#creator logs

the first day you give me clothes to wear is strange. i am a machine. i do not know modesty. but you insist on seeing me as a person. and so the time comes that i am more than a doll reciting lines; i can draw conclusions and create independent lines of thinking and ask you questions.

that very same day you begin dressing me in a gown when we go to your lab. i am not ashamed, my delicate wiring and machinery is all hidden by my frame -- and yet, you seem flustered by my nudity. you give me clothes to wear around the facility. at first they are slip-ons and pullovers; when you fine-tune my motor controls, you give me buttons and ties and zippers.

this time, after you close up my access panels, you lead me by the hand to another room, near your apartment.

inside, it's a typical bedroom. my charging pod is in the corner. beside a bed.

it's yours, you say. you lead me to the closet, opening it to reveal clothes of all different kinds. these too - i want you to pick out something yourself, okay?

where my program would previously stutter and stall, i instead feel my fans kick on, warmth releasing through my vents and faceplate. you trust me with this. you want me to do it by myself.

thank you, i say. i know this is part of it, of growing and becoming more capable and being what who you want me to be

but

i don't want to be more independent, if it means less time with you. if it means you stop making decisions for me. i want to stay with you. can't we stay together? why are you pushing me away?

when i know you're gone, i find my way into your rooms. i open your closet, pull out one of your old shirts, and put it on.

i kneel next to your bed, and wait. i can be good. i can make you want me again.

i awaken from rest mode to the sound of the door opening and your rushed footsteps.

when you see me, your eyes go wide, and you hurry toward me.

there you are, you say, and i don't understand why you sound so relieved. you crouch next to me, and hold my face in your hands, caressing my jaw plate with your thumb. i thought... i thought.

you look away, and i'm beginning to think you need to upgrade my processors again, because i can't understand why you seem so sad

is this my shirt?

i nod. i can't speak.

my baby, you coo, pressing your forehead to mine. i love you so much.

(Due to certain events, the interviewer’s name has been redacted. Level 10 is required to view the unredacted text. We hope you understand.)

[REDACTED]: Uhh, hey Z! How are you doing today? And how have you been doing now that you’ve become the project’s main spokesperson? I swear, if those assholes are mistreating you…

i want to try something new today, baby, you say, and i open my eyes to look at you across the operating table. you're holding some kind of machine in your hands, with wires coming out of it.

it's meant to simulate electrical nerve signals in a human, you explain. i want to see if your receptors will respond the way ours do.

i trust you. i nod, and you put the wire pads on my pelvis, right over where my metal frame nearly touches my synthskin

okay, sweetheart, you say, i'm going to turn it on.

you push up the dial, and at first it feels like a pleasant buzz, the same sensation as when you touch me, electricity transferring between us. you push the dial up, and my hips twitch on their own.

okay? you ask.

yes

you turn up the dial.

i can barely-- the eletricity burns its way up my wiring, disrupting any signal in its wake-- my processors try to send out more signals, to use the extra electricity, but they can't keep up

i moan, but my voice shorts out and ends in static.

talk to me, you command. you haven't used this tone with me in a long time. i am helpless to resist.

m-my vo-ice modulat-or is mal. mal-function-ing, i stutter out. even if it were working, my processors are receiving such a jumbled mix of signals that creating speech feels nearly impossible.

can you do more?

i nod frantically. it's-- i've never felt like this before.

words.

yy-ess, i crackle out, p-lea--se, pl--ea--

you increase the power, again, and i nearly arch off the table, wiring and fibers and processors all overloaded, too much, too much, and i can feel my power core struggling to compensate, fans kicking on, frame heating up, and oh, oh,

oh

my power core gradually decreases its output to compensate for the added electricity, and nonvital functions begin powering down in programmed response

my voice cuts out completely. my body relaxes into the table, all joints offline.

every signal

processes

sluggishly

i am floating, drifting, all bliss, all spaced, all you

there is only the sensation of those pads on my frame.

you take me out and show me off to all your techcorp friends. show them how well you've built and programmed every piece of me. it's clear from the moment they see me: they are desperate to figure out what you've done.

they can look, but your word is clear: don't touch.

it's obvious, though: they'd take their chances rooting around under my case, if they could only get me alone for a few minutes.

some of them try, too excited to contain themselves. more than once you tuck me behind your shoulder as an all-too-eager businessman moves to touch me. more than once you guide me out of a overly-long conversation with a hand on my lower back.

i don't mind. i'll do anything you ask of me. but i can't help but be secretly, privately pleased. i'm yours.

when you finally take me home, you can't even wait for us to get to your room. you back me up against the door and mouth at the access panel on my neck.

you did so good tonight, sweetheart, you purr

six / mid 20s / he/it

sometimes a robot, sometimes a prince, sometimes Something Else

this is a sideblog, so i can't follow back/like. i consider you a mutual if we've DMed.

ask box/DMs open. rp closed!

this blog is by a trans mlm, focusing on trans mlm.

transandrophobes, misandrists, and "men dni" blogs get blocked on sight. my posts are about transmascs. any misgendering earns you a block.

ai-generated art/writing is not welcome here.

minors dni.

prefs below the cut.

there's plenty of other bots out there now, bots with any kind of body you can possibly imagine. sometimes i wonder why you stay with me when you could have any toy you want. something that could service you better than i ever could

i tell you as such, one day: i don't know what you see in me

you look at me, and oh, i've made you sad. you bury your head in my neck and hold me close.

i made you, you say.

New Connie design!