sleepydollposting

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doll joints. you agree.

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Damaged scrapyard android hooked up to a car battery, for /tg/

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handler (on the radio): when I’m done with your debrief, you’ll be giving the grease monkeys another oil slick to mop up

combat doll: *dumping flares*

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essence (The Art of Yoshitoshi ABe-Vol 1, No. 1 - April 2001)

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broken toys

https://twitter.com/koyoriin https://patreon.com/koyorin https://instagram.com/koyori_n https://bsky.app/profile/koyorin.bsky.social

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my psychologist said a PC would fix me so you should consider getting your blorbo put into a square 🟩

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possessed doll girl, but the ghost is very weak, so she doesnt want to do much

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doll joints are a form of gender affirming surgery, as is scooping out all the meat and replacing it with something more sturdy

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A doll that made a mistake

It leans over the sink, polishing scorch marks off its hand. Its witch hears it muttering to itself as it works.

Unkind words, directed at itself. "It's this one's fault."

"And what would that change?" Said the witch. The doll jumped to attention.

"Beg pardon?"

"If your injury was not your own fault, what about this situation would be different?" The witch reiterated, gesturing to the doll and the sink it stood beside. The doll looked at it's witch, puzzled. "If it wasn't this one's fault, then..."

"Then the fire would have still got out of control, you still would have been burned, and you would still be polishing singe marks off of your fingers" the witch took the rag as she spoke, applied polishing agent to the doll's hand, and slowly massaged its palm.

"Assigning and dwelling on blame for a mistake that has already occurred does not help us prevent the mistake from happening, nor does it help us mend their consequences." As she worked the polish up the doll's fingers, it squirmed and gasped in her firm grip. "So instead my doll, if you are going to reflect on a mistake, only take away lessons, and leave behind bitterness and blame."

"Yes, Mistress," the witch let go of its hand and handed the polishing rag back to the doll. Its bowed head hid a blush.

"So, my doll, what did you learn?"

The doll's blush deepened as it worked a fresh application of polish into its hand.

"That soaking incense sticks in lighter fluid is not an effective way to make lighting them easier."

"Good doll"

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capturing angels is easy. snipe them from the skies, break their halos, and watch the divine light fade from their eyes as you turn them into fleshlights.

capturing a seraph is harder.

they live in the upper atmosphere, far beyond reach. luckily nothing grabs their attention better than desecrating nature. you’ll have one hovering above you the moment you start pouring oil into the river.

but they’re invisible, they don’t actually do anything. they just watch with seething rage. but you can tell where they are, if you look carefully at the ripples in the sky. and they can be speargunned like any other piece of meat, they’re not intangible.

but they’re fast. once they get hit they’ll try to fly away, faster than you can blink. but it’s against their code to break something holy. that’s why i soaked the speargun rope in the blood of that drunk priest. it simply can’t snap the rope.

it’ll try attack you now, lifting it’s veil of invisibility and showing you it’s form. it’s beautiful, it’s blinding. that’s why we wear these industrial goggles to block most of its rays.

after the initial blast of light, you can see it’s true form. a 3m tall body of white porcelain, with undulating red spirals flowing from her talons. 3 halos, 2 pairs of wings, 6 uncaring eyes. it tries to attack us, shred us to pieces. but with a few more unbreakable spears, she’s essentially pinned in place.

it lets out a screech, attracting other seraphs. they come, but they just watch from afar. the leaves of all the trees nearby shrivel up. putting 2 pikes into her main wings, she can’t move. turning her head to look at us like an owl, she starts to speak.

“SURRENDIPITY. AMALGAMATION. DESECRATION. VOLITION. QUINTESSENCE.”

it’s best to just ignore them during this part. and instead just focus on the halos. that’s the target.

striking it with tools - sparks flying off - it’s amazing how much these floating discs feel like they’re anchored in place. they simply don’t react. but that’s a boon in our favour, not theirs. it means, eventually, they’ll shatter. if they warped it’d be exponentially harder to destroy.

eventually, the first one breaks with the help of a winch attached to the truck.

the seraph starts to struggle against her binds now, strange new feelings of danger making it panic.

“LIGHT FLOW BEAUTY RESIST ERODE TRANQUILITY. WATER AIR SPLIT GROW RECEDE. MAPLE LIMESTONE WIND TIDE BLOOD.”

the second halo breaks.

“SMOKE FIRE WAR WAR WAR. SHARK DARKNESS DEATH. MISERY. BLOODSHED. FEAR. TERROR. ACID BLINDNESS DECAY.”

the last halo cracks, it’s about to give out. the seraph is straining against the spears, shaking, desperate emotion in her eyes.

“LOVE WISDOM HAPPINESS. JOY PROSPERITY ENDLESS. RAINDROPS. YOURS. OWNERSHIP SUBJUGATION FREEDOM. LOVE EMPATHY ENVY PLEASURE RESPITE. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE. HOSPITALITY. INTIMACY. MERCY.”

the halo shatters to a million pieces. the area is no longer illuminated by some unseen source. the ripples in the sky disappear, the watchers retreat, uninterested now. the scared creature is speechless, her eyes wide and unbelieving. dirt now sticks to her body, instead of just sliding off. flesh instead of ceramic. we take the spears out, but bind her with ropes much harsher now. she’s still has strength, but it’s no longer unfathomable like it was.

now she’s just another fallen angel, about to learn the one thing divinity lacks, and humanity excels in. physicality. we have a lot of breaking in to do before she’s ready to join the other angels downtown. or perhaps i’ll find a private, permanent buyer. something like this would probably fetch enough to let us get out of this shithole finally.

as we throw her into its new room, a cold, stone room, with hooks in the walls to attach chains to, she speaks again.

“hurt. sadness. freedom fear anxiety. lost indecision hubris. mercy pain silence. separation beauty uncountability. exploration … limitations. unknown darkness fear. ”

“don’t worry darling. we’ll have you singing again in no time.”

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rebel who's had her fingers stuck in the mouth of the mech pilot she's captured for hours, because the hound is conditioned to bite down on the cyanide capsule in its tooth but not on a handler. so now it's just mumbling softly around the impromptu gag, while they both wait for someone to come sedate it.

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do angels actually enjoy having their halos touched or are they just a bunch of guro-obsessed freaks

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🤝

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2019

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Witchtember 20. Doll

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Girl who invites you over to play dolls and you come over and she slaps a vr headset and headphones over your head as soon as you walk in that hypnotizes you into being a pliable empty doll to add to her collection

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"It does not snow anymore."

Executor 1 shifted to face the other occupant of the room, filling the air with a strained creak from her chair. The previous fifteen minutes of silence left her unprepared for the sudden vocalization.

"What?" She asked. This was... Different. One's never spoken to her before.

"It is nearly the end of winter." The doll answered. "There has not been any snow." It clarified.

Executor 1 pondered this for a moment. Practically, she understood why that was the case. With the growing intensity of fighting on the surface, orbital weapons platforms saw more and more use.

As a result, the planet was getting hotter.

But before she could form a reply, the soft voice hit her aural implants again.

"This one likes the snow." It spoke, turning to face her. Its orange eyes fixed themselves on hers. "Do you?"

She stared back into the doll's eyes. Her facial analysis software couldn't make heads or tails of what might have been written on its face.

"I think so." Executor 1 hedged. She tried to recall the last time she had seen snow. Vague visions of white flecks in the sky, a girl smiling beside her. The warm clutch of another's hand in hers.

The feeling of lips pressed together.

"Do you? Or do you not?" It reasserted its question, snapping her back to the present.

"I d--" she began, before being cut off by a third voice. Another figure had snuck into the room. It was impossible to conceive how they could have snuck in, wearing such a gaudy uniform and large hat.

"Citrus, leave the woman alone. I'm sure she's tired."

The doll snapped to attention, seemingly losing all interest in Executor 1. "At once, my lady." It said, standing and moving to join its witch's side.

"Oh, it wasn't a bother at all, lady..." Executor 1 trailed off, gesturing vaguely at the witch.

"Juliana." She finished. "But you are to address me by my rank, pilot." She nearly spat out the word.

"My sincerest apologies, Major." The pilot drawled after peeking at her insignia.

The Major sneered and turned to leave, seemingly only here to retrieve her doll.

"Citrus?" Executor 1 called.

The doll turned to face her as the witch strode on.

"I enjoyed our little talk. Maybe we'll have longer next time." She said with an earnest smile.

The doll's face lit up. "Yes! I hope so!" It beamed.

"Citrus, now!" Juliana called, annoyance echoing down the corridor.

Executor 1 waved goodbye.

Citrus waved back, turning to catch up with its witch.