Babygirl You Look Like An Absolute Angel Tonight (there Is A Streetlight Behind You And I Have Astigmatism)

honestly being around people who are not uncomfortable with you having feelings and desires makes the people who were uncomfortable so much worse in retrospect

you knock on my door and hear loud barking and scrambling noises and me yelling "no!! down boy!! down!!!" and then when i open the door there is a single crab on the floor

my OCs are sooo cool you guys don't know what you're missing. if you could see the show i'm watching in my head rn you'd go so crazy i'm telling u

i sleep diagonally so i wake up to a dutch angle view of my ceiling symbolising my descent into madness

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.

wanna be called puppy in mundane situations, “thank you puppy” when i do you a favor, “pretty puppy” when i show off my outfit, “c’mere puppy” when asking to cuddle

I’m sorry I dehumanized you and talked to you in that voice owners use on their dogs. That wasn’t nice for you, was it? No? Nooo, you didn’t like that did you? Aw I’m sorry I didn’t mean to belittle you and put you beneath me like you’re a dog. I’ll do better, okay?