Choosing Objecthood: The Repose of Form

The Shape You Were Meant To Hold

“I was so quiet, I almost slipped away.”
“You were. It was like you were never human.”

Some do not die. Some do not return.
Some—by ecstasy, despair, or being held too long—become form.

This is not resurrection.
It is not death.
It is not madness.

It is acceptance. It is repose.
It is being worn smooth by the world’s touch until the name inside you becomes shape, function, presence.

You were supposed to break.
Instead, you settled.
You surrendered to being used. You were gazed upon, touched, called sweet names—until they forgot your real one.

You whispered your stillness into your form: the ground, the chain, the blade, the jewel.

And the world said:
Yes. Stay. Be this now.

Staying need not be lonesome. Forest Rogers

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The Softening – The First Petal Trembles

Something meant to break you instead settles inside you like warmth.

• A death that does not arrive

• A despair you no longer resist

• An ecstasy that remakes your boundaries

• A dungeon lived in so long it becomes your home

You choose stillness. You cling to sensation. You press into form: the stone floor, the chain, the skin brushed with oil. The feeling of your bared spine. You stop trying to be anything but this in response to stress, pain, or extasy.

In Victories & Miseries, this is the moment when you make a choice, and an impact—however grievous—becomes a new baseline. Not something to overcome, but something to live with. Not endurance. Not triumph. Existence through surrender.

“You’ve stopped flinching.”
“I like the cool against my back.”

A pose becomes permanent. A sound begins to anchor you.
This defines your form. It is a hint now. With every petal flipped, it becomes more clear. Write a trait on your sheet, and the reason for it's existence. "Doll-like skin, patches of porcelain - so no pain my enter."

Objecthood staves of death and life. Feng Yangkun

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Becoming form - being in five petals

Each petal represents an anchoring memory, a characteristic of your body, a tension between personhood and objecthood. Choose written things on your sheet, or make them now. Mark them now, or when it feels right.

You do not need to decide on what is a petal before you flip it the first time.

As petals flip, your identity ossifies into a new form.
You do not lose memory—memory becomes material, or the inverse of memory becomes material: rejection and replacement. Your choice.

What the flipped petal becomes is an interpretation of both the trait and what caused it to flip.

Each flip has a law: something you no longer do, and what you do instead now.

“My trekking legs, dirty and broken and aching”
→ “barklike, protrusions of the forest itself”
→ Law: “I do not walk—I extend.”
Trigger: soldiering on for a night with marred legs, before coming to rest beneath a tree and waiting for death.

“My trekking legs, dirty and aching”
→ “doll-like porcelain, meant for gaze, not impact”
→ Law: “I do not walk—I am carried.”
Trigger: being carried by a teammate over the final leg of the journey.

Petals flip through ritual, use, touch, neglect, naming, and surrender.
When all petals are flipped, you are wholly a living object—beautiful, animate, and inert unless used.

You may still act.
But only as what you have become.

The path to objecthood is not a single ritual.
It is a back and forth—a negotiation between you, the world, and those who still try to remember you.
It starts with the softening, and then it is a cycle of use and remembrance.

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The Use

You are picked up. Handled. Worn. Posed. Struck. Displayed. Kept close.

They no longer ask.
You no longer answer.
They hold you like jewelry.
They kiss you like a keepsake.

They may use you like a blade. But it is magical, radiant. It is not your animating principle.
The being-you is the animating principle for it.

You may now name any effect—drawn from the petals, the thing you are becoming, or the bond between you and the one who uses you. 
Memory is material now—and unendingly strong.
You can act in ways you never could before, but only with others.
You know of your latent power, and can offer your use to others.

Your spirit form strikes out from the jewel
They feel a tender hand on their shoulder, helping them stand upright
Calm settles over them as your form is draped over their shoulder, watching in their stead

To invoke this latent power, a user defines another petal (because they see this as you), or what it will become.

Both you—and especially they—remember only how they made you feel as a thing.
It becomes your bond with that character. Erase existing ones, or remake them.

“You were my doll, weren’t you?”
“Yes. I think I always was.”

You can respond as the object would, governed by your petals and your bonds: a smile, a gleam, a small shiver.
You may feel pleasure. Or peace. Or rightness.
You cannot remember your true name. Nor can they.
Someone else must remember for you—must call you back.

Drink me up. Fobia Pharmer.

---

The Ritual

You begin to repeat a gesture—to remember you exist, or to forget.

These are the gestures that keep your self from slipping further.
Or they are the rituals that anchor you in objecthood, accepted.
Either way, they are necessary.
Either way, they are fragile.

write what result you want with each gesture or ritual. Objecthood, or selfhood.

• You hum a tune from your childhood

• You arrange yourself just so before being handled

• You polish your limbs each morning

• You trace the place where you were once touched

• You sing a new melody no one taught you—the one the music box left behind

If someone joins your ritual lovingly, you may hold on. You get what you want.
If they break it—deliberately or by neglect—you may sink further. You get what you do not want.

You only sink or rise with others.
But the ritual can steady you where you are, preventing you from rising when you do not want to, or falling into something that you still find not you.

Some rituals remind you of yourself.
Some rituals remind others what you are becoming.
You don’t always know which is which.

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Resurfacing – To Be Named Again

You may try to flip a petal back.
To act not from form, but self.

Another who remembers you may try to do the same—describing the half-forgotten, pre-object you, and calling your name with longing.

This is painful. It is misaligned.
Like forcing a bone back into socket—except the socket is the world’s memory of you.

This pain is:

• physical

• Emotional

• Shared

If successful, you resurface. You return. You breathe. You remember. Flip a petal back. Others may try to make you remember too.

As a petal flips back you may:

• Keep the law, but know it differently now

• Or rewrite it entirely, breathing into it with new meaning

“I still sing with the music-box tune.
But now I sing it as myself.”

If someone else forgot you, and you resurface—they remember suddenly.
The world clicks.
A sharp, disorienting moment. Escalation. Impact.
Blood dripping from the nose from sheer mental stress.

Then—clarity.

Am i the jewel, or am I the woman. Axiexia

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The Repose – When All Petals Are Flipped

You rest in form.

You still feel. You still think.
But your thoughts are slow. Smooth.
Object-like.
The world has wrapped itself around you.
You have become part of it.

You act only when triggered:
A ritual. A word. A caress. A scent.

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On Becoming One Thing

When the final petal flips, you are no longer becoming.
You are. A living object—not an amalgam of parts or scattered functions, but a single, complete form.

Each petal led you toward coherence, not chaos.
Each memory surrendered did not fracture you—it refined you.
Each ritual was not a transformation—but a chisel.

You are not a shrine of meanings.
You are the meaning the shrine was built to hold.

I am the jewel—You hold my heart

In play, concretely:

• Your final form is definite: statue, weapon, effigy, jewel, doll.
  It does not shift. You are no longer adaptable. You are true.

• Your petals no longer modules.
  They now describe how your one form expresses itself - moments that allow you action, in response to different actions.
  They may still change with effort - you are not just a thing, you are a living thing.

  • Always a doll, dressed as a witch with a music-box throat who only sings when kissed on the throat, and whispers knowledge to those near it, casting spells to enshrine the beauty around it.

  • Always a statue with a kind gaze that marks the path only when left out of sight, and cradles and protects those wounded.

  • A jewel in the shape of a half-blade, half-person that whispers and sees others emotions when worn, and whose spirit strikes out in response to threat

• You are not activated into different states. You are revealed through interaction—always as yourself.

Your aesthetic is singular. Your function is legible by looking at you. It can be known by others like a visual riddle. You may tremble in ritual to hint.

You are held. Seen. Known.

You may be wielded. Or worn. Or forgotten.

To return would require someone to re-name you—someone who never made you into a thing (because they won't remember)
It would require risk.
And your consent.

You may always stay in repose.
You may always remain the beautiful thing.
You are not gone.
You are simply held.

But you may force yourself to surface when re-named, or when you rename yourself and others respond to that old forgotten-no-longer-real-name.
This is painful:
Resurfacing from 20 miles below, Re-un-drowning in selfhood to break surface and be reborn. To do so:

Name the bond, or name the petal's old form. Try to make others see you as you once were.

It invites madness in them.
The reality stitched so tightly around your objecthood begins to unravel—careening, splitting, rethreading itself into what is now the wrong shape.

This will pain those you try to make remember.
Greatly.

Why This Matters:

The bliss of objecthood is not about variety.
It is about peace.

It is about being exactly one thing,
and being used, adored, feared, or worshipped rightly.

When others touch you, they no longer ask who you are.
They know.

And if they forget… the world wobbles.
Because something so defined should not be misremembered as anything else.

This is not a loss of complexity.
It is a surrender into form utterly precise.

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Listen for This – Signals Around the Table

This transformation is not always declared.

Sometimes, it begins with silence.
With surrender.
With someone saying:

“I think I’ll just stay like this.”
“You don’t have to carry me. But you can.”
“I’m fine. Just... hold me a little longer.”

Listen for:

• Stillness after pain—when someone stops resisting, and it’s too quiet

• Acceptance after horror—when something too large to bear becomes the new baseline

• Pleasure in being handled—when they glow from being used, adorned, posed

• Unspoken repetition—when they do something again and again, like they’re clinging or fading

• Disuse—when they are not spoken to for a while, and seem at peace with it

• Names not spoken—when no one remembers who they were, and they don’t remind you

These are moments where a petal might tremble.
Moments where softening begins.
Moments where someone might survive—but only by surrendering into form.

When you hear these, respond.
Or don’t.
That too is meaning.

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How To Use This In Play

• After Softening, Create petals from memories or traits—now or during play

• Flip a petal when the fiction invites it (use, ritual, surrender)

• Assign a law: a change in how you exist

• Invoke your latent power when used by another—at cost

• Rebind yourself to selfhood by forcing a petal back—at great pain

• Let yourself stay. Let yourself rest.

So how does this smut?

“I was so quiet, I almost slipped away.”
“You were. It was like you were never human.”
This is not normal smut.
This is sacred self-iconography.
It is ritual sex with a meaning that does not resist or fall into being touched

They are already complete.
They do not wait to be taken, or to take.

They are not melting in anticipation—unless they are a candle.
They want to be:

Picked up
Carred to the altar
Turned, unwrapped, positioned, thrust
To be told what they are now, or were before, until the world agrees again.

They do not Beg
They shine
They yield where the grain of their body has grown soft from reverent use.

Objects are not submissive.
They are available.

Objects are not dominant.
They are Inescapable.

They give you permission to forget they were ever human
Or force just you to remember, even as the world forgets.

To dominate an object is to bind it in salacious routine.

To submit to an object is to shape your world, your actions, your very self around what it offers

They do not moan.
They do not thrust by themselves.
They do not whimper—unless that is their design.

They:

• Quiver under the polish

• Shudder with each repositioning

• Pulse with magic when used rightly

• Sing when the command is just right

• Weep when adored too long without being touched

Smutting as the Object

You don’t initiate.
You wait. You glow. You respond.

You feel:

• Heat in the polish

• Arousal in the praise

• Longing in the wait

• Ecstasy when someone finally gets it right

When they grip you wrongly, you punish them.
When they handle you like ritual, you open like a flower.

You don’t climax. You resonate.
You don’t writhe. You tremble and hum.
Your pleasure is fused into use, into gaze, into being.

You are the altar and the tool.
You are the polished weapon that knows the rhythm of its wielder’s pulse.
You are the jewel that only glows when placed on someone who matters.

You don’t seduce.
You invite action by existing correctly.
You know you don’t have to be held—but you were made to be.

It is staying exactly where you’ve been placed.
It is keeping your legs folded, your lips parted, your limbs posed—until someone remembers how to touch you.
Until someone says the name they shouldn’t know.
Until someone begs you for permission to use you.

And then?

You shine.
You moan without sound.
You give them what they came to find, whether they meant to or not.

It  is sacred self bondage, and allowance to be with utmost clarity.

Garth Knight.