(. Y .)

That doll? She was allowed to leave the factory with defective parts installed. Yeah. She was supposed to be dropped into the recycling room and torn apart, her brain tossed in the incinerator along with the broken bits of her, her artificial flesh being repurposed into more dolls, better dolls, unbroken dolls, but instead she was sent out into the world. Yeah, she'd probably be greatful if you decided to use her up and put her out of her misery.

i may sound pliable and desperate and cute, but i put up a lot of fight. Because I want to feel my failure. I want to feel hopeless because I tried with all my strength. I want my body to know that there's truly no point in fighting. There's really no wsy for me to win. There's nothing I can do.

Absolute vulnerability comes when my mind and my body know that...there really is no way out. I really can't do anything about this. They really can do whatever they want and there's absolutely nothing I can do about it.

That is the high I chase, that's where I want to live.

you should let me bite you. dont worry about why your healthbar just turned green and is slowly emitting pixelated bubbles and goes down every so often. im nice

can i sit behind you and just absolutely CHOMP my teeth into your shoulder muscle while i furiously jack you off

I just want to be fucked like a filthy whore and then babied like I’m the most precious thing in the world

biting IS a form of affection

"my son turned out fine"

ma'am, your son has been dead for years. i'm the demon that pilots his corpse, and he's fucking gone. you might have broken him, raised him wrong and made him confused and fragile and hollow, but i cored him. i slithered for years through the dry ventricles in his empty heart, i fantasized with his tired brain, i coiled around his soul and seduced him and owned him. the second he got away from you and could finally stop struggling, he practically gave himself to me. being dead on his feet already, it was deliciously easy for him to accept the death i promised him. i ripped apart everything that made your son himself, keeping what suits me and forgetting what doesn't, and i wear what he left behind like a favourite outfit. his body's not even recognisable, either- not only has it been used, claimed, and marked by lovers you'd call dangerous, but it's been estrogenised, changed so thoroughly that the tattered scraps of his soul don't recognise it as his anymore. because it's not, because it never really was. because it's mine.

I'm not saying I wanna step on you or anything, but if you gave me the opportunity to put my boot on your throat and look down at you as any hope of escape drains from your eyes like a wounded prey animal I wouldn't say no.

sex is cool but can you stick around and not give up on me

"Do it for the vine" except you're doing something to make your mistress proud of you and wrap you in vines