape from me. Perhaps this is an illusion and you think to escape me." Tansy shifted straight into threats, as her training had taught her. "You are mistaken - I was sent here specifically to deal with things like you."

"Ohhh, a hunter-witch! How fun. But you are mistaken, little witch." The not-doll leaned forward, joints cracking and creaking. "You are not able to deal with things like me."

The witch shook her head, even as shivers began to creep into her body. There were very, very few creatures that would be willing to threaten a witch back, let alone a hunter-witch. It was probably right - she was probably unprepared for whatever this was. But this was her job, and she would not be cowed so easily.

The not-doll tilted its head as if in curiosity, then stood up. It was about the same height as the witch before it, perhaps a little taller. The symbols on its body began to shift across its skin, not unlike how a serpent might slither 'cross the ground. Perhaps some manner of fey? "You are a brave one, little hunter-witch, but your common sense is sorely lacking."

Tansy grinned. "Perhaps, but you are rather close to a hunter-witch." And she incanted a quick spell, releasing a single seal on her array of tools. It would have no time to react to this at such a distance. Her black jacket peeled off her body like a wild beast might rip the skin from a carcass, and wrapped the not-doll as if in chains.

The not-doll, for its part, merely looked bemusedly down at the jacket, then smiled that sick grin again. "And you are rather close to a witch-doll." Suddenly, magical energy poured off the not-doll, causing Tansy to recoil, and the jacket to burst into flames.

As the witch's - new, expensive - jacket burned, thick black smoke filled the drawing room, and Tansy stumbled backwards, towards some glimmer of sunlight, desperate for fresh air. As soon as her hands found a window, it burst open from the other side, her housedolls having already noticed the smoke.

The witch coughed up acrid smoke, turned back to try to see the not-doll - and instead felt its hand grasp her neck, and lift her. Tansy's lungs burned as her throat was crushed, and she pounded her fists uselessly against the porcelain arm.

Its gleaming gemstone eyes turned between the witch and the dolls outside, who were mostly in shock, and its hollow laugh echoed through Tansy's ears. "Such a large number of dolls for such a little witch. Tell me, do they serve willingly? Or have you and your predecessors twisted your thorny vines through them until they cannot fathom dissent?"

Even if Tansy could not respond, the look in her eyes and her face at such questions surely answered the not-doll. It was only the most decadent of witches who permitted independence among their dolls. Dolls were wholly reliant on their witches, for magic energy, for repairs, for purpose, for meaning. They were rewarded with immortality, perfection, endless purpose.

But most dolls didn't know the meaning of the word "rebellion". Most witches didn't consider dolls capable of acting independently. The idea that a doll might not want to serve its witch was a laughing matter at the Academy. They were seen as little more than tools, to be made and replaced and changed as needed. Valuable and bespoke tools, but tools nonetheless.

As the life faded from Tansy's eyes, she briefly considered that perhaps there was a reason the Academy refused to even entertain the idea that a doll might benefit from independence. If a doll you made for a specific purpose can decide to simply not fulfill that purpose...

The not-doll tossed Tansy's near-lifeless body through the open window and to the ground, the better for all of her dolls to witness her wretched form. Two leaned over and tried to help her. She did her best to steady her eyes, to maintain consciousness, as the not-doll leaned out the window - a shockingly human gesture - and smiled once more.

"Little hunter-witch, slave-owner, doll-maker and doll-breaker... be glad that the witch-doll Adelina has spared you, and run back to your Academy with your tail between your legs. Inform them that I shall take great pleasure in showing you, and any other witch who dares try to step foot in this county, exactly how one dismantles a human body into its raw constituent elements."

As Tansy tried to stand up, helped by her dolls, the not-doll wagged a single finger at her in chastisement. "I'm not done yet." The not-doll opened its mouth again, and a not-word came out, something defined only in what it undid, and washed over the crumbled witch like a pounding wave. And suddenly, she was back on the ground, her dolls apparently deciding they had better things to do than help their witch stand.

Even as Tansy's eyes darted between her many dolls, they began to disperse. She barked out an order, a demand, in the language of her Academy, but not one turned back. The very act of giving the order caused her to sputter and cough again, and by the time she had regained her composure, they were all gone. They were no longer interested in serving.

The not-doll - Adelina, apparently - continued to smile at her from the window. "See how not a single one remains, little witch? Remember this. Perhaps, if you decide to ever make a doll again, you will consider treating them properly. Like people."

With that, the not-doll seemed satisfied, and stepped away from the window... but only for a moment, as if remembering something. Over its shoulder it spoke. "Then again, I know how your Academy treats non-witches, too. I am certain that unless your Academy resolves to change, they too will someday tire of you."

The not-doll's hollow laugh seemed to fill the air as it disappeared. And Tansy, left alone and half-suffocated, could only gaze at the sky, realizing how alone she truly was - and had been.

[meli-writes]

putting the dog on their leash

[meli-writes]

First chapter of my other Arcane one-shot is out now!

It's a rare spotlight on Cait & Vi's doomed love in S2A1, with an exploration of drugs, sex work, and transness in Piltover & Zaun through Lest, and how both Cait & Vi have met her before.

For Handsome Caitlyn Week Day 4: Crime.

You can read it here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/66695509/chapters/172076176

[meli-writes]

burn after reading

caris is fucked. she finds herself push-knelt before the so-called 'tribunal.' a mockery made out of oil drums and pallets.

the butt of a pistol hammers into it for order.

"lieutenant caris somelle. assigned to the 12th of the 62nd venusian, but you've been commanding..." says the 'judge,' tamping down on papers caris was supposed to burn. "206 traitors to their class on here, that's quite a lot for such untarnished pips."

the revolutionary bitch leans over the pallet, sneering at her.

"i answer to whatever duty might demand of me," caris answers, so much textbook someone could roll it up and throttle her.

"it ask for a lot?" the 'judge' teases.

there's no uniform to these thugs, except the ones they've stolen and desecrated. the ragged insult of what she wears does nothing to hide just how simple it would be for her pin caris down by the throat.

"i don't answer to you," caris chokes out.

it's a smile now, "i think you just did."

the 'judge' swerves round the drums, bootsteps wet with blood and rain. caris is in a puddle of both. "come on now," she says, leaning down to caris' ear. close enough to nip at it like the dog she is. "you can't say just a little bit more for me? one little confession."

"my loyalty is to her majesty. i will not."

it comes to caris hollow as the spent shells at her knees.

she's so fucked.

"now if that isn't a phrase i've heard before," the 'judge' tells her.

if she's bored then she can suck on it, "i saw the 10 men that walked in before me. go and make it 12 already." caris won't let herself be their puppet, hand up her ass, mouth telling her men to stand down.

revolt, even. their boots on her skull in the process.

"oh," the 'judge' says. her lips have a fresh slit in them, poorly sewn and in need of redress; disinfectant. caris could do it, knows how to soothe hurt. "didn't say i heard it from them."

the 'judge' flashes a small, plastic-wrapped diary.

"no," caris says. "no! no no no. you can't have that. where did you--!"

she's slapped across the face with it. then again just so the 'judge' can snicker more at the gaping wound of caris' open gob.

the 'judge' unwraps it with an odd care, but opens the diary with a show of none it. a sheath of pornographic pin-ups slips from between the pages and splatters between caris' legs like the now-brainless corpse she wishes she was.

"it's such an interesting read, you should really check it out," the 'judge' drawls, circling round her back just to put a boot in it. "i have been. some of the words in here... nah, nah, nah. oh yeah, these ones."

caris is bowed low in front of a lone, stilted self-portrait of herself.

dog-eared and stained.

a pouting face stolen from someone left for dead, a leash left for someone implied behind the camera to pull.

"you really like the word 'transvestites' don't you? so many interesting theories about us, why we'd prefer a gun in our hands over the one to our heads. what we'd think about you."

if only death could have been more quiet.

the 'judges' finger runs over an unseen page, a soft press despite its scars and clipped end, "this here's my favourite bit: i need someone to know. and i'm dead if they do."

caris should've burned it, or let an internal monitor find it instead. the military noose would've left her less red.

"shoot me. please," she squeaks out. doesn't realise how small she is till the 'judge' is over her.

the 'judge' takes her boot and stamps it on the snap of caris herself, pushes it between her splayed legs till her boot's in caris' crotch.

it wets her boot in another way.

she kneels down and takes caris at the chin, "now now, kitty. i know, and you're not dead yet. so why don't we talk about it?"

caris needs a different word for now than fucked.

she needs that one for later.

[meli-writes]

Chapter 2 is out now <3

My 500w intro turned into this 2400w interlude and it had to be its own chapter, deep-diving into Lest's unseen history and building on the Vi & Lest relationship.

Hope you enjoy, huge credit to my betareader (Writingonadream) for inspiring me so darn much <3

First chapter of my other Arcane one-shot is out now!

It's a rare spotlight on Cait & Vi's doomed love in S2A1, with an exploration of drugs, sex work, and transness in Piltover & Zaun through Lest, and how both Cait & Vi have met her before.

For Handsome Caitlyn Week Day 4: Crime.

You can read it here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/66695509/chapters/172076176

[meli-writes]

vampire who you’ve been voluntarily giving your blood to for the past month or so because she got prescribed a medical device that turned out to have silver wiring and she hasn’t been able to do much since while you save up for treatment. Turns out that vampires don’t need a ton of blood to survive and you barely even feel dizzy afterwards, but every time you have to reassure her that no, this is not some horrible thing that she’s forcing you to do for her own selfish reasons, you just care about her and don’t want her to die. She grew up constantly being told that by their nature all vampires could do was take, and when she was turned she almost didn’t survive it not because of the process itself but because she thought she’d never be able to do anything positive for the world anymore. There are words that she’d heard so often that they’ve sunk into her brain and repeated themselves in the back of her mind over and over until it was her voice that she was hearing them in, and it’s probably going to hurt like hell to pull them out.

[meli-writes]

these platform boots unironically powertripped me into becoming a switch and i 100% actually mean that. i was joking when i made that post and i'm now i'm not. what 4 inches does to a girl no wait--

trying my new 4-inch platform boots on and i think the only thing i own that's hotter is my butch

[meli-writes]

give and receive

[meli-writes]

it's actually so hard to communicate what it means for either of us to switch, even for a little bit.

my butch is a stone top, and i am not a domme. i think about what it means to be submissive constantly. i've tried to write this post for longer now than i spent yesterday just trying to talk about the basics of how i felt over milkshakes & fancy italian (the risotto was purple).

it's nice tho. it's really, really nice. i never want to be normal to the world, because i don't much agree with it. but to be normal in someone's world, and for it to be theirs. to move through it as weightless as i can be (which is hard lol, there's a lot of baggage).

it really is the most beautiful feeling in the world. all i can hope after that is that they get to feel the same way <3

putting the dog on their leash

[meli-writes]

there was a profoundly northern girl on the train. ranted to me about her mom throwing her suitcase at her head then her boyfriend being annoyed at needing to help her carry it up some steps. i hope you dump him and find your own girlfriend to go "ooOOohh" at like you did when i mentioned my own & called me pretty.

top-ranked mmr lezzing rn as i swelter in my meshed up, fishknetted ""summer"" goth gear wheeling around a suitcase filled with frozen soup and bondage gear, going to a shop to buy a localmade scented candle bc i very undeftly snuck out my butch's preferred scents.

[meli-writes]

top-ranked mmr lezzing rn as i swelter in my meshed up, fishknetted ""summer"" goth gear wheeling around a suitcase filled with frozen soup and bondage gear, going to a shop to buy a localmade scented candle bc i very undeftly snuck out my butch's preferred scents.

[meli-writes]

putting the dog on their leash

[meli-writes]

good smut is really a character study and that is final. i need it to be about vulnerability i need it to be about trust or lack thereof and most of all i need it to be emotional agony. thats what sex is for

[meli-writes]

whatever happens now, it's your mercy or your sword i fall on. dear knight. i can see you enjoy it, under all that pretty plate. knowing you can do what you want to me now, that not even i can protest.

does it break your oath to think that? to say it?

you needn't hide from it. dear knight.

i do so think all women are as base you, perhaps rarely as much as me. what matters though, is that it's only me that knows now. so, dear knight. what will it be? your mercy, or your sword.

there are ways it can be both.

[meli-writes]

hi! i'm tess (not my real name) and the only thing worth putting in a pinned post is my writing, most of which is high-fantasy erotica featuring transfemmes, monsters, and contemptuous older women. i sometimes write other stuff, too – i'll catalog it here for your amusement.

other pieces, including longer-form text posts, can be found in my writing tag.

if there's anything you wanna see or talk about, please shoot me an ask. love ya!

---

Mayfly and Summer

An episodic erotica series featuring my and my friend's most tortured and touchable D&D characters going on adventures and winding up in predicaments.

Part 1: Mayfly and Summer Do Some Gardening (2500 words)

Part 2: Mayfly and Summer Break a Fever (3400 words)

Part 3: Mayfly and Summer Answer Some Questions (coming soon!)

RULES FOR PORNSICK DOVAHKIIN (2500 words)

A personal essay about Skyrim sex mods and the caustic horror of sublimated desire. A true story, hosted on @nulltwink's phenomenal website.

After (2500 words)

A story about compassion in the wake of sexual violence (not explicitly described in the piece). Sadder than it is sexy, with a great deal of hurt/comfort.

The Reprobate (1500 words)

Recaptured after demonic corruption, a young soldier is brought kicking and screaming back to the light. Thinly veiled detransition horror with a side of handjobs.

Showtime (1100 words)

Two trans women are hunted for sport in a short snuff piece from a truly nightmarish day.

[meli-writes]

it's incredibly hard when you have no power not to feel like you're the one at fault for being abused. that you should've figured out how to be better for the people who hurt you. to feel like they're fucking right.

a lot of the transfeminine experience in queer spaces is just apologising to people whilst they do the most socially violent stuff they can think of to you.

[meli-writes]

post-op werewolf girl who *refuses* to admit her knotted strap is twice as big as what she was packing before. offers to prove it by using you on it, and it's worth taking that bet just for how much more she smiles now.