The Thot has Begone @RowanBerry@computerfairi.es

Today has been a very good indication that people don't mind if I post unedited stufd

You decide to go without clothes. Your body is already perfect without them. You slide the window of your apartment open, and the midnight breeze sends shivers down your skin.

You brace your legs against the windowsill, and leap to the roof of the next building over. Your feet skid across the concrete, and the cooling fans under your shoulder blades kick in.

There's just one last thing troubling you— who should get upgraded next?

You pull yourself out of the shower, processor humming from the intensity of the molting.

Your body is smaller now than it used to be— compact, wiry, powerful. Every inch of you is soft and sensitive, but your skin can be rock-hard under impact. Softly glowing eyes meet yours in the mirror, and your cables paw curiously at the air around you. The tips are sharp and pronged, like coax cables; not sharp enough to pierce your skin, but definitely someone else's.

The cables are beautiful, but you don't know that yet. They glisten in the water and steam. Once your head is molted, they can pull away from your head. They fan out elegantly in every direction as you stretch new muscles, using the brush to pleasure your new nerves.

But then your shoulders itch, and you get back to work. The rest of the old skin is easy to remove, guided by water and gravity. And the new skin feels so *good*.

Blood gets in your eyes, and water clogs your ears, but you need to do it. Once you get going you're reminded of peeling just-boiled potatoes. The skin sloughs off in chunks, and it bleeds, but your real skin is just underneath— stronger, and harder, and itching like crazy. The hairbrush scratches it wonderfully.

After just a few moments of pulling and scratching and crying out in relief, what's left of your old scalp falls away. Something pokes out from your neck.

It's blissful. The water is hot, seeping in and under your skin, and the hairbrush is perfect for scratching. You start with the back of your neck, where your skin feels spongy and porous. The bristles of the brush push in, and then push in further, and the flesh starts to pull away. Blood pours down the drain.

There's no pain. You're molting. Something clicks in your head, and you pull the brush up, dragging it up the back of your skull.

Your body is numb, and weak, and frustrating. The itch is maddening, but you're breaking the skin, and you want to stop— but you don't stop, and your nails find something under the surface of your skin, and when it makes the itching stop you can't help it.

You feel like you're possessed. You drag yourself to the shower, trying to avoid getting blood on the carpet. You need a tool. You glance at your hairbrush.

— you wake up hours later, bleeding from the back of your neck. You can't bring yourself to worry about it. A metallic taste has gotten stuck in the back of your throat.

Everything itches, even where you lost feeling in your fingers. Especially your eyes. You keep expecting to hear your heart pounding in your ears, but the buzz just hums at you.

You're scratching your skin. It's the only thing that makes the itch stop. Your nails catch on something, and it bleeds.

It was too much. It is too much.

You don't eat that day. You don't even drink water. Every time you try, that building nauseous feeling comes back, and you can't go through with it.

There's something wrong with your chest. Its sharp aches keep you awake. Just when it feels like the sun is going to rise, every part of your body lurches—

When you wake up, things have become wrong. You can't feel the tips of your fingers. There are bumps on your scalp and the back of your neck. Your thoughts aren't words anymore— just endless, endless buzzing.

You're still trying to understand it when a wave of nausea hits the pit of your stomach. Then you're in the bathroom, and there's bile in your throat, and everything that you put in your body yesterday wants to be *out*.

When you leave an hour later, you're scared.

The buzzing gets louder, but it doesn't bother you anymore. It ebbs and flows with your own train of thought. You start eating less and exercising more. It takes you longer to fall asleep— and as you do, you can almost feel your body vibrate with the rise and fall of your chest.

You pass out before you can think about it too hard.

It's like a buzzing in the back of your brain. Sometimes it's there, sometimes it isn't. At night, just before you fall asleep, you can feel it extend down your spine and across your skull.

It's the little things at first. You feel more awake in the morning. Your back doesn't hurt when you use the computer. That persistent ache in your ankles goes away.

You wake up one day and the "I'm not a robot" CAPTCHAs don't work anymore.

What if I made an idle game

Speaking of fursonas, one of my best friends of over a decade called my new pfp garbage and said "I find fursonas to be on the same tier as [otherkin nonsense]"

So yeah we had A Talk— the kind of talk where I put my foot down because A Line Has Been Crossed And It Is Not Fucking Okay

I wonder if Lav should get her own fursona?

Anyway on top of all of that and letting the new polycule settle in over the weekend, it's been busy around here. Thankfully I get to relax for a while now.

Oh, right, and getting that private wifi set up? Yeah it was a huge hassle. Imagine waiting a week for a technician to show up (on a Sunday, no less) and then he points to a bunch of *disconnected wires hanging out of your closet* like "yeah so do you have access to this building's cable network"

We were given a free wifi signal, and then it was removed and replaced with a different wifi (with a different password and no prior notice,) and then that wifi slowed to a crawl, and then it stopped working entirely for a day.

When confronted about this, the building manager said that if we wanted "consistent signal" we should contact Spectrum and get private wifi... which wouldn't be included in our lease.