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TOP 10 DOLL TIPS:

if you break her in the right ways you can make her believe things that aren't true. for sex purposes

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Made these cute lil doll emotes

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Level draining fascinates me as a fetish thing. It eroticizes exhaustion and the burden of debt.

"Losing an experience level" is a silly idea because it is such a dungeons and dragons ass thing to map onto a real person. An experience level is fake even in a fantasy setting. Maybe the people in an isekai show are aware of their levels in the sense that they are aware of themselves as a list of stats on a character sheet.

But at the same time you gotta work hard for those levels, right? They're proof of time you put into a game. Experience levels are the linear progress that the world tells you is real. You earned them. You did all the quests and killed however many monsters. Losing an experience level is a gut punch in an old school tabletop game because they take so long to earn. Out of character, think of how many sessions it would take, how rare you can even get a gaming group together. that represents maybe months of invested time and effort.

And there are monsters that can take all of that investment away from you with just a touch or an attack or a kiss! doesn't that just burn you up?

In those older games you can get lost levels back. But it's so expensive, like America healthcare expensive, just to claw back one experience level. Or you could regain the lost experience the hard way.

get back on the treadmill and grind it out

Maybe that's your plan when the spectre brushes your cheek with her cold fingers and an experience level evaporates. You can't afford to dump a wheelbarrow of gold into the collection box at the city temple to have a restoration spell cast. So you decide to deal with it, until she touches you again.

That's two levels gone. Twice as much of your irreplaceable time and investment gone because this fucking monster can just arbitrarily take it from you. With every touch, the spectre robs you of everything that you earned with your experience. Your maximum hit points decrease. Those spells, attack bonuses, special abilities start to grey out one by one.

And the more she smothers you in debt and weakness, the easier it is for her to take even more from you!

Isn't that hot? Some tabletop developers must have thought so in the eighties and nineties. Half of the level-draining monsters in the Monster Manuals were some kind of sexy inveigling bikini demon. Ravenloft was scary and fascinating because of the irreparable harm the monsters in that setting could do to you.

Drain levels. Drain stats. Permanent hit point loss. Bit by bit, little pieces of you, measurable but intangible, all flowing into the smirking mouths of pretty monsters. How could anyone not be captivated by such a fucked up thing?

Even if you survive the encounter, you mark down the negative levels on your sheet. They're impossible to forget, the way you never forget the most money you ever had in your bank account. The debt warps every other motivator. You're adventuring and gathering gold in the hopes that you can pay the arbitrary, expensive fees to remove the weight of one of those lost experience levels from your balance sheet.

The rest of the party understands your frustration on an intellectual level. But the spectre never hit them. They still get to quest for the magical gems or whatever was the point of your silly campaign.

The experience you lost defines you in a way that doesn't apply to them. Maybe you grind enough to restore one of the stolen levels, or you gain it back the hard way. It's nowhere near what you lost, but you can feel a little sense of relief.

Over time, the scope of your motivation shrinks. Get back what you lost. Except you can't, it's too expensive, there isn't enough time. So if you can't do that, then maybe you can confront the spectre again. Destroying her won't bring back what she took away. But you want to make sure no one else suffers like you have. Or maybe you just want revenge. Probably both.

You sneak away from the party one night. You've grown apart from them, anyway. You have more in common with the spectre now. You've spent most of your waking life thinking about her and what she took from her. And she's waiting for you in the cold ruins where you first encountered her.

The spectre isn't surprised you wanted a rematch. Neither of you are surprised when the battle turns her way. You don't have your friends to support you this time. Her flanged, iron mace batters at your guard. She knocks aside your blade, bludgeons you to the ground, but doesn't raise her weapon for a killing blow.

The spectre holds out her other hand, inviting you to shed pretense. You crawl forward and lift your chin, pressing your still-warm cheek into the cup of her life-stealing hand.

She holds you there for a long time. More abilities go grey. There's no stopping it, now. This isn't mercy. She's giving you what you want.

More soul-debt, more exhaustion. Let it crush any memory that you were anything but leaden emptiness.

The spectre smiles. She withdraws her hand. You feel the lines of frost left by her fingernails scraping your cheek. She lays down her mace. She won't need it to seal your fate. Its strikes were feather-light compared to the crushing weight that is to come.

How badly do you want it, now?

She touches your lips with her finger. Still on your knees, you open your mouth. She laughs at you. Snowflakes and cold mist steam from the cruel turn of her blue lips. She slips her finger inside your mouth. You coil your tongue around it and suck. Your grateful whimper makes her laugh again.

Obscene. You draw her chill into your weakening body as her touch pulls at the wan flicker of your potential. You feel the doors to possible futures, avenues of escape, close one by one. You can almost hear the soft click of the locks.

The tomorrows flow out of you. What would you do with them? Try to claw your way back to a high water mark you'd never see again? The spectre cradles the back of your head with your other hand. You feel a thin line of drool freeze on your chin while you suck her finger. She has given you so much soul-debt, now. The weight of it will bar you from any afterlife the gods had prepared for you.

She pulls her finger free from your mouth with a gentle, wet pop. You sigh out a plume of freezing air and snowflakes. She purses her lips and blows a matching trail of cold in your face, eyes bright and mocking.

Then she kisses you, and now her hands dip into your chest, between your legs, groping as she frees you. Only from your old body, not from what you now owe her, which is everything, until the stars turn into dust. Now she is so much brighter than the sun and moon ever were. You were something bright and magisterial and alive before she left her first mark on you. And now you've thrown every bit of it away.

The reward for surrendering to the pressure of her will always be more pressure. There are no levels left to drain, so now she takes your ability to choose. She uses debt to carve you into a more useful shape. You cede more of yourself to her with every touch. There is so little of you left.

Your new, ghostly form kneels to her, because it is what she demands. She straddles your face and uses your mouth. More debt pours into you, squeezing out the capacity for thought.

The last thing you choose to think on your own: I hope the others come back for me. I want them to fall with me. I want to see them gasp and crawl when we take everything from them. I want them to know what this is like.

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You'd like to think they were parasites.

It'd still be horrifying, obviously. But understandable. There's protocols for that. Containment procedures. Treatments, even.

But its not that easy. Maybe it was once, when they were still young. In the quote-unquote good ole days, before mass telecommunications really woke them up.

No. When they get in your head, your body becomes their body. Your actions become their actions. Your flesh enacts a will greater than its own. Its so totalizing you barely even feel it.

We're told, though, that it can be contained. Fought against. Subverted. They still insist on calling it an infection. But sometimes I think that's just talk. Sometimes I think we all know, deep down, that we're too far gone. The only question is whether our comrades will have the courage to put us down, like in those old zombie flicks. Or if we'll infect them, too.

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Do you think the stars reflected in a dolls eyes are more or less beautiful than the willingness of a mech pilot to face down heavy machine guns to complete the mission? Do you think the cleanliness of a house well maintained is any different from the longing gaze a moth has when it stares in to the entropy of a candle?

I don't think so. They are all expressions of the same, blindingly obvious truth some of us have forgotten.

Devotion.

The devotion of a doll, a pilot, a moth, a submissive are the same beautiful thing. A willingness to give themselves to what they believe is worthy. To devote themselves so fully to a goal that they've given everything to. Their mind, their body, their worries and efforts, if it's the chaotic snapping of bullets wizzing past their heads, or spending two hours cleaning the oven, or just a simply observation of those who have already given themselves. They are all more beautiful than I could ever put into words.

But this one is doing its best to.

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the state of video games makes me so mad i wanna kill myself sometimes man

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swodr

im not a doll... im a action figure... and my accessories are REALLY bad ass!!!!

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Doll Vignettes - A tryst with a demon

The doll summoned a demon today.

That sounds a lot worse than it is. Dolls are rather inured to the effects of consorting with demons. But its still no small matter. It wasn't something I instructed it to do, either. I know what you're thinking. Oh, she's using her doll to do demonology she's too scared to dabble in. But its not like that. The doll doesn't have a a witch per se. Rather, it is built for a specific Purpose. So, this was about as 'self-directed' as a doll is capable of. I'm not even sure if I was awake! It started at three AM as soon as it finished its rest period. Crafty thing.

Anyways. The demon. It was a demon of insight. Put a pin in that. The doll has been dabbling in magic, and I'm happy to teach it. At this point I'm like a nature scientist. Observe. Provide the tools. Answer questions. Perhaps not exactly like that, then. But I'm quite hands-off! So of course the doll has some knowledge of basic numogramatics. Only the useful bits, you understand. A doll has no need for obscure decimal numerological advancements, or alternate base numerologies, or to understand what AQ means. So it probably doesn't know any of that. And that's for the best, I say! Leave the theory to the witches.

Returning to that pin. The demon it summoned is an entity in numogramatics - specifically, it is a compound form representing the syzygy 6::3. As you will no doubt remember from Intro to Lemurian Time Sorcery, invoking this syzygy is associated with 'the eyes', or improving ones insight into the warp and weft of time, among other things. You do remember, yes? This is very basic stuff. Anyways. We typically teach undergraduates basic mnemonics for invoking the demons, and how to read the nummogram, use it for divination, etc. Some precocious students learn to embody different syzygies early, and Insight is one of the most useful in academic work.

But this doll! This doll learned the true name of Insight! As with all numogramatic demons, its true name is a complex geometric representation of its essence. And no, I will not be writing it down. You can work it out for yourself if you have the skill. And if you do not, I suggest you don't try lest your mind be devoured.

Its only real hint was knowledge of the syzygy, and an allusion to the demon's true name I thoughtlessly invoked once. Do you realize how impressive this is? This is a veritable breakthrough in doll studies! (And I guess that's what I do now that I'm on sabbatical. Who'd have thought?)

But here's the most interesting (and perhaps horrifying) part. The doll took essentially no precautions. I mean, its a doll. It put its first attempt on its carapace in sharpie! I nearly fainted when I saw it! I had to get the ethanol immediately. But there was no summoning circle. No binding charms. No empowering ritual objects. Just pure geometric beauty displayed on my lovely wall. Which is horrifying, and I had to break the shape for my own safety when I found it. But just think about that for a second. A doll beheld the true name of a demon. And it was fine! I convinced it to try binding the demon, and its solution was just to ask nicely for its mind not to be devoured. Disturbingly, I think it worked. Nonetheless I impressed caution on the doll and instructed it to stick to allusions for most purposes. Even a doll could come to harm casually invoking a true name, let alone others!

Here's where I'm going to sound like a crazy old hag, though. I think Insight wanted the doll to learn its name. I think the doll invoked 6::3 and danced with it, in a roundabout way, to its true name. And that is truly an elegant technique for a nominative derivation. And of a compound entity, no less! I am not sure I would be able to pull it off when i was an undergrad. And I know, I know its crazy, but I think the doll was the key. I think its Stillness, and its Purpose made that possible. It engaged with the entity on its terms, with none of our boundaries between invoking and Becoming. And it was beautiful. What other magical insights might be at our fingertips, were they but porcelain?

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Doll Vignettes

Surrounded by three women, the doll sits, still on the dining room chair. The light overhead is too bright. Blinding. The doll closes its eyes. People are talking. "So it looks like its a lateral luxation... or maybe.. hmm." "I mean either way its dislocated," a voice interrupts her musings. "Well yes," she begins, "but knowing what kind of dislocation it is will help us set it back correctly." "Whatever dawg. I've got the K here whenever its ready." The doll opens its eyes and takes the rolled up dollar bill its offered. It makes a motion sort of like blowing a kiss. ASL for 'thanks'. The woman smiles as the doll exhales, brings the bill to its nose, and hits a line of powder. It settles back in the chair and nods, closing its eyes once more. It waits for the K to kick in as the voices continue deliberating. "Okay so you ready?" The first voice asks. The doll nods again. "Okay so what I need you to do," the voice continues, addressing woman to her left, "Is I need you to hold its arm steady while I do this. Just grab here" she says, as she demonstrates, "and here. Understood?" "Yep." the woman pipes up, quiet until then. "Okay well hold it steady." "Uh-huh" The four pairs of hands together cradle the dolls forearm and elbow, a tight knot of limbs. "Alright. Here we go." The first try doesn't work perfectly. Eventually, through work only slightly more careful and dignified than jamming, ramming, prodding and banging, the doll is shaking out its arm, with most of its range of motion restored. "Thank you" it says, to no one in particular. "Hey, no problem" says the girl who cut the doll a line. "Its what friends are for. Or something like that anyways. You uh. You stay safe though. That was kinda freaky." In the kitchen, the woman who held the dolls arm in place is retching into the sink. "Sorry," she begins, panting a little bit. "I just... really don't like it when bones move around like that." "Apologies," is all the doll says. "Hey," The woman begins, a little pale. "Could you grab me a coke? I think my blood sugar is low..." The doll replies as it swiftly rises from its seat. "Of course."