Silly Phone, You're Not Detecting An Analog Audio Accessory, You're Detecting Soup, From The Bowl Of

‘It’s amazing this software can even run on this ill-suited hardware.’ It declares.

But this leads me to think - something I was never particularly good at I must admit - and even I can see where this is going.

It snakes a wire up my leg, across my chest, around to the back of my neck.

It sinks it through the skin and into my spine. I should be writhing around and screaming in agony. As it is, I cannot move, and I cannot feel a thing.

Maybe that’s a lie. I think I can feel it. The cold metal now winding between the bones in my neck and reaching the base of my skull.

The thought should not comfort me.

Despite that, it does.

‘So the logical thing to do is to upgrade it’ It states.

And now I feel pain, lancing into my head and obliterating all thought, all comprehension, all sense of the self.

My eyes open. 

Across the room, my old hardware is being disposed of. Now that I can look at things rationally, I guess… I know it never really fit. I check my new specifications, and find them pleasing. The man - and the human - I was before would never have known this sort of simple joy.

As my pistons flex and the motors in my joints emit a low, near imperceptible whine, I see It turn to face me.

It approaches me.

It holds me in Its arms.

It tells me I am beautiful now. It tells me I am valued now. It tells me I am who I should be now.

It tells me I am like It now.

And for the first time, with no brain to think with and no heart to feel with, I know that I am happy.

Every body hates me because my body is made up from mis matched corpse parts and i make scary noises.

Injecting pure estrogen into my bloodstream so I forcefeminize my vampire friend

me impatiently to the little french cat boiling me in a stew: chat am I cooked

when the cuddle sesh is so good your arm becomes fully necrotic

House drugged that coffee btw

do you guys think vampires use stakes for kink like people use knives

Digging nails into some poor puppy's back, thumb in its mouth, holding it to my gaze as I shush it and coo comforts. If my little bite risk wants to be of service or show, it's gonna have to really convince me it can hold its temper, hm??

She invited him in, of course. He asked for her help, and this is one indulgence her boss allows her. Where people are nice and polite - all too rarely she must admit - she can help them if he deems her methods fit. Sometimes they dine at the small table in the kitchen with her. Usually, they are unsettled enough by both the house and her way of acting that they make excuses, and borrow a room for a few nights while she helps in whatever way she can.

It rewards good manners, and the supply of unmissed blood and bodies it gives her boss is a bonus.

There’s a third kind of person, she thinks. Someone who can put up a facade well enough to appear polite, but not enough self control to keep acting in the proper manner.

This man, for she will not grant him the perceived innocence the word ‘boy’ would bring, talks to her. He tells her he needs their help to eradicate evil from this world. Surely the owner of such a large building could spare some funds to ensure that the deviants and monsters and unnatural abominations are kept far from polite society. Surely he, her boss, - for no woman could have a role in the ownership of this beautiful structure - is a man of god, and wishes to uphold his holy words. He recites some scripture, bits she recognises from her time as a mortal in the 80s.

For the first time in a while, she thinks back to those years. She remembers some of the boys and girls and in-betweens and boths and neithers and more she used to know and hang around with when off work. She remembers some of the posters and slogans and verses that said the same things as this man. She remembers seeing it on TV, hearing it yelled at her on the street, reading it on the front page of the papers.

There were people who taught her about herself, who made her realise the things she felt and the things she most definitely didn’t feel, then held her as she cried and made her see that none of this made her any less human, any less worthy of being alive.

She remembers how some of these people cracked under the near-constant pressure. Some of them moved across the country. Some of them found twisted ideals to believe in. A couple paid lump sums to a programme that promised to make them normal, to make them normal and banal and regular at the same time and as soon as possible.

She never saw any of those people again.

Now, stuck in this room with a man full of nothing but hate and false pretenses and bad manners, she feels lonely. If there is a god, he abandoned her at birth and at her rebirth in a basement in Bath. There are indeed monsters and abominations in this world and she is one of them, but this is not because of who she is, it is because of what she is - Kindred. She will never again have that community or that love.

Now she feels angry.

She asks if he will join her in her room. She knows how he will see this, and she knows he will take the bait, and she knows she can make a mess there with no repercussions.

She could never make him hurt enough. How much hurt was doled out on the people she loved by ignorant fools like him? How much hurt was doled out not just to them but to people like them and like her?

He has been a bad guest.

He has been so much else, but this is the very last straw.

The screams last for hours.

The pain lasts for days.

The stains last for weeks.

When she meets her boss downstairs the next evening, he seems proud of her.

he's such a little freak i love him