#porcelain doll kin

[kitthefoxkin]

May I please request a masc porcelain dollkin moodboard with silvery themes?

masc porcelain dollkin moodboard with themes of silver!

[priestofporcelain]

My ideal vampy doll bathtime- Just a dumb little moodboard I made for funsies/comfort. Even porcelain needs a warm soak sometimes ( ◜𖥦◝ )

[motoroil-recs]

[X / X / X] [X / 🏎️ / X] [X / X / X]

A stimboard for The Voice of the Paranoid [Slay The Princess] with imagery of gore and porcelain dolls.

[the-odyssey-of-a-clown]

New kin type just droped ?

[mattedolly]

Pretty girl I found at goodwill 🎀🧸

[onlinepig]

Toy box

[cece693]

Could you an Interview with a vampire Lestat x fem reader Louis sister. She’s been sick for most of her life but the last illness that took out the rest of their family got to her. Louis tries to ease his sister’s pain while burying his own but it’s hard to. Lestat turns Louis and is curious about what he keeps in the east wing of the mansion. He sees a sleeping beauty and senses death is also watching. The reader wakes and tries to sit up to be polite/ introduce themselves, since they’ve heard from the servants her brother has brought a guest home, but Lestat turns on the charm and tells them to save their strength. Oh Louis it’s not nice to keep secrets🌹

Sleeping Beauty (Lestat de Lioncourt x GN! Reader)

tags: female reader, open-ended, Lestat being himself, dying reader, no specific Lestat in mind

The air in the east wing of the mansion was heavy with the scent of wilting flowers and fading life. Louis moved quietly, his footsteps muffled by the thick carpet, the candle in his hand casting flickering shadows along the walls. He took a deep breath before he opened the door to his sister's room.

She lay on her bed like a fragile porcelain doll, the fever having stolen much of her vitality, leaving only the faintest bloom of life on her pale cheeks. She had always been delicate, sickly since childhood, but this last illness, the one that had claimed the rest of their family, had nearly taken her, too. Louis's heart ached every time he looked at her—his only remaining kin. He clutched her cold hand in his, feeling the fragility of her bones beneath her thin skin.

"Louis." she murmured weakly, her eyes fluttering open. Her voice was barely above a whisper, each breath seeming to cost her more than she had to give. "You've brought someone home, haven't you? I’ve heard the servants talking."

“Yes.” he whispered back, forcing a small, reassuring smile to his lips. “A…guest.”

Outside the room, Lestat had been observing. The subtle hints, the secrecy of the servants, the hushed tones of Louis—all had piqued his curiosity. Louis had been a deliciously melancholic creature, so careful to keep certain doors closed. But this—this was different. The east wing had been carefully avoided, like some forbidden garden Louis did not want him to tread.

Lestat pushed open the door without knocking, his presence a sharp contrast to the soft light and gentle atmosphere of the room. The air seemed to grow colder, and even the dying flickers of candlelight trembled at his arrival.

He tilted his head, his eyes sweeping over the frail figure on the bed. She was a delicate creature, her beauty untouched by the disease that sapped her life away, and yet she was fading. Lestat could almost see Death standing in the corner, an unseen visitor waiting patiently.

Louis turned sharply, his body tense, shielding his sister from Lestat’s gaze. “Leave.” he said, his voice low and strained, like a thread about to snap. But Lestat’s eyes were fixed on her. She was a curiosity, a fragile mortal soul teetering on the brink. And, like a cat with a cornered mouse, Lestat found himself intrigued.

The girl, sensing the tension, tried to push herself up, her limbs weak but her spirit evidently polite. “I’m sorry.” she began, her voice barely a breath. “I didn’t mean to not greet you properly.”

Lestat’s face softened into a smile, a beautiful yet predatory expression that seemed to steal the very air from the room. He moved closer, kneeling beside her bed with a grace that bordered on theatrical. “No need for such formalities, ma chère.” he murmured, his eyes catching hers, his tone dripping with dangerous warmth. “Save your strength. You’ll need it.”

He turned his gaze back to Louis, his smile widening with wicked delight. “Oh, Louis. It isn’t nice to keep secrets from me. Especially not such...charming ones.”

Louis’s jaw tightened, his hand trembling slightly as he held his sister’s. “This is none of your concern.”

“Oh, but it is.” His tone was softer now, meant only for their ears.“Because I can smell it—the scent of death lingering so closely here. You’ve kept her hidden away, like sleeping beauty, waiting for a fate you could neither prevent nor accept.”

Lestat’s gaze flickered to the girl, who was watching them both with a calmness that only came from years of suffering. She wasn’t afraid—no, there was something else in her eyes, a quiet acceptance, a resignation to the life she had been given.

“However, I’ll give her the same option I’ve given you.”

Louis felt a surge of panic rise within him, the very idea of his sister becoming like him—cursed with eternal life, forever tied to the darkness—was almost too much to bear. “Lestat, no.” he breathed, his voice trembling. “She doesn’t deserve this. She’s suffered enough.”

But Lestat wasn’t looking at Louis anymore. His attention was fully on the girl, his smile softening, though his eyes held the gleam of someone who saw a rare, precious opportunity. “What do you say, ma chère? Would you like to be free of this suffering? To escape the clutches of death and live beyond the reach of time?”

The room held a stillness that seemed almost alive, each second stretching longer than the last. Lestat watched her intently, his smile never wavering, yet his eyes glimmered with a secret that she couldn’t quite grasp. She was weak, teetering on the edge of life and death, and his words—his promises of a life beyond this one—were both enchanting and terrifying.

“Brother…what does he mean?” she asked, her voice trembling. “What is he offering me?”

Louis's lips parted, but no sound came out. He didn’t know how to explain it, how to tell her the truth about what he had become—what Lestat was. His mind raced with a thousand thoughts, each more painful than the last. He didn’t want to frighten her, but he also didn’t want her to be lured by Lestat’s honeyed words into a fate she didn’t understand.

Lestat chuckled softly, the sound almost musical. “Oh, Louis, do you see how you torture her with your silence? Your brother is worried, ma chère, but he should not be. What I offer is freedom—from pain, from weakness, from death itself.”

Her eyes widened slightly, a flicker of fear crossing her face. “You speak as if…as if you’re some kind of…” She trailed off, uncertain how to finish the thought. “What are you?”

Lestat’s smile widened, his fangs glinting ever so subtly in the dim light. “Ah, now you’re asking the right questions. We are something different. Something eternal. And I am offering you the chance to join us.”

Louis stepped forward, his voice breaking with desperation. “Please, don’t listen to him. You don’t know what he means. You don’t know the cost of his offer.”

She looked between them, her breath shallow, but eyes determined. "I don't want to die, brother."

Louis's face fell, his expression a mix of despair and helplessness. His grip on her hand tightened, his desperation clear in the way his fingers trembled against her skin. “I know.” he whispered, his voice barely holding together. “I know you don’t want to die. But what he’s offering…it’s not life.”

She could feel his fear radiating from him, could see the torment in his eyes, but her own fear of death—a slow, creeping end she had felt drawing closer every day—was stronger. She had lived with the shadow of death her entire life, felt its cold breath on her neck as she lay in bed, too weak to move. She was tired of it. Tired of waiting for the inevitable.

She felt tears well up in her eyes, her heart torn between the brother she loved and the lure of a life free from suffering. She could see the anguish in Louis’s face, the way his soul seemed to cry out in protest. But she could also see the hope, the promise of something more in Lestat’s gaze.

“I want to live.”

Lestat’s smile widened, his expression one of pure, almost childlike delight. “Oh, you will, ma chère. You will.”

[2-dsimp]

Question! Pyrok's reaction if you kiss him on the forehead?

The doll man would freeze, his porcelain hand rubbing at the spot where your lips touched.

“Kiss? Me? Only once?”

His mask shifted to an angry expression he balled up his palm. Knocking on his noggin as if knocking on wood. His teeth chattering Once, twice, and thrice in agitation. Signaling that he needed more than one measly kiss from his potential brood mother who’d give him his next of kin.

“Not enough, never enough, give more!”

[melodrama-ticcc]

.: 𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐏𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐀𝐆𝐄 :.

abstract: they’ve been looking to introduce a new female into the family, looks like that girl is you.

warnings: potential stockholm syndrome, cannibalism, mild gore, depictions of delusion and mental illness, maybe this will be a series idk if it will have the demand for it

- - -

she smiles.

not the type of smile a person smiles when they are untroubled.

but the type of smile a person smiles when they are broken. surpassing the final stage of grief and instead reaching a state of acceptance. her countenance showing no signs of discontentment nor pleasure, but equanimity.

it isn’t a loud smile, it’s soft, quiet, but still toothy. fragments of bloodied meat stuck in between her teeth as drool spills from the cusp of her bottom lip. dribbling down in thick pools from her chin. drip, drip, drip. onto the porcelain plate that sat below, tainted with the remnants of meat drippings and fatty juices. like a wild animal who had just finished its first meal in months. her resolve had vanquished in the time spent in that bleak chamber down below. starved of both nutrition and any sense of humaneness. deprived of the basic needs all life requires to live. it seemed as though they had finally done what they’d set out to do all along.

but acceptance, acceptance was a wonderful thing.

the world around her was something out of a picture show. moving slowly, image by image and without noise. the sounds of this newfound kin cheering and demonstrating their contented signs of satisfaction in her actions being drowned out in the overwhelming ringing in her head. they crowded her and corralled her in her seat at the end of the dining table, affectionate hands patting her back and limbs reaching out to hug her. their smiles were wide and sickly twisted. laughter and grins are blurred together in some arcane sense. no thoughts prevailed.

“ knew you’d come ‘round ‘ventually. ”

it’s an echo that makes itself known amongst the idle silence that is her head. it draws her from her cognitions long enough for her to make out his burly figure at the other end of the dining hall. he stares at her with a soft smile, proud. leaning against the wall with such a slovenly, unphased attitude.

“ welcome to the family, doll face.”

it grows. grows into something repulsively ominous. a grin that twitches the apples of her cheeks haphazardly. aching with the agonizing detachment of what her helpless life had become. a monster, she had become a monster.

as she sits there, greeted with the domicile affection and appeased smiles of her now established family. her eyes stare at him. wide and glossy with some degree of fulfillment and carnal satiation. both at home and stray. he’s deplorable in many ways, she thinks. yet at the same time, she was living. and a part of her felt tied to his charismatic demeanor and charming smirk. he cared. in his own demented, abhorrent way, he cared. a part of her could appreciate his cautiously benevolent gestures, and even sympathize with his misfortunes.

“ awww sug’ — lookit! we don’ made’er cry. tears’ve joy those be! ” sissy smiles softly, tenderly wiping the wet from the girl’s face and planting a soft kiss to her forehead. “ bet you’re glad, havin’ me as your big sis’ now. ”

they stream down her cheeks leaving salty streaks against her velvety skin. she can only giggle. she does so quietly. her glazed eyes finally moving to the faces of the family members that surround her. voices becoming clearer, reality no longer fictitious.

it was as though the devil himself had come to tempt her. yet, he was both her captor and only savior.

but by god, did she love him.

[askuemki]

So I have no idea if I’ll keep this post up, but…

A little rant abt re8?? (And cod.. kinda) maybe venting (just a mess :,)

Disclaimer, take my opinions with a grain of salt I just wanna ramble lmao

Also spoilers, maybe (update, definitely)

So I’ve been having fun dipping my toes into Donna Beneviento (god her last name is hard to spell) content. After watching the gameplays and to at least have a basic understanding for the game, I find myself really drawn to her, maybe more than Alcina tbh

By no means i’m a diehard fan or anything, recently it’s been hard to find a new fandom to get attached towards. As much as I adore cod, there isnt really much to get attached too… like sure, task 141 is a fun group and the there is some GREAT art about the ships- but I only got attached because of Valeria, I won’t deny it at all. I’m a diehard lesbian, but there isn’t really much cannon content of her?? It’s really damn disappointing sometimes, man… same with Laswell. I appreciate all of the fanartists out there though, I adore all of the content here, fanfics or fan art. With Farah, she’s a diffrent story.. personally I never really got attached to her, but as a character she’s pretty neat. Her story sort of brings to light the horrors happening today which is a bit of a benefit…?? But ever since I found out things about both Valeria’s and Farah’s actors I’ve been a little off about things here and there. I don’t think I’ll stop posting Valeria content at all, it just might be a little less offen to indulge in different things.

Some personal things have been happening to make me feel really disconnected from like.. fucking everything for some reason?? Like I’m drifting away from fandoms, I’m drifting away from people and I’m like alone again.. I’m lost in a damn dumpster fire. AI art doesn’t help with this at all.. like why do I draw?? I’ve been drawing since I was in kindergarten like I never really thought of the specifics of perusing art, more or so just that I want to. Like hey, I wanna make a game or movie series, and something in me doesn’t realize I need to put in the effort to learn shit with just ends up in me doing nothing but self pitting on something I can change and ugh.. wish I can slap myself to get out of it.

So I think I’ve been kind of finding myself relating to Donna. Not in her extreme way, more or so just her aspect of being isolated, and just being known primarily for one thing. Like.. our side of art? Damn. Shit. I think I’m worth nothing.. and with Donna we don’t really know much about her besides her being a cursed Dollmaker, and the bare bones of her past. And we both barely fucking speak man… both hide our faces too !! maybe I kin this woman or something I don’t know

But as I was looking through her tumblr tag, I saw a rant about how headcannons and stuff has been stripping away the interesting stuff about the re8 villains… and with the things I’ve seen so far?? I can kinda agree, honestly.

Don’t get me wrong, if it’s not too.. insane? (I know those boundaries are hard to define at times, but maybe REALLY immoral shit for our “normal” world) and people aren’t forcing these headcannons into other people? I don’t mind headcannons. You do you, boo!

But the fan content I’ve seen, people reduce Donna and Alcina (I’m surprised it was pronounced as AlCHIna and not AlSIna, but side tangent over) from the potential they really have. Yeah it’s definitely nice to see Donna more, especially in those intimate moments.. but sometimes I feel like people just depict her as some shy, easily gullible, girl, and not really the mentally deprived woman she is. Like I’d love to see ideas of the different dolls Donna could create, or unique imagery of her mental state outside of having porcelain skin. What about the kinds of plants she takes care of? Or the dolls she makes? I’d love to see more of it, whether she has favorites, or if it’s a situation where she has doll replicas of her deceased family. Man, I really wanna see Donna do more creepy shit, basically.

With Alcina however? She’s kind of reduced to that (I’m going to cringe at these words so terribly, god help me) “hot vampire mommy”.. I’ll take fault for not looking into her content as much, I’m sure there’s great content out there !! (I’m not sure if anyone would do this but.. feel free to send me any fic recommendations or art) With what I want to see for her? I’ve heard from the rant post as a man-hating woman she had primarily female statues in her castle, it would be fun to see what else she has cause of this worldview, as well as more whitty remarks from her; I really enjoy her throwback with Heisenberg. Just in general.. her being a comical villain.

Okay so, the reason why I made this post in the first place before all of this shit threw up from my brain. Belladonna. At first, this ship really interested me, I like the character dynamics, the art was neat. But then something came up in my mind.. (as well as another rant post on the ship..) isn’t the Dimitrescu bloodline related with Donna? Both are failed experiments from Mother Miranda, and technically adopted by her. Though from what I know, Donna is the only one officially adopted. So would that be family..? I’ve seen a few places where Alcina called Donna her sister, and it makes me feel really off.

And I’ve seen in a few fanarts, Donna technically older than the Dimitrescu sisters posed next to them like another sibling??

I would like to endorse the ship, but just the morality of everything is off centered for me. I rather not support weird incest…

So please if people could maybe clarify for me whether it would technically be okay for support this ship.. I’d appreciate it. If it isn’t okay, I have plans on making a fan character anyways, or I can take current characters and make a resident evil au or something, and ship them when Donna. (I have a character that honestly looks like a mix of Alcina and Bela, but by no means she’s relates to the franchise, lmao)

By no means I’m experienced in resident evil lore or the fandom, this is just coming from a newer fan of the series, and what I’ve seen so far.

If you read all of this.. thank you?? I apologize if I sound ridiculous here, this is like the only place I can rant abt things without being brushed off for other shit

Good night now!!! I need to stop pushing my sleep boundaries ugh

[kitthefoxkin]

May I please request a porcelain dollkin moodboard with a pastel theme

May I also request a void conceptkin moodboard?

1) porcelain dollkin moodboard with themes of pastel!

2) void conceptkin moodboard!

[priestofporcelain]

┈ 𝜗♰𝜚 Doll Diary . Sun, June 16th, 1824

Some past life memory ramblings... This is quite long, so I'm putting most of it under a cut.

I was around 30 inches tall. Made of glazed porcelain, pure white, and ball jointed. I wore a black and white, frilly dress. My nails were long and painted black, my hair short, choppy and red.

I believe I was a male spirit inhabiting this more feminine-looking doll. My owner may have been a priest? He was religious, that's for sure. And very, very lonely.

I think he knew his doll was posessed. Maybe I was gifted to him, perhaps I was a family heirloom? Either way, I was quite valuable. I think he knew I was male.

I was his best friend. Maybe even something more at some point. I could do little except move around and leave short, barely readable notes when he wasn't home. He could swear my eyes followed him around sometimes. They did. Nothing brought me more comfort than being near my owner.

Being religious, he feared me. He knew he should have me exorcised as soon as possible. But he kept prolonging it. Days turned into weeks, weeks into months, months into years... I don't think he wanted me gone. I think my presence brought him as much comfort as it did fear. He wasn't alone any longer, and neither was I.

Perhaps he pitied me for being stuck in this mortal realm. He treated me well, and I kept him company 'till he drew his final breath. He died young, just as I did- Likely of illness. But at least we were together at last. Maybe that's what prompted my spirit to finally move on. Maybe he now follows me, while I am stuck in my new, human body...

Come back to me. I miss you dearly.

[icycoldninja]

Can you write a reader who’s like: haunting and dauntingly beautiful

ft. Nero, Dante, Vergil & V

Her aesthetics and lifestyle similar to that of Edith Cushing from Crimson Peak, always letting her hair loose, dark eye bags, her face always seem pale and lifeless but she’s a rather lively person whose social energy and spike up and plummet down unnaturally ( full on break dancing while in a Victorian night gown at 2:30 in the morning )

And a hauntingly beautiful voice, comforting to the disturbed and disturbing to the comforted and hearing her sing and rehearsal while at night either freaks you out because you thought a Victorian ghost is living in a mansion or comforts you like a warm hug from a mother to her kin.

On top of that, she almost always can be seen wearing a long white gown (similar to Edith’s), walking as if she’s drifting on air like a ghost due to how fleeting her footsteps are and holds a candelabra, walking around her mansion at night to do her daily activities ( she’s a night owl and her mansion looks like The Sharpe’s Mansion in Crimson Peak )

Yeah sure!

Sparta boys + V x Hauntingly beautiful!Reader headcannons

¤ Dante ¤

-Dante thinks your spontaneity and crazy energy spikes are freaking awesome.

-You're rocking out to Metallica upstairs at 4 AM while he's trying to sleep? Screw that, he's getting up, putting on his best suit, and joining you.

-Your mansion is...eerie, but let's not forget Dante grew up in one of those himself.

-Thinks you're the most beautiful woman in the world, 1 trillion/10. He can't so much as look at anyone else anymore after seeing you.

-He doesn't mind your eyebags or sullen appearance, if anything, he finds it a lovely contrast to your energetic nature.

-Thinks it's a bit unnatural for you to be using candles since electricity exists, but hey, it's your life and you control it.

■ Vergil ■

-Vergil's fashion sense is very similar to yours, so he has almost no reaction to your Victorian-era clothes.

-Actually thinks your gowns are beautiful and wants to learn to sew so he can make you more.

-Turns out his fingers are too big to hold the needle properly, so he'll have to go to the nearest emo/goth clothing store and buy some for you.

-He finds your constant energy annoying, and your random lack of energy equally annoying. However, he's used to annoying people, so he can tolerate you.

-At one point he walked into the kitchen to get a drink and found you painting the walls in a bright yellow gown. He immediately left, rubbed his eyes to make sure he wasn't hallucinating, went back in, and found himself met with the same sight. He then went back to bed, shaking his head fondly.

-Vergil is a very disturbed person, so while any passerbys might think the house was haunted, your singing comforts him, like a soothing lullaby.

□ Nero □

-Nero was shocked when he saw you for the first time, thinking you were a ghost or a creepy doll come to life. This is a compliment, of course, as though they are disturbing, creepy porcelain dolls are beautiful.

-Nero expected you to be some kind of depressed pastel goth weirdo, but instead got a basketcase with an unusually cheerful demeanor and enchanting voice.

-When you reach your highs, Nero is exhausted, and when your energy plummets to their lowest points, Nero is even more exhausted.

-If you start breakdancing in your gown at 3 in the morning, Nero will smack the vigor right out of you, no hesitation.

-Saw you "floating" as you zoomed down the hallway in your long dress and thought for a second that you'd learned to fly.

-He still loves you though, even if you're eccentric and kinda irritating.

● V ●

-Surprisingly, V isn't bothered by you or anything you do.

-Your mansion is quite cozy to him; it might be drafty and occasionally chilly, but it's also very relaxing to be in.

-Your clothes don't seem outdated to him either, in fact, he wants to dress like a Victorian gentleman now because he feels that style suits him more than his current clothes.

-Your energy shifts are interesting to him. He finds it odd how at one moment you can be crazy and energetic and the next, tired and sleepy.

-He heard your singing once and thought it sounded very nice. This is probably because he's a disturbed fellow.

-Will walk with you through the mansion at night because he finds it both romantic and inspiring.

[cilil]

Gentle June

AN: I'm almost done with June, @tolkienpinupcalendar x) this one's a little gift for @sauron-kraut. Enjoy!🖤

❀ Prompt: Lingerie & body worship | Mairon x Khamûl ❀ Synopsis: Khamûl loves serving his Maiarin master. ❀ Warnings: Sensual, smutty, master/pet, pet play ❀ Short oneshot (~600 words)

"Have you made yourself pretty for me, my pet?" 

A long-fingered hand idly reaches out, golden rings gleaming in the evening sun. 

Khamûl nods, a little too fast, a little too eager. He's already slipping out of his silken robe to show the Maia just how pretty he can be, how he wants to be pretty for him. 

Mairon's cat-like eyes follow his every move, curious, appreciative, greedy. The perfect porcelain his face appears to be made of shifts; the hunger is visible by the time silk drops to the floor and reveals soft skin and living flesh underneath. His smile reveals fang-like canines. Khamûl isn't sure if he's seen them before. 

Nevertheless, he shows himself, happily puts himself on display. Perhaps it's hubris to think he could be appealing to a Maia. Perhaps it's hubris to think he could survive it for long if he did in fact succeed. But he has Mairon's attention and flaunts his body. 

Only lace adorns him now: A frilly strip of fabric around his waist — reminiscent of a tiny skirt, yet so short that it barely conceals anything — and another small piece covering his private parts, held in place by twin strings that wrap around his thighs and backside. Khamûl has forgone even his jewellery, believing it to be an affront to his lord's masterful craftsmanship. 

Mairon lifts his hand and motions for him to join him on the bed. 

Without hesitation, Khamûl follows. He climbs onto it and then crawls, as is befitting for his role as a divine being's mortal pet. Enraptured, he watches those long, deadly fingers reach out and grasp his chin. 

"Undress me, then serve me." 

"Yes, master." 

Mairon lets go and Khamûl demurely lowers his head. It's an honour to be allowed to serve him. He shan't disappoint. 

Hands trembling with the sheer joy of his task, he loosens the sash around the Maia's waist, parts heavy robes, uncovers gleaming, gold-tinted skin, fair and ethereal like his divine kin, beautiful and terrible like the scorching sun. He bows his head to kiss his master, worshipping every inch of skin he can reach. Khamûl feels Mairon's fingers snaking through his locks, sharp nails scraping against his scalp, and moans in delight. 

The surge of pride that overcomes him when he's met with an already hardening cock is dizzying, but he allows himself no time to dawdle. Eager and obedient, Khamûl takes it into his mouth, requiring no guidance from the hand still resting on his head, and begins sucking the Maia off. 

Mairon lets him enjoy himself for a while, then asks, "I trust you prepared yourself in advance?" 

Khamûl nods vigorously, his head bobbing up and down in the process. He's become increasingly good at this, but now a different service will be required of him. 

With the ease of picking up a doll, Mairon pulls him upward by his neck, smiles and lazily pats his thigh. "Sit." 

The command is clear, and Khamûl doesn't hesitate. He moves to straddle the Maia's hips, pulls the strings between his legs aside and guides his hot, hard length inside him, slowly sitting down; he has been generous with his preparation, stretching and oiling himself diligently, and yet the process is never quite painless. 

Khamûl wouldn't have it any other way, though. Glory comes at a price, as Mairon has always told him. 

His back arches when he finally takes his master all the way, his breath quickens, his nails dig into impervious immortal skin. 

"Very good, pet," Mairon coos and caresses his thighs. "Now move." 

And this, too, Khamûl does. He trembles and gasps and moans, yet swears to himself that he won't stop until he either has served the Maia to completion or until his mortal body gives out. 

Thanks for reading! ♡

taglist: @a-world-of-whimsy-5 @blauerregen @bluezenzennie @destinyeternity1 @edensrose

@elanna-elrondiel @i-did-not-mean-to @just-little-human @urwendii

[dolliepede]

Hello again! Im sending anon cus i just dont like using my main to ask about kin stuff. But i'll link my kin/therian account! But do you know what material you were/are made from? Like as yer dollself i mean? Like if you made from porcelain or resin? Also what type of doll are you? Like are you a ball jointed doll or a different type of doll? I hope these made sense! Thank you for yer time ^^ Also sorry for spelling mistakes im not great at spelling ^^; - @liminal-therianthropy

i miss my centipede family 💔

[faustianfascination]

Giftee: @koco-coko OC: Pyetrovna Ilyich Tchaikovsky

Here's my gift as part of Mayday! Heyday hosted by @olivermorningstar & @lorei-writes

Thank you both for hosting this event! It's been fun and quite a challenge.

@koco-coko Tchai is a really lovely character to work with and I hope you enjoy :)

Prompt: Oak Fandom: Ikemen Vampire Pairing: Tchai & Mozart (platonic) Hurt/Comfort 1492 words

Summery: Mozart comes to realise that perhaps he should not have underestimated Tchai. Perhaps the porcelain composer was stronger than he gave her credit for.

************

The sound flowing through her body danced the line between joyful and painful, Tchai’s tremors had finally subsided enough to allow her movement more freedom, this composition she had desperately wanted to implement into a ballet. The music echoed through the old stone walls, her body flowing in perfect synchronisation with the strings. Movement, to graceful movement guided by a sound that felt like spring itself had begun to sing, the voices of the flowers in the garden translated into a perfectly light, airy moment of sonic perfection. The flowing fabrics of her delicate dress like a gown of petals dancing around her pale form, Tchai was a dancing spring bloom personified.

So entranced by the moment, the union of her body and the music Tchai didn’t notice his quiet approach. Footsteps measured and careful, Mozart often thought that approaching Tchai was like approaching a terrified baby deer. Ready to flee at the slightest disturbance and moments like this the thought of her fleeing made his heart ache. He was here to apologise after all. He stood at a distance, simply watching as she danced and played with a grace and elegance that was simply otherworldly. But here, in all her colours and all her fragility she looked like a fairy queen singing to her flower kin, summoning the most peaceful of spring days with her beautiful music and precise movements. The light pouring in from the window behind her making her look all the more ethereal, like an illusion that would vanish the moment he got too close.

Mozart didn’t like to admit he was wrong, but he knew while watching her that he was certainly very wrong in the way that he had treated her. Tchai was like a delicate doll, but as he watched her skill, her passionate ability to draw heavenly sound from her strings and incredibly skilled movements from her body he realised that treating her only as a doll, did her quite the disservice. He thought her to be a dandelion, so easily shaken to pieces, but before him was no dandelion. The fairy queen in front of him had the fortitude and disposition of an oak. She may look weak but her roots were deep and no matter how the wind would batter her, she would never be downed by it. Her raw fingers evidence of that absolute strength that was the temper of her soul.

The fairy queen danced with a strength that he knew he would never truly possess and a talent that dazzled him. Even if she didn’t know when to stop. There was the core of his frustration, he hated seeing her in pain, but getting her to stop was so very difficult. That’s why he had snapped so furiously at her and now why she broke into tears at the sight of him. He deserved it, but it hurt, mostly because of how much he had hurt her. He slowly made his way to the piano in the room and hovered over the keys, letting himself get lost in her tune and began to play along. Time seemed to stand still in that moment, he felt the joyful interplay in their melodies. But he got too lost, only being shaken out of his trance but the sudden stop of her playing and the stillness as she seemed to realise that he was there. She stood still, like a deer in a hunter’s gaze. And like a deer, she fled at the sight of him.

A few days earlier:

“Tchai, slow down you need to rest” Mozart said as gently as he could despite the headache pounding his skull. They’d been composing for hours, lost in creative fervour. Tchai’s body had long begun to tremor legs giving out as she cradled her violin on the music room floor, her fingers raw as she kept playing and refining one particular piece of the work. Entranced by her task, she felt like she was disconnected from the pain, her soul liberated from her rebellious body as she existed in sound, trying to figure out the last piece of the complex puzzle. So close, she was so close to solving the puzzle, she could feel that she had nearly weaved it all together. Every change leading to the solution, ever delicate finger movement that caused the slightest change in tone and intonation, building a path to the perfect sonic moment, she nearly found that change that needed to be made that would bring together the music perfectly. So close, she was so close and as she moved her fingers to make that final adjustment-

“TCHAI, FOR GODS SAKE WILL YOU STOP. YOU’RE TOO WEAK TO BE DOING THIS. GIVE IT UP ALREADY” Mozart’s voice crashed into her senses with a force that made her already overloaded system collapse. The tremors were overtaking her body and she felt his voice painfully rip through her body.

All she could think of was fleeing, so much that she began to drag herself across the floor. It had all overwhelmed her so much that she passed out. She had no recollection of how she got back to the castle, only coming to as Faust was giving her some medicine but all she could feel was embarrassment. Mozart yelling at her like that had hurt deeply. So much so she avoided him every time he tried to see her. It was a cut too deep coming from him.

Present:

She had fled to the garden with Svetlana now settled on her lap, just letting the soft sounds of the rustling leaves and the scent of flowers comfort her. Tchai hated how much she cried, how emotional she was. She had spent a lifetime feeling guilty over not being able to toughen up, of being soft and sensitive. Tears welling were a familiar feeling, her eyes almost seemed to be on the verge of tears no matter what. Everything made her emotional. She was frail, pathetic, every voice that had ever told her how she needed to be tougher, meaner, thicker skinned swirled in her mind until she remembered something.

There was a poetry book in the castle, Vlad had bought it from the future and she had opened it up one day to a page that had stuck in her mind whenever the phrase ‘thin skinned’ came into her mind. Her melodic voice began to recite it

“i don't want to grow a thick skin i want my skin to stay as thin as it was made and everything outside of that to be softer…”

The words hung in the air, unbeknownst to her Mozart had heard the words too. They struck him like a gale, because as much as he struggled with her overly emotional responses…her voice interrupted his thoughts

“What is so wrong with that Svetlana, why is wanting things to be softer, kinder so very wrong? I don’t want to change, because I’m not the one that’s broken or wrong. Why should I?” She quietly confided in her feline friend, unaware of the other vampire hovering near.

“You shouldn’t” Mozart said.

He came over and sat near her. She was too tired to flee him again, and she didn’t want to. The look of contrition on his face made her heart squeeze so she stayed still and let him continue.

“Being soft, or emotional is not a bad thing. Even if I don’t understand it and sometimes lack the patience to deal with it, you’re not the one who is wrong. I should not have been so harsh with you. So condescending…” His downcast eyes hinting at the shame he’d felt over the whole thing, he was truly sorry. It was evident in his features.

“I often tend to think of you as a delicate doll, so fragile that you need to be wrapped in wool and kept safe. That you are so frail that the slightest breeze could shatter you. However, after watching you today I came to realise something. Strength comes in many forms and I have rather been ignorant to not recognise yours.”

As he took a breath Tchai felt tears begin to roll down her face, this time not of fear or sadness, but a quiet joy. A recognition from someone who she admired, respected, loved. It was a simple moment, but it meant the world to be seen. For once, she didn’t feel guilty about her tears.

“Although, I will never stop worrying about you, I don’t want to see you in pain, I will do my best not to underestimate you. Even if I am a tad blunt about it” he said, finally looking her in the eye. Mozart took his handkerchief from his pocket and gave it to her so she could wipe away the rivulets flowing from her eyes and they shared a quiet moment in the flowers, her smile brighter than the sun in the sky.

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AN: the poem is by Brianna Pastor