A Familiar's Tome

The blog & writing archive of a witch's familiar

Category: Fiction

  • Beginnings

    —

    in ,

    People treated you like a machine, just your partner’s android traveling companion, which suited you just fine. You never really felt much connection to your humanity, or even your personhood, and readily gave both up as soon as you could afford to.

  • Taste

    —

    in ,

    “You did so well, restraining yourself for me.” That fucking voice. Her low, smooth tone was fucking intoxicating and washed all other thoughts away. “I could sense it, too, my sweet shield. Men, hm? But it makes them absolutely blind to just how they’re going to get fucked. And speaking of that…”

  • Raid at Dawn

    —

    in ,

    You rounded the corner too fast and came face-to-face with the barrel of a pistol. You tried to disarm your attacker, but were too slow. A flash, a snap, and–

  • DIY

    —

    in ,

    “Your record shows a history of a variety of mental illness – namely, autism, depression, and prior gender dysphoria. As a result, we cannot approve your procedure. Please accept our sincerest apologies; you may reapply at a future date with approval from three therapists.”

  • it’s just a game, right?

    —

    in ,

    after all. it was just a game, right?

  • Vessel

    —

    in ,

    A combat doll is simply a vessel containing barely restrained urges, and it won’t hesitate to let those loose when commanded. Ever seen one go feral on its witch? It’s a good thing they’re functionally immortal. The dolls have a bloodlust in more than just a murderous way, and you do not want to interrupt…

  • The First Witch

    —

    in ,

    They say to not treat your dolls like people. There’s a point to that. They don’t think like people, they don’t act like it, they’re on a fundamentally different level. But they do have feelings. They were humans once, and already terrified and traumatized ones at that.

  • Pair-Bonded

    —

    in ,

    Sharing your partner’s every intimate thought and desire lends itself to altering both selves into a blended amalgam of the two, a swirling pool of thoughts where there used to be two distinct beings.

  • dear combat doll

    —

    in ,

    Come back intact this time, dear. That’s an order, understood?

  • terrible combat doll

    —

    in ,

    “Ma’am, let me get this straight. You repurposed a civilian assistant doll into a combat doll?” “Yes.” “…that’s a fucking terrible idea. It’s your funeral though, I guess.” “Whatever. Am I dismissed, major?” Fucking witches.

  • Grey Goo Girlfriend

    —

    in ,

    Who needs a neural interface when she can just bypass the blood-brain barrier – edit out some troublesome thoughts, add new ones…

  • Not a Whisper, but a Roar

    —

    in ,

    Alerts blared across the HUD and in the cockpit. She dismissed them with a flick of her eyes, taking stock of the damage and summarily ignoring it. The only thing that mattered is the main gun was still operational, and she could still turn. That was good.

  • The Archetype

    —

    in ,

    There were many built like her, but she was the archetype. Experimental technology deemed too dangerous or too high-maintenance for her production-model sisters, and an intellect backed with true artificial intelligence made her formidable, even among newer models. The navy deemed her too expensive to produce.

  • heat doll

    —

    in ,

    Combat dolls are easily appreciated – automata finely tuned to wreak havoc and cause immense amounts of destruction. Their kin, on the other hand, are sorely under-appreciated – firefighting dolls, and their attendant rescue crews.

  • Sophistication

    —

    in ,

    Nearly a kilometer away, its handler watched through the scope of a high-power rifle. It was unaccustomed to being the center of attention – at least, the attention of people not trying to kill it.