What Is The Jazz And Sabine Sleeping Situation?

Decided the old post didn’t go far enough so here goes

Reblog to give a trans girl the robot body of her dreams

Girl suffering mental illnesses and crippling loneliness: “I’m struggling bad but it’s definitely my fault actually, I just need to try harder somehow. I just need to find a way to try harder”

The idea that trans women are just like, cosplaying women or something for some ulterior motive is so utterly absurd to me, especially when I consider what I and so many other trans women value most in our transitions, which really is the mundane. I don’t just “pretend” to be a woman in public, I am a woman always, and it’s at home when I am just doing the same things I have always done that I feel most fulfilled in my transition, like cooking dinner or lounging in my pyjamas or doing homework. I did not transition for some supposed social advantage but because my coffee tastes sweeter through the lips of the woman I am than the man I tried to be.

GAHHHhHh

Rag Doll washes the tea things when the party is over because otherwise they won't get cleaned. the old Scullery Doll was much better and quicker at it but there were so many tea parties that she broke. one day when they stuck the key in her back it just wouldn't turn anymore and no one knew how to fix it. she just waits in her chair by the fireplace, her eyes staring up at the ceiling. we give her tea every day so she doesn't feel left out but it just grows cold in her lap.

we all have our duties. Rag doll's duty was to tuck everyone into bed at night. that's what she was made for. she was made so a young witch, frightened of the dark, would not be alone. she was made to say "are you comfortable? close your eyes. this one will tell you a story," and such things. the young witch is grown and gone away, and none of the dolls here seem to need that, so Rag stands at the sink with a teacup in one hand and a soapy sponge in another, late into the night. the soapy damp smell has become a part of her. she never feels fully dry. there is only so long she can stand being tumbled in the machine. so every night, instead of crawling into bed with the other dolls, she hangs herself from the clothesline with the fan blowing on her. someday Scullery will be fixed, and this duty will be lifted from her, and the smell will fade, but for now she hardly feels fit to present herself at the tea table.

Mabel helps by bringing all of the tea things to the kitchen, which is wonderful of it, because Rag can't handle the tray and would have to make individual trips for each piece. Mabel Doll has suggested that Rag wear some kind of rubber gloves, there are some that the witch used to use for magical purposes of some kind, but Rag has no fingers. the gloves are too big and the fingers get in the way. Baker Doll who happens to be passing by looks at Rag's cloth stumps and chuckling starts to suggest condoms before Mabel cuts it off. but Rag Doll has tried washing teacups with condoms. they're weirdly greasy. "this one is fine," Rag insists.

"that one is starting to get moldy," Mabel points out.

"a witch will come," says Rag, "and Scullery will be fixed."

~🧽~

years pass. the witch who finally comes can not fix Scullery. "Ro just left you guys here to your own devices," she observes, shaking her head. "Pity."

"miss Ro has many responsibilities," ventures Mable.

"not *that* many," says the new witch. "Scullery here, for example, a beautifully well-made piece of machinery. the silicone coating is lifelike, flexible, and durable. i've never seen its like. it apologizes, by the way, for neglecting the dishes all these years. what a waste, letting it rot out here."

"it needn't worry," ventures Mable. "Rags has taken over its duties."

at this, a giant gear within Scullery cranks into action, clicking over once. some of us jump, some scream, as this is the first we've seen it move in years and our memories are not very long. Scullery's hand jerks, toppling the cup of tea placed in its lap. luckily, its heat resistant silicone will seal out the hot liquid, preventing it from any harm. its skirt will have to be laundered. (we will probably just spot clean it.)

Scullery falls back into permanent stillness. "it's very upset," the new witch remarks. "it said 'that rag doll is least suitable to perform this one's duties."

"well, it's doing its best," says Mabel. "but we hope miss Ro will come back and give it some new body. that one is starting to be like a sponge that is ready to be thrown out."

"we did suggest gloves," says Sweetie. "this one thinks it just enjoys the feeling of decay. not every doll is capable of it, you know. this one will never decay. in a thousand years its parts will still be littering the planet." Sweetie's eyes get a faraway look.

"did it not occur to any of you," the witch says, the misery of the situation beginning to soak in, "that maybe one of the dolls who's not made out of absorbent, um, cloth, would be a better choice for washing the dishes?"

blank stares. finally "these ones' witch is gone."

"but Rag Doll offered to do it. Rag Doll said it was fine."

"we have our duties. this one sweeps the floor and dusts, for example."

"this one is also made of cloth! this one thinks that one is insane for taking on such a task."

"Rag got mad when this one tried to help. Rag screamed at this one."

"no." none of us had given it that much thought.

so the new witch goes into the kitchen to see Rag Doll. "oh, you poor thing," comes out of her mouth before she can stop herself. Rag, startled, falls off the back of the chair it's standing on. it had slunk back into the kitchen, defeated, the moment it had heard the new witch say she could do nothing for Scullery.

the new witch skips over and turns off the faucet. "what is it you were actually made for, little one?" she holds out her hand to help Rag Doll to its feet.

it struggles to remember. "this one... was made to tell bedtime stories and snuggle in bed." the years have not been kind to it. at least it's freshly laundered, having gone through the washing machine and tumbled in the dryer just a few nights ago.

"my name is Zo. may I pick you up?"

not believing what it's hearing, the doll nods, and suddenly it's being lifted into the air! levitated by a magical supportive pair of arms, and pressed into the chest of a Witch. it would take that one's breath away, if that one could breathe. it was like a purpose, long forgotten, was starting to reawaken. "a good weight, a good squish," the witch was muttering. "plenty of latent magic, plenty of spells to decrease the smell of dishes over time. little one, i might just steal you!"

"wha-?"

but before it could object, miss Zo, with Rag Doll in her arms, was hopping on Elizabeta's broom and zooming out through an open window. when Baker stopped in a moment later, all it observed was a sink full of half-washed teacups and the curtains swaying in the wind.

those half-washed teacups stayed in the sink like that for a few more days, and then Baker and Mabel agreed to share the job.

some (kinda risque) computer-loving pins from the 80s

hate, hate, hate the “mirror test” so much, all it is is some guy in a lab coat pokes you in the forehead and then they lead you into a room where there’s this window and some bitch on the other side of the mirror has a smudge on her face and when you point and laugh at her she points and laughs at you, but she’s the idiot with a smudge so why’s she laughing but if you yell at her she just yells back and everything keeps escalating until they drag you back out of the room, and then they ask you all these stupid questions like “did you notice anything about the person you saw” or whatever, like, yeah, i fucking hate, hate, hate her so, so, so much, i noticed that, why do they keep doing this, and then they scribble a bunch more shit in that file, it is literally the most pointless part of the week, and the worst part is they always force this conflict too, like, obvious lesson learned here, don’t interact, don’t speak, keep your head down, but if you just avoid looking through the window the test never ends and they keep waiting and watching and wanting to judge the results even though it is so, so, so tiresome and irritating every time, i don’t like her, i hate her, i don’t want to see her ever again

masks and helmets that hides someone's face in such a way that they become the face themselves my beloved

these are all creatures to me

no matter how terrible my day is. i can always end my day in bed imagining fictional characters making out sloppy style and fucking raw. and that's beautiful. there's some good in this world mister frodo and it's worth fighting for