who-you-are-in-the-bark

[who-you-are-in-the-bark]

You are not immune to lab whump where the doctor is just incredibly flirtatious and seductive about the whole thing.

Whumper, holding up a scalpel and batting their eyelashes, "let me see your insides, gorgeous."

Whumper, pressing the mask to whumpee's face for anesthesia, "I'm sure you'll look so cute asleep."

Whumper, leaning in real close, their breath on whumpee's face, "you are such a fascinating subject."

[who-you-are-in-the-bark]

Starscream with a cock in his intake 🥰

[who-you-are-in-the-bark]

aquatic dragon who sees you swimming and grabs your leg in her mouth and pulls you beneath the waves to coil around you and shred your bathing suit off

she’s teasing her massive, slimy, prehensile cetacean cock around your hole and you won’t stop struggling and she leans in and nips your earlobe and invades your mind with

if you don’t stop struggling, fuckmeat, i’m not going to let you back up for air~

and then is genuinely surprised when that makes you go limp because she was just trying to tease you, she doesn’t even know how terrified you are

[who-you-are-in-the-bark]

Mothballed

It used to be one of the best mech pilots under its handler, that is, until its mech was cored. Its handler listened to its cries of agony as the interface ports all around its body were simultaneously fried as the death rattle of the machine permeated the pilot's full perception. It likely wouldn't have been able to do anything, its sensations were just so overwhelmed. Miraculously - or not, the pilot managed to survive the engagement. They say however, that a part of it died that day, and maybe it did.

The handler remembered seeing their pilot wide eyed and speechless, watching the corpse of its machine being carefully disassembled in the mech bay. It looked like it wanted to cry, they should've told it that it could. This, however was not an uncommon fate for pilots. The typical procedure often came off from the outside as draconian, as cruel. The handler themselves was against it in this case, and opted against euthanasia. This wasn't the first time they'd lost a pilot, and they couldn't keep the tears from welling up as they picked up this one, cradling it as they left the bay.

The pilot felt it cruel at the time for the handler to have its interface ports filled in with resin. It took several days for it to stop picking at the plugs, but after it had resigned to their presence, the futility of attempting to excavate the ports with blunt instruments, its handler without any anger helped it smooth over the ugly chips in the material with more resin, a file, and polish. All of its ports had been filled, aside from the biological ones, which it was told everyone has. This, of course, didn't help; and the saddest part was, it knew it wouldn't be able to use the ports again even if it did manage to remove the resin. The ports themselves were busted, and the nerves they'd been grafted to, fried.

"I know you feel useless, 843. I know, but you aren't incapable of serving a purpose, still." The handler shot their pilot a sympathetic expression.

The pilot said nothing, it simply allows its gaze to reach up towards its handler, its blank expression inadequately hiding the volume of its emotional pain.

The handler sighed as it looked into the puppydog-like eyes of their pilot, "Would you like to be my doll?"

"Doll?" The pilot mimicked the tone of its handler's pronunciation of the word, with its raw and under-utilized voice. The act of speaking itself felt alien to its mouth, as it wasn't accustomed to speaking for itself.

The handler nodded compassionately, "That's right. You'd still be following my orders, but not with a machine, and not for combat. How would you like to be a service doll?" "S-service..." The pilot wasn't able to formulate the words it wanted to respond with as it stammered.

The handler picked up one of its hands in a gentle gesture they hadn't expressed to it before, "It's okay. You don't have to speak. Just nod or shake your head, okay?"

The pilot sat in consideration for a few minutes, before gingerly nodding its head at its handler.

"Then, you can be my doll, and I'll be your witch. We should get you into a uniform more fitting of-" The handler, now witch, reached around to the top of the zipper of their doll's pilot suit, which adorned its body in a skin-tight non-porous material, only exposing its head and interface ports.

The doll frantically covered the zipper pull with its hands, shaking its head in a panic. Tears began to well up in its eyes.

The witch's hands receded from the back of its doll's neck, "That's okay, I should've asked first. You can wear your new uniform over it, if you'd like."

It slowly nods in response, as its tears are gently wiped away by its witch.

Its orders were are unlike any it had received prior to its dollhood. These were far more gentle than any tasks it had been given before. No, these were not orders, but requests, expected to be followed, but simply requested of it nonetheless. It insisted on wearing its pilot suit underneath the maid uniform, to its witch's disguised dismay. It didn't know why they didn't like it continuing to wear it, though they seemed to resign to it at the very least.

One day, it came home with groceries in tow, setting them down on the kitchen counter. As its witch came in, their nose wrinkled, and they approached it, their hands grasping the zipper pull of the suit before the doll could react. As it felt the downward pull of the zipper, the two sides of the material separating and freeing themselves from its skin, it tried to fight back. It cried out as its arms tried to angle back around, before moving back to the suit, attempting to pull it back on frantically.

Then, the witch's voice assumed the stern tones of a handler once again, "843. It's going to tear."

With that, the doll slowly resigned itself to allowing its witch to remove its pilot suit.

"Sorry doll. I wouldn't force this, but you've kept this suit on non-stop for weeks. I need to clean it, and you need to practice better hygiene. I'll take good care of the suit, I promise." The witch reverted to their gentle tones as they continued removing the suit from the doll's body.

As the witch left to clean their doll's suit, the doll slowly trudged its way to the bathroom for a shower. It sat in the bathtub, letting the flow of the shower sprinkle it with warm water. It probed at the smooth black resin filling its interface ports, now far more noticeable without the similarly textured pilot suit. They stood out, making it more obvious at a glance that this doll was useless as a pilot now, decommissioned, mothballed. It felt tears well up again as it resigned to ignoring the plugs and cleaning itself. It remembered the feeling of becoming one with its machine, the body it used to control as its own, a feeling it would never feel again.

By the time it left the shower and dried itself, its witch returned with the newly cleaned pilot suit, just as promised. The doll took it, immediately slipping it on, as quickly as the material would allow it. The witch helped it zip it up at the back, brushing its hair gently afterwards. Once the doll was finished being tended to, the witch guided it to the bedroom of the home, coaxing it into the bed.

The doll began to blush, "I-is it okay? B-being here?"

"Doll, I don't want you sleeping on the floor anymore." The witch pulls it in close, "so sleep here with me from now on."

The doll hadn't slept that peacefully for a long time, it didn't even remember if it ever had. Even when it was a pilot, its dreams had been full of conflict, of feelings of fear, of anger, panic. This night was simply comfortable. It allowed slumber to take it. It allowed its witch's embrace to comfort it. Perhaps, this was better.

[who-you-are-in-the-bark]

Sensory overload

[who-you-are-in-the-bark]

“it’s meant to feel make you feel gross and uncomfortable on purpose”

what if it made me horny. then what.

[who-you-are-in-the-bark]

zorc from yugioh?

[who-you-are-in-the-bark]

This question was sent to our inbox. If you’d like for us to post a This or That poll for you, send the 2 things you want to see against each other to our inbox and we’ll let the people decide which one they prefer. Everything will be anonymous.

[who-you-are-in-the-bark]

Hey no worries sorry for bothering you while you’re zonked lol.

I was just surprised anyone was into my mfc fantasy and wanted to know more abt what you liked about it

Yeah I'm definitely super into it!

ummmm it kind of reminds me of a specific subset of (usually)furry micro/macro kink that I'm super into, if that helps explain it? I just enjoy the concept of the monster being able to pick up someone off the street and that's just their toy now. immediately de-personed in a super hot way

and no worries! it's not a bother at all, I'm just usually clearer about stuff lol

[who-you-are-in-the-bark]

So are you also, yknow, like that.. or monstery or what :3

i am into 'people being used as living toys' if that is what you're asking?

this blog doesn't get tagged well enough lmao i just don't have names for a lot of my kinks haha

[who-you-are-in-the-bark]

Reblogged my confession :O

yeahg it was hot

[who-you-are-in-the-bark]

Commission for @eraserheadbabycat 🐱🐱

[who-you-are-in-the-bark]

Imagining living in a world where various monsters are real, the idea that everyone I crush on invariably becomes a monster’s fucktoy, either by accident, on purpose, or just due to their inherent superiority in bed is so hot

.

[who-you-are-in-the-bark]

This is like so withering I think this tweet could be synthesized into a biological weapon that would eliminate like 75% of the noise scene in Oakland

[who-you-are-in-the-bark]

idk maybe I want to be a stuffed animal because of the fantasy of being something that was made to be loved and cared for with no expectation to earn that love or to provide anything in return but companionship and love

[who-you-are-in-the-bark]

I regret to inform you that I'm a disgusting pervert that will sexualise everything

[who-you-are-in-the-bark]

i slip and break my neck in the bar bathroom but the gods, taking pity on me, transform me into a single line of cocaine, and the guy i was planning on hooking up with comes in looking for me and snorts me