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starr-fall-knight-rise · 3 years

Text

HASO, “The Plan.”

Getting excited for tomorrow. I have had this idea for a while and am pleased to be able to execute it. Building up to something good :)

Dr. Krill, Adam, and Dr. Katie stood in the low ceilinged Vrul council chamber at the center of the city. The entire room was as Adam had remembered it, with large glass windows looking out at all 360 degrees of the city. At one point he had assumed it was just the selfish desire of the ruling class to look down on the citizens, but as he looked, he could now see that there was some utility to the tower, almost a watch tower over the city. The canals and structure of the city itself could be sectioned off if there was ever an emergency, cut like a pie into triangular sections that could be excluded from the force shield if it was ever needed.

As soon as their historian had put forward her hypothesis, the Vrul council had been called to order, and a few other GA members were now sitting in on the meeting remotely. They would have come themselves, but upon hearing about the horrible creatures that were, even now, clawing at their walls, the council had ordered the shield sup for what must have been the first time in millennia.

Luckily for them, they had never let the shields fall into disrepair, and as he looked out the window he could see the shimmering blue purple nexus of power glistening in the sky above them.

It worried him thinking that the ancient Vrul had deemed it necessary to have a force field that went into the sky as well. Dr. Kell had had a ruptured helium sack when they brought him in, but that gave the assumption that, perhaps, he would still have been able to float in his infected state, which was not something that bare thinking about, though it WAS an important item to consider.

“Yes, all the evidence does seem to point to that.” The counselor said, their head turned towards the GA chairwoman as they spoke, “We have contacted the other cities along the central line and they report their cities are built in much the same way. Satellite imaging shows clusters of…. The nesting sights all over the world, though their greatest cluster happens to be around our city. If each circle has approximately seven of the creatures burrowed below it, we estimate about 49,000 of the creatures possibly burrowed below our landscape. The animals in the area seem to know to steer clear of the nesting sites. The larger animals have moved in great migrations towards the poles where there are few of the nesting sites, and the animals who have a lighter step are prone to avoiding the circle when they can. Zoomed in pictures DO show the occasional skeletalized remains of some creature or another, but it is hard to tell what they died from.

The GA chairwoman was nodding, “So you believe that the cities were built for a different reason than originally thought.”

There was a pause and then the council nodded, “Yes, it seems likely that Vrul lived in open cities before the outbreak began and then built the city in defense against the creatures. The Deltas, we have found are the main spreading vector, since they are stronger and faster, they are more mobile, but the disease affects everyone similarly causing acute aggression and infected pustules filled with sores that rupture and spread a cloud into the air.”

Dr. Krill stepped forward just then to cut into the conversation, “Dr. Katie and I have examined the infection under controlled conditions, and it is clearly a disease that originated on this planet. It does not have the structures you would assume from a viral or bacterial infection common on worlds where the creatures are more animal than plant. In this case the subject does seem primarily interested in infecting our species. The disease is transmissible primarily through respiration where the spores enter the body and into the lungs, as it were, where they are dissolved and the toxin spreads directly through to the brain. It will then destroy most of the decision making and memory centers of the cortex, amp up aggression, and then start germinating more spores in those packets that we have seen.”

“So it isn’t contagious to other species.” The Chair woman asked

Krill shook his head, “I did not say that. While it is a disease that is meant for plant-like liforms, any creature with lungs similar to ours are also under direct fire of infection. Humans for example send blood directly to their brain from the lungs, and have cortical centers that are generally analogous to our own. Of course, humans have the blood brain barrier that would be much less likely to allow that to happen, so I don’t see a mental breakdown as part of its affect on humans, but I do imagine they could develop sores that could burst and be contagious.”

“I see, than what is your plan?”

Another of the council members took the moment to step forward, “Clearly we restrict movement outside the city. It worked for us for four thousand years and it shall work for the next four thousand years.”

There was a murmur of agreement around them before.

“You’re not fucking serious.”

There was a pause as the entire council chamber turned to look at him, Admiral vir standing just before the window and staring down at the city.

The human looked on in absolute consternation.

“Do you have a problem with that, human.”

Admiral Vir drew himself up, “Damn straight I have a problem with that. You have an opportunity to take your planet back. You have all the weapons and all the allies in the galaxy and you won’t even fight for your own planet. Living in your air tight cities and using it as an excuse to bring down even greater restrictions on a group of people who have never known any sort of freedom before.”

“Watch your ton-” “No, I am not one of your citizens, and I won’t be silenced for my opinion. At the end of the day it IS your decision, but you have to understand. The Vrul home planet is one of the greatest sources we have of natural gas and yet Vrul economic power is at an all time low, and that is because the group of you wont leave your cities to harvest it. Now we learn that there is a reason, a stoppable reason, and you just want to sit here and do nothing about it always watched by the fear of what if something happens, what if one of them gets in somehow, what if the strain changes, what if what if what if.” He looked around the room, “not to mention that if you took control of these things, you would be able to expand your cities, which would mean no more termination orders for those who are deemed, by the government mind you, to be useless.” he gave a very pointed look at Krill, “You would have had the doctor dead if it wasn’t for my intervention, and then as soon as something went wrong you called him back. I think that is a perfect example on how this system just isn’t working.”

The Vrul council stared at him, and it was pretty clear that they weren’t a fan of the words coming out of his mouth. There was one problem though, there were other citizens in the room than weren’t going to keep their mouths shut. There was Krill of course, who they had already discredited, but the Admiral had waited for the perfect opening, the the psychologist was there, the historian and more than a few other assistants, who he could see were Betas.

He knew from what Krill had said that Betas were insufferable gossips. So anything that happened in this tower was likely to get out.

With grudging slowness the council grinded back into movement, “Than what do you suggest, Admiral? We are not well versed in military tactics which is what this would require. You can hardly blame us for turning back to the one thing that has always worked.”

Good job hiding behind being pathetic he thought to himself.

“It is a good thing that I am Admiral of the GA armada and have some experience with the tactical side of warfare.” He turned to look around at the others, “We will want to continue doing our tests on these creatures. I want to know what their weaknesses are, and I want to know how to kill them. This is to hoping that bullets do the trick, but I also want to know what they are attracted to. Some of you have suggested vibrations in the ground, in which case, I can use that.

Krill and katie agreed with him.

And he walked with them as they stepped from the room.

“You are really toeing a line the way you speak to them, I think.” Katie whispered quietly

He leaned in, “I have a feeling that the Vrul weren’t always like this. The traditions of government they have now are based on martial law that was present during a zombie apocalypse four thousand years ago. They don’t want to give up their power, but my duty isn’t to their government, it is to their citizens.”

Krill hummed his agreement from Kati’s opposite side, “The Admiral is right, I believe. The more I think about it, the more I have come to a conclusion that we are not as….. How shall we say…. Fragile as the council would make us believe. A lot of what they say is based on the idea that we need to be protected, but I think that ideology is something that was passed down from when we actually DID need to be protected. What other truths about the Vrul don’t we know because we haven’t been allowed to look into it further.”

Adam tapped his fingers against his crossed bicep, “The maximum age of a Vrul for one. I read a paper that said that the average age of a Vrul before termination is only around thirty or forty years, but if what they are saying is true about these zombie vrul, than it is likely they are around four thousand years old.” He glanced over at Krill, “how old does this make you past your termination order/”

Krill shrugged, “I was evaluated early, so I am only considered 35 in your human years, a little bit older in the Vrul reckoning of things, but that does pose an interesting hypothesis. I have never actually seen a Vrul die of old age. But it would make sense with the termination order. If we were forced into cities, than it would make sense that they would do these things out of a need for population control, that is assuming that we can live forever, a thought that seems ludicrous to me, but still.”

Adam nodded, “Starting off though, I want to know what kind of music does what to the creature.”

Dr Katie looked at him skeptically, “Music?”

He nodded, “Music.”

“What are you planning, she said suspiciously, looking him over with a critical eye.

He smiled, “Dealing with the hoard all at once, but if we can do that, and use music against them, well then I would want to use all of my inherent advantages now wouldn’t I?”

Katie nodded with some thought and motioned him onward.

They went back to the chamber, while he and some of the marines went back to the wall, where the group of ravening Vrul were still tearing at the base.

“Lower the shields.” he ordered on of the Betas.

The creature looked at him like he was nuts, but the look on his face made clear, in no uncertain terms that he wasn’t going to argue and hurried to do as Adam ordered.

The small section of the field opened, and he leaned out over the drop looking down at the creatures still clambering at the wall.

“Huh, Maverick, come here.”

Maverick trotted over behind him, rifle bouncing in a sling against her chest and she skidded to a halt next to him, “Yes Boss.”

“Think you can shoot one of them in the head from up here?”

She paused, frowned but then shrugged, “I mean…. yeah , probably.”

“Go on, target practice.”

She looked at him a bit confused for a second, before shrugging and leaning out over the drop. He grabbed her by the back of the shirt just to give her that extra bit of security while she got a good angle.

There was a small pause, and then a sharp subsonic crack as the rifle fired. The Vrul flinched at the shockwave and Adam’s ear’s rang. Damn idiot forgot to put in some hearing protection before she did that, but what was done was done. Not even a millisecond later there was a sharp explosion as the Vrul in question shattered into its component parts. It cracked open like an egg and the strange, and deadly pollen ruptured out before falling back onto the ground.”

Maverick drew herself back inside the shield which shut quickly.

“Huh, that worked better than expected.”

“Yeah, but did you see the polen?”

He frowned and nodded, “I did. I don’t think any Vrul should be going on this mission with us, and as for the humans. IT will be full suits and respirators for everyone. I want to see how long these spores can last in the environment by themselves. Hopefully it isn’t long, because if it is then that puts my whole plan out the window. I also want to see how long it can last in the air, because that is going to be super important.

***

When he returned to the lab later on after coordinating his original idea Dr. Katie and krill were waiting for him with their results.

“So, what did we find.”

“A couple of things.” Krill announced, “FIrst of all, the spores last a very short time outside the host, maybe twenty four hours at most, though that is only when provided with the perfect condition. They cannot infect the surrounding plant life or the soil. The spores themselves are rather heavy and so they don’t stick around in the air longer than the wind can keep them up, and they seem to be neutralized by water, or water ruins their infectivity when outside a subject, so that is also good news. His helium sack would still work if it was not for the tear, which means that these creatures can float, and we know that the deltas can burrow to some degree.”

Adam was nodding slowly, “And how about the music?”

“Ah, that we found is interesting. A steady and predictable beat does cause them confusion, so most human songs will get them. Anything without a measured beat isn’t an issue, like classical music for the most part. Songs that have no drumline don’t confuse them as much, and songs where the drum line isn’t as noticeable also don’t affect them as much. A good predictable drumline as seen in many rock songs will get them nice and confused, but your best bet for neutralizing them is a hard rock or metal drumline with additional patterns coming from the guitar and vocal track.”

“Hard rock and metal to save the day then.”

They looked at him with a curious expression as he grinned at them.

“What are you planning.”

“I am planning to kill zombies, and I am planning to do it in style.”

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degeneratekitten · 3 years

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The reeducation of a King

!!!WARNING!!! Read the tags before continuing. If any of the tags upset you then you probably wont like it when it happens in the story.

This story was one of the first asks I got, I started it, but never finished, so here we go.

The woman in front of you looked incredibly tired. She had bags under her eyes, her skin was pale, and she looked like she was on the verge of a mental breakdown. Truthfully you had yet to even inform her that the King Lamia she had rescued off the street was classified more as a hunting type bitty. She’d been under the assumption, like many people who came to you with rescues, that all bitties could be kept like pets.

“So he’s gotten possessive of you, and he started trying to control your life?” You questioned making sure that you’d gotten her story straight.

“Yes!” She sighed, looking almost on the verge of tears. “I had to slip tranquilizers in his food so I could come here! He goes absolutely berserk if I leave his sight for even a moment, and he refuses to let me decide where we go!” She cried, soundly more and more like an abused spouse than a distraught pet owner. To be fair, this was an abusive relationship, one you would be more than willing to remedy. “He also always tries to tell me what kind of underwear I should wear and gets mad when I don't wear them!”

“That's very troubling.” You nodded, before inquiring about an important question. “How was it that he got so much control over you?”

The woman opened her mouth to answer only to snap her mouth shut again in a frown. She didn't seem to have an answer.

“I… I can't remember…” She mused, before continuing. “I guess I didn't realize it at first, but over time he just got worse and worse, and somehow he convinced me that it would all be ok if I did this, or that. He started getting threatening, baring his teeth whenever I even suggested doing something he didn't want. I was afraid he’d somehow escape his cage at night and kill me, so I just did what he wanted. I figured this was just a part of rescuing bitties. It wasn't until last week when he started to demand I stop seeing my mother that I realized how weird everything was. He’s a pet, not a boyfriend, and I won’t be controlled by a pet!” She stated, seeming to come to a firm resolution in her own mind.

You nodded at her. “I see, so I think I know how this all started. “ You smiled, giving the woman a look that seemed to calm her down.

“What?” She asked, fully invested in what you were going to say.

“You see, bitties are separated into two different types, ones that are pets, and others that are meant for more, violent situations. Lamia’s with venom are generally meant to be either guards, or exterminators. Your King is the former. His breed was designed to protect an owner, staying vigilant for all threats both physical and mental. Where this all went wrong is because your King was born and bred in the wild, where a lot of the original designs and personalities of bitties have changed.” The woman looked incredibly interested in what you were saying. Fully invested and curious, you loved customers like this.

“So his idea of protection involves being controlling?” She asked just waiting for you to elaborate.

“Yes and no. His ideas about protection are skewed more in favor of breeding. If he has a partner he has to hide them away so they can't get taken by another bitty or human. He has to provide everything for them then, food, shelter, warmth, stimulation, everything. The problem with a lot of bitties in recent generations is that their predisposition to be reliant on humans still applies even when they’re experiencing sexual urges. They expect and crave for their human owners to satisfy them sexually alongside everything else.” You watched as the woman's face twisted in disgust.

“Wait, so you’re saying that hes trying to fuck me?” She yelled, grossed out and shivered slightly.

“In short, yes, he wants to fuck you.” You deadpanned watching as the woman hugged herself.

“That's so messed up!” She exclaimed, which made you chuckle.

“I agree, but magic is weird, and magical constructs with origins like bitties are even weirder. But anyways, there is a way to fix this. A way to uncross his wires so to say, and make him desire other bitties rather than you. Which in turn should ease a lot of the behavior towards you. After I do that he should be more receptive to my traditional training in learning how to act more in line with the original king lamia’s.” You finished, watching as relief seemed to wash over the woman.

“So what needs to be done to uncross those wires?” She asked, to which you chuckled.

“Get him a mate.” You stated watching as the woman seemed to balk a little at how simple your answer was.

“Wait! It's that simple?! I could have done that myself.” She asked sitting up straight, shocked and a little giddy at the prospect. You laughed with her.

“Well, kind of, unfortunately if you get involved in the process and give him a new mate, he’d take it as a sign that he needs to fight the other bitty to mate with you. It’s better to let a third party do the introduction.”

“Oh… Well, if it gets him to stop wanting to fuck me I’m more than willing.” She smiled, seeming to realize that a huge weight was being lifted from her shoulder.

“So when can we start?” She added, looking at you with hope.

“Well first we have to pick out a new mate.”

-----

You’d gone over potential mates and your rates with the woman for the rest of the visit. You’d mentioned that a cherry would probably be best for the King, as they were incredibly meek and in need of the amount of attention that this particular King was ready to give, plus they weren't lamia so the chance of breeding while already small, was nearly impossible. The woman was excited over the idea, as she wanted a pet who was easier to cuddle with as opposed to her King who she had to keep far away from her sleeping arrangements.

You’d made sure to explain fully to her why although she had the best of intentions, King’s were not traditionally pets, and she needed to treat him accordingly. She could keep him as part of her family and give him a better home off the streets, but she needed to be careful not to let him take charge of her life anymore as next time he probably would kill her. She ended up taking this to heart, nodding her head as you led her to the door.

“I’ll make sure I read more on how I’m supposed to handle him.” She promised, leaving in her car. You’d set a date for that weekend to go and pick up the King, you needed a few days to get a suitable cherry and set up an area in which you could do everything that needed to be done.

---

Meeting the King in question, Moriarty, as he had aptly named himself, was an occasion that was sure to be violent. You had a thick jumpsuit on, with extra layers covering your arms and legs, combat boots your husband had bought you just for these situations, and heavy duty handling gloves on so he couldn’t bite you. You had some safety goggles on as well in case he tried to spit at you, and even your neck was covered by a long collar from your jumpsuit. You didn't take any chances with violent venomous lamia’s especially ones who had reason to believe that you were a threat. You’d nearly lost your brother that way when he’d insisted on trying to calm a venomous lamia without gear. He’d been in the hospital for two weeks and aptly served as yet another reminder that protection bitties were not to be taken lightly.

Your husband was dressed beside you in a similar getup, and he had insisted on taking at least one Squadron bitty with the two of you, said bitty was currently standing at military attention waiting for you to give him orders. He wore camo like most squadron bitties, with a black shirt, ripped off sleeves, a pair of smaller dog tags and miniature combat boots and a knife. He didn't have his ecto flesh summoned so his outfit was a little baggy. His dark green eyelights were focused on you, while his arms were situated behind his back.

You had planned to use magic if things got too bad, but it was always good to have a backup plan.

Squadrons were very similar to Edgies in terms of vocabulary and humor, the only real difference being that they were never overtly hostile to anyone outside of combat. They made dirty jokes all the time and cursed like sailors, but never called you cunt or assface unless they were set out to kill you.

“I’ll need you to stay outside until we give you a signal.” You said to the bitty, watching as he gave a toothsome grin and saluted you in response.

“Just gimmie da signal an I’ll rip em up ma'am.” He replied, forgoing his usual vulgar vocabulary in lieu of a more respectful tone. He gave you a nod as well to tell you not to worry about him and you turned towards your husband with a pleased expression.

“You said this is your best one so far? I’m impressed! He didn't even cuss at me!” You praised watching your husband's face light up.

“Yeah, he used to cuss more than the others but I straightened him out real quick, nothing a little friendly competition couldn't solve.”

Chuckling you turned your attention back towards the door again, and steeling yourself for the worst you knocked on the door. Hopefully she’d managed to tranquilize her king.

“Hello! We’re here today for Miss Shelby! We’re here to pick up the package like we discussed yesterday.

“*GASP* MOTHER! HOW DARE YOU! I TOLD YOU NOT TO GO OUTSIDE! YOU DISOBEYED ME!” You heard the loud, unmistakable shriek of the problematic bitty then a mumble in response before there was a loud crash and the shriek of a woman. Worried that maybe the King had gotten more violent, you tested the doorknob, relieved to find it unlocked.

“Hello, Miss Shelby! I’m coming in!” You shouted, before bursting into the home.

What you saw caused adrenaline to surge through you.

The king in question was wrapped tightly around Shelby’s arm, hood spread out,tail swishing agitated, and teeth bared. He was on the verge of attacking.

Looking at Shelby you could tell how nervous, how terrified she was as she stared at the King’s teeth. You noticed that a plate of noodles lay shattered on the floor.

“Oh thank god.” Shelby breathed out, relieved to see you.

“WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE! BARGING IN HERE! MOTHER TELL THEM TO LEAVE!” The king hissed, moving itself so he was partially wrapped around Shelby’s neck, he had placed himself right next to Shelby’s ear with his teeth still bared and from what you could tell, his fangs were already secreting venom. He was very ready to bite.

“M-m-m-mori! She’s a guest, I invited her over for dinner!” Shelby tried to explain, earning herself a shriek in the ear.

“I DIDN'T GIVE PERMISSION FOR THAT! WE AREN'T ACCEPTING COMPANY! TELL HER TO LEAVE!” Moriarty screeched, tail seeming to tighten around her neck.

Shelby moved to try and loosen the tail only to earn a menacing hiss from the king, your eyes widened a bit as you tried to think of the best course of action.

Moving towards her would probably cause him to tighten his grip, talking could yield good results but with how agitated he was it would probably only buy you time before he bit her. Maybe if you challenged him he would take the bait, but you couldn't do that if you wanted him to respond to you in training.

Suddenly you were incredibly glad that your husband had insisted on bringing a squadron bitty. The king would probably never see it again, and it would leave you in a neutral position from which to train the king.

You clicked your tongue at the king, not making any sudden movement, he hissed at the sound, and seemed to be hyper focused on you, before its attention snapped to the door, as a bulked up squadron bitty stormed in.

“The fuck is this cunt ordering ya round for!?” The squadron bitty bellowed, he was still minimal size, but you yourself knew better than to underestimate him.

“WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS! LEAVE MY TERRITORY AT ONCE INSOLENT CRETIN!” The King hissed, attention snapping to the other bitty.

Shaking your head, you looked at the little squadron bitty and gave a firm order. “Nothing crazy.” You stated, watching as he frowned in displeasure.

“Fuckin fine. Yer not a lot a fun are ya.” He stated as he stepped forward, chest puffing out as he readied himself for a fight.

“FIGHT ME BITCH!” He screeched out simply at the king, using the most direct way in which to challenge the king.

Taking the bait immediately, the King slithered down in front of his owner, hood spread, and fangs dripping poison. You took a step back, and whispered at Shelby to slowly back away.

There wasn't much of a fight, the King lunged and ended up shot by a tranquilizer as the Squadron bitty jumped out of the way for your husband to get a clear shot of the King’s hood.

You’d had these instant magic tranquilizers well before the pure bite incident, but they simply did not work on large bitties, they were meant for smaller bitties, and were tested extensively to work instantly said bitties.

There was no need for an actual fight, and really the simplest solutions were generally the best. You nodded at the Squadron bitty, as he immediately made to restrain the King bitty and brought him over to you, where you put a special muzzle on its skull. After which the squadron dragged it by the tail to a pre-prepared cage.

Having completed your business, you turned towards Shelby, noticing how shocked she seemed. It wasn't uncommon, people tended to be shocked when the people, or “pets” in this instance, that had been tormenting them were taken down. You took the lead, grabbing a shock blanket that you had also, prepared ahead of time and wrapping it around her.

“Do you want me to call someone for you?” You asked, as you secretly examined her for any bites or cuts. Luckily the only injuries she had were bruises from where the king had squeezed her arm too tightly.

Shelby nodded dumbly at you, before grabbing her phone and scanning her finger to unlock it. “Could you… Call my mother… I was too scared to have her over before.” She said, then plopping down in a nearby seat.

You nodded at her. “I’ll wait with you until she gets here.” You said, before pressing the call button on the phone.

---

The very first step in rehabilitating the King wasn’t to immediately jump into training. It was a little different from that. You’d brought your client over after she’d calmed down in order for her to pick out one of the Cherries you’d set aside for the King. You’d set aside 5 of them, not that it really made much of a difference as they were all crying at the prospect of meeting someone new. Most bitties were identical, luckily there were” some notable differences between these cherries, mutations weren’t always bad.

The customer came in, and almost immediately grimaced at the crying Cherries. You’d warned her that they were high maintenance pets, but also assured her that with a King around a lot of the more intolerable aspects would almost certainly be enjoyed by the King.

She did however warm up to the Cherries after a little play time, and after finding out that one of the Cherries enjoyed eating literally ANYTHING, she picked that one in a heartbeat. She stated that she loved cooking new things and someone to enjoy new things with was something she struggled with.

After that she bonded for a short while, she left, she had wanted to hear the cherry say “mommy” before leaving but you insisted that that was a TERRIBLE idea.

After she left, you shoved a heat inducing gummy down a screaming Cherries throat and quite literally threw him into the pen with the King. If you heard hysterical pleas for help, and screams to “shut up slut.” You ignored them, that would sort itself out naturally.

---

You monitored the situation between the King and Cherry loosely. It went exactly as you expected it to. The King violently fucked the Cherry, while the Cherry simultaneously cried for more and pleaded for it to stop at the same time.

By the end of the week long fuck fest there were no more pleas for stopping, only begging for more. Until finally, the King had firmly marked the Cherry as its own, and was holding it close and whispering as sweet of compliments as it could muster. The Cherry was crying, as usual, but at the offer of food it had accepted the King as its mate.

You waited another week, allowing the King to thoroughly fuss over the Cherry and fuck away its excess of aggression, before entering the pen. You entered with food, eyeing the King to make sure he didn't pounce. He has significantly calmed down, instead of hissing and threatening he stared at you warily while he held his wide eyed mate close. You set the food down, and nodded.

“I see you enjoy the mate I’ve prepared for you.” You stated, watching as the King’s head tilted to the side as he questioned the implications of that statement.

You left before he could question you. Letting the tranquilizers in the food take effect before you went to collect your newest project.

---

The King awoke in a cage alone while a hysterical Cherry cried as it reached out to him from a cage opposite of him.

You didn't have gloves on as you opened the cage of the Cherry, and you would never admit to smiling at the reaction of the King as you roughly handled the Cherry.

“RELEASSSSSSE MY MATE AT ONCE INSSSSSOLENT HUMAN!” He hissed, utterly incensed at the handling of his new mate. You shook your head, and placed the Cherry on a table, he cowered into your hand, hiding his face as he reached for his mate, but at the same time he still recognized you as a human to trust, you’d bottle fed him after all.

“Ppp-please I want to be with Mori.” He pleaded with you hugging your thumb as his tears colored the edge of his sockets.

You replied softly. “I know, but we have to correct some of his behavior first.” You replied as you shook him off.

He landed on his behind, more tears welling up in his eyes. Before you grabbed a shock collar, and placed it around the neck of the Cherry.

“What’s this’ moAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!!” You wasted absolutely no time in shocking the Cherry, watching as its tears pooled on the table, and pissed soaked down its bare legs. The king had thoroughly destroyed any clothing that had been on the Cherry in its vigor. You could make out the small cuts on its form, the first few days had been incredibly rough in terms of sex, not enough to kill the Cherry, but certainly enough that you wondered why it wasnt terrified of the King.

The Cherry flopped on the table, while you looked at the King who’s hood was spread as he hissed, spit and thrashed about in his cage. It was bolted down so there was no way for him to tip it, but it was still quite the sight.

Nodding in satisfaction you placed the sobbing Cherry back in his cage across from the King, where he reached out desperately towards the Cherry intent on comfort, even if that wasn’t his strong suit.

“RELEASSSSE ME AT ONCCCCE! I MUSST COMFORT MY MATE!” He screeched at the same time trying to thrash his tail to strike out at you.

“No comfort will come to your Cherry until we have fixed your behaviors.” You hummed, as you pulled on thick arm coverings and gloves. You approached the King’s cage and unlatched it, grasping around the King’s throat as he attempted to bite your outstretched hand through the gloves. A calculated move in order to direct him as you pleased.

You wrestled with the King for a while, rolling your eyes and smashing him against the table as he refused to loosen his bite. The King went limp for just a moment while you strapped him to the table with special restraints. His skull wasn't even cracked as you’d gone easy on him, it also helped that his breed was tougher than the pet variety.

Being strapped down by his neck made the king easier to handle, even when he snapped out of his daze and began to thrash again, this time though without the threat of fangs. It was easy for you to pin down his tail and arms down long enough to strap them to the table.

This was all just a show of force, to prove that she could do whatever she wanted to his mate, and he could do nothing about it. She needed him as violent as possible in response to threats to his mate, she needed him to stall in relation to his street taught values, if only so she could delete them.

You finished strapping him to the table, and picked up the remote to your mini shock collar, pausing for a moment and wondering if you should maybe start with pulling teeth first. However you needed a far more compliant King than you had currently, and it helped that the Cherry’s cries were beginning to grate on your nerves.

Looking over at the Cherry you sighed, it was still crying, smelly and pitiful as it cowered in the corner furthest from you and the King, too petrified of the violence to move. You waved the button in front of the king who hissed at the sight.

“DO NOT HARM MY MATE YOU WORTHLESSSSSS HUMAN!” He screeched, as you shook your head and pressed the button. As expected the sight of his mate in pain sent him into a frenzy, he spit, while you mocked him for his inability to do anything. You approached the cage of the Cherry intent on subduing the King in the most effective way possible.

“NOOOOOOO!” The King continued to screech. While the Cherry recovered from the shock cowered and begged for you not to hurt him. Of course, that wouldn't happen.

You carefully took the soiled Cherry out of his cage once more, and placed him next to the King, the King seemed to calm as the Cherry strained for its mate. You let them reunite for a moment, if only to grab a bitty sized dental gag and pry the King's mouth open. Once successful, despite the Cherry’s begging. You once more picked up the Cherry, and placed his hand into the King’s mouth, before carefully pricking him with the King’s fangs.

The unholy screech of the King was nothing like the ones before. His venom was incredibly effective, and on a creature as small as the Cherry its effect was seen immediately.

Pale faced and beginning to flush redder than normal, the Cherries tears became more frantic. He blubbered the same as normal as he tried to free himself from your grasp. Plopping him next to the King you pressed the button of the shock collar again and held. Looking the King straight in the eyes as it began to cry red tears. There was no understanding past the dental gag. But you knew well enough what was going on. A sinister smile graced your lips as you turned away from the king, taking the Cherry with you as you left the room. As far as the King knew, his mate was dead, dead by its own hand.

---

You returned shortly, having cured the Cherry from the King’s venom and stalled it in order to erase its memory of the training. Standard practice for once a bitty had been fully trained, the training would remain while the memory did not, no risk of blabbing to customers who really had no idea what was happening. It was necessary as while you trained the King the Cherry would bond with its new mother.

The King was still sobbing as you returned, and you used the lack of struggle to your advantage.

“It's a shame he had to die because of you.” You egged on, watching as the King seemed to deflate even further. You took that moment to put on your gloves and remove the restraints. The King didn't attack, and your smile was as venomous as the King as you removed the dental gag.

“WHY?” The King asked, and you couldn't help but chuckle, as you started to stroke its head soothingly, as you spit out harsh words. “That's because you are a bad bitty. A horrible protector.” The king flinched at that but immediately you turned it around. “But still so brave, and handsome.” Of course, the contrary information stilled the King, stalling him, and allowing you to reach for his AI, and stroke it. His eyelights buzzed a little, as you wiped away his need to monopolize his mate, his “charges.” There was of course more work to be done, but he would be too grief stricken to struggle. Just the way you needed him. You supposed it was about time to pull out some teeth.

---

By the time your bitty behavioral therapy was done, the King was a model example of a protection bitty. He was still a horribly bossy creature, but he no longer insisted on isolating his charges or displayed sexual desires outside of for his mate. He focused entirely on “protecting” and only grew violent when there was sufficient threat.

Meanwhile, the Cherry had not stopped crying for his mate until he met his new mother. He was of course still sad, but as most pet variety bitties are ought to do, the introduction of a new mommy or daddy tends to cheer them up instantly. Which was good, as the Chery, newly dubbed Sebastian, had sufficient time to bond with his new mother without the interference of a mate. The client learned easily to care for a Cherry, while also undergoing coaching from the rancher in order to be an effective King owner.

On the day that the King was to return to his owners care. The owner had been nervous, she had lost confidence in owning bitties, and while Sebastian had helped, it still did not erase the nervousness she felt even after 2 months.

“I’m not sure about taking him back.” She stated, holding the Cherry close to her heart, he was as usual, teary eyed, but at the words of his owner, he burst into hysterics.

“Nooo!!! Mommy please I want Mori back! Please let me see Mori!” He begged, rubbing his snot covered face into her shirt. The owner seemed to deflate at this, and sighed, rubbing her Cherries back in reassurance. While you marveled at the fact that he was still suffering from some sort of stockholm syndrome.

“We’ll just have to see for now.” She said, and looked at you for reassurance.

“You really don't have to worry.” You replied, voice chipper. “He’s nothing like he was before, you’ll be safer with him now than you would be without. He’s a model King, the perfect guard for any home.” You made your way towards the back noting the wariness of your client, but you stood by what you said, Moriarty was a model King, with all the coaching you’d given Shelby there was no reason to worry anymore.

Making your way into the back you spotted Moriarty in his enclosure, he was sunning himself as you approached. There was no sign of pulled teeth, skinned tails, or broken bones anywhere on him, and he only flinched slightly at the sound of your voice.

“Your mothers ready to see you now.” You sang watching the King light up and practically shoot to your outstretched arm. He curled himself around your arm, vibrating with anticipation at the prospect of seeing his mother again. You hummed in satisfaction as you made your way back to where Shelby was waiting.

The Cherry fell to the floor as he threw himself out of his mothers arms, he fell with a thwack, chanting Mori as he ran to you. The King very nearly pounced at the Cherry, he had tears in his eyes and seemed shocked and elated to see his mate. Although the Cherry's supposed ‘death’ had been erased from his mind he still had thought his mate dead, thus the tears. Before he could rush to his mate you held your hand up. “Stop.” You commanded, preventing the King who was practically vibrating from going to his mate. He was restless and voiced his immense displeasure. “YOU MUST LET ME GO SEE IF MY MATE IS HARMED!” He practically screeched into your ear, but still stayed still, causing Shelby’s eyes to widen in shock. She would have never imagined that the previously unruly and violent King would become so obedient, even if he was still incredibly bossy.

The Cherry at your feet practically hugged your leg as he cried and pleaded for his mate to come to him, you stopped walking forward before your punted him across the room, and smiled warmly at Shelby even as Moriarty squirmed on your shoulders as he looked between his mate and his mother, frustration growing as he stayed put, as you were gesturing for him to.

The cries of the Cherry became background noise as you spoke to Shelby. “As you can see, he’s fully trained now. All you need to do is handle him like I taught you and he’ll respond appropriately.”

“YOU MUST LET ME DOWN NOW!” The king snapped, as he crossed his arms, still waiting for permission. Nothing could change his bossy tone, but he still could be trained to behave.

Your customer sputtered for a bit, before she seemed to snap out of it. “Oh… Um… Yes… Come here.” She said, and gestured with her hands as you’d taught her for her previously unruly King to come.

The response was instant, he practically lept from your arm, disregarding the Cherry, albeit patting him on the head as he passed, and basically leapt into the outstretched hand that his ‘mother’ had out for him. He practically purred at the contact with his ‘mother’, nuzzling her arm affectionately as he hugged her arm, shocking her while at the same time earning a smile.

“I AM VERY CROSS WITH YOU MOTHER! YOU DO NOT KNOW HOW MUCH I MISSED YOU!” The King stated, holding on firmly to his mothers arms as he stared longingly at the crying Cherry that was running and trying to climb up his mothers leg.

“I can see that.” She answered, smile wide and tears coloring the side of her eyes.

“NOW I MUST INSIST THAT WE COMFORT MY MATE!” He screeched, looking down at Sebastian with longing. Which in turn caused his owner to laugh and reach down to pick up the crying Cherry.

“There we go, the whole family’s together, Sebastian, Moriarty and mommy!” She cried, sniffling as Moriarty kissed the forehead of his crying mate.

“Thank you so much!” She cried, as she walked over to you and shook your hand. “I can’t believe how much he’s changed! Thank you! I can’t thank you enough!”

Grinning ear to ear, you replied. “Really, it was my pleasure.”

#bitty abuse #bitty torture #Psychological Abuse #psychological torture #king lamia #cherry bitty #shock collar #bitty rape #stockholm syndrome #memory manipulation #abusive realtionships

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diavolosthots · 4 years

Note

Hi there! If there's no inconvenience, could I request some headcannons about an mc who feels like the brothers are mad with them if they don't talk to them. Like, they're used from their household if people don't speak to them it's because they are mad. Thank you so much, have a nice day!! 🙂🙂

Yo not tryna sound dumb but I thought you meant MC headcanons and I was confused but 💀 ANYWAY sorry it took so long.

THE BROTHERS reacting to an MC who always thinks theyre angry at them.

Lucifer:

He thought he could use that to his advantage at first, and he definitely did. It was just a solid way to always have the upper hand.

But it also heavily took a shot to his pride. You think he's just this egoist who holds himself and others to standards no one possible could reach just because he doesnt talk?

Even if that's true, you should know better than to falsely assume things.

Just talk it over with him. We seriously need to work on your self confidence honey.

Mammon:

Even when he doesnt talk you still HEAR him. Or at least of him. The only time hes truly quiet is at night when hes sleeping in his bed

Kind of goes off on you for thinking that because ??? Hes literally talking to you right now

Kind of tells you you need a new hobby also why do you care if hes mad or not?

Smh humans are weird.

Leviathan:

He gets it. Kind of. But it also makes him angry. On one hand he knows what it feels like to be shut out and ignored , especially when angry.

But on the other hand hes NOT like that at all! Stupid normie making up stupid things about him.

Honestly might actually hurt his feelings because sure hes awkward and silent but only because he has social anxiety!!!

Satan:

Ngl he thought it was entertaining at first, especially since hes the avatar of WRATH and anger is in his nature.

But on some level it did heavily bother him and he told you, with a hint of annoyance in his voice, that he wasn't always angry, no matter what his avatar made him out to be

Granted, he gets pissed off a lot and maybe its pissing him off right now that you are making such tasteless assumptions about him but just. Ugh.

Please just get to know him a bit better before you judge.

Asmodeus:

Uh.. First of all you must have the wrong demon because once Asmo starts talking this boy wont shut up okay he can talk for literal days

About anything

So in those rare moments where he doesnt talk, to you or to anyone else, its not that hes mad, hes just thinking

Tells you that too. It takes quiet time to be this pretty.

Beelzebub:

He always thought he was such an approachable demon? Why would you think hes mad at you? If anything hes mad at Lucifer for not stocking up the fridge.

Listen kiddo beel is the last person to get mad at anyone for anything and he'll sit you down and say that to you

No shame. Very upfront.

Belphegor:

How does sleeping equal anger??

Listen he hates talking in general, it's a waste of his precious breath. Hes not not talking. Hes sleeping

Yes even standing up straight with his eyes wide open

In all honesty, its just bothersome that you think that of him. He may be a demon but he doesnt just get mad for nothing.

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me headcanons #obey me scenarios #asmodeus obey me #belphegor obey me #leviathan obey me #lucifer obey me #mammon obey me #obey me beelzebub #satan obey me

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illusionlock · 5 years

Text

pazam: a mess, truly a mess

so i usually dont do these kind of posts, i guess you could say its a call out of some sort? but i never liked that word, i prefer rather to just compile sources on WHY people would believe that a certain person is not truly as nice and understanding as they seem. consider this more of a psa post, detailing on whats going on with pazam on the sfm community, why so many people are against them.

So, a while back, tumblr user jymble made a post on the main tag stating that pazam was transphobic. they linked back to this post, which contains screenshots of pazam in a group chat stating that they do not feel comfortable with the idea of trans people. now, this did happen 9 months ago, true. however, for the record, pazam is already an adult, 24 years old, so they should have some tact. and as further and more recent events will show, they actually havent changed that much at all, at least not as they claim.

the screenshots should be in the post, but here is a transcript

[Screenshot one]

Pazam:

What????? Why?????

I literally HAVE NOT been doing ANYTHING malicious to them

And if it did I apologized

Yes I do have discomfort about them but I keep it to myself

Why are you doing this????

[End screenshot one]

��Them’ here refers to trans people in general. Notice the defensive and victimizing stance they almost immediately take upon being confronted about their feelings on trans people.

[Screenshot two]

elliott:

of COURSE you dont

sammaku:

Like specifically

Elliott hush

Pazam:

This whole concept of transness and changing your gender physically

I hate to say it again but it weirds me out and it makes me question my own gender which flings me into anxiety, depression, and obsession

sammaku:

Its fine to not understand but are you willing to learn about it

Pazam:

I don’t want to talk about this anymore

sammaku:

That depression anxiety and obsession just comes with gender issues

(the rest of the text is cut off)

[End Screenshot two]

notice once summaku asks them if they would at least be willing to learn about it, pazam immediately deflects it by saying they dont want to talk about it anymore.

[Screenshot three]

Pazam:

Seriously??? That’s all it takes????

Wow I’m a moron

I’m sorry for all the trouble I’ve caused to you

@.aziraphale @.elliott @.sammaku

I just don’t get this stuff period

And I’ve gotten into trouble with this stuff before

I’ll probably never understand it for the rest of my life but I’ll try to be more tactful around y’all

Especially since you’re all young

And I’m like an adult

[End screenshot three]

While at first this would seem like they had finally learned their lesson and apologized, the things they add on after the @s become quickly worrying. Not only do they admit to ‘have gotten into trouble with this stuff before’, meaning they have probably shown their transphobia in other places and been called out, but they also stand firmly on the fact that they will never understand it or ‘get’ it.

And of course, as jymble points out, the implication that the people they were talking to were only acting like that because they were young.

A while after this post was made, Pazam had posted an apology, and went onto contact jymble asking for the post with the evidence of their transphobic to be taken down. The reason? They were afraid people would see it and think they were still transphobic and not give them a chance.

In this more recent post, you can see the conversation play out between Pazam and jymbles. Long story short, Pazam feels that it’s unfair that that post is still up after they apologized, and jymble of course said they would rather not take it down, people deserve to know what they did and take their own conclusions, even if that involves avoiding them. How does Pazam respond? By flat out deleting the apology post. I’d love to show the apology post to give you both sides of the story but I cannot anymore, because Pazam in a very bizarre move just deleted it because they got mad a trans blogger wouldn’t take down their post with proof.

Here’s the transcript of the screenshots:

[Begin Conversation]

rebloggidy (Pazam’s personal):

I’m by no means transphobia-free after learning what I’ve done but at least I know my actions and am making an effort to be a better person towards trans people.

rebloggidy:

Hi again. So I hate to be that person but would it be ok if you took down that post about the transphobia claims? I know it took me 9 months to apologize but if people only see your side of the story and not realize the post I saw they’ll take it out of context and still think I’m transphobic. Do you understand?

jymble:

... i already told you im not taking down the post.

[jymble sends a screenshot of her own message in a previous conversation, the screenshot reads as follows:

however, i dont think im taking the post down, nor am i entirely comfortable with you interacting with me either. people deserve to know how you acted with this stuff, until youre really and truly *better* with it instead of just trying, and i was a direct target of it]

jymble:

you oughright told me "im by no means transphobia-free", word for word sorry, but i told you before. im not taking the post down.

rebloggidy:

I remember that. But what I'm trying to say to you is that if people who read it out of context will immediately think I'm still transphobic without the other side of it (my comment)

And I don't want people to think that in the future

jymble:

if people make assumptions without looking at the entire situation, thats on them

i am not deleting the post and thats final. people have a right to know what youve done, and they have a right to be uncomfortable

rebloggidy:

I'm ready to take down my post because frankly, I'm sick and tired of having to justifiy something that I did 9 months ago, and that people grow and learn even not 100% during that time and I'm ready to move on.

I'm still into smile for me and feel free to make a blacklist of my name so anybody who rbs my work on your dash can have it hidden or something.

Take care.

[End conversation]

a lot to unpack here, but perhaps most notable is when jymble simply stands her ground and tells pazam she wont take down the post, pazam straight up decides, without being told to or anything, that they should take down their apology. later on, they made a post stating why they deleted the post, and saying they had ‘been forced to’.

I also would love to link it here, but as of now of writing this, like, not even an hour or so after I had seen that post, it got deleted. The only memory I have of it is a conversation I had with my boyfriend about Pazam, in which I copypasted a fragment from that post that read:

“ So for those wondering where the apology post went, I was forced to delete it. I wanted to archive it in some way so I could pull it up for reference, but there was no way I could. Also I didn’t really want to see it every time on my blog because quite honestly it’s upsetting to look at.”

There are some lies and twisting of truths here. Pazam wasn’t forced to delete it, they decided they should do it as a way to somehow get back at jymble. And the excuse that it was upsetting for them to look at is just inexcusable, what matters most, letting people know of what youve done and that youre sorry, or just never addressing the situation?

But, well, I’m just hoping you’ll take my word for it. As you see, Pazam has officially deleted ANY traces of acknowledging this situation on their blog.

This worries me. If Pazam is truly as concerned that they will be seen as transphobic as they claim, why are they deleting anything that could give them a chance of showing their own side of the story?

Now, that is the end, for now, of Pazam’s history with transphobia. However! It is not the end for some other very shady things.

Namely, Pazam has consistently whitewashed characters from Smile For Me, specially Kamal, and when called out on it, simply deletes the asks.

Want to know how I know this?

I sent them an ask myself. I had come across this picture of Boris and Kamal:

And I knew that this wasn’t right. I can understand using light colors and doing watercolor, but if they can make Boris’ hair brown and vivid enough, why not Kamal? He looks like another character completely, or like he’s deathly sick!

So I sent them an anonymous ask, perhaps a bit exhasperated, true, and my wording could be better. It went something like: “i am begging you to draw kamal with darker skin”.

I waited, checked. But nothing came of it. They never answered it.

Pazam flat out ignored when they were told they had drawn a canonically brown man with skin way too light. Not even a lone text post saying ‘hey anon, i dont agree with you’ or ‘hey anon im sorry it wont happen again’. Nothing. No word, no opinion.

And with this situation going on with them evading responsibility, I can’t say I’m fully surprised.

And, yet another thing. People had expressed concern over the fact they had drawn their Flower Kid, who is 17, in very intimate and close positions with Dr. Habit. It included nuzzling faces, cuddling in bed together, wearing his coat...

And they did hear the claims this time. As of now, their Flower Kid is 24, according to them.

Except... They do not look 24. At. All.

this is a 12 year old. at best. short body, stubby legs, big head. those are all attributes of a very young character, usually children. like, legitimately, thats how childrens anatomy is in real life. the younger the person, the bigger their head is in proportion to their body.

We have already had an adult trying to justify drawing their flower kid who barely looked like an adult if at all in intimate situations with Habit. Let’s not let it slide by again.

And yes, I’m aware Pazam claims that those pictures were not supposed to be interpreted as romantic, ‘only platonic fluff’ and that they intend to keep it that way, but I have talked to my boyfriend who is a survivor and he said it very well could be a case of someone just trying to cover their tracks.

BUT, all that being said, maybe this one particular instance could be just us being wary. Still, it does not diminish all that they have done, specially ignoring the whitewashing claims.

What you are going to do with this information, I do not know. Maybe you don’t care and will keep reblogging their content. Maybe you’re disgusted by them. But I’m just here to give you the facts. Personally though, I’m not willing to give them much of a chance after the way they’ve behaved. They are 24 years old, three years older than me, and I think I could do a better job of handling a situation like this, frankly.

#don't be scared. i am here with you.#smile for me #smile for me game

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slash-em-up · 4 years

Text

Re-Assessing Presuppositions pt. 1: The Collector x Reader

First off; this is a monster of a fic. It’s around 3.5k and I don’t think I’ve ever written something this large - SO LARGE TUMBLR WONT LET ME PUT IT ALL IN ONE POST!!

So this is going to be a two-parter.

Secondly, this deals with a lot of INCORRECT assumptions about BDSM, M/F power dynamics, sexuality in general, and homosexuality. I think we’re all pretty aware that Asa has some #issues with masculine identity, and that comes into play here. So take everything said with a grain of salt.

Huge huge HUGE THANK YOU to @voorheehees and @princessprofanity for their beta reading and big-brain ideas about Asa’s book club, respectively.

Enjoy!!!

*********************************

Mary-Ellen rolled her eye as Gladys and Marlene giggled on the couch, whispering and gasping as they poured over their recommendation for the next Oak Grove Bookclub selection.

This happened every time they ended their current selection, and frankly Mary-Ellen was getting tired of it. They thought that just because they talked the group into reading that dreadful ‘Fifty Shades of Grey’ book that it was their solemn duty to provide something equally as salacious for the next get-together.

Mary-Ellen huffed again and clutched her ‘Ms. Marple’ book a bit closer to her chest. Not this time, not if she had to stand right up and filibuster until they caved.

Marlene’s husband was falling asleep beside her; but she knew the former lawyer might protest that by using her walker to stand on she wasn’t technically following the rules of a filibuster – but frankly screw him. She only had so many years left to live and she wasn’t going to waste whatever time she had left reading that trash.

She perked up as the door to the community center opened and the youngest member of their little club walked in to the room.

Asa Emory was probably the person most likely to protest another smutty novel, next to herself; so she was very glad he decided to show up to the meeting.

After he pursued the selection of baked goods laid out on the center table (grabbing one of Lydia’s walnut blondies – smart man) he took the seat on the couch next to Mary-Ellen.

“Hello honey. How are you today?”

The large man turned slightly in his seat and offered her a brief grin.

“I’m doing fine Mary-Ellen, thank you. How’s your hip?”

Mary-Ellen sighed and leaned back.

“Never get old, honey. It’s not worth the social security check.”

Asa hummed in the back of his throat, tilting his head towards her with a teasing glint in his unique eyes.

“I’ll do my best.”

He set the book he’d had tucked under his arm onto the table, taking a large bite of the blondie he held.

Smiling, Mary-Ellen noted that he’d brought an older mystery novel as well.

Seeing her interest, Asa swallowed his mouthful and offered “Y/N picked it.”

A wrinkled hand rose and patted the solid knee next to her own arthritic one.

“I knew I liked them for a reason.”

Breaking the calm, Marlene clapped her hands together to get the rooms attention – pulling her husband from his slumber with a jolt.

“Hello everyone! Thank you for joining us for the fifth Oak Grove Bookclub content selection meeting!”

A polite smattering of applause echoed across the space.

“Now, I know there are so many wonderful choices out there, so lets get started with the book pitches!”

She looked knowingly over to Gladys.

“Gladys, would you care to start us off?”

Mary-Ellen groaned, making Asa huff in amusement next to her.

“Thank you so much Marlene! First, lets all have a moment of silence for our dear Robert, who we lost to prostate cancer last month.”

A murmur of assent rose from the group as they nodded or crossed themselves in remembrance of their lost member.

“In his honor, Marlene and I have chosen this book – ‘Beg for It’ by Megan Hart. An erotic story about two business people in a BDSM relationship where the man is the submissive!”

“Gladys! Stop using all those strange words, you know I wasn’t here when you read that ‘Fifty Shades of whatever’ book!”

Gladys sniffed.

“It means ‘Bondage, Domination, Sadism, and Masochism. Get with the times Albert.”

Mary-Ellen saw this as her opportunity to pipe up.

“I don’t like it when we read these smutty novels. It’s not what I joined this Bookclub for at all! If I wanted to read about two people doing naughty things, I would go over to Harriet’s house and read Earls ‘Hustler’ magazines!”

“Hey!”

“Don’t be such a prude Mary-Ellen, we’re all adults here. And quite frankly reading that other book helped Marvin and I try some things we hadn’t thought to try in our sixty years together!”

Someone laughed loudly.

“Which was all well and good until Marv’s back gave out!”

“Hush, Gloria!”

“All I’m saying is that we should be reading something relatable.”

“Yeah, if anyone can get anything out of those horn-dog books it’ll be Asa! At least he and Y/N have a better chance of getting through it without needing to stop for a pill-break!”

“Well then, lets ask Asa! How about it sweetie? Want to get some tips for the bedroom?”

Asa looked like he was going to implode or run out the door – meaning he looked closer to a statue than a man – back straight as a board, and gripping his leg tight enough to make his knuckles go white.

He cleared his throat.

“We’re fine, thank you.”

Marlene spoke up –

“So like a man - as long as they’re getting themselves taken care of they’re perfectly content to leave everything else alone.”

“Asa, have you asked Y/N if they’d like to mix things up in the bedroom?”

“Carl, you can’t ask people that!”

“Whaaat? I’m too old to be shy. And when Dorothy is on top I get a free prostate exam!”

This comment was met with several screeches and hoots from the room; but Asa remained quiet.

He stood suddenly, and grabbed his book.

“I’m sorry, I have to leave. Please let me know what the final decision is. My vote is for whatever Mary-Ellen picks.”

***************************

Asa walked back to the house slowly, deep in thought about the situation he’d just departed from.

In all honesty, he wished he’d left sooner – never even heard the lies and slander about male pleasure and bedroom power dynamics.

He liked the members of the book club well enough – as much as he liked anyone who wouldn’t be joining his collection, he supposed; but they were wrong on this. They had to be.

For all that the occasional victim would yell and scream abuse while he was perfecting them, he knew the truth. Only homosexuals could feel pleasure from anal penetration – and he definitely wasn’t a homosexual. His father had made sure of that.

And he’d gotten so lucky with you. Not only were they accepting of his ‘hobby’; but they never tried to undermine his authority in the bedroom. Even when things got more heated than normal – like when you had purchased that lovely lingerie several weeks ago – Asa was assured that he’d be the one calling the shots, metaphorically.

Of course he’d heard people talk about their predilections before – woman on top, tying up your partner, and most recently pegging - but as long as you stayed where you belonged, there was no reason to let this upset him any further.

He nodded succinctly to himself as he strode up the stairs and turned the key to your house.

‘GET ON YOUR KNEES GET ON YOUR KNEES GET ON YOUR KNEES, BABY JUST GET ON YOUR KNEES’

… Or not.

**********************************

“Asa?”

You poked your head out of the dining room where you’d been dusting. Enjoying some alone time to play the pop music you knew Asa didn’t enjoy.

You’d thought you’d heard him enter, but then the door slammed…

You looked out the window as the green Buick Asa drove screeched out of the driveway and took off towards town.

‘Guess he must have forgotten something.’

#jessica writes #asa emory #the collection (2012)#the collector (2009)#the collector x reader #domming the hell out of slashers since 2018 #horror movies #slasher fiction

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grim-on-the-darkside · 4 years

Text

George Lucas involvement in The Clone Wars Series

This subject is being talked about by some here on Tumblr, so I thought I’d break open my Star Wars Quote files and share what I could to facilitate others who are already in discussions about it. I hope this aids them in that.

That said, Ohh boy, here we go. =]

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"This series [Clone Wars Series] at least to George is NOT EU, it is a part of Star Wars as he sees it. I think if anything there was a period where Henry [Gilroy] and I had to learn exactly what it took to be a part of George Lucas’ Star Wars, and tell the Star Wars story his way. We had to learn how to look at the Galaxy from his point of view and let go of some of what we considered canon after we found out the ideas were only EU." ~ Dave Filoni 2008

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"This is Star Wars, and I don't make a distinction between [The Clone Wars] series and the films." ~ George Lucas, SciFiNow, October 2011

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"The TV series is exactly like the movies, exactly. I mean, you can see it in the clip. It’s basically just the movies only with cartoon characters. It’s basically a dramatic series, there’s a lot of action, a bit of humor." ~ George Lucas, 2008 Interview about the Clone Wars series.

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One of the main characters in the feature film, a 90 minute introduction to the series that hits theaters August 15, is Anakin's teenage Padawan, Ahsoka. Lucas said:

"[With Ahsoka] I wanted to develop a character who would help Anakin settle down. He's a wild child after [Attack of the Clones]. He and Obi Wan don't get along. So we wanted to look at how Anakin and Ahsoka become friends, partners, a team. When you become a parent or you become a teacher you have to become more respnsible. I wanted to force Anakin into that role of responsibility, into that juxtaposition. I have a couple of daughters so I have experience with that situation. I said instead of a guy let's make her a girl. Teenage girls are just as hard to deal with as teenage boys are."

~ George Lucas 2008

https://io9.gizmodo.com/george-lucas-spills-all-about-clone-wars-at-skywalker-r-5033398

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"I get all my information on the Clone Wars from him. [George Lucas]"

"I can pitch him ideas and say 'lets do certain things', but at the end of the say he will say 'yes' or he will say 'no', and than that is the way it's gonna go."

~ Dave Filoni, 2019

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"The importance of The Clone Wars that cannot be understated is that it was the last huge expansion of the Star Wars universe that came directly from George Lucas." ~ Pablo Hidalgo

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"Star Wars: The Clone Wars is the biggest education on how George Lucas saw his Universe. Over 44 hours of his storytelling compared to the 13 hours or so he spent in live action."

~ Pablo Hidalgo 2018 https://ibb.co/ryvk5K2

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DAVE FILONI: The First Time George Lucas Talked About Ahsoka https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VAjnLseHQwA

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"In discussions directly with George, he was very adamant about Jango not being Mandolorian, which is the entire reason that scene existed that moment. To have that specificity that Jango was not Mandolorian at least not to Mandolorians."

~ Dave Filoni, 2019 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H6p9sM7OLFk https://ibb.co/WgCGf1X https://ibb.co/Y2wLHd0

FROM THE FILONI FILES: In the season 2 episode of STAR WARS: THE CLONE WARS, Mandalorian prime minister Almec made the claim that Jango Fett is not a Mandalorian warrior. This info stunned many fans who always assumed he was pure Mando. Many claimed Almec was lying, others claimed it was a cover-up. This topic came up a few times during our conversations with Dave Filoni. In this compilation, Dave addresses the issue and sets the record straight.

https://ibb.co/x7j5BhK

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This of course resulted in massive retcons of the Expanded Universe version of Mandolorians. This wasn't on accident, this was intentional on Lucas part because he was pissed at some of the liberties and things people in the EU were saying that went against the agreement in allowed the EU to come into existance at all.

Seperate Universes. This wasn’t figurative, this was meant literally, and Lucas said it over and over. Plus he found out they were using the term 'canon' in reference to EU things, and that was a massive no no. Only his direct works were canon. This went against the agreement he made with Howard Roffman, who really didn't keep his side of the bargain officially. They were essentially lieing and being deceitful about the EU's standing. That whole Canon Tier, that wasn't a policy, that was the filing system Leland Chee used for the Holocron. It was only used by Lucas Licensing. It was all a big shame to make people think the EU had more standing in the SWs than it did by the legitimate agreement. Roffman was concerned that if people knew it was a separate universe and it wasn't canon that they would be less likely to spend their money on it because 'it didn't count'.

Roffman couldn't get Lucas to agree to it being one universe, he tried over and over again, but Lucas wasn't having it. This was behind closed doors at the time of course, Roffman comes clean about in a live broadcasted interview with a studio audience when taking questions.

They couldn't get Lucas to budge, and Lucas didn't really care about the retcons he might cause, and there was a lot of fighting over it. But, of course, Lucas was the boss and it was his final say. This had been ongoing thing, it wasn’t something happened overnight.

That's why you have accidental retcons of major story lines, opps... He says what is and isn't canon, no one else. People weren’t following the guidelines he set, and he had been a pretty good sport about it overall. Again, this wasn’t overnight. It built up over time.

There’s some speculation about the specifics, but that there had been many angry words said, back and forth in the background. Roffman and Lucas apparently had a lot of loud conversations.

“So we would have very interesting skirmishes because we had a bunch of stuff that became to the fans pretty much canon [Head-canon] about what happened after Return of the Jedi, what different places in the galaxy were called, lots of different things and if he was proposing to do something in the prequels that contradicted that we would have long debates which usually ended at least after the first session with "I don't care this is what I'm doing", but after he 4th or 5th session sometimes "Alright 'maybe' we can change it this way."

~ Howard Roffman, 2017

[I’ll be sharing more very important quotes from that Interview with Howard Roffman soon.]

A great deal of the time, Lucas wouldn’t budge. The Mandolorian Storyline in The Clone Wars being one such example of that.

This resulted in Karen Traviss losing her mind over the Mandolorians Lucas made in canon, and she was saying she wouldn't go along with it because they were 'changing canon', which is totally untrue, but she made some public statements about it

"Please also be aware of one basic fact - all writers for a franchise have to follow official canon. You can't go off and do your own thing, or else the book won't get approved and printed. It's that simple. So please don't keep asking me to carry on in the old canon, because I'm just not allowed to."

Karen Traviss EU Author, 2009.

[This is what insanity looks like when you write it down. - Must follow canon, but wont let me carry on in the old Canon? Earth to Karen, please respond. The EU wasn’t canon!! ]

So Lucas shot back thru his head writer on the Clone Wars series, Henry Gilroy whom himself had been an EU author in the Clone Wars comics before being tapped for Canon Clone Wars series who responded, although not directly to her, but in response to her being unwilling to go on and leaving over it.

"It is unfortunate that [EU author Karen Traviss is] moving on because [of] her opinion that canon is being changed. I guess the big problem is the assumption that her work is canon in the first place. After working with George on The Clone Wars series I know there are elements of her work that are not in line with his vision of Star Wars.."

~ Henry Gilroy, The Clone Wars series Head Writer/ EU Author [Comics] 2009

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To Lucas, the entire Saga is about Anakin Skywalker/ Darth Vader, of course he was going to be heavily involved in the Clone Wars series, Anakin was one of the major reoccuring characters in it, that's Lucas pride and joy. But I digress....

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“For me and my training here at Lucasfilm, working with George, he and I always thought the Expanded Universe was just that. It was an expanded universe. Basically it’s stories that are really fun and really exciting, but they’re a view on Star Wars, not necessarily canon to him. That was the way it was from the day I walked into Lucasfilm with him all through Clone Wars, everything we worked on, he felt the Clone Wars series and his movies were what was actually the reality of it all, the canon..."

~ Dave Filoni 2017

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"In the same interview, Dave Filoni said that George Lucas told him, that the movies and The Clone Wars television series, were the only thing Lucas considered canon." https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Star_Wars_expanded_to_other_media

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"That’s one of the biggest debates in Star Wars, what counts? *The idea of what is canon? When I talk to George I know that he considers his movies, this series and his live-action series canon." ~ Dave Filoni, SW:TCW 2008

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"I always think of the research you speak of as what I knew about the EU before I took this job. As I stated above, working directly with George changes the way you see the EU and everything in it."

~ Dave Filoni 2008

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What do you think about Star Wars: The Clone Wars not following the continuity established previously in books and comics for the timeline between Episodes II and III? Could all those events that are being unfolded ever be folded into a coherent timeline? Some time ago you started a podcast related to The Clone Wars, will there ever be new episodes?

"As far as continuity, I see The Clone Wars as being no different than the arrival of the prequels in 1999. We fans knew that those movies would be a representation of the true Star Wars universe as imagined by George Lucas, and in some cases, it would not perfectly match the stories told by Expanded Universe authors. So, we had to unlearn all we had learned about the Mon Calamari being discovered by the Empire, about Boba Fett being Jaster Mereel, and about the Republic having a standing military.

I think with each episode, we start to get a better understanding about what the real Star Wars universe is like."

Pablo Hidalgo 2010

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"There's this notion that everything changed when everything became Legends. And I can see why people think that. But, you know, having worked with George I can tell you that it was always very clear -- and he made it very clear -- that the films and the TV shows were the only things that he considered Canon. That was it.

"So everything else was a world of fun ideas, exciting characters, great possibilities, the EU was created to explore all those things. But from the filmmaking world I was brought into, the films and TV shows were it". ~ Dave Filoni speaking about working with George Lucas

This is the actual video of when Dave Filoni said the above quotes during an interview on 'The Star Wars show' [41.40 mark] https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hcNXPNXOv2A&t=16s

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"What George did with the films and The Clone Wars was pretty much *his universe ,” Chee said. “He didn’t really have that much concern for what we were doing in the books and games. So the Expanded Universe was very much separate." ~ Leland Chee, 2017 - SYFY WIRE

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“Lucas’ canon – and when I say ‘his canon’, I’m talking about what he was doing in the films and what he was doing in The Clone Wars – was hugely important. But what we were doing in the books really wasn’t on his radar.”

–Leland Chee, 2018

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Pablo Hidalgo on Lucas and the EU being separate Universes. https://i.redd.it/3fpbkocr43q01.png "He [Lucas] only considers his movies and TV projects as his universe, and told the Clone Wars writers to only worry about those."

[That really says it all.]

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“The most definitive canon of the Star Wars universe is encompassed by the feature films and television productions in which George Lucas is directly involved. The movies and the Clone Wars television series are what he and his handpicked writers reference when adding cinematic adventures to the Star Wars oeuvre. But Lucas allows for an Expanded Universe that exists parallel to the one he directly oversees. […] Though these [Expanded Universe] stories may get his stamp of approval, they don’t enter his canon unless they are depicted cinematically in one of his projects.”

-Pablo Hidalgo, Star Wars: The Essential Reader’s Companion, October 2nd, 2012

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"Canon is only what's on the screen. - Episodes I-VI, TCW and what's to come." Pablo Hidalgo, 2013 - https://ibb.co/S0fYM7q

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“Working on ‘Clone Wars,’ it was always canon.” ~ Dave Filoni

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[Orginal commentor] - "Some facebook site just posted a "Bring back GeorgeLucas" petition....wrong on so many levels. With Ep. lll & TCW he went out ona high."

[Pablo Hidalgo] "Why would he ever come back to these folks? All that love and goodwill from the internet.=]"

[Second commentator] - "I remember the EU fans in the early-mid 00's trashed George endlessly, and now they act like he's their savior."

[Pablo Hidalgo] - *"And yet we are following his model of regarding the EU vs. his canon. Weird."

[Second commentator] - "Well they get the false impression that George was a big EU fan and stood by it."

[Pablo Hidalgo] - "Where do they get this stuff? =] It's like his last 3 movies and six seasons of TCW didn't happen!"

https://ibb.co/Q9GXSbd

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Q: Hi Mr Chee! I’ve got a question about continuity – are all the various different media of Star Wars (the films, TCW, the video games, the EU) intended to form a single universe, or is the EU intended as a parallel, alternate universe (like, for example, the different continuities between the various Batman comics and films)? I realise that fans tend to each have their own personal preferences, but I was wondering what the official Lucasfilm company policy regarding this was? Many thanks!

"The dual universe question comes up often. I know George Lucas has mentioned it being two universes, but that’s not how I see it. His vision is definitely not beholden to ours, but ours is definitely beholden to his."

Leland Chee 2012

[Nabbed!!! He was still talking his 'singular universe' garbage the week before heh]

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“Star Wars continuity, even EU continuity, does not rest on my shoulders. Our licensees submit product directly to either our editors or our product development managers. The Holocron serves as a tool for them to check any issues regarding continuity, and after that, if the editors or developers have any questions, they pass it along to me to check for continuity. At the same time, I am constantly on the lookout to make sure that any new continuity being created gets entered in the Holocron. With regard to the the films and The Clone Wars, I am not involved in continuity approvals though I have often been asked to provide reference material.”

~ Leland Chee

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"..at the end of the day there is a difference between what you see in the Star Wars films and TV series and what you see in those books." ~ Dave Filoni 2012

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These are pretty much all about the Clone Wars series, and him working with Lucas on it.

DAVE FILONI: George Lucas's Origin of "Mandalore" https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4yCjKTHjE0I&t=270s

DAVE FILONI: Is Jango Fett A Mandalorian? https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fPw08Bimr0Y&t=80s

DAVE FILONI: Working with George Lucas on The Clone Wars https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qaq8jRVtfnQ

DAVE FILONI: Incorporating Mandalorians Into The Clone Wars https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=whHJc3jX2AE

DAVE FILONI: Learning Star Wars from Lucas https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zG_yLWLdDdQ

[This one is interesting, *if I remember it correctly* in this one he tells the story of how he and Henry Gilroy and Lucas were speaking and Lucas was telling them how things work and he told them that "He was teaching them how to make Star Wars for when he was gone".]

DAVE FILONI: Ahsoka vs Vader Duel Breakdown https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=196kd-UvGEM

DAVE FILONI: Growing Up With Star Wars https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xB0tMecj51s

Dave Filoni on Ashoka vs Vader and Midi-Chlorians - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rBKQfbN7Vaw

These are just some of them, there are alot more and even in ones where it doesn't specifically site Lucas in the title, he comes up in all of them at certain points and talks about working with Lucas on the Clone Wars, so if your interested in this subject, it really pays to listem to all of them, they're facisinating insights and you learn so much about so many things both in story and out of story, some really good stuff.

They're call ins for Rebel Force Radio, They interview Filoni constantly, theres a ton of of them on Youtube. This should get you started and than you can go from there on your own if you were interested and hearing more. Really good stuff.

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There’s a lot more, but I think this should serve as a good example of just how pervasive Lucas’ direct involvement in the Clone Wars series was.

Lucas loved it. He saw it exactly like the movies in terms of importance.

#LucasIsGod

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kendrixtermina · 6 years

Text

Typing Misadventures - IN edition

So, typing and the difficulties therein.

Aside from person-specific ad-hominems, some that have been elaborated upon in attempts to explain them on this very website.

Sensors: Bad Sensor descriptions written by NPs, combining with the fact that Sensors rely a lot on developing a practical experential “feel” for things. A bad, vague and overly abstract description that doesn’t relate to their life is gonna be not very useful. (especially for SFPs for whom what they relate to is srz bzness) - Interestingly I’ve seen a lot of Sensors saying that they easily indentify particular types once they have encountered them IRL. (Speculation: With intuitives it probably depends more on wether they have their definitrions straight.)

Ne-Doms: Type-hop and doubt their type alot because they know they always could be mistyped and possibilities are the primary facet of reality for them. The “creative” nature of the auxillary, and their auxillary being a function that generates and handles belief systems, means they can always reinterpret the evidence by redoing their reasoning or reassigning meaning, also the lack of Si leads to less constancy in their thinking, they change opinion easily, which is normally an asset, but not so much for self-typing as every input generates new ideas. (The auxillaries also have this but to a much lesser degree - b/c)

—

But today, I want to talk about INs (I know, boring - but those are what I know the most about since I am one.)

You may have seen me caveat my posts with “Unless I am actually an xNFP or something” as of late Yeah. It went about like this:

Troll: Haha you’re mistyped!

Me: Why?

Troll: because X.

Me: I have an alternate, more fitting explanation for X and a lot of things which my current typing explains betters especially when you get into the nuance of mbti theory.

Troll: (*hamfistedly applies overreductionistic function definition*) “Anyone who ever quotes a source ever is a Te user”. Just like anyone who ever mentions memory is a SJ amirite?

Troll: *shifts the topic to my person and then accuses me of talking about myself*

Me: *blocks troll largely to curttail own tendency to waste time & energy with internet arguments*

So at my best, I believe in not dismissing inconvenient PoVs and double-checking, and the main point of replying them was to leave an alternate opinion for future readers hence no point in continuing after that had been done.

At my worst damn inf Fe makes it hard to ignore input even if I don’t believe it’s justified (except when it fails to pick them up - as inferior functions are wont to be its either sluggish or AHH with little inbetween. ) and that lil 8 fix of mine doesn’t want to “stand down quietly”.

So I ask a few reasonable, knowledgeable, non-troll person, one of which said “Hm, could be, you anecdote alot which X type also does”

I believed this was better accounted for by simple ol’ Si and w4-self revealing tendencies, but, how could I know for sure? I never denied having a pronounced 4wing and fix, but I thought that sufficiently explaining their perceived discrepancies insofar as I found them consistent with reality and indeed all data collected so far. Too much would just be filed away as “inf Te” as a blanket term, the way any sign that [fan favorite character] is ST rather than INFJ is “inferior Se” though that supposed “inferior” is 80% of what she does and all moments claimed for F or N are the sort of situations where anyone would display emotion or philosophizing and what intuition they display is distinctly Ne instead.

Like the proverbial man who dreamt of being a frog I couldn’t cast the doubt from my mind and went over reinterpreting my thought patterns throughout the day. How do I know I’m NOT X type? After all my idea of and criteria for type are based on the definitions I extracted from various mbti sources when first familiarzing myself with the topic… how do I know I understood it correctly? How can ANY human correctly understand a definition if they have to deduce/reconstruct/guess what the other meant with their own flawed mind?

(At this point the non-INs in the audience might be rolling their eyes)

I still thought my type made the most sense but the person, through trolling in that particular instance, was not alltogether clueless and had some good insights, and also, some ppl agreed with them (theres that Fe again) - I was pretty sure I was in the holographic-panomramic thinking style but I could be wrong, thats a fairly rarely used concept which I simply started using cause I thought it made sense. ENFPs can mistake themselves for introverts. I have been mistaken for extrovert b/c of my lack of filter… but I was pretty sure I was a very pronouncedintrovert and had Fe, and so I went over it over and over again.

They said I didn’t comprehend _ i had some theory as to why they thought the way they did (not just bias against xNFPs but assuming all Ti is like aux Ti. After all, an introverted function as a dominant builds a framework and may be reluctant to accept or need time to withdraw when said framework clashes with reality to the point of needing a full revamping, purportedly resulting in a certain stubbornness particularly if it’s a Ji function. )

but what if I really Didn’t comprehend? Then all my reasoning would be worthless! I dont think I have the skills of an INFP, but what if i misunderstood those? Was a lot of what I’d attributed to Ti just Ne? i thought I had rather typical Ti speech patterns (it was hard to unsee, like my brain used a highly predictable parsing alghorithm to make thoughts into words) but they disagreed and pointed to what they thought was Fi.

I thought that despite all the differences introduced by shared preferences and there were differences between I and the Fi doms I knew. The 9 and the 6 were much more lowkey, non-confrontational than I and way more perceptive in line with how socionics describes Fi as the “Ethics of Relations” and how Nardi calls it an “Inner state of listening/reacting”; I mostly listen to the contents of someone’s words; I’d spot a liar by contradiction or unbeliavable statements, or by deducing what beliefs they are operating from. Feelers supposedly use primarily tone of voice... but I have sure noticed tone of voice a few times, and this is a qualia. I can’t compare what “Fi” or “Ti” feel like without making assumptions of which one I am using.

Supposedly

The 4! INFPs should be the most similar to me, on the other hand, they tend to have a certain...absoluteness in their beliefs and statements in a way I wouldn’t be comfortable with. I’m more hesitant, more relativizing, adding qualifiers etc so bI don’t say anything incorrect.

I don’t mean to bash the INFPs here, they are usually just processing their specific feels and do not mean to imply things about others. (Tumblr INFP: “I, an INFP, experience X.”. Tumblr xxFJ: “Are you saying that other types don’t????? You can’t say that! How self absorbed are you?” Immature Tert Fe User:*distantly feels the same urge toward ,moral condemnation as FJ,but couldn’t care less if INFP offends anyone - settles for calling them a snowflake instead. * TJs and Ti doms: *roll their eyes, half-assedly consider correcting whoever they disagree with but ultimately just keep scrolling*) Of course Team Fe sometimes has a point if the INFP in question is young and/or irresponsible.

Example:

One INFP 4w5: “I be those shallow fake bitches look down on you just because you don’t wear as much makeup. I don’t think anyone who wears makeup can be trusted, unless it’s like,halloween makeup or something like that, they’re just putting up fake faces to be popular.”

Me (let’s say, presumed INTP 5w4): “I dunno... Like I agree that those girls are shallow bitches,if they had spines, they wouldn’ perform arbitrary fake behavior just to be popular.* But not everyone is the same - maybe some people might just wear makeup because they like how it looks. The real problem is people being judged by arbitrary conventions on principle. What does is matter whether someone wears makeup or not? Its a made-up convention with no real reason. It’s none of anyone’s business.”

* for the record I have since realized that there’s nothing bad about wanting to be popular as long as yopu dont harm anyone, and that for some people its genuinely what they want. I was, like, 13. Common (w)4 pitfall I guess.

As you see both I and this middle school friend of mine are expressing 4-ish povs, but I used to think the difference in our reasoning highlighted some differences.

Granted this is more 5w4 vs 4w5 than necessarily Ti vs Fi, Could just be the 5′s general disconnect toward action and desire to “know more first”.

There are 5 INFPs. after all. Mostly sx 5s and as such differentiable from the relatively intense, dramatic sx 4 as long as you’re certain enough that they’re sx. Thinking about how to describe them. More second-guessing and ‘drifting’ than the 4 ones but like them in their analytical nature. A different kind of contemplative. Still reasons distinctlylike an INFP - See, One of them was religious, for example, and I’m pretty sure an INTP would have had more posts about why they were religious or not, though it’s one of the types most likely to be a non-believer, the religious ones tend to have a theological bent and talk about the perfection and incomprehensibility of god, how god is totally logical etc. (Thomas Acquinas is a famous example) - their faith will be an ordered self-consistent system. A bit like that example of copernikus assuming the orbits must be perfectly circular because natture as he understood it would tend toward the most “perfect” forms. I’m not religious and I could likewise talk about that at lenght.

Arguments that convinced me: “This is how these beliefs came from, not an actual god” and “If were made out of single celled organism who die all the time as shed skin cells, how would the rest of them dieing at once be different?” “Even if your religion is true that means many, if not all others are not. So at least all some must be myths. How is your “true” religion different from them?”

Arguments made by famous Te-Fi users: “Occams Razor.” “We can’t disprove a giant sucker on the back of Pluto either, but its no reason to suppose one.”“Belief in god hampers human development and creates dependent, slavish mentality”

That 5!INFP’s attitude toward their belief reminded me more of another Fi dom I know (albeit an ISFP). “Yeah, I know the common objections, but look, it’s what I believe. Don’t come into my house and be a jerk to me about it.” or “[Assholish behavior] is not actually in line with my religion. My religion, and this aspect of it, are actually about love/peace/duty/etc”

If, while conversing, you hit a hard disagreement, that is, an axiom that’s not up for debate, your Fi-dom friend may change the topic/agree to disagree/ “It’s just the way I feel”

[This could apply to other moral or ideological questions religion is just an example; This is not supposed to be about religion it’s just here to illustrate a perceived difference. . I’m not implying all INFPs have the same approach to religion or even have to be religious.]

Another conversation I remember having with them actually on the very subject of Fi vs Fe. IDK how we got to that topic but I mentioned something I initially thought was an enneagram thing (my memory is vague on the details) but I mentioned something like lowkey feeling guilty for receiving praise that I believe was undeserved.

She deemed it a Fe thing and said that for her, as a Fi dom/ fe opposing type, a bit of praise she did not agree with might not cause any reaction at all unless she thought they had a point or otherwise had a reaction from her end, like deciding the criticism was unfair - why should she feel guilty b/c of what someone else says?

Granted that’s just an anecdote, but what am I to do? INFP 5s are not super common. Also I’m not making this decisionbased on any single of these examples but... not even from the “preponderance” so much as to how they can be best explained.

And of course, if I really did get everything wrong after looking into the topic for years, what guarantee is there that I typed any of those people correctly? None, as one of the trolls/claimants correctly pointed out.

After all what I want is the truth, it doesn’t matter what it is. Or at least that is what I strive for as much as human frailty allows. so what if I’m an INFP? INFPs are awesome. I even considered the type early on, I just thougnt INTP fit better especially once I found out about inferior functions. And I have always held that a person has no obligation to follow their “talents”. If I don’t have a “talent” for reason (which isn’t the same as mbti thinking anyways) all the reasons why I believe that it is a good way of life to aim for would still stand. Reason is a method to correct for human error and bias, after all, the error and bias we all have, no matter what Ji function we use.

Type insofar as it can even be said to be a real thing is a classfication of emergent qualities, not a hard measure you can get in an instrument.

As much as I’d want to figure this out, there comes a point where you just have to like step back and put it in context. it’s just a personality test/ little tool to facilitate communication in which “maybe this or that” is more helpful than nothing.

Striving for it despite not being handed talent at birth is all the more worthwhile - and if reason was only for certain kinds of people what’s the point of it? Regardless of what tropes people associate with “science” or “logic”, what they actually are by definition are simple basic methods.

Last but not least there was a moment

Soo, existential crisis. At least they can’t doubt that I’m a melancholic or an oldham ideosyncraticXD

Then, my doubt crumbled away to the “ mostly sure, dont think it could be anything else but im not omnicient” levels at which it was before.

What happened? Well, a rare event:

Well, I went outside and talked to people.

I visited my folks, saw new places, got into a few unscripted situations in other words.

I’ve seen one post detailing that INs may mistype because they analyze themselves as a whole, feature in less apparent traits and second-guess their reasoning worrying about bias, noticing what sticks out more than the norm etc. and so on and that may be it in part but I don’t think it’s only this relatively “noble”, too-much-of-a-good-thing mistake.

- It’s a matter about how we are all about ~extrapolating~ from data and using multiple data points and less about decisiveness and practicality. We brood away endlessly trying to come up with interpretations and conceptualizations that makes all the data points fit rather than just going with what they themselves largely seem to suggest.

One good description I once heard is that Intuitives think in networks while Sensors think in puzzle pieces - I went overboard trying to build ever more complex networks instead of going “Yeah, with all the puzzle pieces so far it’s probably this.”.

Sometimes the latter approach can be incomplete and miss game changing interconnections - but just as often, the former gets convoluted and therefore, both uselessly vague and too far removed from the actual data its meant to interpret.

Aaaand, well, almost every sentence I said was “Did you know that...?” or “I think so/ don’t think so because of [observation followed by possible deduction].

Sure, I could be biased in my observation or unconsciously “doing it on purpose to appear a certain way” even if I don’t think I am or care about that, , but some critical mass of “doing it on purpose” would itself be equivalent with 5 (or a 3)

I was a little afraid one time; I reacted by withdrawing and looking at the whole thing as an observatrion and it was a highly temporary thing. And as much as I complain about Fe users playing police, I may have been guilty of one moment of overreacting, unwanted/socially-chiding “help” myself there. (The person perhaps justly called me a know-it-all. They were wrong about one thing but I may have handled it all more constructively) I repeatedly expressed vague undifferentiated preferrences that were closer to analyzing what factors were at work rather than having clear like/dislike reasons readily available. .

I critiqued a TV show (myself and the local INTJ annoying all the non-NTs with our loud, animated critiquing ) and a big factor to being unabvle to enjoy it fully was the lack of High-Concept abstract sci fi content and mostly the lack of consistency - normally a lot of my enjoyment would come from extrapolatinmg and deducing what the world is like and how it, the themes and charactzers “work”, but here I coulnd do that because it was tacked onto a ‘verse it did not fit into. I observed how said INTJ and I reacted to us correcting each other on small things with like a brief thanks or apology & just moving on whilst similar things had gotten annoyed snarks out of our otherwise patient Feeler sister...

The nails in the coffin were those 2 tumblr posts, one about differences in how Fi and low Fe argue (the latter pile including 3 phrases I used verbatim in the last discussion with my SO just hours earlier) and a post by the afore mentioned “resonable poster” about, as she called it “oversharing in soc variants vs soc blinds” though the correct amount of sharing might well be in the eye of the beholder.

But that was the one objection of the troll I didn’t have a non-vague satisfactory reply to, what rly kept me wondering rather than “eh not gonna reinvent the wheel again”, something about “sp/sx woldn’t have long descriptions or emo rants” Apparently they do when they never have to dea with the person again (such as on the internets. )

IDK I did move the description so no one’s forced to read it but lots of peeps have one (This is like... a blogging site??) but the reasons for its existence had more to do with “completionist urges related to then-current obsession (typology)” and “So I like X, bite me.” sort of sentiment than whatever it was they presuposed.

Dear Causal-Deterministic peeps (ENTP, INFP, ISTP, ESFP): Instances of the same behavior can be caused by different causes! Look at this: 2 4 8.

What’s the pattern? - Could be “powers of 4″. Could also be “even numbers” or even “any increasing integer”.

Of course this whole mess is an example of where we H-P folks (INTP, ENFP, ISFP, ESTP) look at everything from multiple angels/Povs, (”Is it like this? Is it lika that? It COULD be seen this other way...”) rather than, well, decide which ones are most relevant here/ “Pick one”. At least the SPs have Se to “just grab one” or whatever it is they do.

Whereas we just stand there speculating XD The ENFPs sorta do it too but in a whole different way/ area of life?

Me: “Either he is nuts or I am nuts because we can’t both be telling the truth!”

ENFP: “Well I empasize with both of you so I don’t think either of you is nuts?”

Me: Sorry but this is a real dichotomy here for once. If he dun nothing wrong, then I would be wrong for accusing him thus, just as he says..

ENFP: Can we all agree to disagree and chil maybe? plz??

Might also be why there`s this overlap between ENFPs and Universalists? Though obviously not all ENFPs are universalists and vice versa.

So yeah. Kinda comical in hindsight. I started out all second guess-ey and entertaining both possibilities in parallel but in the end, well, I do think it’s INTP after all, at least, I’d say its the most probable by a considerable margin. Most definitely 5 tho. For all the occasionall 4 ness its by far the most overwhelming tendency in day to day life/thinking ugh cant I NOT spew nerd facts about everything in sight. What are other conversaton topics?

Bottom Line: By thinking about your own thinking you alter your thinking, and that way lie 2nd order chaotic systems, the Uncertainty Principle and Goedel’s Theorem...

So going outside both threw me out of that recursion and added new, raw data as a means to test the competing hypotheses. It forced me to see what I actually act like by and large in a natural setting rather than the many ways I could interpret or read the way I act like, which like, is not actually all that mysterious lol

#mbti #intp

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my-dark-words · 7 years

Text

On Instinct

Finally, a 6th part of the ‘My Mistake‘ series for you. You might want to check the tags for content warnings on this one too. As always, I recommend starting at the beginning. And a special thanks to those of you that have likes, reblogged or commented on each chapter, I see you and you keep me going.

My Mistake

Unwanted Guest

Questions Part 1

Questions Part 2

Your Choice

And now, On Instinct...

The room was like something from my stress nightmares. Cluttered and grimy, piles of objects heaped on the benches around the walls, dirt and mud smeared on the cupboards below. I squinted as my attention focused. It wasn't all mud. There was one dark red handprint. I focused on something else. Another 'guest' waited, gagged and bound with his hands above his head, on a partially reclined chair. It looked like the sort of set up you'd expect at a dentist's, complete with the bright light above and trays of instruments on either side, except for the general filth and lack of green surgical linen. The room was at a crossroads, with one exit in the centre of each wall, though the other hallways were flooded with impenetrable darkness. I didn't recognise Dark's other guest, but that didn't mean much. He could have been any young man off the street, with black ear gauges and neon green hair. He was gagged with a strip of cloth, and the t-shirt he had been wearing had been cut from base to collar and folded either side, revealing a bare thorax and abdomen. I had a very bad feeling about this.

Dark stepped over to the other guest with a stiff gait. Standing beside another human, it suddenly became obvious just how strangely monochrome he was. His lack of colour extended to the rest of the room, washing out hues that should have been there and leaving my assumptions to see what I expected to see. Only the other guest remained untouched by this effect, flushed skin and green hair standing out like headlights on a midnight road. I wondered if the other guest was the only other real thing in this room. "When you refuse to make a choice, good doctor, there are consequences. You're already in the game, you don't get to not play." He practically spat the words, and laid his hand across something on one of the cluttered trays adjacent to the reclined chair. "What is it you humans are so fond of saying again?" he mused, tilting his head to one side as he waited for my reaction. "That evil succeeds when the good stand idly by?" He ripped the cloth gag out of the other guest's mouth. A torrid of angry, frantic curses filled the room, but I paid them little attention. My gaze focused on the instruments on the table under Dark's hand, a clutter of surgical steel. Some gleamed in the light, others were dulled from dirt, blood or use. Most I recognised, but some instruments had no obvious purpose to me. I wasn't sure that I wanted to know. "What are you going to do, my dear?" Dark growled, eyes widened briefly in anticipation. "What do you mean?" My voice wavered. "Are you going to save him?" he lifted a blade from the table, long and curved with no legitimate surgical purpose, "or let him die?" Suddenly he lunged forward, plunging the blade into the green haired guest's abdomen, curving up towards his heart. The guest stopped cursing, his words replaced with short, sharp gasps. "What the hell!" I shouted, finding my anger again as I rushed forward. Part of me didn't believe this had just happened, or that anything this night had happened, but the rest of me had snapped into surgeon mode. I was already thinking of every single thing that might have been damaged in that stab. "Go on doctor," mocked the monochrome man in the suit, "Make yourself useful." I pressed my hands to my patient's exposed abdomen, assessing the wound. It was deep, the curved blade entering beside the umbilicus and curving towards his head. It was definitely in the abdomen, the abdominal muscles had not been enough to stop it, but I had no way of knowing whether it had punctured the diaphragm, or anything in between. "Where's the anaesthetic?" I demanded, not shifting my gaze from the wound. It didn't change as I stared, unlike everything else in this world. This was real. "You don't get any," he sneered, "but you'll find whatever else you're looking for in my room, if I want you to find it." I looked up, glaring at him. "Just what twisted game is this?" I demanded. He grinned in response. "Mine. Oh, thank you for reminding me." He grabbed the knife in the guest's abdomen and twisted it towards him. The restrained man jerked and screamed. I lunged forward to grip the handle, trying to stabilise the blade and prevent any further damage. "Then get out of my way," I sneered, prying his hands off the knife. They were icy cold. He stepped back into the shadows of the room, smirking. My mind automatically leapt into work mode, writing mental checklists of all the organs that might be damaged: liver, stomach, spleen, intestine most likely, kidneys and major vessels less likely. Then all the steps I needed to take: intravenous access, oxygen, antibiotics, pain relief... But there wouldn't be any of that to be found, would there? Damn it! "Hey, listen," I said, turning my attention to the stabbed man's face, hoping the well practiced calm of my voice could provide a sliver of hope, "I know it doesn't look like it, but everything's going to be alright." "Damn straight it doesn't look like it!" he cried, "What the hell is going on?" Probably something like that, I thought to myself. "We're in a bad place, everything sucks, and as far as I can tell nobody is coming for us," I said, "but there's this knife in your belly, and I'm going to get it out and make sure you're okay." "Then just pull it already!" he hissed, hands tugging at the cuffs that restrained him. "I can't', I apologised, trying to keep my voice calm and collected. "If I pull the knife straight out of a blood vessel, it'll start bleeding worse and you'll die. I need to cut it out and deal with the damage as I go. I need you to trust me." "And why the hell should I do that?" He winced as he glanced at the knife in his abdomen. "Because I'm a doctor," I replied, tapping the stethoscope around my neck, "look, you see?" "Then why are you in an evening dress and why isn't this a hospital?" he insisted, glancing around at the mess of the room, "what kind of nightmare is this?" "I don't quite know, but tell me when you figure it out," I said with what I hoped was a reassuring smile. "What's your name, anyway?" "Uh... Jack," he muttered, looking back at the knife. "You aren't gonna let me die, are you?" "Of course not," I said, not dwelling on whether or not I had a choice. Dark lurked in a shadowy corner, standing unnaturally still as he watched. I scanned the trays beside me for what I needed. As detail developed I saw some of the tools I sought, though none of them were as clean as I would like, and no drapes, gloves or sterile prep were anywhere to be found. "It wont be infection that kills him, good doctor," Dark smirked from the shadows. "I can promise you that." I didn't know the rules of this world, but I had learned that doing nothing only made the situation worse. I grabbed a scalpel from the tray, fresh, sharp and gleaming. "I'm sorry, but this is going to hurt," I said to Jack, readying the scalpel above his skin. "Take a deep breath for me. Ready?" He nodded. I cut down through the skin from the base of his ribs to below his belly button, straight down the centre, parallel to the knife. There was a sharp intake of breath as the skin opened, revealing the tensed muscles beneath, blood already oozing around the stab wound. They muscle bodies weren't well defined, already crossed with old scar tissue in different directions. I paid this little thought, he must have had surgery before, though not like this. I grabbed forceps from the tray, glancing at my patient's face before the next incision. He was staring intently at my face, not my hands. I looked back at the surgical site, the last thing I needed to think about was the fact that this was a living, thinking person I was cutting into. I lifted the white ligament running down the centre of the abdomen, and cut through it. Jack screamed, but I suppressed the urge to jump. Ignoring the sound, I finished opening his belly. Blood pooled to the surface, far too much of it. "Stop! It hurts!" I ignored him, showing handfuls of swabs into the wound, trying to soak up the blood so I could see. I consoled myself by knowing that if my patient was making noises then at least they were still alive. I wished I had a second pair of hand, or better yet a nurse, to help me and stabilise the knife, but I knew there was no help for me here. This was some kind of test. I found retractors on the tray and placed them to open up the abdominal wall, ignoring Jack's pleading, telling myself it was for the best. I stared into his displayed abdominal contents, the curved blade plunged into the viscera, the welling blood, and froze. "What's wrong?" Jack asked frantically. I chanced a glance at his pained face, sweat beading on his forehead, trying to keep my own face expressionless. "Nothing," I lied, "except for the obvious. And I can handle a knife wound, no worries." I looked back into the open abdomen, wishing that were true. Everything looked profoundly wrong. Nothing was in the right place, the organs were barely recognisable. Slick, oily blood welled up between everything else, not just around the path of the knife. What had happened to make me so stupid? Why couldn't I perform now, when it was so important? I forced myself to calm down, to think logically. I'd seen countless abdomens before, I could figure this out, even if I was stressed and tired and god-knows-where. I reached for more swabs, but found none. Thee were stained rags in their place. I grabbed them instead, packing them around the viscera to soak up the blood, not worrying about sepsis. Anything to earn me more time and better visualisation of the wound. Dark snickered in the shadows. "Are you going to make yourself useful or just stand there and smirk?" I muttered at him. "No, that's what you wanted," Dark replied smugly. "Are you not enjoying yourself?" I pushed Jack's innards away from the blade, searching for the source of the bleeding. The intestines were pale, and the position of the liver was not quite right, its surface crossed with multiple scars. "Am I gonna be alright, doc?" Jack gasped. I flashed him a confident smile, I hadn't realised I'd been frowning. "Of course you are," I replied with as much confidence as I could find. "I'm scared," Jack whimpered. "You're a terrible liar, you know," Dark chuckled from the other side of the chair. "Just keep taking deep breaths for me," I said to Jack, feeling over his liver to check the diaphragm. It felt strange to have ungloved hands in an abdomen, but not as strange as everything else. I couldn't find the diaphragm, the sheet of muscle separating the chest and abdominal cavities, but I knew it must be there because Jack was still breathing. I had no idea what was wrong with me, or why I was so useless. This must have shown on my face. I slid the knife back along its path, applying pressure to everything it had touched. It slid smoothly through the flesh, but I still couldn't make sense of what was going on. I tossed it into a tray. "I'm gonna die!" Jack wailed at the roof. I said nothing to comfort him, I wasn't sure I could keep lying. I could feel my pulse in my forehead as a headache took hold, fear rising in my throat. Fear of failure, of incompetence, more than anything else. Keep it simple, I thought to myself, grabbing a segment of intestine, checking it for cuts and following it along to its beginning. "Do you understand yet, good doctor?" Dark asked, peering at my face over my whimpering patient. "More than I want to," I muttered distractedly. I followed the intestine back to where I started from. I must have made a mistake. "Yet you know so little. How useful can you really be?" Dark mocked. I took a deep breath. My hands were shaking. My patient was crying something- I'd stopped paying him attention. I focused on the intestine again, trying to shut everything out, but it was so difficult. There was more blood. The intestine was pale, the organ had no pulse. None of it did. "I thought you were a real doctor," Jack whined. My hands plunged down as deep as I could reach, searching the underside of the spine for the aorta, the one blood vessel that I could always rely on. I couldn't find it. I stared at Jack's face in confusion, hand pressed against his spine and no pulse to be found. Yet his colour was still normal, he was still alive and perfectly conscious. "What's wrong?" Jack asked, his voice wavering, "Am I gonna die?" I didn't want to answer. I didn't think I could. Nothing made sense. I slid my hand up over the liver, as far towards the head as I could reach. I expected to hit the muscular sheet of the diaphragm, inflating lung, or anything. I found nothing, my fingers now far under his ribcage. "Hey!" Jack squirmed, "That... that...tickles!" I withdrew in confusion, taking a step back. Jack chuckled. Dark smirked. Slowly, I took my stethoscope from around my neck and listened to Jack's chest. I heard nothing. "I told you, there are no beating hearts here," Dark smirked. I replaced my stethoscope around my neck. "What is this game?" Jack suddenly cackled, a high pitched, sharp noise with a hint of static. He pointed a finger, waving it under my nose. "You should see your face!" he laughed. "Weren't you handcuffed a moment ago?" I asked, my tired mind latching onto a stupid detail. The handcuffs lay empty, attached to the top of the chair. "Oops," he shrugged, "I forgot not to glitch through them." Dark sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Amateur," he muttered. "The name's Anti," the green haired being said, offering a hand. I hesitated, no longer certain what was real. As I stared the offered hand developed a slightly pixelated quality, as though I was looking at a gif and not flesh, even though I was reasonably certain that he was fleshy, at least everywhere else. I shook it, unsure how doing so could possibly make the situation any worse. "You're not alive?" I asked. "Not by your definition," Anti shrugged, "but I am here." He tried to sit up, but I instinctively pushed his chest back down before I realised what I was doing. Anger flashed across his face. "You can't just get up with your guts hanging all over the place," I said. He snickered, flashing a toothy grin. "Just watch me, doll." "Please, just let me close you up. You've clearly had..." I struggled to find the right words, "...amateurs... do this before." "Yeah, a total noob," Anti chuckled, leaning back in the chair and resting his hands behind his head. Dark rolled his eyes. "Well, since you can't maintain an illusion, mind our new 'doll'. I have a 'playroom' to establish." "Fine," Anti drawled as Dark walked away, "but would it hurt you to be creative for a change!" I searched the cluttered trays for a strong suture to close the abdominal muscles approximately as I'd found them. I removed the swabs and rags I'd packed the abdomen with. I didn't know if there would be any issue if I left one behind, but I'd be damned if I did a slack job now. Blood quickly filled the abdomen again, though I didn't know where from and no longer cared. "What's going on inside you anyway?" I asked nervously, "your organs don't make sense." I tied my first knot at one end of the incision and began closing. Anti shrugged. "Don't blame me. I don't know what they're supposed to look like. I ain't got any fancy book learning, I only see guts when I'm dragging them out of people. I did my best." The muscle layer closed, I searched the trays beside me for a surgical stapler. To my surprise I actually found one. Despite everything it was comforting to have something familiar. "This might hurt a bit," I apologised out of habit. Anti raised an eyebrow. "That's highly unlikely, doll." I said nothing, working on autopilot to close the skin with an even, regular pattern of steel staples. At least there were some things I could still do, even when exhausted "You're tidier that most," Anti remarked as I worked, "Neater than old Doom and Gloom anyway." "Thanks?" I replied uncertainly, "What does he want with me anyway?" Anti giggled, "You'll find out. They always do." He sat up when I finished closing the skin and stepped away. "Neat!" he remarked, running a finger down the evenly spaced metal. "Don't pick at it or it wont heal," I said, out of habit again. Anti smirked and made sure I was watching as he ran a finger over his wound, the skin healing rapidly under his touch. "You could do that the whole time?" I said, a pit in my stomach. The skills I'd spent my life acquiring were meaningless here. "Yeah," Anti nodded merrily, "But I wanted to see what you would do." "Uh, do you want me to take those staples out then?" I asked. "Nah. I like 'em. They're neat." He stood up and I backed away a few steps. I was so exhausted I couldn't do anything else. "You know, we should do this again some time, but swap positions," he said, gesturing to the chair behind him, "After all, you got to see mine. I get to see yours." "I'll pass," I said quickly, stepping into the middle of the room. "It wasn't a suggestion." The four hallways branched on different directions. One Dark had brought me through, one he'd disappeared down to set up a 'playroom', whatever that meant, and two unknown. The hallways were all pitch black, but I could hear the click of his shoes on concrete ss he returned. "You, uh, might want to run, doll," Anti whispered, walking around me in slow circles. "Most do." I simply didn't have the energy. I was spent. "I can't run," I sighed, "I've nowhere to run to." "Sure you do," Anti smiled beside me, gesturing down the hallway Dark had brought me through in the first place. A little spark of hope dared to show itself. "Will that work?" I wondered. Anti shrugged in my peripheral vision. "Are you gonna hate yourself forever if you don't find out." I was frozen in place, my limbs heavy with exhaustion and my mind numb. I could hear Dark returning, and I just wanted everything to be over. Anti's nails trailed down my neck and across my shoulder. I felt his breath on my neck. "I'm gonna do you a favour, doll," he whispered behind me. Energy started to trickle through my nerves. "R̢̀̽U̮̞̮̱̟̳͇͑͂̑N̝̪̩̯̮̚."

I ran.

#darkiplier #antisepticeye #devil #horror #3300 words #trigger warnings #surgery #blood #body horror #I love the people who are enjoying this story

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subject-a0 · 7 years

Text

Thursdays [Part 1]

Covers

Thomas Brodie-Sangster x Reader

ALL | Next >

A/N: I’ve been feeling very… strange lately. I don’t really know how to explain it - like empty, kind of sad, okay at the same time? But anyway, that’s not important. I haven’t written in forever and I am severely inspired by Thomas Brodie Sangster’s new photographs from the Boys By Girls Magazine so here’s a little dabble, it was supposed to be a one shot but i’m getting tired and it felt right to end it where it did for now but I’m hoping to continue it (I’m scared that i wont find the time though huhu) Oh, and for the purposes of this I’m just going to ignore that TBS is filming the Death Cure at the moment lol, I hope I’m not too rusty on writing lol and more so, I hope you enjoy !!

The smell of new magazines were never really your favourite. It was this strong, almost rusty smell that punched you right in the nostrils when you pull back the plastic it had been encased in. Sure, when it was just one new magazine it was okay but the girth of the amount of glossy papers you had in your hands counted in a pile of eight. The stench was far from pleasant and this was what? The fifth bundle of new magazines you were placing in the cafe?

A sigh escapes you as you gathered the magazines and tapped their bases on the table to fix them properly before placing them face up on the table. The magazine at the very top of the pile had a masthead that read “Boys By Girls” with a photograph of a dashing young man with long chestnut hair slicked back, alluring dark eyes, toned arms peeking out from a black sleeveless top that was accented with red, and a crooked almost-smile on his lips.

“Ah? Finally fancy one of us English folk?” an accented voice teased as it passed behind you.

You straightened up immediately, eyes wide as they found your always teasing coworker who you were happy to call as not only your new best friend but also your flat mate. “I was just admiring the layout!” you defended as you followed her towards the front of the cafe.

Katie, your friend, rolled her blue eyes as she began tying up her blonde into a high ponytail. “Sure, love.”

“No, really!” you started as you put on your apron, “ Simple. Clean. Great choice of font.”

She nodded at you excessively which obviously meant she wasn’t buying it, “You know, you’ve been here for what, three months now? I know your a scholarship university nerd but don’t you think it’s about time you had a little fun and get yourself out there?”

You opened your mouth to defend yourself but Katie knew better to even give you the chance to respond, “And do not bloody dare give me the ‘I need more time to settle’ excuse. You already know your way around town without me, you’ve got rent and taking care of the flat in your routine, you’re killing it at university, you’re even better than me at this stupid cafe job and I’m the one actually working here - you’re only part time! Plus, you still get enough sleep. I don’t know how you do it but trust me, you have definitely settled in very well, Little Miss I’m-From-Abroad.”

“Okay, fine, I’ve settled.” you agree with a scoff as you move to take your place at the cashier in the cafe. “But I’m no hopeless romantic like you. Just because I may have stared at a stunning human being on the front of a magazine for a little over 2 seconds-“

“Oh you were staring for much longer, love.”

“Okay, well, for however long,” you exasperate, “It doesn’t stand for a signal to get myself out there. I just admire his appearance, I don’t have to do anything more than that.”

Katie rolls her eyes once more as she moves to the front entrance of the cafe, flipping the sign from ‘closed’ to ‘open’. “Suit yourself, Y/N, but the moment you turn into a fellow hopeless romantic like me I have the right to say I told you so.” she says with a smirk and a hand on her hip.

A laugh falls from your lips, “Alright, alright. I bestow you that right.”

Your friend beams, skipping to the cashier next to you. “Besides, you should choose a much more attainable English fella to chase after. That was Thomas Brodie-Sangster on that cover. You know that actor from Love, Actually and those Maze Runner films?”

“Oh!” you gasp, “No wonder he looks so familiar! He’s the one that looks like half his age in his films right?”

“That’s the one.” Katie says with a firm nod. “He is a looker though. I’ve never seen him in person but I have some friends who kind of know him. He’s a hard worker, loves bikes and spends most of his time with his family is all I know. He’s a really private person.”

You raised your eyebrows at the statement, “Hm, my kind of man. Low key, hard working, charming.”

Katie rolls her eyes at you yet again, “Aim low, Y/N. Aim low. You just got here don’t go thinking you’re gonna snag a hotshot like Thomas Brodie-Sangster just cause you moved to London 3 months ago.”

You laugh, “Trust me, it’s never going to happen.”

Katie laughs with you as the first few customers start to roll into the cafe. It was a Thursday morning, a day when you had no classes at university which was the perfect time to spend a whole day at your part time job serving coffee and pastries to cramming students, business men and women, professors during lunch break, hopeful romantics unlike Katie and everyone in between.

It was a decent job even if it was just part time. It got you the funds for rent, university - which was barely any since you were a scholar - and a tiny bit to spend but all you’ve been doing is saving it. Hm, perhaps Katie was right that you didn’t exactly do anything other than university, school and taking care of the flat. Maybe it was time to get yourself out there - not necessarily for the dating scene, but, maybe head out to a pub one night with your flatmate and her friends.

You shrugged at that thought after you served the third customer. “Those thoughts are not for today.” you thought as you remembered that you had some school work to go over during your break later.

You took a breath and smiled at the next customer, “Hi, I’m Y/N, what can I get you today?”

——————————

By the time you were nose in three different text books, hand scribbling messy notes into a notebook and eyes darting from printed text to the screen of your charging laptop the cafe was buzzing with all sorts of people and chatter. It was lunch break for you and Katie, with your friend deciding to eat out as usual. It was common for you to join her but again, you had other priorities.

You sat at one of the tables at the very back of the cafe, making sure to let Stephanie - a fellow part timer taking the lunch and afternoon shift on Thursdays - kick you out of the table if necessary, like when a customer had no where to sit.

You lightly hummed the song that cooed into your ears through your headset to block the busy lunch break chatter. “Just need to write a conclusion and format my references.” you think to yourself rather proudly, realising it had only been about an hour since you started your paper.

“Excuse me, is it alright if I sit here?”

You barely heard the soothing English voice - you swore British accents were something you would get used to but everyone just sounded so wonderful no matter what - over your music, but you already had the assumption that once you were talked to you had to boot out of the table.

Without looking up, you began to pull out your headset and closing the text books and your laptop quickly, “Sorry for the inconvenience, here’s you’re table. Is there anything that I can help y-“

“Oh, no, no please. It’s alright. I’m alone, please take your time packing up. You have quite a lot of stuff.” the man said politely as he set down his tray with a cup of coffee, a sandwich and a pocket book on the little space of the table you didn’t occupy.

You looked up then and your breath hitched with your eyes growing wide as they met with the polite man in front of you who smiled at you warmly. You felt your mouth part slightly but quickly caught it. There, standing in front of you, was the same dashing young man with long chestnut hair slicked back, alluring dark eyes, and crooked smile from the magazine cover that morning. The actor. What was his name? Thomas?

“Th-thank you.” you stutter, not really knowing what else to say as you mindlessly continued to pack up your things while staring at him. How in the world was this happening? You were literally just talking about this stunning human being - a celebrity at that - with your best friend and just like some ridiculous movie Katie probably sobbed at, there he was in front of you.

“Do you want any help with that?” he asks, motioning towards you.

“Oh! No, it’s fine, I don’t want to trouble you any further.” you say quickly, finally ripping your eyes off of him and piling the textbooks you had into a stack and closing your notebook then adding that to the pile.

He chuckled a bit, having already moved to pull out your laptop charger from the socket on the wall. “Please, you’re no trouble at all,” he started when he walked to step in front of you while transferring the hot charger from one hand to the next as his eyes scanned the little nameplate on your chest, “Y/N.”

You blushed either at the way he said your name or how kind he was for getting your charger for you. Either way you hoped he didn’t notice. Why on earth were you not born to have the social skills to interact with aesthetically pleasing human beings? You nodded and looked away as you muttered a squeak of a thank you and got the charger form him.

Your eyes landed on the cover of the magazine that he graced. Trying not to be as awkward as you already were, you attempted to spark a conversation. “Th-that’s you, isn’t it? Uh, Thomas…” you pipe, pointing at the magazine by the corner and not finishing his name since you couldn’t exactly remember it.

Thomas’s eyes followed to where you pointed and then it was his turn to look away. With a deep sigh, his lips form a straight line before admitting, “Uh, yeah, that would be me.”

Hearing him sigh made you want to slap yourself in the face. You just made this a thousand times worse. It astounded you how terrible you were at this. “I’m sorry, that must be so awkward for you. I’m so sorry.” you say quickly, wishing so much that you could just disappear.

Thomas chuckled and opened his mouth to respond but quickly shut it as he pulled a confused but expression and watched you quickly move to the stack of magazines. A smile couldn’t help but creep onto his face as he asked, “What are you doing?”

You quickly grabbed the Boys By Girls magazine at the top of the pile and then switched it to pile in the middle rather than sit on top, not once stopping in momentum of how quick you were and quick to embarrass yourself were. “I’m switching the magazines so you don’t have to be embarrassed or find yourself in this awkward situation. I can switch out ever pile in the shop - sorry, we just put the new ones on top.”

The boy laughed this time and it almost put a smile to your lips but you quickly looked up at him with a worried expression instead, “Unless of course you do want them on top? Then, I can definitely arrange for that.” you say hastily, and bend down once more to re-rearrange the magazines.

Thomas gently puts a hand to your arm before you can actually switch it up once more, “It’s alright. There is no need for that.” he starts then send you another one of those to-die-for crooked smiles, “Thank you though, I really appreciate your concern.”

You retreat your arm from his touch slowly, reaching to scratch the back of your neck as you stood up, and smiled nervously, “All part of the job, sir.”

He smiles, “I can’t imagine all the baristas and personnel to be as kind as you. So thank you, really.”

You laugh awkwardly, feeling your cheeks heat up as you drop your arms to your sides and grip at the fabric of your jeans tightly. You avert your eyes for a moment and suddenly remembered that all your stuff still occupied most of his table. “Oh, I should go. I don’t want to keep you from your book and hog your space on the table.”

Thomas only chuckled, “It’s fine, no worries. Are you sure you don’t need help?”

“I’m alright, really, thank you.” you smile at him and he nods, takes his seat and watches as you begin to pile everything into a stack. You could feel his eyes on you and you prayed in your head that you wouldn’t topple over by the time you were going to carry this out. You have been luging around this much stuff for about 3 months now - this was definitely not the time to suddenly become clumsy.

“So I assume with all that stuff you’re studying uni and work part time here?” he suddenly says.

You were already coiling your headset wire to place on top of your laptop that sat on top of your notebook that sat on top of the three stacked text books. “Yeah,” you smile, not really knowing why he was still talking to you or why you were so willing to open up so quickly, “just moved in 3 months ago actually, I’m not from around here.”

He nods, leaning back on his chair and taking a sip from his coffee. He looked like a perfectly composited painting despite doing something as mundane as sipping a cup of joe. How was this guy even real? “That explains the accent.”

Your eyebrows scrunched up as you set the headset down, “What accent?”

Thomas only laughed and you found yourself laughing with him, “That’s really cool though, You’ve just moved here, got into university and already work a job after class?”

“I’m just really lucky, I guess, and I like to work. I know that’s weird,” you giggle, “but yeah, I work here as often as I can after class during the weekdays but I do have whole day shifts on Thursdays.”

He nods respectfully then his eyebrows furrow as if suddenly remembering something, ”Oh, were you done with what you were writing by the way?”

“Not really,” you admit as you piled the rest of your stuff: a pencil case and phone.

He frowned, “If you need the time to finish it, please do use the table. I’m alone and just reading a book, I wouldn’t mind the company.”

You clenched your jaw to try and stop your cheeks from blushing, “Oh, my break is ending in a bit actually so it’s fine I should have packed up earlier actually.” you laugh, “Thank you so much for the offer though, that’s very sweet of you.”

Thomas looks away for a second, a small smile forming on his lips before he looks back up at you, “You’re very welcome.”

“Well, I’ll be off, do enjoy your meal and book. I really like that one by the way, The Unbearable Lightness of Being.” you say, nodding towards the pocket book on his tray before picking up all your stuff. “If you need anything, I’m just at the counter. It was an honour meeting you, uh, Thomas.”

He smiles down at the book that you recognised as his fingers brush against the cover of it before looking back up at you, “The pleasure was mine, Y/N.”

You smile one more time, again hoping that he didn’t see the blush forming at your heated cheeks and quickly walked away with a small sigh of relief escaping you as you reached the back room of the cafe where you keep all your stuff, thankful that you hadn’t embarrassed yourself any further by falling or anything.

You set your stuff down and sat down at a small stool with a huff, burying your head in your hands. How on earth was this even happening. You just had a very, very pleasant conversation with Thomas Brodie-Sangster. A celebrity whose cover photo for a magazine you were literally ogling at just moments ago before opening the cafe. It felt like you were suddenly thrust into this fantasy dream world as if moving to England for your education wasn’t enough of a dream come true.

You took in deep and slow breaths, still not really letting the reality of the situation sink in. He was so sweet and charming and hella good looking. Now, you didn’t want to end up like a hopeless romantic like Katie and earn that ‘I told you so’ from her so soon but you couldn’t help it as you remembered that crooked smile that looked so much better in person. It really felt like he was being extra nice to you and even taking the time to know you and heck, he said he didn’t mind having you as company. What was this weird, squelching feeling rising in your stomach the more you thought about him? You wanted to blame it on the fact that you haven’t eaten much during the day but you knew that the real culprit was the beautiful human you had just met earlier.

But hey, it might have just been him being nice and polite. Maybe he was like that with everyone else? He was a celebrity, he had an image to uphold and maybe he was also raised incredibly well by his parents? Maybe it was just a mix of wonderful circumstances that made him an extra polite and sweet person to everyone. If someone were a special snowflake in this situation, it would be him not you.

“But then again…” you grunted at the thought, stomping your feet on the concrete floor once. Why were you even welcoming these thoughts? Just a moment ago all you could think about was your research paper - that by the way, wasn’t even finished yet. Well, okay, it was mostly finished. But Thomas Brodie-Sangster was still sitting out there and the not-so-awkward-kind-of-courageous-self in you said that the only way to find out was to chat with him again or stand in the counter and pray that he talked to you again.

Wow. You were starting to sound as desperate as Katie. Your eyes darted around the room, she wasn’t back from her break yet - where was she when you needed her? You groaned and slumped back into the wall.

You know what? Standing at the counter wasn’t a bad idea. Whether or not you met Thomas or if he was going to talk to you, you had to be out there for work anyway in a couple minutes. If he talked to you then - hooray! For some odd reason, these things were happening to you! Or you know, he needed a refill for his coffee or something. And if he didn’t talk to you - then at least you knew the forces of the universe weren’t going haywire.

You nodded at yourself and stood to your feet, quickly grabbing the apron and putting it on. You were definitely just over thinking this. All you had to do was do your job and whatever happened and will or won’t happen with the dashing and incredibly sweet man that was Thomas Brodie-Sangster will run its course.

You stood by the door for a moment, a certainly unnecessary wave of nerves flooding your system before you took a deep breath and stepped out.

#tbs imagine #thomas brodie-sangster #thomas brodie sangster #imagine #tmr cast imagine #thomas brodie-sangster imagine #tbs fanfic #tbs fic #tbs x reader #newt #tmr #tbs #thomas brodie-sangster x reader #thomas brodie sangster x reader #coffeeshop au #thursdays

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shipping-goggles · 7 years

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“The Laws of Attraction” | Once Upon a Time

Title: The Laws of Attraction Fandom: Once Upon a Time Rating: M Genre: Romance Words: 6,748 Completed: 01/17/2017 Summary: Modern!AU Captain Swan. There’s the prospect of finishing his celebratory rum in the peace and quiet afforded to him by this blissfully empty bar. And then there’s the blonde perched atop the stool three seats down, nibbling on a pretzel like she’s either forgotten she’s still eating it or a million miles away. Prequel to Guilty, Your Honor.

Written as part of @csjanuaryjoy, with gratitude to @katie-dub for inviting me to this wonderful fic event in the first place! A few people mentioned how much they’d miss the GYH universe when that story came to a close, and I know there was some question about whether we’d ever see Killian’s POV -- and so, this prequel was born ;)

However, you do not need to have read GYH to read this fic, and vice versa. If you do have any interest in reading both, though, my suggestion is to start with GYH, because of... spoilers. Hope you like! <3

On AO3 here | On FF.net here | On Tumblr under "Read More"

The Laws of Attraction

There’s the prospect of finishing his celebratory rum in the peace and quiet afforded to him by this blissfully empty bar. And then there’s the blonde perched atop the stool three seats down, nibbling on a pretzel like she’s either forgotten she’s still eating it or a million miles away.

He hadn’t even noticed when she’d walked in – which is a damn near shame, in his opinion, because he’s certain it isn’t the fit of her jeans giving him the impression of long, shapely legs, even when they’re crammed under the counter. But he’s not in the habit of openly ogling strangers, especially when they’re wont to share a common space with him for any length of time, so that’s just about the only thing he can process about her when he looks up, startled by the noise of her dragging the bowl of stale pretzels closer to her end of the bar.

Well, that and a tussle of long blond curls. And eyes so sharp he’s almost glad they hadn’t met his head-on, or he suspects he might have had an even more difficult time getting that sip of rum down the hatch.

Really, he has no business dealing with pretty strangers at all tonight, or, indeed, feeling relieved that he’d left work wearing his best suit. Going out in honor of a hard-won case has become a rare indulgence in the months since Storybrooke made him partner, and while there’s something to be said about David’s easy companionship or Ruby’s high energy that makes social drinking a consistent source of entertainment, he’s not one to pass up an opportunity for quiet solitude, either.

(It’s a familiar comfort – one he’s never quite gotten out of his system from the days when it’d been the only option. And, luckily for him, the city has at least this one particular bar that’s reliably deserted on any given night in the middle of the week.)

So it’s inconvenient, then, that he keeps finding his gaze straying over to the only other occupant at the counter, although he really should be trying harder to stop himself. Black leather, bare collarbones tucked under a neckline bent askew. Loose shirt dipping just low enough for a hint of pale cleavage.

He swears she’s been chewing on that same pretzel since she stole the entire dish for herself.

“You know they refill them.”

She starts, blinking over at him like she’s unsure whether he’s speaking to her, and he’s glad that the relative silence of the bar makes his voice a little more penetrable to her apparent faraway daze. Sure enough, it feels like she’s pinned him to his seat the moment her eyes regain focus and meet his – and then flicker downward so quickly, he may not have noticed it had their suspicion not mellowed as he suspects she registers his distance.

Still, they remain narrowed, and he’s about to pronounce it a lost cause until the line of her pink lips tilts at the corners.

“I’m aware,” she says, and she pops the entire pretzel into her mouth with a relish that has a flicker of heat tingling the back of his neck. In retrospect, maybe that wasn’t the best opener, even if she’d somehow understood what he’d meant in the first place.

“Apologies, love.” He tries a small smile. “Far be it from me to assume any lack of experience on your part.”

She only stares at him for a second, giving him the distinct feeling that he’s been placed on the stand, before she tilts her head. “Something tells me you’re usually pretty thorough. In your assumptions,” she adds on quickly, which has him going from delighted at where her mind seems to be straying (if her disconcerted expression is anything to go by), to inordinately disappointed that she’s only just met him and her opinion is already just as far down in the gutter.

“Darling, if I wanted to assume anything of anyone tonight, don’t you think I’d be better off trying my luck elsewhere?”

She seems to glance over his shoulder at the only other patron of the bar, who had been napping in a booth last he checked. “I’m not sure if I should be insulted,” she says, like she’s asking him a question.

“Do you want to be?”

Her mouth opens with what is probably an astute retort, but then, just as quickly, it snaps shut. He thinks he should be pleased at her hesitation, her lips pressing together like she’s trying not to concede defeat with any sign of amusement – but by the way the green dances in her eyes, he has to say she’s not doing a very good job.

“With lines like those,” she says at last, “am I really supposed to believe you’re not trying to get lucky right now?”

Her accusing tone aside, it feels like she’s just paid him the slightest bit of praise. “Actually,” he says lightly, “I believe I already have.”

“Is that right?”

“You’re still talking to me, aren’t you?”

At this, she actually laughs – and he’s a lost cause faster than the sound can ripple through him, leaping in time with his heartbeat. “If you’re this bad with alcohol,” she says with a shake of her head, “I’d hate to see you when you’re sober.”

“It’s just the one, love,” he tells her in a valiant attempt to seem serious, nudging the glass in front of him with the lift of a single brow. “It’s a weeknight, and it’s late. What sort of man do you take me for?”

“Apparently the sort that likes to flirt before even giving out his name.”

He grins. “Killian. Jones.”

“Emma,” she replies, and she reaches over the stools between them to slide her hand into his. It’s slight but warm, filling his palm with a tingle he doesn’t think has anything to do with the heat, and it feels like she pulls away a little too quickly and much too soon. Her eyes dart down to the empty seats. He has just enough time to wonder if she’s thinking, just as he is, of making an effort to continue this conversation without shouting over across half the length of the bar, before she’s speaking again. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who drinks a single glass of straight rum for fun, though.”

The way she wrinkles her nose is probably a lot more endearing than it should be. “I’ve never met anyone who goes to a bar and eats pretzels for fun, either.”

“Are you offering to buy me a drink?” she snorts.

“I would,” he admits, eyeing her soda deliberately, “if I didn’t think the way into your heart wasn’t necessarily through the most expensive wine on the menu.”

“Are you sure it isn’t because you’re afraid you’ll look bad if I outdrink you?”

“If I didn’t know any better, love, I’d say it sounds like you’re suggesting something highly improper, under the circumstances.”

Her pretty mouth twists. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you look like the kind of guy who doesn’t know the meaning of the word improper.”

“I have no idea what you mean, love,” he tells her – and, well, he’s neither oblivious nor an idiot. He leans in, smiles widely in the way he knows will coax her eyes downward if he does it just right.

It does. She licks her lips, though he’s too distracted to even begin to wonder whether or not she’s doing it on purpose.

“It isn’t improper if I can handle more than one drink late on a weeknight,” she finally says, and he can’t even be properly affronted at how precisely her pointed grin hits home. She clears her throat to get the attention of the short bartender, who has thankfully (whether consciously or not) been giving them what little privacy he can offer by lounging on his phone at the end of the counter, orders a glass of red that she very specifically adds to her own tab.

“I hope,” he props an elbow on the counter when she turns to face him fully, the challenge glinting in her eyes like a bloody siren’s call, “this decision will still feel like a good one come daylight hours, love.”

She hums, and the sound travels southward faster than he can take in a breath. “As a matter of fact, I’m getting the feeling it just might.”

And, well, she’s delightful, this Emma – and he doesn’t even know her last name. He doesn’t know a single thing about her, actually, because how they manage to talk without touching on a single significant personal detail is beyond his capacity for rational thought, especially as he comes to terms with what he does know.

That she’s piercing in more than just her gaze, quick-tongued and thornier than she looks. That, somehow, it’s still the easiest thing in the world to quip back the first words that come to mind, time and time again, until he’s forgotten all his good sense but for the sight of her biting the inside of her cheek, trying not to smile. That when she does, he feels as though he may have just been punched in the gut; that it’s even worse when she laughs harder than she probably means to at his awful impression of her attitude (Come on, is that really what Americans sound like to you? He’d snorted, suppressing his triumphant elation. Perhaps you could give me a different phrase to mimic, then. Something like: yes, I’d love to let you buy me another drink?).

That, despite it all, she still doesn’t trust him as far as she can throw him, which is why, he understands, they’re speaking like this in the first place. No strings; no mess. She may have finally taken the bar stool next to him, no excuse or explanation for why she’d switched sides on her way back from the restroom, but she’d also downed the refill he’d ended up purchasing after all before she left, so it shouldn’t exactly come to a surprise to him that this is all in good fun and nothing else

(It shouldn’t be making him this wistful, either, for something he doesn’t want to name – and yet, for all the good fun he’s had in the time since he left his heart behind in England, the name comes to mind much more quickly than he’d expect.)

He’d barely started his first glass of rum when she’d commandeered the bowl of bar pretzels right along with his attention (and also, maybe, the beginnings of something else). He’s halfway through his second by the time she touches him in a way far removed from a friendly handshake in greeting – though, it isn’t anything scandalous at all, how her knee knocks against his as she shifts in her seat, for the third time in as many minutes. It might just be the restless flutter of alcohol talking, or maybe the lights have gotten dimmer since he last noticed, but he swears that glow on the fair skin of her cheeks hadn’t been there before.

He’s even more certain that the way she’s watching him now, up through her lashes with the faintest trace of coyness marking her full, pink mouth, is a pretty new thing, too.

“You know,” he says in a low voice, one that requires her to lean in to hear him (or so it would seem), “I’m aware we’re hard-pressed for space here, but one might think you had suddenly acquired a penchant for clumsiness.”

The sleepy booth-dweller aside, Misthaven has gained but three new patrons in the time since she arrived: a middle-aged man minding his own business at the end of the counter, and two older women exchanging excited stories at a table by the front. Emma’s smile is one of slow seduction as she shifts even closer, perched on the edge of her stool, and presses her leg against the inside of his thigh, clearly not an accident at all.

“Sorry,” she murmurs, eyes gleaming darkly up at him, even as her warmth continues seeping into and up the seam of his trousers until they start feeling just a tad too tight. He works down a swallow but doesn’t dare break her gaze. The moment he so much as glances downward, he knows, is the moment he’ll lose to the flighty snare of temptation.

“You shouldn’t be.” One hand wrapped around the edge of the bar under his elbow, he delights in the quiet hitch of her breath as he ducks in even nearer, catches the sweet aroma of mixed perfume and wine on his tongue. “There are quite a few ways I imagine you might be able to make it up to me instead.”

And it’s just because he’s determined not to let his eyes stray that he notices when her own green stare flickers to his mouth; lingers for one long, agonizing second; flits back up, its hard focus wavering.

That’s the only reason he has enough time to suck in a quick breath before she seems to square her shoulders, crumples the front of his shirt in her fist, and hauls him forward to press her soft lips to his.

She’s warm, firm but gentle, and he doesn’t need the velvet coaxing of her mouth to respond in kind, even as his mind goes completely blank but for what it takes to feel. The way she shivers under his touch as his fingers brush her jaw, holding her in place. Her sigh at the smooth slide of his tongue against hers, and how her lips part to let him taste her properly, thoroughly, drawing him into the kiss like he’s ready to drown. She responds with an eager hunger that jolts through every nerve ending in his body, throbs a dull, frantic staccato through his veins until his blood feels saturated with the heat of her, until his muscles tense with a base desire born distinctly below the belt.

Her mouth is bliss, and he wastes no time in drinking her up – catching her top lip with both of his, dragging a ruined noise out of her mouth, and, regretfully, breaking the kiss altogether.

Bloody hell.

A shudder jolts down his spine at the abrupt loss of contact, and then at the warm brush of her labored breathing, quiet pants in time with the pounding of his heart. When he opens his eyes, she’s already considering him, her gaze clouded not with inattention, now, but for a very different reason. It feels like the same one that prickles with wanting just beneath his skin.

“Take me home?” Her whisper is a delicate sound that raises gooseflesh across his skin. He realizes, belatedly, that she’s neglected to let go of his collar, both hands buried in his shirt now, and that he’s got his free one halfway up the length of her thigh without even having remembered moving in the first place.

He also realizes: he has absolutely no intention of letting go.

“Lucky indeed,” he murmurs, and a weak laugh escapes her as she pries her fingers from his tie, wraps them around his to drag him right off of his stool.

(Unless he’s mistaken, it doesn’t seem like she’s quite ready to let go, either.)

For the second time tonight, his grip fumbles, and he nearly drops his keys. The breathy chuckle in his ear is just one reason why.

“What were the words you used?” she murmurs. She has but a single hand light on his hip, but the heat of it burrows through his suit jacket all the same. “Penchant for clumsiness?”

To his relief, the key finally slides home. “If it’s a demonstration of dexterity you’d like, darling,” he twists the door open for her, cocking an eyebrow as she passes him with a grin, “I’d be more than happy to comply.”

“That seems like it could be pretty fun for the both of us,” she admits. “I think—” The rest of her response is cut off the moment she crosses the threshold of his apartment, which, in his book, is more than enough in the interest of public decency. Before the door has even swung fully shut behind him, he’s fitting his hands against the curve of her jaw and pinning her back against the wall, mouth on hers like it’s becoming a fast addiction. Her head falls back, and the delicious sound of her pleased sigh vibrates through him faster than his blood can spike with the feeling of her palms skimming up his chest, over his shoulders, and into his hair.

It nearly drives him mad, how wonderfully she fits against him: the fine tangle of her curls around his fingers, the soft press of her breasts, her waist, her lips.

She can probably feel just how mad it’s making him, too – had probably felt it, in fact, all the way home from the bar, if her not-so-innocently wandering hands had been as thorough as they’d felt.

Her leg curving behind his calf, she pushes her hips against his with an accuracy that has him clenching his teeth, lust sparking white-hot behind his eyelids as he chokes out a groan. The hum of her laughter breaks the kiss, and she tugs at his jacket with amused impatience.

“You really know how to make a girl work for it, don’t you?” He shrugs the offending article of clothing off to the ground, to hell with proper formalwear care right now, and her nimble fingers start working on the top of his waistcoat. “How many goddamn pieces is this suit?”

There’s the longer story – the truth – of how he’d needed to dress to impress in court today, but that’s probably too much information for her, as it is. And yet, he nearly bites his tongue in an effort to keep the words from slipping out of his mouth.

(Though, that could also simply be due to how she abandons the line of buttons halfway down, starts tugging the tuck of his shirt from his trousers, instead.)

“I imagine,” he murmurs, his lips brushing a trail backwards across her cheek, “it might be an enjoyable exercise for you to find out.” He struggles with her own jacket, tight around her shoulders until she finally relents; the second it hits the floor, her hand is back on his belt, moving with a swiftness that almost brings him to his knees. But instead, he ducks his head, half to hide his expression, half to inhale the noise that escapes the long column of her throat when he kisses her there. The scent of her shampoo is a subtle sweetness on his nose as it grazes her skin, but it nearly overwhelms him all the same.

Another thing that nearly overwhelms him: the jolt of pleasure that lurches through his body at the feeling of her hand slipping into the front of his trousers, the flat of her palm cupping him through his undergarments without even the decency of preamble.

He nearly chokes, his voice unrecognizable: “Bad form, love.” As much as he’s loathe to, he snatches her slender wrist in his hand, pulls away just enough that she’s forced to open her eyes. Her smile is unapologetic, dark and dangerous. “You’d have a man in his foyer before he gets the chance to show you the rest of his home?”

Something flickers in her expression – but it vanishes long before he can make out what it is. “You wouldn’t have me against the wall?” she asks, with a false sweetness that nearly draws a laugh from his throat.

“I’d have you anywhere, darling,” he says. He leans back in, his free hand sliding down her hip with clear intent, and he feels her own unsnared fingers hook into the opening of his tie. “But if you wanted to sacrifice comfort for efficiency, we may as well have stayed at the bar.”

Restroom sex isn’t the worst on his list of public offenses (from days long past, he’ll admit), but it seems like the dirtiest idea in the world when the white line of her teeth sinks into her bottom lip. “Talk about a missed opportunity.”

“You’re telling me.” He tastes her grin on his tongue when he kisses her, his mouth curving in turn, despite himself, and before she can protest further, he hefts her against the wall and bends to catch the space behind her knees, urging her legs to wrap around his waist.

“Fuck.” Sure enough, the moment he hoists her up properly, the way she fits around him leaves nothing to the imagination, and if she couldn’t before, there isn’t a doubt in his mind her gasp is born of feeling him hard between her thighs now. Despite the truth in his earlier words (because gods yes, he loves the idea of hooking her leg over his shoulder right here in his entryway, or against a stall door back at the bar restroom, or even in the alley behind Misthaven, modesty be damned), he’s not willing to waste what he suspects is his one shot with this glorious woman by ending the night anywhere but inside her.

Her elbows curve around his neck as he begins to walk, and his hands find his way under her shirt, lightly stroking the arch of her back. She takes the time to tug it over her head altogether before bending her head to kiss him so thoroughly, he doesn’t have time to stumble at the sight of all that marvelous skin, pale against a glimpse of light-colored undergarments. Her soft hair falling in a curtain around his face, he makes it to his bedroom in record time, much faster than he suspects is safe while trying to balance their combined weight, for the chance to see it again.

It’s white, the lace encasing her torso (though only just). She practically glows in the darkness, against the spread of his bedsheets, but the color of her eyes glinting up at him – well, it tells a slightly different story.

“Come on,” she murmurs, flicking open the button of her jeans, looking positively obscene sprawled out like that, where he’d deposited her with no small care. “You’re falling behind.”

He suppresses a chuckle. “And whose fault is that, exactly?”

The satisfaction of her eye-roll is lost on him in favor of each new inch of bare skin (and, heavens help him, a matching scrap of white lace) she reveals as she kicks off her boots, peels her pants down to follow them on the ground. He’s surprised he even makes it as far as his shirt, honestly, his fingers fumbling over the buttons, the knot of his tie, before he’s abandoning the effort altogether and crawling up his bed to meet her, only halfway undressed.

She’s hot under his palms, her kiss-bruised mouth opening with what he thinks might be a complaint, but all that comes out is a sigh when he slips his tongue into her mouth.

“You’re so bad at this,” she mutters against his lips, after several long, wonderful moments. By the way she’s shoving his trousers off of his hips with an efficiency she owes to her previous head start, he doesn’t think he could be offended if he tried, though it is a tad uncomfortable realizing just how tightly his remaining article of clothing currently fits.

The smooth slide of skin on skin, on the other hand – that’s not uncomfortable at all.

“You require proof for everything, don’t you?” His eyes almost roll into the back of his head when her hands finally roam the expanse of his chest, her bare toes skimming the backs of his calves as he leans over her slender frame, letting his mouth hover just above hers. She licks her lips, and he groans at the feeling of her nails scratching lightly across his skin.

“Is that so terrible?”

Her fingers travel lower, skimming the line of hair below his navel. “No,” he breathes. “No, it’s not. But I do hope you know what you’re getting yourself into, darling.”

“Why don’t you show me?” Her smirk gleams in the darkness, and he inhales sharply as she toys with the waistband of his boxers, but she only just grazes him with her other hand before he shifts away.

“That’s not showing you.”

“Isn’t it?”

Every inch of him, coiled tight and hot with desire, really wishes it was, but he’s a gentleman first and foremost. Instead of gracing her with a verbal response, he dips his mouth into her shoulder, prompting a sound that feels suspiciously like a laugh but also, gratifyingly, like a gasp, works his way downward with his lips until he’s – finally – sliding his hand under her back. The clasp comes undone with just the barest coaxing, and then the soft weight of her breasts fill his palms at last.

“Oh,” she sighs, long and slow. When he draws her into his mouth, she’s sweet on his tongue, nipples drawn tight, chest swelling with each heavy breath, and the way she writhes against him urges him downward still in a wet trail across her stomach. He presses a kiss to the hollow of her waist.

“Dexterity, wasn’t it?” She casts him a dazed look, and he has to work down a swallow at the sight of her hair strewn across his pillows before he speaks again. “That was the first thing you wanted of me?”

Her answering smile is a lazy thing of pure radiance. Hooking his fingers into the lace at her hips, despite how much concentration it takes to suppress the raw lust already pumping through his blood, he drags the last shred of clothing off of her body. Before he can so much as begin to take in the sight of her fully flushed and naked, however – though he doesn’t know if any amount of time would be enough to regain his breath, much less show the full extent of his appreciation – he’s startled by the feeling of her ankle nudging his thigh.

“Fair play,” she murmurs. Biting down a grin, he discards the last of his own undergarments with a relief that probably shouldn’t be this profound, but, as it is, he’s never been gladder to be free of it in his life when he’s been strained to get out of it since she first laid a hand on him, when the prospect of her gaze on him has every other muscle in his body tensing with need. His fingers drag up the smooth skin of her thigh, and her legs twitch open in anticipation as he makes his way back up to kiss her.

Her eyes flutter shut, her back arching the second his thumb meets warm, wet flesh. Propped up on an elbow next to her head, he takes his time, loses himself in the twin allures of her mouth and her heat, teasing and sliding and rubbing until she doesn’t seem to know what to do with her hands – one curled into his hair to keep him in place, the other grasping at his shoulder, his neck, down to where his cock is pressed hard against her hip. His fingers stumble, and she moans. Maybe she knows exactly what she’s doing, after all.

When she’s finally wound up so tight, he can practically feel that spot at the apex of her thighs, swollen and slippery with his task, throb her desperation in a painful rhythm he knows all too well, he slows down, feels her tremble as she breaks the kiss.

“I need you,” she whispers against the corner of his mouth, like the best kind of music to his ears. “I need you. Please.” He doesn’t need to be told twice. He reaches for the nightstand drawer behind her, although his valiant attempt at (completely, undeniably grateful) acquiescence is all but foiled when she uses that opportunity to slide her hand between them, wrapping her clever fingers around the thrust of his erection before he can plead mercy.

“Bloody hell.” The condom packet nearly drops from his grasp. Preoccupied with trying to still her before she can do any permanent damage, he tears it open using his teeth instead, but there’s extra care that needs to be taken in rolling it on – and, indeed, in climbing back into position, lining himself up properly.

It’s only then that he forces himself to wait.

To hover over her, the heat that burns in her gaze prickling gooseflesh down his spine along the path of her nails.

To give himself the space of one indulgent second to take it in – the darkness of her cheeks, her stare, her full, parted lips – before he’s sinking down into her in a long, smooth motion, filling her with a tightness that burns.

“Shit.” Her lashes flutter as her eyes rolls back into her head, and her grip digs into the muscles in his back, the ones that squeeze with the pleasure jolting through every fiber in his body. Embarrassingly enough, that’s almost all it takes for him to break altogether.

“I beg to differ, love,” he only just manages, though he hasn’t an inkling how. He steels himself before pulling out, sliding in again, deep and slow, savoring the perfect wet fit of her quim. “I’m not one to exaggerate, but I’d lean more towards positively exquisite.” A noise escapes her, one he think is born of agreement, and he spends far too much time in the moment following wondering about her stance on dirty talk, at least as best he can while he’s wrought so mentally incoherent.

“Come on,” she urges him, breathlessly, when it seems the experimental stretch becomes too much to bear. She digs her heels into the small of his back, and it takes him in deeper to the point that he has no choice but to comply. He begins to move – precise, deliberate thrusts that tear at the edges of his self-control. Burying his face into her neck as he buries himself inside her, over and over and over, his mouth meets damp, hot skin, and, in the interest of allowing her to chase her pleasure first, he does whatever he needs to distract himself from the tight vice of her sex.

Sucks a bruise into her pulse point, which flickers furiously against his lips. Sinks his teeth into her shoulder and tastes the salt of her sweat on his tongue. She clenches around him, so slick and tight and wonderful, it takes nearly everything he has to keep the feverish tautness of release at bay, to let it build, higher and higher, coiling inward with a heat that is becoming unbearably strained. He just reaches the point where he thinks he might lose his mind if everything doesn’t shatter right bloody fucking now – but then she’s tensing, walls aflutter, head falling back with a gasp, and he knows she’s there, one last painful thrust to push her over the edge of breaking.

He also knows the blazing expression of rapture on her face when she comes, hard and fast, is going to be scorched into his memory for a long, long time, even as everything dissolves into nothing, and all that exists is but the pulsing delight of his own relief, the blossom of mingled heat and bliss coaxed through his body by the pleasure of hers.

(The unintelligible groan that leaves his mouth at the peak of his desperation – he’d deny it until his dying day, but it sounds one hell of a lot like her name.

Emma.)

In the breathless, incoherent moments after, he can only brace himself against the sheets around her head, trying to regain his senses enough to keep from collapsing on top of her. When he traces the flush of her skin all the way to its source, and higher still, something in his chest swells when he realizes that she’s watching him, too, the tiniest hint of a sated smile on the edges of her darkened mouth.

At least, for all the jabs thrown today, they’re on the same page on that front.

He pulls out carefully, but, sorely lacking the energy to haul himself to the bathroom right this second, he drops to the cool relief of the bedspead beside her, unable to bring himself to care about the sweat beginning to dry on his skin. Rolling her shoulders, she seems to stretch in one long, indecently languid motion, before she tilts her head in his direction, the green in her gaze glittering dimly in the faint light from the windows.

The words are out of his mouth before he can help it – though they’re quiet all the same, unwilling to disturb the lingering haze of their release: “Looks like I’m not the only one who doesn’t know the meaning of improper.”

He isn’t sure if it’s just because she’s drained, but her delicate snort of a chuckle is a pleasant surprise. “Coming from you,” she mutters, the sheets rustling as she turns on her side, “that almost sounds like a compliment.”

“Truthfully, love, I’m not convinced you meant it as an insult either.”

“Hmm. Glad to hear you took it in stride.”

Despite the slow creep of heaviness stealing its way into his bones, his mouth twitches into a smile. “That doesn’t sound very convincing either.”

“Good.” It’s but a mumble, but he feels it spark a warmth through his system anyway. Her pillow crinkles under her head. “Because I didn’t mean it.”

“Is that right?”

She hums. “Actually, I…”

Her voice falls silent.

It takes him longer than it should to comprehend that his eyes have slid shut without his permission, so it’s another few seconds still before he’s able to blink the shadows out of his vision, bleary and disoriented as to why she’s trailed off so suddenly. But, he soon realizes, there’s only one plausible reason to it.

Inches away, nestled in a tangle of gold curls on top of the pillow opposite – she’s asleep.

He hesitates. Her face dipping into the pillowcase, her bare shoulder shifting almost imperceptibly with her breath, she’s well and truly completely unconscious, though she’s radiant all the same for being out like a lightbulb. Exhausted as he is, his mind can only dully conjure the most naïve of simple questions.

Had she meant to stay the night?

And then, perhaps more importantly: Should I care so much at all?

The answer doesn’t come to him no matter how long he lies there, staring through the darkness, his heartbeat slowing in time with the sound of her quiet breathing, nor does it come when he finally hauls himself out of bed and into the bathroom to clean himself up (the time on his bedside table reads just after two o’clock, and he knows he’s going to have a rough morning come the blaring of his alarm). In fact, the closest thing he has to a response only just flickers through his mind on his return, in the split second it takes to register her still sound asleep, curled on her side, crumpling the mussed duvet beneath her bare form.

He sinks down onto the edge of the bed, casting a glance at her over his shoulder. There’s an errant curl that’s fallen across her cheek, and, in a moment of what must be insanity, his hand twitches with the urge to move it out of her face. But he catches himself, unsure of how she’d take to that if she were awake. Instead, careful not to shift her, he loosens the sheets from under her until he can drag them up to cover her shoulder, then slips into the other side of the bed with a quiet groan of the mattress, leaving a respectable space between them as he settles down. Despite her presence (or perhaps because of it, her quiet slumber a remarkably calming influence on his nerves), the call of post-sex gratification lures his body into a mindless state of ease with a prowess he should probably be thankful for.

And yet, the urge to nudge closer into her warmth, to fall asleep beside her proper, chases him into the dark still, until the last thought he has before he falls asleep is, inappropriately, of second rounds – and, indeed, second chances.

She’s gone before he wakes.

He’s barely conscious when his hand curls into warm sheets, his nose filling with a subtle sweetness that seems out of place, even to his groggy mind. It’s the unfamiliarity of it, he has just enough mental energy to suspect, that rouses him where his alarm fails. Cracking open one eye, he squints into the soft daylight streaming in through the curtains, and the moment his gaze falls on the disheveled sheets beside him, the dip in the pillow on the other side of the bed, the reality of the previous night – in all of its glorious detail, to the delight of the ache already tightening in his groin – jolts through his mind in a flash.

Emma.

He shouldn’t be surprised – and yet. His temples squeezing with the punishment of sleep deprivation, he scrubs a hand over his face, props himself up on an elbow (every muscle in his body twinges just from that motion alone) to get a better look around. Sure enough, a quick scan of the room is enough to confirm that her clothes are gone, even if traces of her remain in the spot she’d occupied last night, and he only realizes he’s staring unthinkingly at that same spot, a knot forming in his stomach he doesn’t think has anything to do with overexertion, when the snooze bell of his alarm startles him back into awareness.

He twists to jab the off button with less force than he’d normally be inclined to use. Instead of sitting up, though, he lets that same tired energy drag him back down into his pillow, flopping down with a sharp, exasperated huff and reaching up to shield his eyes with his arms – from the light, sure, but also from the impulsive thought of what that light might look like woven through mussed blond curls. It’s far, far too early to be dealing with hollow disappointment, he thinks, especially when it has no business being anywhere near the night he’s just had, shared with a woman whose intentions he’d been aware of from the start. It’s all in the name of the game, and it’s not her fault he’d begun to wonder, halfway through, how it’d feel to start playing a different one.

He knows that if he were to reach back over to the other side of the bed, the lingering heat of her slumber would be there still.

His jaw clenches, and he gives himself a rough mental shake, trying to separate the image of her sleepy smile from the space behind his eyelids. If his bedside clock wasn’t proof enough, his internal alarm is bristling with a similar warning of the late hour, and he’s all too aware he doesn’t have the time to dwell on could-bes, or what-ifs, or any other memories that are likely to tempt his hand right now, so to speak. He’d had to reschedule his preliminary meetings with his Crocodile case clients for earlier this morning, thanks to the transfer Regina told him she’d be bringing in, which means he’s already in for a rough commute. All of this dithering is only guaranteed to make it that much worse.

He takes a deep breath in an effort to pull himself together, to shove down anything that may have overstayed its welcome from the wonder that was last night. It really was good fun, and not just in the sex – has he ever met anyone as amusingly sharp-tongued in his life? – but it’s over, and it’s time for him to face the facts: she was but a flash of lightning in his life, brilliant, blinding, and impermanent. He doesn’t think he’ll ever see her again.

That is, until Emma Swan walks into his office only a handful of hours later, on the heels of his managing partner, in the very same spot he swears he’s just heard her say his brand new associate is supposed to reside.

His mind goes blank but for the piercing green of her wide, stunned eyes.

Bloody hell.

#cs ff #cs january joy #csjj #captain swan #once upon a time #emma swan #killian jones #captain hook #writing

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the-static-and-i · 5 years

Text

Little Liars.

((Some torture based on the Anti asks <3 >:3 Tws: knives, stabbing, kicking, needle mention, forced tongue piercing, spikes, mouth torture, strings, carving, skin carving, hot wax, scalpels, hypnotism (implied), caning, cane sword, foot torture, blood mention, wound mentions

A loud whoosh filled the air, breaking the silence in the dim room. Ren yelled out as a knife hit her square in the back, the force knocking her to the ground. She tried to move her arms under her torso, the knife digging into several muscles that she had just flexed causing her to cry out again.

Anti hummed playfully as he approached her, Ren struggling to get up and crawl away. Anti planted his boot on her back, just below the knife. She reached back, trying to grip at his foot and push him off, but she didn’t have leverage or the strength. He braced himself on her back, pulling the knife out slowly.

He braced his foot against her side, kicking her over onto her back. She yelped as the ground hit her fresh wound, but it didnt last as he pressed his boot to the side of her face. She followed the pressure, looking away from him and pressing her other cheek into the tile. He removed his boot, stepping over her so he could straddle her chest. He grabbed her chin, forcing her head up to face him.

Her face hardened into a glare, but before she could say anything he spoke first. "That tongue of yours brings nothing but trouble, doll. It's about time someone does something about it," the wicked grin on his face did nothing to appease her fear, but she reached up to his face anyway. She slapped and pushed at him, ignoring the pain pulsing through her back with every movement, until he quickly got fed up and had his strings wrap around her. They held her arms far out to the side, more coming to hold her head in place.

She screamed and yelled, thrashing as hard as she could but to no avail; she was trapped and at his mercy now.

The strings yanked her jaw down, holding her still as Anti reached into her mouth and grabbed her tongue. Her heart raced, afraid he was going to cut it off like Mal had done to Ace. His knife disappeared from his hand as he pulled her tongue out fully, a large needle reappearing in its place.

Her first assumption was that he had been serious about stitching her shut, but the needle went straight through the near-center of her tongue instead. She screamed, the vein on the underside of her tongue having been hit too.

Anti didnt seem concerned, leaving the needle through her tongue as he reached into his pocket and pulled out what looked like a mini dumbbell with spikes jutting from the sides of the end pieces. He pulled the needle aside, still in her tongue but expanding the hole enough for half of the dumbbell to slide through.

Ren couldnt tell you when she had started crying, or when she had stopped screaming, but her throat was sore and her eyes felt tired by the time Anti finally removed the needle. All that remained was the actual piercing, and she could feel the weight settle uncomfortably as he released her tongue. She pulled it back into her mouth, snapping her lips closed as soon as the strings allowed her to.

She hesitated for a moment before going to speak, the spikes she had barely noticed poking harshly into her tongue and gums, making her whimper quietly. Anti's grin was sadistic above her. "Go on doll, what were you gonna say?"

She gave him a teary glare, one hand flashing him a middle finger before she shut her eyes tightly. She could feel her tongue swelling, poking against the spikes and generally hurting. The vein on the underside of her tongue came back to mind, but she didnt feel immediate panic, leading her to believe she was fine.

"Isnt that so much better, little marionette? Now that pesky wit of yours wont get you into trouble." His voice was still playful, almost mocking her, talking down to her like she was a dog or a baby."And now for your worse half."

He snapped, Ren painfully ripped from control and Sam being forced into her place. Sam's instinct was to cry out at the sudden control and pain, but when she saw the face above hers she held it back, instead contorting her face into a snarl.

Anti laughed at the "intimidating" expression, a full belly-laugh that had him throwing his head back. Sam lifted her legs, kicking at the back of Anti's head as best she could. One kick actually landed, the very tips of her toes slamming into the back of his head as hard as they could given the horrible angle. His laughter cuts off almost immediately, his head tilting back down to fix her with a glare. "Always the slow-learner, huh?"

She smirked, nodding a little, almost proud. The expression falls quickly as he stands up, his knife glitching into his hand. He kicks her back onto her stomach, the strings moving her hands so they're above her head.

Her shirt gets lifted above her head, Sam can feel like point of the knife graze her back as the short gets higher, until its thrown over her head. She thrashes, uncaring of her pain or the threat of the knife, more concerned with throwing Anti away from her. He plops down on her lower back, strings wrapping around her ankles and thighs, effectively holding her still as he sets about working.

He's eerily silent as he makes the first cut onto her left shoulder, but Sam isnt. She tries to buck him off again, whimpering and trying to open her mouth to yell, but the tongue piercing's spikes dig into her swollen muscle further. Any words she forms through the pain are muffled and jumbled, completely incoherent to the gleeful glitch.

He starts to hum as he continues, Sam unable to place what exactly hes carving between the pain and sudden dizziness. She barely feels when he finishes, her left shoulder throbbing and stinging and burning.

She still couldnt tell what it was he carved, but it mattered less and less as his fingers traced over her lower back. He traced something out, feeling almost like words, but Sam couldnt tell what exactly they were. The knife dug into the area he just traced, feeling smaller but cutting deeper than the knife he had just used.

Sam found that she couldnt scream anymore, her throat too sore and shredded to produce the loud noise anymore. All that passed her lips now was small whimpers and gasps, until those too fell quiet. She cried, clenching her fists and tensing her toes, hoping that would provide some sort of relief. It didnt work, and Anti seemed to realize what she was doing. He pressed even harder with the knife -- scalpel? Sam shuddered -- going back over the words he had already carved before continuing. This one dragged on so much longer than her shoulder had, and she felt him start another carving on the "line" below the one he had just done.

She tensed habitually, wondering if this was going to continue much longer.She felt the word on the second line end in a y, and then him carve a small hole that she hoped was a period. He sat back, setting the scalpel by her head so she could see that's exactly what it was. She faintly heard a glitching sound over the tune Anti was humming, unsure if he was actually still humming or if it was replaying in her head.

She tensed and tried to scream again as hot wax dripped over the fresh wounds, both on her shoulder and lower back. When he moved down, she distantly felt that the first line was from hip to hip, the second was a single piece in the middle of her back. She tried to thrash again, the wax burning her skin and seeping into the wounds, but the strings held her tight. Her head hit the tile with a small thump, a sob catching in her throat. She squeezed her eyes shut against tears, hoping she'd open them and be back in her house.

Anti stood up off of her, Sam silently hoping and wishing he'd be done and leave. Today wasnt her lucky day, however. He was still humming -- or she could still hear the tune repeating -- which she used to track him as he walked down her body. He stopped by her feet, pulling her shoes and socks off in two quick motions. She flexed her toes, wanting to protect them but unable to move anything beyond her phalanges.

"Relax, doll. You asked for this, didnt you?" His voice was calm, almost soothing; a welcome change from the humming, since it stopped when he spoke. Sam didn't open her eyes as she shook her head, not sure what she wanted to see less: the room, Anti, or whatever fucked up thing he had planned next.

The strings on her ankles lifted up so she was now bent at the knees with the soles of her feet presented. A loud whoosh filled the air, something Sam almost hoped was him throwing another knife. The crack that followed rebounded around the room, and Sam couldnt bring herself to scream as pain blossomed from her feet.

She tensed her feet harder, flinching as the next whoosh filled the air. Whatever Anti was using hit the tensed muscle, forcing Sam to cry out from the pain. The long rod hit across both feet in almost the same spot at almost the same time, so there was no reprieve or break for her. Hit after hit landed, Sam quickly realizing how much less it hurt if she forced herself to relax. Still, she couldnt help but tense up every time he pulled the rod away from her.

"If only you just learned, Sammy. You wouldnt have gotten to this point, now would you?" Anti taunted, the humming resuming afterwards. She wanted to beg him to stop, wanted just a second to breathe even.

As if he heard her thoughts, he stepped away from her after the rod hit. Sam trembled, her feet tensing and relaxing repeatedly, her fists clenching and fingers flexing. The distinct sound of a sword unsheathing, a sound Sam had only heard from countless hours of Skyrim, had her opening her eyes and looking towards Anti. The rod he had been using was a metal cane, one that he just revealed to be a cane sword.

He met her wide fear-filled eyes, smirking cruelly down at her. "You know what we do to liars, little marionette~" She pulled desperately at the strings, trying to break free and get away from him, but no avail. Another whoosh, so similar to the cane but so different, filled the air, the edge of the sword finding the arch of Sam's feet and digging in. She cried out, trying again to pull away from him. He yanked the sword free, his smirk growing more sadistic as he swung again.

Sam lost track of her surroundings, caught up in Anti's humming, the pain from every hit from her sword, and the distant sound of Ren talking to her, sounding more like buzzing than words. Her eyes were shut tight against tears, her lips squeezed together against any sound, and her whole body tense in preparation for the next hit. Ren slowly got quieter, Anti's humming flooding her senses instead. After another few hits that Sam wasn't fully aware of, she was pulled from control so Ren could front instead.

Ren gasped, her eyes shooting open and looking around. She couldn't hear Sam, could barely feel her even. Her back ached, her tongue was sore, and her feet throbbed. Anti crouched next to her, his fingers digging under the dried wax on her shoulder. Ren gasped again, trying to stay quiet as he slowly peeled the wax away, taking loose and damaged skin, as well as the bloody tissue from the carvings with him. When it was off, he threw the single piece next to her head, but she couldn't see past her arms. She stayed still, carefully biting her lips to keep from whimpering as he moved to her lower back.

His fingers scraped at the edge of the wax, unable to pull up an edge, so he straddled her again. He was careless, brushing heavily against her feet and nudging her shoulder with his knee. He picked around the edges of the wax again, huffing when it still wouldnt come up. He picked up the scalpel, his fingers brushing Ren's arm making her shiver, but she remained quiet. He dug the blade under the wax, levering it up and then easing it slowly off of her. She tensed briefly, her hands clenching, before she forced herself to relax with a shuddering breath. Her grip on her lip increased as the wax broke apart, Anti needing to stop and grab new edges to peel away every so often.

When her back was finally clear, Anti stood up, stepping back and starting to pace around her. Ren held still, trying desperately to calm her trembling body in addition to keeping quiet and relaxed.

"Are you ready to apologize yet, puppet?" Ren didn't hesitate, nodding softly without lifting her head. Anti kneeled down, gently patting the back of her head. His smirk was audible, "Good doll. Now the real fun can start~"

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isaacathom · 6 years

Text

ok i have a slightly expanded idea for that “villain captures hero and then ends up becoming friends” thing

so, the Villain and Hero in question are Maidens of Dark and Light, respectively, and members of two adjacent kingdoms. in the kingdom of Light, the Maidens are treated like royalty, and are the highest level below probably a specific monarch, and in practice are higher than them. they perform rituals and are regularly paraded around to the joy of a devoted majority. in the kingdom of Dark, the Maidens are still quite high a rank, but they dont have that social standing. they perform rituals, but of a more practical nature - they are charged with the kingdoms defence against its own darkness.

the idea there is that in the past, the Maidens (who are like, angelic. like they have wings and halos or shit like that) were united, before a difference of opinion broke them. those that would become Dark ended up destroying their own kingdom through their actions, tainting the soil and killing hundreds. The Light would refuse to accept any from that kingdom, under the idea that All Such were equally tainted. So the Light would prosper and the Dark would squalor, the Maidens of Dark would be forever charged with protecting their kingdom from further damage - high in title but not standing, beings cursed for their ancestors actions.

The Villain is one such Maiden of Dark, who has decided the only way to truly cleanse the darkness from her kingdom is to get a Maiden of Light to help. But, of course, those of Light refuse to interact with the Dark, even diplomatically. So she takes matters into her own hands and resolves to kidnap a Maiden of Light. Not one whose too old and experienced, but not one too young and inexperienced. hence, the kidnap of the Hero, a Maiden of aroooouund 23 or so. Then, at a suitably auspicious time, the two Maidens will rise together and cleanse her kingdom of darkness.

I think there’d be a few moment that the Villain would meet the Hero (albeit not in a personal way). like for instance, if the dark from that kingdom is seeping through the ground towards the Light kingdom, the Maidens of Light would be charged with going to the border to banish it. And the Villain would be there, firmly and defiantly on her side of the border, empathetically begging for the Maidens of Light to help permanently banish the dark rather than leave her kingdom to decay amidst it. Crops barely cling to life, the people frail - the only ones who look healthy are the Maidens of Dark. she begs them to fix it. But before the Hero could consider her plea properly, they’d be ushered away by the guard to perform their ritualistic duty further back from the line, and a wall set up by guards to prevent the Villain from interfering. But in this exchange is a slight connection, a flicker of an expression on the Hero’s face that tells the Villain ‘shes the one who might be willing’.

later, she sneaks across the border in disguise (a bit tough but thankfully the weather makes her get up reasonable) and attends a parade for the Maidens, with blossoms and petals everywhere and song and dance. when she starts getting reaaaaaal jealous, she decides to leave, but probably knocks into something on the way out and gives away her disguise, which is spotted by a guard or Maiden. The ensuing chaos is pretty wild as the guards seek to capture and punish the Villain, who basically Nopes the fuck out. whoosh. there she goes! leaving a slightly dead trail in her wake of decaying flowers. for my dumb fun, someone probably asks the Hero to heal the plants, and she turns away.

then idk, the Villain manages to rally a small force in her home kingdom that she will use as a distraction while she sneaks into one of the Temples that the Maidens are regularly at. The Hero, when hearing about the conflict, demands to be allowed to attend to the wounded, and is eventually allowed to do so. As such, her subsequent kidnapping by the Villain is made very easy, as the tent where she was performing a small ritual (for like, idk, godly blessings) wasn’t well defended as the troops were out to battle. The Hero took it pretty well, all things considered, going along willingly after the Villain promised to call off her forces the moment the Hero was properly secured. And she kept her word. the villain basically always kept her word.

then while holding her waiting for AUspicious she feels sorry for her, offers to let her read any of her book collection or watch some animes she has, and then Bam. best friends. which makes it really awkward when the Light army FINALLY arrives, a week later than the deadline (the Villain had told them they had 2 weeks to get back the Maiden under the assumption itd get them to Fucking Do Something and maybe carve a path of light soil through her kingdom to help while she waited for an eclipse. uhhh they were slow) and its like “we’re here for the maiden!” “she doesnt want to go, actually” “excuse me?” “she’s right. i dont really wanna go. its pretty nice here” “they’ve brainwashed the Maiden!” “we dont have brainwashing powers??? the fuck are you talking about” “im here of my own free will now” “save the Maiden!” “far out”

and then they get to have a fun duel together to hold the light army back and one of the other ‘heroes’ (like a captain of the guard with a crush on the Hero or smth) comes in close and kisses her in an effort to like, idk, ‘snap her out of it’, and she either just knocks him back or actually kills him. the latter would probably send a stronger message (and scare the shit out of the Villain, wh had basically resolved to never kill someone personally if she didnt HAVE to, because she had a good goal in there, yknow) but idk if she would. maybe just a severe injury, one that would require immediate Maiden attention. and the army goes silent and looks back between the Hero and the Captain until the Hero goes “he doesn’t have time for you to wait around. Take him home.” and two others come forward to pick up the captain and slowly carry him out while the rest look on in just horror. the general consensus is that theyve completely tainted the Hero, turned her to darkness, even though the magic she used on the Captain was clearly of Light origin. but whatever. eventually the rest of the army leaves, vowing to return, or smth.

then im not completely sure what happens but now that the Villain is basically 100% positive that the Hero does want to be there, and does want to help, they start work on the ritual immediately, figuring out that will be required and the spells they need, which the Villain had already been gathering for a while. idk if they’d succeed, or maybe its only a partial success - they cleanse an area, but not the whole kingdom, or something like that. im not quite sure how this resolves. one immediate option is that the Captain ends up killing either the Hero or the Villain, which ends poorly for all involved. like, if the Hero ws killed, the entire Dark kingdom would be set back to square 1 because the Villain would practically explode with darkness. Captain would be dead as fuck. if the villain died, itd be the reverse, but the captain would still die, the Hero would refuse to return to the Light kingdom. however i dont want to go down that route because i want the two of them to be really cute together and it just seems kinda gross to do that. the alt is an ALMOST death, to much the same result, except that they dont die (the captain definitely does, though). if its an almost death, i think id prefer the Villain have that, because then the Hero could Lightsplode and get to straight up kill the Captain which i think would be very fun for their whole relationship dynamic. She had the power to the end, really.

this probably wont go anywhere but i think its fun!

#story blogging #one key characteristic of the Hero is that in processions she looks Sad and Lonely. thats the Villain's overwhelming impression #that as much as the Villain pines for that sort of reverence from her people. that such a relationship leaves you disconnected from that #whereas at least the Villain has a mutual relationship to the people - they all dislike eahc other. they find camaraderie in this #hence she's able to unite them - plus theres the fact that removing the darkness would remove the dark maidens from prominence #so she plays off that. its a whacky time. its princess and the pauper levels of shenanigans here #lotmv

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