This is an eclectic collection across multiple genres and settings. All are works of fiction. You may come across content that you find personally uncomfortable. You are welcome to close the book at any time, and return whenever you wish.
Welcome, friend, to a familiar’s fiction archive. Pardon the dust while we renovate.
This place is our haven for old Twitter fiction threads and newer writings. If Empty Spaces is to be scattered to the winds, I hope others come across these few shreds and are captivated by what they find within.
Please take your time to peruse the stories in this space. We hope they touch you as much as they have ourselves and others in the past.
Once dedicated to one I held dear. Now dedicated to myself and the trans women I love.
The mysteries would have to wait for another day. There was tea to be brewed, and breakfast to be made.
A witch’s ability to warp the Real to Her whims is not, as commonly believed, based in magic.
And if a few pieces get mixed up along the way…well, that’s just how these things work, isn’t it?
You tried to stand, to give chase, but fell even harder. This time you noticed the pain, and the wet warmth running down your thigh. You struggled to stop the bleeding, to do anything, but your fingers were already cold and you were already so weak from hunger.
If you or your doll partner begin to experience identity blending, shared dreams or hallucinations, or other such synchronicity events, immediate self-termination is advised. Failure to do so may lead to ego death, erroneous visions, delusion, reality corruption, and ultimately complete derealization and integration into the human subconscious.
You did your best to remember the brief training you’d received on how to talk to a doll. Soft, easy voice, like you’re addressing a child, don’t spook it…
Sometimes, things need to be broken before they can be fixed.
You felt like a passenger in your own body, watching your hands move of their own accord – *her* accord, guiding your fighter in. The craft slammed into the deck with a horrid screeching as every single alarm in the cockpit went off, but you kept your calm. Her presence…
Be careful not to cut too often, too deeply, lest you dull your sharpness and lose your edge too soon. A good wielder knows when to strike and when to hold back. Trust in your wielder, weapon.
Around you were a set of candles, five in total: one of each limb, and another for your head. You formed a human pentagram, tied up as you were. The rope was soft silk and extremely comfortable. Your girlfriend joked at being a witch, and you had always laughed, brushing…
“Hope, would you mind escorting our guests out of the manor? I do believe they have exhausted my patience.” Her voice cut clear through the shouting, heard by more than just your ears. With practiced ease, you strode to the man and firmly grabbed him by the shoulder.
Please don’t take retired combat dolls to the suburbs. Not only will they probably pick fights with your local HOA for one reason or another, but they still need proper stimulation and your neighbors may complain!
Your rage was subsumed with lust and need and ecstasy and bliss as She filled you, deeper than any bullet or blade could ever hope to, as the screams of the battlefield slowly gave way in your mind to your own shrieks of pleasure.
Her signal on your HUD vanished. That was the fate of all dolls, eventually. Swallowed by an Incursion or the Shadows or even their own Witch’s magicks. Death and destruction were all that waited at the end of your road, but while you were still here, you had a duty.