#porcelain reader

[pomegranatelifethis]

Porcelain Doll

**English is not my native language**

That night, they didn’t notice when you left. No one saw your unsteady steps, your trembling hands clutching the doorknob. No one realized that when you stepped into Gotham’s cold night, something inside you had already shattered.And when you returned your body aching, your soul in pieces, your very existence already erased they still didn’t notice.Not how you flinched when someone touched you.Not how you withdrew when they got too close.Not how you stopped speaking like before, how your laughter slowly faded into silence.No one asked where you had been. No one cared that you had changed.So, when they called you to the Batcave that night and you faced the cold stares of the people who were supposed to protect you, you weren’t expecting mercy.But you weren’t expecting this accusation either.The screen flickered, displaying security footage of Joker’s latest escape.A shadow moving through the chaos, slipping past the guards, vanishing into the darkness.The footage was blurry. The details were indistinct. But the figure’s movements, their clothes...They looked too much like you.Too obvious to ignore.Too undeniable.Bruce was silent. His silence was suffocating. His cold, unreadable gaze tore through you, as if dissecting every part of your soul.Finally, Damian spoke.“Tt. I knew we should have accused you of treason from the start.”The blood drained from your veins.“Did you really think you could hide this from us?” Tim’s voice was cold, interrogative, but above all, filled with disappointment.Jason scoffed. “Come on, at least tell me you have an excuse. But… you’re just standing there.”Your throat was dry. You wanted to say something. Scream, shout, demand an explanation for this absurdity. But no words came out.You weren’t there.You didn’t help.But they didn’t care.Believing you were guilty was easier.Seeing you as a traitor was easier than noticing the silent collapse you had been drowning in.Bruce finally spoke, his voice cold, harsh, judgmental."Tell me the truth.”And in that moment, when you looked at him—the man who was supposed to be your family—you realized…He didn’t believe you.You saw it in his eyes.That was it, wasn’t it?There was no trust.He didn’t believe in you.Tim’s brows were furrowed. Jason had his arms crossed, looking at you impatiently. Damian averted his eyes, perhaps in disgust, perhaps because he had already erased you in his mind.

You took a deep breath. Gathered all the courage you had left.“I didn’t do it.”Your words echoed in the room, but none of them even flinched.“You’re just denying it,” Tim said, narrowing his eyes. “If you were really innocent, your defense would be stronger.”His words made your stomach churn.“Why would I do this? What reason would I have to work with the Joker?” Your voice shook, but not with anger— with heartbreak. “Why would I help the enemy of the man who raised me?”“Maybe because you hate us all,” Jason said with a smirk. “After all, you’re always closed off, quiet when you’re alone. Wouldn’t be surprising if you were hiding something.”It felt like a punch to the chest.“Being quiet makes me a traitor?” Your voice rose, filled with raw pain. “You don’t even know what I’ve been through! You don’t even know what happened to me! But the first chance you get, you’re ready to throw me away, aren’t you?”Jason frowned. Tim’s expression softened slightly. But Damian rolled his eyes.“Don’t be dramatic.”Dramatic?A lump formed in your throat. Your eyes burned, but you refused to cry. Not now.“You…” You took a shaky breath. “Is this really what you think of me?”Bruce the man who was supposed to be like a father looked away.And in that moment...You knew he wouldn’t answer.The Cry of TruthAnger and heartbreak twisted inside you, your heart pounding as if it would rip from your chest.“If one of you had gone missing, if you had been taken, if you had suffered trauma… is this how you would be treated?” Your gaze burned into each of them. “Would the first thing you do be accusing them of treason?”None of them answered.“The Joker escaped, right? And there was a shadow helping him?” You forced yourself to stay calm. “Is that all the proof you have? Really, have you all fallen this low?”Jason’s eyes narrowed. Tim bit his lip, but Damian remained indifferent.“That person isn’t me.” You spoke slowly, each word like a blade, sharp and cutting. “And the fact that you don’t know that… is hilarious. Because if you truly believed I was guilty…” Your voice lowered to a whisper. “Then I never knew any of you at all.”Silence.But for once, silence didn’t scare you.Because this was their silence of shame.Bruce’s brows furrowed, a flicker of doubt in his eyes, but he said nothing. Jason’s face twisted in frustration, Tim seemed thoughtful. Damian still looked at you with disdain.But none of them spoke.Because you were right.And that was the biggest slap in the face.That night, when you returned to your room, you were alone.Because that was the truth.They had turned their backs on you.They would forget. Days, weeks, maybe months later, they would stop seeing you as a traitor.But you…You would never forget.And one day…When they finally faced the truth…It would be too late.

@welpthisisboring

@lilyalone

[after-witch]

Ragdoll [Yandere Mahito x Reader]

Title: Ragdoll [Yandere Mahito x Reader]

Synopsis: Your back hurts and Mahito fixes it for you. inspired by snatches of conversation with @absolute-flaming-trash as so many Mahito things are!

Word count: 500ish

notes: yandere, kidnapped reader, body modification

“Well? How does it feel?” Mahito asks, and whenever Mahito asks, you are bound to consider the answer. Whether or not you actually give it depends on the day and time and how much you’re willing to endure.

You’re… Weightless. That’s what you feel–no, no, no. That’s wrong. Not weightless. There is weight to you. You are not some candy floss being tossed in the wind by a child uncaring of the time spent crafting it, hot metal bowls and spinning sticks and carpal tunnel from too many summers on a carnival job.

You have weight, but it is thick and slimy and moveable, like a glob of remorseless slime built up in a forgotten bathroom sink. Or something heavier, filled with beans or sand or stuffing.

A doll, maybe? Oh, yes.

A doll. A ragdoll. The kind your grandparents gifted you when you were little, because it’s what they grew up with on the dusty old farm, and your parents cooed over her yarn hair and homespun look.

But you shoved her onto the decorative chair in the corner of your bedroom and never played with her because you wanted something chic and fun, a doll with brushable hair and clothes that came off. 

Now you’re stuck in that corner chair, or you would be, except Mahito wants to play with you. Likes to play with you. Likes to hold you, like he’s doing now, humming and holding out one hand so all of your weight slides to one side and the only thing keeping you upright is the grip of his fingers.

Then flopping you to the other side, and doing it again, and again. Then holding you close and down, like he’s dipping you in a dance. 

He could let you go and you’d fall, a heap, onto the floor. Would it hurt? Maybe the rest of you would.

But not your back. Not your spine. He replaced it all with gelatin or goo or slime or whatever he’d decided upon, after you’d begged and begged and begged. Chronic back pain was a bitch. Chronic back pain when you were sleeping on floors and hammocks was bitchier. 

“It hurts so much. I can’t stand it. Please, please, please.”

And he’d tickled his fingers up your back–it hurt, too–and smiled down.

“You really want me to fix you?”

And you did, and he did, and here you are now.

Weighty and weightless all the same, his pretty ragdoll. 

Only he can brush your hair and change your clothes and maybe that will keep him from shoving you into the corner and forgetting about you. 

The thought is too far back to be anything more than a gnat you’ll swat when it comes closer, though. Because your spine is jello, sure, sure, sure. But it doesn’t hurt. And you can’t strain a ligament or herniate a disc when there’s nothing there to hurt, can you? 

It doesn’t hurt, for once, and that’s enough.

Mahito drops you low, again, catching you before your head smacks against the concrete.

He smiles. 

So do you.

[the-rolls-on-black]

guys.....what if we started designing our self inserts/oc's in the gravity falls aus

[inf3ct3dd]

[porcelainseashore]

It was a real honour to have @folyxfanart work on this for me. To say that her artwork is stunning is simply an understatement. It is so much more ❤️

I’m about to be rather vulnerable as this piece is something close to my heart. For the past few months and counting, I’ve been writing a crossover Leon x Reader fic where I placed Resident Evil characters in the universe of Vampire: The Masquerade. It’s been a real rollercoaster ride and pretty much my biggest project to-date, which started out as me just wanting to write about two fandoms I love for myself. I am my own worst critic and each week pressing that ‘Post’ button is unimaginably nerve-wrecking. 

That said, commissioning Folyx has been such a dream. It was so nice to indulge in something without any judgment, and her creativity and dedication is like a breath of fresh air. She drew RE2R Leon as the Toreador vampire I gave life to and his ‘Angel’ — a version of Reader whom he Embraced (*I usually treat her as a soft OC in my stories).

Toreadors in love? What’s new, most say. Well, these two have certainly been on a helluva journey, and have more trials and tribulations to face. There’s something comforting is seeing them finally accept themselves and each other, exchanging and consuming vitae, lost yet found in their better half’s arms.

A thousand thanks, Folyx, it is everything and beyond that I could’ve ever asked for! 🙏

[pocketmania]

Hi there! Would you do hcs for Jax X a Porcelain doll reader who was a therapist as her job before the digital circus? Though unlike one would think she isn’t like.. dainty and delicate. She’s more so indifferent and unbothered, being very calm and go with the flow about things. A very .. true neutral , optimistic person if that makes sense

[A/N] Ah ah! Hello anon! Thank you for the ask :]

Of course I can do that! This ask is definitely interesting and is gonna make me experiment, so thank you for that!

Now onto the thingy

# Jax w/ an Neutral!Reader

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

(🎪🎉👩‍❤️‍💋‍👨💭) - amazing digital circus headcanons

(reader type) - feminine / AFAB

(‼️warnings) - mentions of cartoon violence

(summary) - headcanons about Jax dating the Reader, who used to be a therapist, is made of porcelain, and is rather easygoing.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

♨ considering you're made of porcelain, everyone has to be pretty careful with you, including jax

♨ and understanding that he's not the most careful person this is a bit of a struggle for him

♨ ever heard the phrase "opposites attract"?

♨ this applies to literally everything you do together

♨ when jax does something (like blow someone up), you're off to the side half-asleep

♨ nearly nothing he does bothers you personally lmao

♨ as a matter of fact, barely ANYTHING bothers you

♨ just like the last batch of headcanons with him, you're always there to comfort him when there is a lack of violence or things going his way

♨ Since you also used to be a therapist, you're great at helping people! Everyone in the circles usually comes to you if they need someone to talk to

♨ once again, including jax

♨ despite common belief, Jax has a heart under all of.. that. and, sometimes, it needs a bit of fixing

♨ however, it'll be the other way around every once in a while, and Jax will be your therapist

♨ he's not very good at it, albeit. But for you (the person that's helped his with his problems), he's willing to return the favor

♨ going back to the fact that you're made of porcelain, sometimes you do (unfortunately) break or chip from adventures or being thrown around carelessly

♨ or from jax's mayhem

♨ if Caine doesn't do it first, jax will be there to glue and put you back together again, all while bullying you about it

❝ Would it kill you to stay intact for more than 10 minutes, Humpty Dumpty? ❞

❝ But you knocked me over... ❞

♨ you guys are the embodiment of the "someone will die... of fun!" thing

♨ even if jax has a hard time showing it, he really does care about you

♨ he's glad to have a witness-in-crime like you

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

[hosuuuus]

one mister johan liebert and the plushification of his darling

[alloprosallus]

open starter. tw for potentially triggering imagery. takes place in a modern-day fantasy au. your muse stumbles upon what appears to be a small toy shop in a small hole in the wall location.

the sun hangs low in the sky, the moon seeming to chase after it in hunt. where the sky is visible between tall, narrow buildings, it's a vibrant clash of bright oranges clawing through where deep, velvety purples threatened to swallow them. the stone street here is well-trodden, and not so well maintained. while the structures stretch high in the sky, the only light left on is half-below the ground. there's a sign adorning the window of a shop that seems to be mostly a basement, but the sign is incredibly worn and scratched. in the low light, backlit by a lone lamp, it's impossible to read.

even from here it's easy to see thar largely, the first room is barren. there's shelves that stand mostly empty, a counter with a register and nobody behind it. that's where the lamp sits, though — the puzzle paints a vivid picture of an incredibly busy toy shop, bustling with activities. perhaps the shelves were once full of all sorts of delightful toys, colorful jack in the boxes and beautiful stuffed animals. maybe the owner had simply gotten tired counting all the money that day and forgot to finish properly closing, leaving something lit, beckoning. it's just as easy to tell that it's not the case, paint smudging too darkly in the sparse light to see what exactly is happening at all. shadows dance upon the walls of the building, making it impossible to see clearly. somehow there's a feeling of being watched. the dimness of it makes it easier to see a brighter light hidden behind a door — bright enough to see a consistent movement behind it, back and forth, as the darkness in the room shifted.

the door isn't locked, and it's easy to open. it's easy to see now why you're being watched now, too. so close to the window, you catch a flash of eye contact. after a moment, after adjusting to the light or to that...feeling, the only thing that greets you is the unfeeling eyes of a doll, purple in hue as best as you can tell. colors bleed together in the night. it's not large, but it's something that's larger than it is when you first looked; about the size of a small child, she sits in a chair in the corner closest to the counter, facing the window. and now that you've seen her, you see a couple more too; smaller mostly, sitting atop the shelves in odd places and positions. they seem to be posed too delicately to be mere stock, painting scenes with empty roles.

a breeze rips the knob from your hands as the door clatters open loudly, slamming against the wall. there's another thud, and the sound of shattering. it's hard to pinpoint what from — there's enough of the dolls that it's impossible to tell which one is missing. the girl with purple eyes stares at you still, just as empty — somehow, it feels pointed, as if she had seen everything.

the movement behind the door stops then, suddenly. it had become so rhythmic it had seemed to be something inorganic at all. and then the shadows on the floor are shifting once more, elongating; darkness reaches out to kiss you as something steps closer to the door and opens it. the brief brightness blinds you before gloom seems to swallow you entirely, with a jarring bang. open and shut.

the lamp stays lit, and you can see someone standing before you. long limbs reach over to the counter, and briefly something is visible marring their hands. it seemed to be patterned; logical. it's impossible to make out what it is before the figure is reaching into the drawer and pulling out long gloves.

they continue to approach, though they stay far, and linger towards the edges of the rooms; the shadows. unfeeling, hollow purple meets your gaze, sharp, as if its already been tracking yours. seconds stretch into eternity before that familiar emptiness traces lines along the shelves, fabric rustling as his hands clenched.

"who are you," he speaks, voice like marble eroded down to gravel. worn, yet abandoned. "and what have you done?"

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

if doll reader is hollow, then their "skin" (porcelain) is probably just thin enough to let light shine through! at night time foul legacy or childe could use their visions to make little light shows in your arms and body (without hurting you obviously). they could even do some sort of shadow puppet show lol

OH MY GOODNESS you just dug up one of my memories this is lovely, hear me out

your skin having carvings in it, certain areas that are just a hair thinner and drawn in artful swirls and stars and flowers. when you're just doing about your day-to-day life, they're not very obvious, just faintly different patterns that might make someone do a double take. only Foul Legacy and Childe have the privilege of seeing the carvings in all their magnificence- they fetch you something glowing and shiny, maybe a luminescent rock or a particular shiny firefly, or perhaps a tiny lantern burning with a safely contained flame. either way, you store it neatly away in your body, listening to it lightly clatter and bonk until stopping to rest. the light shines through your skin and makes the carvings glow with lovely, comforting warmth

Legacy chitters and chirps gleefully, circling you in excitement and gently nosing against your arms and hands, tilting his head until he's practically upside down. he needs to examine the patterns from all angles! even if he knows they'll be wonderful every time, he just likes watching the light softly gleam from inside. you're like a lamp, or even a nightlight! he sits you on his lap and presses his cheek against your head, crystalline eye bright and wide as he nips lightly at your hands, asking for headpats. Legacy's a bit too heavy to rest his head in your own lap, but Childe isn't, and you can bet that the moment he returns to being human that the Harbinger is flopping himself into your arms, nuzzling against you and admiring the light over your arms with a happy, peaceful hum

[justheretostalkthefandom]

Icontact you today in the hope that you can offer some form of assistance All I need is a small donation of £15or £10to help me rebuild my home and keep my family alive in the difficult we are living in Gaza Any support you can be greatly appreciated Thank you for your time

Tags to bring awareness! 🇵🇸♡

Fuck isntreal and Z!on!sts! ✨🖕

[theislandoflosttoys]

Thinking of doing some NSFW for each of the boys...lemme know if this might be something you guy's would be interested in. It'll probably be written similar to the Vidow NSFW hcs, but I'll keep them ambigious when referring to a partner so you can imagine whoever or even yourself as the reader 😉 {I do love x reader fics, guilty pleasure haha}

But yh! Lemme know who you would like to see first! 🥰

So.....

[abbatoirablaze]

Porcelain Doll, Chapter 8

Word Count:  1.2k

Warnings:  unprotected sex/smut, sex pollen, Stockholm syndrome, basement husband bucky barnes

Bucky smiled as he stared down at your sleeping form.  The makeup that you’d worn 12 hours ago was no match for what the two of you had just been through.

Your knees nearly buckled, but his arm was quick to wrap around you, “there will be time for you to be on your knees later.”

“Wh-why am I-“

“The pollen,” he explained, cutting you off, “it gets into your blood stream and heightens every sense in your body.  Even the way my voice sounds to you right now is just making you wetter.  Making you want to spread those pretty little thighs and let me cum inside you again and again until you can’t move and you’re sated.  Hydra used it against me for a long time, Margo…I can only imagine what it does to you…”

You whimpered, unable to argue with him. He leaned forward, his lips brushing delicately against yours.  You threw your arms around his neck, and pushed forward, not wanting anything other than him, “Bucky…please…”

He smiled, “is this what you want, Margo?”

Every nerve ending felt like it was on fire.  And only he was the water that could quench it and remove the need. Otherwise, you were going to explode. You nodded eagerly.

Your lips worked in tandem, tongues slipping into each other’s mouths and fighting for dominance.  Your hands slid down his chest, your body reacting to every ounce of his toned body.  The vibrations from his moans sent a shockwave straight to your core. 

“Bucky!”

“So needy,” he commented with a husky chuckle.  You moaned, another wave of juices dampening your sex and making your legs feel sticky, “see that’s what it does…it makes you need to cum.  It makes you want to have so much sex that you do-“

But you cut him off once more, your lips attacking his as your hands snaked down to his cock.  The second your hand wrapped around his shaft he hissed, “Fuck, doll…”

Your eyes met and you went to drop to your knees, but he stopped you, “if you go down on your knees I’m going to fuck your throat raw…use your hand, doll…”

You didn’t make a move. 

For some reason you could only watch the way his lips moved.  The way that they formed to create words.  And you wondered if they would move that expertly latched onto your clit. 

Your knees nearly buckled again as his hand came in contact with your pussy.  He lightly slapped it, snapping you from your stupor.  You jumped at the sensation, but it felt all too right.  You leaned in against his hand, and it slid against your folds until he collected enough of you.  Then his hand went back to his cock. 

You moaned, watching how he was using you to lubricate himself.  There was something so undeniably sexy about it.  Your mouth began to water again as you reached for his cock once more. 

But he slapped your hand away.

“You get it when I say you do!” he said firmly.  Your legs clenched and he smirked once more.

“H-how are you-“

“I had decades with them trying to control me on the pollen,” he grunted, stroking himself firmly.  You watched as his cock bobbed with every stroke.  The tip was getting angry and red, and you knew you were imagining it, but it seemed like he was hard as a rock, “I know how long I have before I go completely feral on you…just like I know what it must be doing to you right now.”

“Wh-what is it doing to me?”

He licked his lips, looking up and down your body, “when you first breathed it in, it felt like acid in your nostrils…it burned.  But then your skin became too sensitive.  Your clothes were itchy.  Your nipples are hard as diamonds.  You’re practically drooling from both ends…if I don’t give you my cock soon enough, you’ll start cramping.  The little sensitivity that you think is so much now, will start to feel like someone is setting fire to your nerves and then throwing it into a vat of acid.  That pleasure turns to pain, and in a flash…and the only way to get rid of those feelings is by cumming.  The endorphins that are released sets off a chain reaction, turning the feeling of pain back into pleasure.”

Your breath caught in your throat. 

You didn’t know any of that when you had gotten it. 

And you especially didn’t expect it to be used on you.

“I-“

“Didn’t think it through, did you?” he taunted, walking you backwards out of the room.  You shook your head, and he guided you back towards the bedroom.  Your eyes remained focused on his cock, “I can see how bad you want it…but tell me why I should give it to you, hmm? For all I know, you want it now, but afterwards, I’m just another toy on your shelf.  I’m like Barber…just someone to fuck you until your next little obsession.”

“I-I don’t think that,” you whimpered, falling back onto the bed, “I-I want you.  Forever…”

He slotted himself between your thighs and you gasped, opening up for him, “promise me, doll…I’m not doing this again where I let myself fall in love with a dame and she sleeps with my best friend…promise me that you’re my doll.  My little porcelain doll.  You want me and only me…”

“Yours,” you whimpered, inching yourself forward towards his cock.  You whined when he held you on his tip, the thick, bulbous head already stretching your entrance open.  He lifted your chin so that your eyes met his, “Pr-promise…only yours.”

“Good!”

And with that he wasted no time, spearing into your core.  Instantly, you wrapped around him, your legs locking around his waist as he went as deep as he possibly could inside of you.  Your eyes rolled back into your skull and your nails dug into his shoulders, “BUCKY!”

“Oh, fuck!” he moaned softly as he sank all the way in to his base, “you feel amazing, doll.”

“Yours,” you repeated again, entirely lost in the way he felt, stuffing you full, “all yours.”

“Oh most definitely,” he agreed.  He pulled out at a slow pace, before allowing his hips to slam back into you, “I don’t know how long I’m going to be able to control myself with you, doll…you feel too good.”

“Wanna cum,” you whimpered, feeling the slightest bit of the cramping in your stomach.  He shushed you, rolling his hips enough that you could feel the ridges and veins in his cock, “FUCK.”

“Soon, doll,” he replied simply, starting up his own pace.  He reached for your face and stroked your cheek, “don’t worry…I won’t let you feel the bad stuff…I’ll take care of you doll.  Always and forever.”

“Cum in me!”

Bucky leaned down, his lips pressing against yours in a much gentler, sweeter kiss, “don’t worry, doll.  I’m not cumming anywhere else, ever again.”

You shifted, snuggling up against the super soldier as you began to awake from your slumber.  When your eyes opened you couldn’t help but to smile, “good morning…”

“Morning, doll.” He said gently.  He leaned down, capturing your lips with his own.  You whimpered into the kiss as his hand sank from around your waist, going to cup your sensitive cunt.  He gave a light, airy chuckle as he pulled away, “sorry…it’ll probably take a day or so before you’re feeling up to it again.  We did get a bit intense…”

“Worth every moment,” you sighed happily, snuggling into his chest, “I’m your little porcelain doll…right Bucky?”

“Yes…yes you are.”

Tag List:  @teambarnes72, @lohnes16

[bunbunsheart]

you know its baaaad when i start reading x reader fics

[wysteir]

I don't remember at what points in my life things changed drastically

I guess that's not really something that happened to me, at least in a way I can fully comprehend

They were mostly slow rolls, all throughout. Except maybe the whole moving every 4-5 years when those actually forced me to change schools but that was just a fixture of life for me at that point

Except times I remember- being young, and wanting to be loved more, and yearning for kindness and comfort when I was upset. I remember distinctly thinking that at the rate things were going, nobody could save me from the loneliness

Too smart for my own good, or may smart enough to avoid whatever hole that would have led me down

I knew I had to do it myself

I didn't have the courage nor charisma to reach out to others and make friends at the time, my parents weren't evil but they WERE old school and from a different time AND culture

They weren't raised on American Television, which despite everything still showed love and care every now and then, in cartoons, on the family channel. Childhood best friends forever and understanding parents

Impossible for me, I thought. At least impossible with the conditions and semantics I thought were needed

I had to save myself

And I couldn't really

I could only do so much and I tried so hard

But I was an awkward lonely teenager with no emotional strength or foundation learning everything a bit too late and a bit too slow

But nobody could save me, I had to do it myself

It's a flawed viewpoint but it was all I had, and despite everything it made me not give up hope

For better or for worse I always started with nothing, so losing what due to my own failings or due to shifts in my life usually didn't feel like the end of the world

But it's not good for growth you know? I was already a little behind because I didn't socialize much and it was scary out there

I learned the best ways to deflect statements that hurt me, I learned ways to try and not step on toes, I learned to better slow myself down and often try to think before I speak

And once I had that I could build myself up the way I wanted to, a decade and a half late

I'd given up on so much

There was enough "wrong" with me that I spent most of my time struggling against myself whenever I wasn't doing school or work

I remember a particularly bad meltdown haunting me for three years before I felt it ebb

It's not like anyone else brought it up either, it was just me. All me

I didn't feel like I had too much time for therapy or counseling. I didn't know where to look and I didn't even know what to say

And I spent so much time thinking and going over things in my head that what I WAS able to put into words sounded perfectly coherent and healthy

Eventually counseling helped a little, but there's just a lot that I couldn't rely on someone else for because I didn't know how

And there haven't been that many drastic changes, at least I thought

Not when everything feels like a mountain to climb and every effort feels like digging into the stone with my fingers

Nobody could save me

To get what I wanted I had to do it myself

I envy the dolls here sometimes. I envy the hope they have in Witches sometimes. Granted I don't go to those spaces. But I see the texts sometimes. I'm so exhausted but I feel like letting myself have that hope goes counter to everything I've struggled for, that I've fought for, that parts of me have died for

I really, really, wanted someone to save me

There is this concept of a Witch's unconditional love for her dolls that probably would have made me happy long ago

At the very least a moment in life where I could rest properly for once

But it's not what I want anymore

At least not wholly

It IS nice to relax and let go every now and then, to rely on others as best as I can, to be myself

It's nice to let myself be a burden and be taken care of every now and then

But I am my own Witch, first and foremost

I built my own soul, my own purpose, my own magic, my own pride

My sliver of humanity that shines as bright as any torch in the darkness

I and we and she reached through the mirror and chiseled the jagged heart of our reflections into a smooth core

I won't give up on her

I won't give up on the Witch I was yesterday who struggled to bring me here today, just as she didn't give up on me yesterday, nor the day before, or before that

Even as she climbed over my shattered cerebral porcelain, and I climbed over hers, and mine and hers- from even before I flowered from the prince's tomb

I won't give up on her

I'm a bit manic and delusional and a bit sleep deprived it seems

But I won't give up on her

She never gave up on me

When did it become like this?

Never, not really, it didn't become, it grew

From a flower, to a garden

Porcelain with gold between the cracks is still broken, but it still functions, and it's still beautiful

[pizzabookbuying]

I hve this insane critique of so many books that is probably so niche but !!! WHERE is the visual culture??? I don’t..I’m struggling to communicate this

but actually Yes! What a character is wearing is important to me. Yes! Whether that bowl is glass or porcelain or terracotta is important to me. Are there floral motifs or figurative? Squares, geometric designs? It’s the sort of thing that makes me so unreasonably angry at books because I KNOW you weren’t thinking about where or how these textiles were produced and I KNOW that that doesn’t make you a bad author but I WANT TO KNOW