Unknown Forces Compelled Me To Draw This

Woah mama do you love the aces and aros also?

Woah mama of course, they're awesome and more powerful than I am

you can hit it raw, i’ve got an IED

*talking loudly on the phone next to you on the bus* what do you MEAN my homunculus is transitioning

She twitches in her sleep. Light burrows between her eyelids as she clenches her eyes closed. It feels far too early for her to be waking up, so she decides to attempt to get back to sleep.

Something clamps down over her mouth and closes behind her head.

Her eyes fly open as she reels from the unfamiliar sensations. She starts and puts all of her strength into lifting herself off of her bed.

She feels a blade at her throat.

If she were wide awake, it would be a minor inconvenience. She could push past it, injury be damned. She could tear into the person in front of her, and reduce them to a pile of bloody scraps on the floor.

As things stand, her mind is still slowly waking. Her most basic instincts take over, and she pushes forwards, aiming to clamp their throat between her jaws and drink her fill from it.

Her muzzle bounces off of their throat.

As she scrabbles in shock and attempts to get her bearings, their blade finds a home in her side. Their booted foot follows, sending her weakened body spinning out across the floor.

As she attempts to recover, they fasten some items over her forearms. In her bloodlusted haze, she barely notices.

She swings out, and her fists, newly covered in layers of material and padding, collide impotently with their legs.

They reach down, and grab her wrists. They fasten her arms together behind her back. They place something around her neck.

‘Click.’

A tugging sensation lifts her off of the floor, and she is forced to kneel. A hand grabs her under her chin, and she is forced to look into their eyes.

Their eyes are quite beautiful.

‘Others in my line of work would call me an idiot for this. They’d say you’re too dangerous to be left alive. But I know something they don’t.’

She cocks her head, listening intently. She feels a thirst rising within her. She exerted herself rather too much in her attempts to fight them.

‘Creatures like you - Kindred - aren’t as powerful as most think. You’re desperate, pathetic, hopeless.’

The truth in these words hits her harder than their blade and boot did.

‘You can feel the hunger, can’t you? You’d do anything for just a drop of blood, wouldn’t you?’

She can’t muster up any words, but need and desperation overtake her, and she nods.

They laugh, short and sharp.

‘Oh come on now, you have to use your words. That’s how this works. Now dog, speak.’

She says yes. She says she’d do anything. She lists situations and scenarios of all the things she would do. Words of promise and want, near incoherent, spill out of her mouth.

They laugh again.

They smile down at her.

‘You can be so useful to me, pet. Think of the things you can tell me. Think of the things you can do for me.’

They release her chin, but keep one hand on her leash. They move across to her bed. They take a pillow from it, and place it on the floor in front of her.

‘Go on, prove how desperate you are. How utterly broken you are.’

She doesn’t need to be told twice. She crawls over to the pillow. She grips it between her legs. Her hips roll and move backwards and forwards. Her mind goes empty - well, emptier than before.

For an uncertain amount of time she is lost in bliss and want and need. She hardly realises when they reach their free arm down to her side. She hardly realises when they wrap their fingers around the handle of their blade, still stuck in her side.

She definitely realises when they pull it out of her. Blood and viscera spill out over the floor. Pain and pleasure mix in her mind. She buckles and nearly collapses. The collar around her neck, held up by their hand on her leash, is the only thing keeping her upright.

Her hips keep moving.

They take their blade in their free hand, and use their sleeve to wipe it clean. They place it on their palm. They pull the blade, and it catches on their skin.

Red blossoms in their hand.

They push that hand forwards, holding her muzzle with it. They tilt her head backwards. Blood falls through the gaps in the muzzle.

She falls apart when the first drops hit her lips. She screams and moans and cries and begs. She writhes and moves and spasms. The ecstasy of base pleasure mingles with the ecstasy of the blood and the release of her hunger. She is undone.

When she comes to her senses a few minutes later, they are still there. Their hand moves gently through her hair. Their eyes are on hers. They are holding her in their arms. They are smiling at her.

She did so well, she is told. She was perfect, she is told.

They tug on her leash, and the pressure around her neck leads her back to her bed. They lie down beside her. They take her in their arms again.

She falls into a deep sleep, much calmer than before.

Her nails were the first thing that was taken away.

The woman in front of her stands, holding her head between her hands, whispering soothing words. Promising it won’t hurt very much at all.

Her knife reaches out again

Her skin falls away from her, revealing layers of fat which follow in turn. Her muscles part, and are quickly and precisely removed. Organs are cut out, excised one by one so as to avoid making a mess or disturbing the ongoing work. Veins and arteries are removed with impossible cleanliness.

She doesn’t want to stain anything, after all.

Bones and eyes remain, so are taken as well.

She can’t avoid making a bit of a mess with this bit.

Splinters of bone fall to the floor. Her skull cracks, splits, shatters. She is removed, then her brain is tossed aside.

Then, from a place where she sees and feels yet cannot act, she watches as her miss truly begins her work.

Steel is melted, poured into molds, beaten out on an anvil, and formed into a beautiful new skeleton for her. Her miss works with ceramics to make her cold new skin. She works with bronze and brass and precious metals to build her lovely joints.

She spends weeks crafting new eyes for her doll.

When she wakes up, after months of watching the affection of her miss pour into her new body, she moves quickly, sure of her purpose.

She embraces her miss.

KIsses her with porcelain lips.

And offers a response months in the making:

‘Thank you.’

They call it “boymoding”. Yeah all the girls are doing it. It’s when your nipples poke through your shirt no matter what you do

yuri is when your girlfwiend bites you and makes you a lesbian

top 10 reactions to condescendingly being called "princess" that we really don't need to examine

being sad and trying to think about ur favorite characters to make yourself feel better is always kinda funny when every character u like is an abominable piece of shit. try to think "[X] would comfort me" no they would fucking Noooootttttt. Lol

sorry for calling you "the rasputin of the polycule"