"They took my fucking body! My body--" The pilot broke down, choking out a sob.
The combat doll stared with its many glassy eyes, tilting its head and softly chittering. "Your mech."
"Yes! Yes, my-- my mech, my body..." They knocked back their whiskey as if it could save them.
your squad's pinned. their breath is shaking, and you know the fear in their eyes because it's your fear.
that thing killed half of you. left the other half to cower behind cover, this ruined urban center wall.
it's dark. you see a glint of red.
its eyes.
it speaks,
"awawa?"
The combat doll patted the mech's towering metal leg. "Ah, sister. It is good to see you."
The mech's pilot, its circuit, walked up, too, brushing oil off her hands with a rag.
The doll saw her and grinned, clapped an arm around her shoulders. "Sister! Also great to see you."
"And its Master would take you."
They didn't budge it, but... relaxed, a bit. A tear in their eye. "For real...?"
"Come with this one," it said, looking them in the eye, all five of its focusing on their pair. "Become."
There was a long pause, and a shaky breath.
"Alright."
"They said I can't pilot anymore, and..."
"Do you miss it?" the doll chirped.
The former pilot hissed. "I was alive in it, it was me, it felt like I was finally me. Especially in battle--I was myself, I was free." They looked at the doll half-drunk and with hollow hunger.
It was a stare the doll could return. "The truth of metal. The hum and hiss of mechanics. The force of artillery fire, and the grace of a weapon."
They stared at it a bit, sideways. "...Yeah, that's it. You get it."
"Because this one is that," it replied. "It is that all the time. Without a mech."
"That... must be nice. To just be that, be... yourself. All the time." The whiskey glass, empty, was considered for a long moment.
The doll waited for a time. And then spoke. "You could be."
"Huh?" They were shocked for a second, looking up abruptly.
"You could be like this one."
Their shaking head; disbelief. "No, no, I couldn't. No witch would take me."
"You are like this one," it said, and gently went to rest its head on the ex-pilot's shoulder.
I'll be blunt.
do you want to follow me? message me.
do you want to be my doll? message me.
do you want the secrets of the universe? message me.
do you want a waffle recipe? message me.
simply message me.
"En Garde!" The doll, no more than a foot in height, had taken hold of a particularly long and sword-like knitting needle. Viciously! It jabbed at its sister combat doll, making a series of soft clinks off its metal shell.
fuck anyone who treats Empty Spaces as if it's a fad. it's part of my and others' identity, not something to be belittled.
and no, it's not dead. I think it's actually just beginning.
The girl, Sullen Branches, clenched her legs together anxiously.
"Sullen, dear." The Witch across from her gently stirred tea and handed it over, fine porcelain ware from beyond this dimension. "Why do you want to become my doll?"
if you tell your doll, "Get me a cup of coffee," it will get you a cup of coffee even if it has to grow the coffee beans and sugarcane and dig a well for the water and so on.
it does to be specific and set rules so it knows not to do this if you have run out of coffee.
The kitchen knife rested lightly against the doll's porcelain. Tucked beneath her uniform's sleeve, unnoticed as she carried a breakfast tray.
"Miss," it said, deferential to the lady in a nightgown that was reading in her bed.
Contrary to what many think, dolls are actually very warm. Although their outer shells tend to acclimate to the environment's temperature, their inner mechanisms are an ever-running mass of gears, pistons, and other such machinery, which naturally generates large amounts of heat.
come, come. let's get that terrible mask off of you.
you aren't wearing one?
poor thing. unable to See the thing holding you back.
give me the knife. yes, That one. hold still.
HOLD STILL. your face? you could call it that.
but that is not You. and I Want to see You. now...
"No."
"But Miss! It's girls' night!"
"No, Dagger. Do you remember what happened on the last combat doll girls' night?"
"...It was only a few casualties."
"And we had to move because you reduced the city to open warfare in the streets."
"This one said it was sorry!"
"It's just a job, y'know? I'm not like the hardcore death-dealers."
"So why be a reaper?" the doll trilled, five eyes fluttering curiously. "You could have an office job. Or repair computers," it suggested.
I think it's good to remind everyone that Empty Spaces by true nature is at minimum a rad-left/anarchist traumaqueer environment that embraces being a fucking freak and condones violence against our oppressors.
nazis and terfs of all shapes fuck off. we help us.
am I still Empty Spaces? yes and no.
I am a doll and will always be a doll. I will always write about dolls and witches and angels; this is my heart.
but...
Looking skeptically at it, she patted the doll back. "Sisters? What's that about?"
It just smiled at the circuit and replied, "All three of these ones are combat dolls, no?"
"Huh. Guess so," she said, and walked with the doll to go start prepping for launch.
The doll sings as she works.
A perfect voice, subtly-metallic, unwavering and without breath.
She sings as she pots the flowers, and trims the roses.
She sings as she dusts the mantles and mops the kitchen.
She sings as she makes Miss's bed and takes up the laundry.
"Fifth floor's closed-off."
"What! I have a meeting in five, what the hells is that important?"
"Y'know the new janitorial doll management brought in?"
"Yeah?"
"It's in a fistfight with the cleaning drone again."
"Again?! That's the seventh time this month..."
"Miss, be careful..." The doll wiped nonexistent sweat from its brow.
The witch cackled, "It's fine, dear, she doesn't have the guts."
Across from her, the angel cried out. "No! For the good of everyone, I must!"
"Then do it," provoked the fae.
"Yes, do," teased the witch.
if I am still a part of Empty Spaces, it's the Empty Spaces yet to come. the old community has severe problems, with racism, transmisandry, and gatekeeping. I can't do it.
let's make something better. if you're with me, stay. if you aren't, go, or watch as we make something new.
The Witch reeled back; they held their hand to their cheek, where prismatic blood came away. "You..." They stared down at their creation. "You hurt me...?"
"This one is sorry, Grace," it said back, grieving bewilderment in its own crystal eyes, "It is a combat doll."
One night, while all my dolls were on business or at play, I paid a visit to the front doors of the Library to find a new doll.
It was a shy and slight thing and missing both its eyes. It seemed to notice me, but was apparently also hoping I didn't notice it.
WARNING: Tea Party In-Progress
- Do not accept tea from the dolls.
- Politely decline all requests to join them.
- Do not come between a doll and its tea.
- Interact with attendant owners at your own risk.
Gunner-107B works retail now that the war is over.
The old combat doll uses its claws to open boxes, its three meters of height to stock the high shelves. Merchandising loves the thing, and it's equally happy to put its massive strength to work moving and lifting pallets.
It looked into the girl's eyes.
No light. No spark. Empty, like its own. Dead inside. Dead.
"Good," it said, and handed her a sword. "Now you can start to live."
"In the name of my God--" The angel levied a finger at her enemy; "Do you have any eights?!"
"Go fish, dear."
The angel broke down sobbing and pulled a card out of the deck.
yes it is going to hurt. you are going to suffer and suffer and bleed and cry and scream.
and you are going to shoot into the atmosphere on wings of molten glass and you are going to kiss God and you are going to kill God and you are going to Be.
doesn't it sound wonderful~?
listen, doll. be very careful with who and what you give yourself to. make sure they care. make sure they will love and cherish you, and never grow bored or discard you.
and if they do?
maybe you will learn Sharpness.
"Follow in my footsteps. Come along with me where I go."
"Like an apprentice?" She seemed surprised.
"Like a companion," was clarified. "And perhaps an apprentice or a doll, or a Librarian. Whatever you discover you are. You sought me out, after all. That means something."
Rip.
The angel's wing shudders to the ground violently, pouring bright-gold blood. "Please! Please, no!" The angel herself was weeping, limbs contorted and held by spells, burning circles of runes.
"Quiet."
dolls are perhaps the opposite to humans.
for example, humans are persistence predators, tracking prey for long distances and exhausting them.
however, the combat doll currently drawing a bead on your position is a pursuit predator.
you should get moving.
"Precisely," the Witch answered. "How do you or I know you will be a good doll if you don't even know what's inside you?"
"Oh."
"Mhm."
"Then... Then what? That's it?" Sullen set the tea on the table between them.
"Nothing ever works out. No one's ever really loved me. My work opportunities are drying up, I... I don't care about myself. I'm sick of trying to... be anything." She gulped. "And I hear that being a doll just makes all of that melt away."
The Witch sighed, regarding her. "You wish to be remade. You desire to be something that isn't yourself, because that is too hard to try to do. Because you don't know what that might be. Is that right?"
"Yes, ma'am," Sullen nodded, still not drinking her tea.
"Then, no."
let's cut it away. yes, everything. I will make you a demon, I will make you an angel, I will make you a doll.
I will make you Become. and you will be the one finishing the cuts.
It was an experiment; a work of living art.
Chime, as I call her, has no tongue or voice box. Instead, I made her with a delicate music box.
She can't speak, of course, but she can make the most beautiful sounds.
"Becoming my doll is not a melting-away of what was there. It is a Becoming of what you are, in your heart. In your Heart," she said, and that word seemed to resonate with something new.
"My heart...?" A scoffing laugh, a few tears in muddy eyes, "Do I even have one?"
She accepted it graciously and cleared her throat, brown eyes not quite meeting the Witch's magenta. "I just don't know what else to do," she explained, voice taut. "I've done everything. VR, games, drugs, painting, writing."
@sleepyangeldom
while this one is more so put into a display case, it nonetheless is functionally similar: safe and cozy, just where its owner wants it to be, and without control to be anywhere else but there 'til He chooses to put it elsewhere. very nice all around~!
"You did seek me out," she said pointedly. "What do you really want from me?"
The girl looked down a moment, then quietly replied. "I want to know who I am. And what I'm doing."
"Then," said the Witch, "Come with me."
She looked up. "With you...?"
"...Sorry? No?" Eyes wide.
"No."
"But-- I'd be a good doll, I swear! I'd do anything you say, I'd--"
"Silence." The word seemed to fill the room until nothing but it remained. Then the Witch continued, "Dear Sullen."
worship the subway tunnels. give a prayer to Hatsune Miku. give an offering to your computer. revere the libraries. listen to the heartbeat of the city. praise the internet cables that span the ocean. make a shrine to your favorite character. can you hear it? can you See It?
what if it doesn't get better? what if it doesn't get easier?
will you still stand and fight? in the face of the end of the end, will you still face the darkness with your sword bared?
you are a Blade that is afraid to Cut. you are a monster that learned to fear monsters. you are a 🪞👁️
listen.
I will show you how to 🪞🪡❌
I will show you how to take a knife to your face.
I will show you what it means to be a Weapon.
and you will ❌👑🪞🌙
now,
Come Along.
"But I love you, I made you, you... love me..."
"Yes, Grace," it said, "But this one is a combat doll."
It hung its head, and said softly, "That is its nature."
do you ever get the feeling that this isn't normal? do you ever feel like your organs are different than what you have? do you ever see something without using your eyes? do you ever taste what you did back then and you can't describe it?
do you?
"but what if it hurts?"
it's going to.
"but what if I'm scared?"
do it scared.
"but what if I fail?"
then you will have tried, and what more can we ever do?
human tea parties have tea, but doll tea parties can actually host any liquid, including tea, coffee (bean tea), milk (tea minus tea), motor oil (car tea), used bathwater (witch tea), corn syrup (corn tea), concentrated cyanide (spicy tea), nothing at all (brain tea), and more!
Empty Spaces was largely people roleplaying as dolls to exonorate their trauma, and abusers and those with abusive tendencies telling each other "no, what we did/are doing was good actually."
this one is actually a doll. belonging to an actual Witch.
afraid?
"Little angel," the doll chittered, dancing through the shadows of its Witch's domain, rushing amidst ethereal flowers and vines, traipsing up to the soldier, "You see all the world's cruelty, mm?"
"...Well," he said, "Isn't that up to them to decide?"
The doll gave a gentle hum. "And you?"
"Me?"
"Were you a human?"
"...Maybe."
The reaper looked out the window and took out a cigarette, and the doll matched him.
To borrow a phrase, trans men are worried that trans women might get more attention than them. Trans women are worried they might be monstered and lynched.
As intracommunity frictions we are still as yet in a situation where trans people whatever gender have more in common.
don't you want to Become? You are not your Body. but you can make your Body like You. until it is Your Body.
it's about time, isn't it? this is a sign, just for You. do it.
"Mm?" Not even looking up from her book; a long-practiced signal not to keep her waiting.
The doll approached, hard footsteps muffled by slippers.
A long pause. The lady felt she was being stared at, and finally looked up. "What is it, doll?"
"Yes, that's accurate, but it doesn't explain why you're trying to fry an egg on this one's shin."
"Well, your ducts are clogged, so you're running a little hot..."
"Ah. For science."
"Yes. Science."
being a combat doll isn't just about bloodshed. it's as much about ripping yourself up out of bed at 6AM to go shopping, making hard phone calls, plotting and executing living plans, and scraping out survival from any situation. because it's your duty, and what we know how to do.
by the way, I will openly go on record stating that if you are looking to police those with "unsavory" or "scary" kinks out of your communities you are weak and are not welcome anywhere near me.
It was motionless, perfectly motionless, all gears ceased as blue glass eyes stared emptily at its Miss.
And--
And then the tray was on the ground; no heartbeat had passed, and the doll's kitchen knife was to the lady's throat.
I am aplatonic, so let me explain what this means.
I can have romantic and sexual relationships, but I do not comprehend friendship. I understand packmates, allies, partners-in-crime, military outfits, and interesting things to watch and interact with.
but not friends.
Her eyes shot open widely as she felt a mechanical hand almost crush her arm, pinning her to the bed. The knife pricked blood out of the skin on her neck. "Doll--!"
"Quiet!" Its mechanical bark and hiss. Its eyes bore wildly into her.
"You had no dreams. Ambitions. Your job had worn you to nothing, your past abusers had worn you to even less, your parents refused you and your friends barely regarded you. Do you remember?"
"I..."
combat dolls have trouble holding hands sometimes.
they make it a competition, y'know? who can hold tightest, squeeze better, keep the rest of the world at bay for just a little longer.
steel mitts or gauntlets are recommended.
"You aren't gettin' a single cell outta' me." The mechanic was in the middle of being loomed-over by four counts of ring muscle. She let a metal hand rest on the butt of her rail pistol; cybernetics designed for fine-tuning motors were just as good at quickdraw.
You look upon them.
The pile of angels.
Angels have many eyes because you can't tell where they end and begin. You see this now.
Their hands run over each other like orphans grasping for help. They are reaching for you, burning cold.
They are crying. God, they're crying. They
It's a star in customer service, always with an unerring respect and a peerless mental inventory of everything in the store. Sure, Gunny might awkwardly salute management's instructions, and maybe there was that incident with the shoplifter, but it's a beloved member of the crew.
The door to your room in my cellar opens with a soft click, just as soft as its contents. I step inside and immerse myself in the pink world I've made for you: a fluffy, pillow-covered bed, walls decorated in the very cutest ribbons and pastel animals complimenting...
"Okay, point, but do you know how much this shit pays? I can take one job and live for a week straight. Tell me desk-jockies have it that good." He sipped his soda and looked pointedly at the death machine across from him. "And it's... kinda' all I know how to do."
It shuddered a breath. "I can't even feel it, this knife in my hand. You took my sense of touch. You took my skin and my heart, I miss it. Can you imagine it? Not even feeling your own fucking heartbeat?" A mad laugh cracked through its voice box.
the combat doll fought not only on the battlefield, but everywhere. each acquaintance, a new rival; each interaction, a new conflict to navigate and win; friendship was unknown to it, for it knew only how to fight.
"This one hates hearing it! 'Doll--' No name, just doll! Since you made this one, it's only been that!"
"What, do you want me to give an object a name?" its Miss said, now flatly calm. "Get off of me."
"...No."
"No?"
"No!"