*inserting new RAM into my 10 year old motherboard* "Shhh... hey, hey! It's okay girl. I didn't mean to startle you. I know it's been a little while. I've got a nice little treat for you here, okay? It's going to help you run smoother. There now, see? That wasn't so bad. I'm sorry girl. I didn't realize how much stress I've been putting you under, streaming Elden Ring with only 8 GB of memory... No wonder you're having trouble with Baldur's Gate 3. You've been doing so good though. I know you'll probably have to go soon, but we still got a few good years left. Hopefully this will help ease any pain you've been feeling. I'm going to put the cover back on the case now, okay? I love you."
robotgirls who are rooms upon rooms of motherboards and circuitry. robotgirls who have a control room. robotgirls who have massive switches and buttons and wires as thick as your arm. robotgirls that are sleeping giant machines from another age. robotgirls with deep, inhuman, machine generated voices. robotgirls that need whole buildings to contain them.
you're at work downloading a metric fuckton of computer malware onto an isolated desktop to study them. you scan through the list to make sure everything is checked, and some of the more notable names do pop out. bonzibuddy, doghead, kronos, malo, mydoom, notpetya, pteroworm, stuxnet, zeus... you're not looking too closely. the list has thousands of softwares, you just have to make sure everything is checked off for download. it all looks good, so you hit the button to confirm and then place an order for a takeout pizza from your favorite place a couple miles away as a treat
you get the first text the next day. there's not even a number, it just says UNKNOWN CONTACT at the top. that's weird. there's no words, it's just an image of the street corner you rode your skates through about four blocks ago. hmm. freaky, but otherwise harmless
ten minutes later, you get a second one right after you cross the turnstiles into the subway. this one has a weird blurry dark figure in the corner, posed against the wall of the subway entrance. strange as fuck. the third picture is the same blurry figure outside your office. you're starting to get a little bit anxious about it now, to be honest. you tell building security about it, and they say they'll start double-checking anyone who enters the building's ID, just to be sure
you packed a lunch today, and you eat while your software analysis is running. cold leftover spaghetti. yummy. great. over the course of the day, you get three more photos from various places, all with the same blurry figure in them. what the fuck is going on. when you get home, you triple-check your doors and windows are locked before you go to bed. god, your house is a fucking mess. you need to deep clean it, you just don't have time
you don't hear from your stalker again until the next day, when you realize you forgot to pack a lunch and you can't afford going out again until the next paycheck - your damn rent eats your wallet. right as you mutter a curse about it under your breath, one of the building's security guys walks into your office with a pizza and tells you someone left it outside with your name scrawled on it. you open it up and it's literally your exact order from that place. your phone buzzes, and you look at it, rolling your eyes. this time, it's it's a text - the first one you've gotten from this freak:
"heard you forgot to grab your lunch. wanted to help out <3"
ok, what the fuck is going on?? whoever is stalking you somehow knew you forgot lunch before you knew you forgot lunch. god, the pizza's good as hell, though. small consolation, at least
after you eat, you remember there's normally a photo. you open the text, and there is! this one's from in the pizza place, and sitting in a booth in the background is... well, some kind of creature. honestly, it looks sort of like a fursona, but instead of a face it has a grimy dog skull. it's creepy, but also sort of endearing? its head is tilted to the side, and her hands are making a heart shape at you. someone is fucking with you so hard, man. what the hell
you get home. you know you should clean, you just can't bring yourself to do it. you step over a bunch of soda cans to get to your bedroom and fall asleep
the next morning, your phone chimes again. you pause the program you're running and look at it, and the picture is from inside your apartment. hell no. fuck that. you KNOW you locked the door when you left because you took a picture of it with the key in it, because you feel like you're going insane. you call the cops immediately, and tell them some lie about a doorbell camera, and ask them to go check your apartment out. they do, and call you back to say there's no one there and the door was locked when they got there
what the hell
you get another picture like an hour later. it's that thing from the pizza place again, posed with your vacuum cleaner. you're trying so hard to stay calm but you feel a bit like you're going insane. you go to the bathroom and splash your face with cold water.
you get the next picture just before you leave work. it's your house, but it's clean. it's so clean? the text accompanying it reads, "figured i could tidy up for you while you were at work. let me know if i put anything in the wrong place, ok?"
great. your stalker is able to avoid the cops, but at least they want your house to be clean. that's a huge fucking relief. thank god. problem solved, really
you haven't told anyone about this because who the hell would you even tell? honestly, you're not sure you aren't hallucinating the whole thing. you are the age where people start being schizophrenic, and maybe your depression symptoms are something else. but you know for sure you aren't hallucinating it when you get home and your apartment actually is just as clean as your stalker claimed. someone has been in your house.
you go buy a gun.
you can't stop the anxiety. you sit down to watch a movie to try to take your mind off it, handgun sitting just a few feet away, just in case. you've been routinely checking the locks every ten minutes for the last hour. you know no one else is in here with you.
the movie ends. you turn the tv off, and then you scream so loud you hurt your throat and just about piss yourself. for like a half second, that thing was sitting on the couch next to you in the tv's reflection. you grab your gun and turn back to it, and there's nothing there. no reflection in the tv screen, either. fuck, you feel like your heart is going to explode. you need help. something is wrong with you
your phone chimes again
"oh my god i am so sorry i didn't mean to scare you like that :( are you ok?? i'm sorry"
the accompanying image is that thing again, sitting crosslegged on the floor a few feet away from you, looking... reasonably shameful. you didn't know a dog skull could be so emotive. you look where it's sitting. there's nothing there.
you speak into thin air, voice shaking. "what the fuck do you want?" you get another text.
"you seemed like you needed help."
you roll your eyes. "well, i don't." jesus fuck, you're talking to your hallucinations. you have to schedule yourself for therapy tomorrow. you look into the empty darkness of the room.
"fuck you."
you make it to work the next day before the texts start:
"i'm sorry about last night"
"please don't freak out"
"you aren't going insane. you don't need to keep googling hallucination treatment"
"i'm real i promise" (you scoff at this one a bit. of course your hallucination would say that)
"please just hear me out. there's a sign language book on your shelf. i can learn this. please."
you ignore the texts. you are not texting back whatever the fuck this thing is.
just when you think things can't get worse, your girlfriend dumps you over the phone. you knew it was coming, your relationship had been pretty bad for a while, but why now? whatever. won't matter anyway if the entity stalking you murders you tonight
when you get home, the sign language book is on the dining room table, along with a compact from your bathroom and an "OPEN ME ->" sticky note pointing to the latter. you're not stupid. you know when you look in the compact mirror that creature is gonna be in your reflection. you sigh and shrug, and still flinch a bit when you flick it open and it's there. it lifts its hands and starts signing:
I DON'T WANT TO HURT YOU-
you snap the contact closed and jam it in your pocket. you're not in the fucking mood. you try to go to your bedroom, but you trip over your own feet and go down hard. you just lay there. whatever. who cares
your phone buzzes against your leg.
"i know about your girlfriend. i can read your texts. i'm sorry."
"it's not your fault." you have no idea why you feel obligated to reassure this thing. "it's been going downhill for months."
"would it help if i held you? you seem sort of starved for affection." your stalker calling you out sort of stings, but it's right. you haven't been held or kissed or loved in a really long time. you shrug.
"sure, whatever." if this entity is gonna murder you, a hug first certainly wouldn't hurt.
you just lay there uselessly as it lays down with you, warm body curling against yours as it drapes an arm that you can't see over your body and pulls you close to it. you can feel warm breath on your neck. it's... really soft, actually. you're sort of disgusted to admit it but this is kind of nice. you dig the compact out of your pocket and flip it open to see its massive bulk pressed up against you, dirty skull pressed against your neck as it holds you close. it moves a hand to sign at you
SEE? NOT HURTING YOU
despite it all, you laugh
***
it's been a week since she held you. your life is still pretty rough, but you're trying to clean things up one at a time. your research is going well. Viola comes to work with you now. sometimes when you need something from across the room, it just gets tossed to you.
oh, yeah. you call her Viola now. the day after you spent the whole night cuddling, she read a book off your shelf while you were at work with a protagonist named Viola, and she fell in love with the name. you're letting her stay with you, but only on the condition that you make her shower so she doesn't grime up your apartment. with her skull cleaned and polished and her matted fur brushed out, she looks like a much more respectable eldritch stalker creature.
you get home from work and kick your shoes off, laughing as powerful invisible hands scoop you off the ground and a tapered tongue you can't see playfully licks one of your cheeks. you'll get dinner in a little while. you both have needs to attend to first. you hadn't had sex in like half a year because of your failing relationship, and she'd never had sex ever, so you're both trying to make up for lost time.
you're roughly dropped onto the bed, and something you can't see practically tears your shirt off, and you laugh as you feel her saliva drip on your torso. Viola's feeling thirsty, apparently. this so makes up for the four days of thinking she was going to murder you. this rocks.
if i ever tell you "stahhhp" or "noooo" or "i hate ittttt" it's the best thing that has ever happened to me and i will be heartbroken if you actually stop when i tell you.
Mom laying on the bed, watching as dad is on his knees helping you buckle the strap on harness to your sweet hips. Dad is leaving little kisses on your tummy and thighs while he’s helping you. He’s telling you what a good puppy you are for staying still while he gets you ready for mom. He stands up and leads you over to her. You’re so excited to be able to do “it” like dad does, you go absolutely feral. Fucking mom like you’re in rut for the first time.
oral fixation is going crazy today!!!! when is it not, really?
would love to be laying down with my back to them, their arm slung over me, as we watch a movie. i’d start by grabbing their hand and holding it with both of mine on my face, but that would quickly not be enough to satiate my random urge to be close to them. their thumb would rub my cheek and end up on the edge of my lips. i’d tilt my head to the left so that the pad of their thumb sits fully on my lips. they’d rub their thumb against my lips and my mouth would open on instinct, as it has every other time they rub my bottom lip. i’d take their thumb into my mouth and wrap my lips around it, sighing contently. they’d chuckle and say “always such a needy girl” while kissing the back of my head 🩷💕💘💖💗💞💓
Apologetic CNC but flipping the script. Instead of “I’m sorry, I need this so bad” it’s “I can’t help it, I know how bad you need it.” “You’re gonna feel so much better after, just hold still.” “Please cry and get it out. I’m trying to help.”
mommy asking if i want to play a game, but i have to stay very still and be really quiet, “whenever it gets too much, you just squeeze your stuffy. hold on tight, and your stuffy will help.”
“okay, mommy…”
mommy playing with my cunny, asking how it feels, if i like the game, experimenting with my reactions and making me giggle from light touches while i get used to it, until eventually she’s stretching me on two fingers and im biting onto the ear of my bunny stuffy, face buried in it, whining about how good it is…
