#they just behave in such an odd way for a bird | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kneelingshadowsalome · 1 year ago

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FATUM NOS IUNGEBIT 3/4

König x F!Reader

Summary: You have seen him in your dreams. The seer has divined his coming. But nothing has prepared you for witnessing him in the flesh. (Historical AU where König fights for the Roman Empire in an auxiliary unit, finds a cute barbarian woman and decides to keep her as his own.) Part 1 Part 2 Word count: 9.4 k Tags/warnings: 18+ ONLY. Spoils of war/enemies to lovers trope, graphic depictions of violence, historical gruesomeness, pining, odd banter, mixed feelings, romantic fluff, dubcon cuddling, eventual smut. Captor/captive dynamic. König is a brutal warrior... and a gentle giant. A/N: König takes liberties with his mouth. Dubcon is at its most dubcon in this chapter so please tread carefully <3 The actual smut happens in the next (and last) part. Long chapter because these two just can't behave!!

The days are getting warmer now.

The sun warms the tent during the day, and the sound of birds searching for a mate threatens to drive you to madness. They sing during nighttime, too, and you miss the sturdy clay walls of your hut that blocked at least some of the sounds from outside. Now you are barely sheltered from wind and rain that beat the tent every now and then and can escape the swelling song of spring and lovesick birds to nowhere. König only snores with steady content as you mull over your strange fate there in his cozy bed, wondering how crazy it is that he never lets you go when he sleeps.

If König has an early council, you spend the morning eating breakfast in bed while studying odd parchments the translator gave you. The old man was quite insulted, not because you asked, but because you showed interest in the documents that, apparently, were of least importance to him.

You don’t care that they’re “only” travel guides because they’re filled with Roman letters and numbers and usually illustrated with pictures of columns. You don’t understand a word they say and how those strange papers could ever be a travel guide to anyone, but you like to trace the letters and pictures with your finger. König clearly understood your fascination with them: he left you this morning with another smile, which told you he only thought you were simply adorable this way. He tried to tell you that the letters represent towns and the numbers tell the distances between those towns, but they still remain bizarre pieces of paper to you.

Men pass by occasionally; you can hear it from how their gears clonk and clatter and swish. You can hear the soft thump of sandals on the dirt, but you pay it no attention because you’ve always trusted that you are safe here. As long as you stay inside the tent, no one will touch you, even if they can currently see you because the flap is left open a wink.

The only times his men witness you are when König takes you out for a walk in the woods so that you can take care of your bodily needs. Everyone can see that your hands are never tied, your face is never bruised, and your posture is still that of a proud, unbroken woman. And everyone looks at you with both hunger and wonder. Apparently, you are an even tempting spoil because you are not yet spoiled.

The special treatment was rubbed in your face one time when you passed by a Roman soldier disciplining his slave, a woman who had shared your fate and clearly was having the worst of it. The other half of her face was unrecognizable, but the man kept beating her, and you stared in horror as whatever deed she had done to anger the man was now being punished far too cruelly.

“Romans very dumb,” König said from next to you without even shedding a glance at the morbid scene. No one seemed to give a shit about what was happening to that poor woman, but you would never have expected such a comment to come from König’s mouth. When you asked him what he meant by that, he only shrugged and said: “That man piss on his luck.”

You wonder if the only reason why you haven’t been raped yet is because you are some sort of a lucky charm to him. The mere thought has the effect of making your blood boil, but some distant, tender voice inside you reminds you that König is not Roman. He does not share Roman customs, even if he fights with and for them. Perhaps slaves are treated differently in his land. Perhaps in there, it is considered an outrage and an insult to the gods to beat a woman, free or not.

Whatever his reasons are for not beating and raping you to death, it was a tremendous stroke of luck that König found you first. You dropped right there on his feet when he was victorious, so of course his men allowed him to take you as his: you were clearly a gift from the gods. But now that time has passed, you understand you are by no means safe if you wander outside this tent. König can protect you only when he is present or when you are safely tucked away in his own personal space.

It’s a false feeling of safety, however, because you soon learn that out of sight is out of mind for these soldiers. Now that you are on display, sweetly and neatly on the bed, a tiny little wrinkle forming between your brows from studying the peculiar parchment, you are like fresh livestock on the marketplace, even inside the tent. You notice that someone else is in here with you only when you hear the sound of munching and turn.

A relatively big soldier is standing in the doorway, eating an apple, watching you like he would rather have a bite out of you.

And you thank all the gods and stars above you, all the spirits and the Mother below you, that he doesn’t even get to take a step before a sword impales his chest.

König kills his own man so casually that all the thoughts of him falling to the gentle side of giants disappear instantly. He even twists the sword inside the broad man from daring to cast eyes on you. And you probably should feel bad for him… But you don’t. Not at all. The apple falls into the dirt and rolls away, but the man slumps into the threshold of the outside world and the safe womb of the tent, like an offering to guardian spirits - or to you.

You look up at König, eyes wide only because you are yet again speechless, but this time because of odd, bashful gratitude.

“No touching,” he says without even blinking – it sounds like a stern explanation.

“No touching,” you agree with a whisper. König only nods, wipes his gladius clean on the dead soldier’s cloak, and carries the body into the woods.

…

You don’t know if he has lost some of the favour he enjoys among the Romans after killing one of their soldiers. You suspect he has not. Actually, you are sure his reputation only soared for it. He just showed everyone that his prize is not to be touched: you are not to be even looked upon. Romans probably respect such a thing.

A few wagons arrive one morning, carrying various supplies for the soldiers. There are many other items too, completely unrelated to warfare but all to do with pleasure and gambling and trade. You assume König gets to pick his favourites among the first soldiers, if not the first soldier, from the abundant cargo that arrived, because he brings his spoils to you with boyish excitement. There is close to nothing there for himself: only a thick, heavy cloak, made of dark wool with lush fur on the shoulders. It looks like something a northern king would wear, and you find yourself quite happy for him, but the other items he’s carrying are clearly all hand-picked just for you.

There is a dress, a pair of sandals, a bone comb, some fruit and a large, round copper dish. It serves as a mirror as you change into the dress – a Roman one, dyed ocean blue – just to appease König and get him off your back. It hurts your heart to see how happy it makes him to see you accept his gifts. He holds the dim, uneven mirror in front of you when you get the dress on, and you’re feeling strangely meek: you’re not even sure if you have put it on properly. The bone comb is milk white and has two horses carved on it – it reminds you of the offering that was never made to appease the Great Mother because it couldn’t have prevented the Titan from coming to your lands. It’s another odd omen: black horses now turned to white, but an omen for what, you can’t say.

And then… he kneels.

König falls at your feet and starts putting the Roman sandals on, tying the strings around your calves so gently that it makes you feel like you’re made of clay. The sandals are not the kind he wears: they’re made for women, apparently, because they’re so skimpy and delicate. The strings reach the upper part of your calf, and when he’s done with you, happy to have now clothed you in Roman garb, he caresses your thigh and presses a kiss above your knee.

And he looks up at you like you’re everything but his captive. He looks at you like you’re a queen. He stares at you like he’s the slave here.

“You like?”

The soft rumble catches you off guard, as does the fond caress he gives your leg. He doesn’t even try to move his hand upwards and under the dress; he just admires you from the ground, looking a bit foolish while crouched there at your feet. You swallow arduously and nod. What else are you supposed to do?

He smiles with his eyes and gives you another kiss. He presses it on the sensitive part where your calf meets the inside of your knee. He even raises his hood to do it, and you finally feel his breath as his lips meet your skin, hot but tender. You fight the urge to shrink from him, and despite it only being a soft peck, a lover’s touch, the kiss leaves a burning sensation on your skin.

Then he tucks your dress down, like a slave who simply stole a little kiss from his mistress. You’re rendered weak and silent before such reverence, but then the playfulness returns as he raises one finger, as if telling you not to say a word because he just had an idea. You look at him with odd curiosity as he crawls on all fours and reaches for something underneath the bed. You panic a little, fearing he might notice that you’ve been there, too: rummaging through his things and throwing the pieces of jewellery back there without caring to ensure that they are placed back in the same position you found them in. But he doesn’t seem to care or notice.

He tries to offer you the golden pendant first, the one that has three discs on it. It’s a little too much, and you shake your head, fearing you will upset him by declining his gift. He tries to offer you a more delicate necklace next: full of cute, filigreed beads, but you shake your head again. He wishes to give you a trinket so badly that you finally raise your hand and graze your fingertips over a leather string holding a few chunks of amber. It also bears the claws of some animal: fox, perhaps. He looks very pleased with your choice and puts your new possession around your neck. You reach for the copper plate yourself this time and hold it up to see how you look in your odd Roman dress and your humble but powerful new necklace.

“Sehr schön,” König says behind you as you take in the wobbly image. He is so, so happy - you have never seen him quite so happy. It looks like he thought this to be the prettiest, most compelling piece of jewellery too; as if the gold and beads were simply currency for him, too. As if it was obvious that you would be interested in bones and sea gold instead of the gold of men. Then he pulls out something from under his tunic: another leather string that has a large hunk of bone hanging from it. He’s presenting it to you like he wants to show how you two are now very much alike.

“What is it…?” You ask, trying to determine whether the bone came from an elk or a deer.

“Bear cock,” he says proudly while dangling it in front of you like it’s the most natural thing in the world for a man to carry the penis bone of a bear around his neck. “Makes man strong in battle and bed.”

“I don’t think you need that,” you whisper while looking up at him. It’s your first joke to him, and he laughs. Heartily.

“Kleine Fee. You have only seen me fight.”

He puts it back under his tunic as if it’s his secret amulet now. You really don’t think he needs any more luck in war, or in any other… field. He seems like the kind of man who can pleasure women all day. It’s a bitter thought, somehow, and makes your heart feel heavy. You wonder how many women he has had already when you have refused to open your legs for him.

“We can try how good it works in bed,” he offers, as cheerfully as ever.

Oh.

Oh…

“I’m—I’m hungry. I think I need to eat something,” you summon an excuse out of thin air while raising your hands against his chest to keep him away. As if you could get your breakfast down after him saying things like that…

“Hungrig? I can feed you,” he suggests, still in the happiest of moods. Then he sweeps you off your feet and carries you to the table. He’s ever generous today: you get to sit on his lap as he starts to feed you grapes.

And you didn’t think he’d actually, veritably feed you. But that’s exactly what he does. You get an entire meal: ripe fruits, a thick handful of bread, a fine slice of fat, delicious cheese. Wine to wash it down, and then some more grapes. He holds them gently on your lips until you open your mouth a little so that he can push them onto your tongue. He watches with utter content how you eat everything he offers you. He even gives you a few bounces with his knee, and every now and then, he gropes your tits: just squeezes them and plays around with them while you eat.

It is quite evident that this man really, really likes your boobs. Perhaps that is why he carries the statue of Great Mother around… To your horror, you realize the piece of carved wood is not an idol of worship for this man, just a lewd image he probably digs up and looks at when he wants to stroke his cock.

Gods... This man is even worse than you thought.

You begin to pout again, and he draws you flush against him, seeing that he somehow managed to make you displeased. Unaware as to what could have caused this, he gives you another bounce and tries to find the reason for your sudden change of mood.

“Are you fed now?”

“Yes,” you mope even more as you realize you would very much like him to continue feeding you even if you’re full. To just… do that thing with the grapes again. Just a few more.

“Gut. We have to leave soon.”

“Why?”

He shrugs. “To fight.”

The camp is packed up in such haste that you find yourself under the sun in practically no time. You stay as close to König as possible without being glued to him, seeing that the new dress and hairstyle you made with the comb is high currency among the war-torn, lust-filled soldiers. Someone gives you a long whistle, which is followed by a few harsh comments you luckily don’t understand, but all the stares are cut off when König stops preparing his horse, rises to his full height, and wraps his fingers around the handle of his gladius.

You don’t get a single look after that, not even a sideways glance. Everyone acts like you don’t even exist.

The army moves at a slow pace at first, leaving a heavy dust cloud behind. It’s a fine day for travelling because there isn’t a single cloud in the sky. Everyone seems to be having a good time except for the slaves, and König is the only one who is vigilant, watching his surroundings at all times, head turning from side to side, hand never leaving his sword.

You get a horse – his horse – and a lot of hateful stares from the other women, none of whom you have ever seen before. Captive girls from other villages, you presume, and they all hate you now because you get to ride a strong black stallion while they have to march in a dust cloud with their hands bound and their feet full of blisters. Their captors don’t give much thought to feeding or giving water to these poor women, mainly because they’re too busy laughing with each other and having hearty gulps from their wine sacks. You wonder if these men have ever fed these women a single grape during their campaign.

König, on the other hand, marches next to you like he’s your servant. He offers you his waterskin, his wineskin, too, and as the march goes on, an awkward knot starts to form inside your belly.

He’s behaving so oddly. You can’t find any other reason for his behaviour than that he simply has no full understanding of Roman customs because he comes from somewhere else. (Mountains, he said, when you asked him.)

You only now notice that he has servants but only uses them to pack or set up the tent. Other high-ranking officers and commanders have their servants with them at all times, tending to their every need. König is the only one who behaves like a foot soldier: he pours his own wine, gets his rations and supplies himself, lights his oil lamps without help and never lets anyone else touch his armour or swords.

The servant he uses the most is the translator, a slave who’s clearly responsible for teaching König more and more of your words. He also serves as a mediator when König gets ready for another battle. You have naively wanted to forget the reason why these men are here in the first place, and as you see König putting on his full armour the next day, tying the swords on his waist and leaving to search for his shield, you feel like bursting into tears or a scream. You look away as he gets dressed, and refuse to give him a single kind look that morning. You stand with your hands crossed over your chest as he’s finally ready and fetches the old man to the tent again.

The Roman soon stands next to him as König takes a step and falls on one knee before you.

“He asks you to bless him,” the old translator says – weary and bored.

You stop breathing for a second and look at König, there at your feet again, head bowed, leaning on one elbow placed on a strong knee.

Bless him… For going to slaughter another clan? Give your blessing to him leaving people fatherless, childless and homeless?

Is this some sort of a joke?

“Are my words… correct? Master asks that you give him your blessing for the upcoming battle.”

You bite your lip in frustration. You want to put your hand over this proud warrior’s head and send him away with words of might and fortune, but even the thought of wanting to do that is about to make you sick.

“I will do no such thing,” you say coldly and earn a sad, confused stare from König, who raises his head to look at you with a horrifying, pleading gaze. This man doesn’t beg for anything from anyone, and yet here he is, in his full armour, armed to the teeth and looking like the God of War again, asking for a kind word or two. You turn away, not because you deny him, but because you can’t stand to be under that defenceless gaze. The Roman sighs behind you, and from the clatter of König’s gear, you can hear that he has gotten up and is about to leave.

You turn again, only to face his withdrawing back. Tense, and already beaten.

He grabs the satchel, the one that holds his Mother, but stops to look at it like it’s simply an ordinary object instead of a powerful entity. Then he places it back down on the table with a sigh. You look with horror as he leaves for war without taking his amulet, idol, fate, source of luck and joy – whatever the statue represents to this man – with him.

It doesn’t take long before you regret you didn’t give him your “blessing”.

It somehow feels wrong that he left without it. You’re his captive, but he has fed you, clothed you, kept you warm. He has practically done no harm to you except hold you through the night and have a few gropes at your tits, which you haven’t found harmful at all… The least you could do to thank him is to lay a hand upon his head or sword before he left. Just a simple little gesture, not even a true blessing… Just a little something would have sufficed, to help him go into battle with a slightly lighter heart.

Because as much as you loathe this man, you don’t actually want him dead. You don’t want him to march into battle and think you wish him ill. You don’t want König to get careless just for the sake of feeling miserable about the thought that his little slave girl despises him.

Because you don’t despise him.

You just don’t… like him.

And he’s your captor still. Why should he deserve your blessing?

But the image of him cutting through his enemies with sorrow and bleakness in his stare, walking into a spear just because he’s had enough of life and more than enough of difficult, uncaring, ungrateful women, makes your heart bleed. He could’ve taken Mother with him since he didn’t get a good luck’s wish from you, but he chose to leave even Her behind. As if his faith had failed him, as if the few things and people he has ever placed his trust in have now abandoned him.

The night rolls in, and the moon crosses the sky slowly, so slowly, as you wait for his return. The old Roman looks at you sideways every time you peek outside the flap and sigh. Your guard is a weak, old man, but you reckon that if you were to escape, the tired slave would simply follow you out of the camp and tell König which direction you have gone so that he can hunt you down when he returns. The few Romans left to guard the portable garrison would probably seize you and take you as their plaything before you managed to set a foot outside the vallus, and even if König came back to claim you, you could be a bloody heap by the time he returned.

And it’s not even caution keeping you inside the tent. You don’t actually think about fleeing at all.

In the dead of night, you go to his satchel and pull out the statue of the Great Mother.

“Dear Mother... Great Mother. Please let him have his victory. Please let him come home unhurt. Even if he fails, please let there not be a scratch on him as he falls. Please, please, please…”

You improvise your prayer as you go, thinking about something to offer Her while being captive and not having access to most of the resources you would normally go to.

“I’ll give you my next moonblood. I will give you amber and fox claws…”

Your heart hurts, knowing you just promised the necklace König gave you as your sacrifice. But it’s a small gift for his safe return, and you renew your prayer, over and over again, while squeezing the Mother between your hands and pressing Her against your forehead.

You’re not sure if She can even hear you, because haven’t you wished this man dead not too long ago? You return the Mother to her satchel and pace around the tent, about to go mad. When the first horses arrive, you almost run outside to see if you can see or hear him coming. Soldiers march into the camp: there is so much din and racket outside that you know this is the least opportune moment to go outside and show yourself to the survivors who clearly have their morale and cocks up high from the recent battle. You wait and wait and wait, thinking about whether your god is among the wounded, being carried to some other tent where they treat injuries. You go and sit on the bed; you rise up and sit on the table. Then you go and press your ear to the fabric of the tent and try to listen like a fox.

The flap is, blessedly, finally drawn aside, and you hurry to meet whoever has arrived. It’s König – of course – breathing heavy, looking slightly high-strung but primarily unscathed, and you forget yourself completely when running to him.

“Are you hurt!?”

He takes off his helmet and takes in a good breath of air, eyes melting into pure love when he sees you.

“Nein. Not a scratch.”

You swallow your relief – of course no one can get to this man. Your fears have been stupid and ridiculous. But in the deepest chasm of your heart, you thank the Mother three times. You promise to deliver her your sacrifice as soon as possible.

“You fear for me?” He asks, so excited again that you have to dig your nails into your palm so that you won’t go and clutch him and cry from joy. You don’t nod or shake your head; you only stare at him with what must look like a frightened deer stare.

Your giant comes to hug you so tight you can’t even breathe. Then he lifts you into the air, and there is nothing you can do - there is nothing you even want to do but to be there in his stout embrace. You’re so relieved that he is alive and unhurt that there are tears in your eyes, and he sees them, and smiles.

“Don’t worry, little Fee. Ich könnte dich niemals verlassen.” His voice is throaty and parched; apparently, he has shouted his throat raw on the field.

You almost say you’re sorry that you didn’t give him your blessing, but seeing how pleased, triumphant, and gleeful he is causes you to shut your mouth and shut it tight. It’s enough that you have babbled prayers for him all night, praying your knees and tongue sore.

König returns you to the ground and leaves, only to return with ample loot. Two slaves carry in a small but heavy jute sack of coin, a tiny chest filled with honey, two bottles of scented oils, three gorgeous jugs of milk, a beautiful bronze sword, all laid there at your feet.

“Für dich,” he says, throwing a wide arc with his hand to gesture that all this is now yours. You watch all the stunning, lavish, extraordinary gifts, again picked with care just for you. You remember how there was not a single coin in this tent before you were dragged in, no bronze, no gold, no milk nor honey. No fine dresses, no stolen, scented oils. How many families did he have to kill to bring all these fine goods for you?

“I don’t want your loot,” you whisper on the brink of tears.

“What…do you want?” The smile in his eyes fades, and it stabs your heart full of pain. “More sea honey?”

“No, I–”

“Slaves?”

“No,” you step forward. If only you two could have met some other time, in some other place… “I just…I want my freedom.”

“What will you do with freedom…?”

You finally get to see what König is like when he argues. He cannot understand your logic; he can’t understand what more he must do to satisfy you and make you happy.

“Your chief is dead,” he says bluntly, causing your head to feel two times too small for your anger and pain.

“You don’t have to remind me,” you blurt, equally bluntly. Because whose fault is that? This man is a thick-skulled, thick-cocked idiot.

“You have no husband. No village.”

“Yes, I know.”

“Why angry?”

“Because you are infuriating,” you almost shriek.

He looks at you, lost and confused, not knowing how to calm you down or make you pleased again. And it must be confusing: some gifts work, some don’t. Other times, you look at him lovely and sweet; other times you sulk and pout. You have luckily stopped your crying, but now you have suddenly decided to yell at him?

He approaches you after seemingly coming to the conclusion that you must want him to either pet or fuck you. He tries to raise his hands to touch you, but you push him away.

“Don’t you fucking dare grope me again!”

He withdraws quickly, now utterly nonplussed. If you don’t even want to be held, then what is he to do? This goes against all the laws of this world: he has arrived, triumphant and joyous from the battle, clearly favoured by all the gods, above and below, and favoured in full. The only one who doesn’t grant him a boon is you. His head tips to the side - it always does that when he’s curious or thinking hard. Then his eyes light up with understanding, and you know you’re about to hear more nonsense coming out of that oafish mouth.

“You don’t want me to fight?”

“I don’t…care what you do,” you scoff.

“Ah. You hate Romans?”

“Yes, I hate Romans. I wish they would all die. I hate their stupid battles and their stupid campaigns. And I hate you too,” your spirit rises with your words, your voice gaining volume and strength as you hurl all your frustration at him.

And he’s shocked. Not at your first declaration, nor the second, not even the third. It’s the last sentence that clearly drives a dagger straight into his heart.

He steps back, nearly toppling a milk jug as he pulls away from you. Then he mumbles something under his breath, something in his own crude language. The words are muffled by the mask as he scratches the back of his neck and leaves the tent without even taking his blood-stained armour off.

His name, the name that sounds so foreign to you, never leaves your mouth. But the following words do.

“Wait, I didn’t… I didn’t mean it.”

Not all of it.

He’s out of the tent by then, and you’re left with your beautiful gifts, your bitter sorrow and regret. You sigh and look up, hoping you could see the sky and whisper your inquiry into the night air.

Why on earth did you two have to meet like this? Why does he have to be so thick-skulled and so… So him?

You calm your racing heart and start to organize the loot he brought you. You have never liked messy places and have done your best to keep this tent from getting cluttered. You taste some of the milk he brought you and inhale the sweet scent of those oils; you dip your little finger inside the honey jar and have a taste. The golden liquid tastes like the food of the gods when paired with milk. You put the blade on the table where König usually keeps his swords and settle to wait for him.

And you have to wait for a long time, so long that you eventually withdraw to the bed, alone and with a heavy heart. When König finally returns, you can hear he has had a drink. More than one, too: he has probably drunk an entire jug of wine alone. He doffs his armour with curses and sighs, and lets it drop on the ground with a sloppy clang that makes you jolt under the furs. He eats something very noisily while throwing his helmet somewhere to the ground too, burps loudly, and sighs again: so deeply that it makes your heart burn. After getting rid of the tunic and his sandals – an operation that takes him more than a while – he crawls on the bed with a heavy breath. Your heart is at your throat as the stench of wine hits you, and his hands are clumsy and stern when he comes under the same fur and reaches for you.

“König—”

Your whisper ends abruptly as you are pulled against a familiar, broad chest. He growls at you for being awake – or at himself for waking you up with a drunken racket.

“I don’t… I didn’t…” you start weakly and have to clear your throat as he huffs against your neck, listening to what you are trying to say.

“I don’t hate you,” you finally whisper.

He grumbles against your back and buries his masked face in your neck. The arm around your middle tightens and tightens, and you hurry to praise his gifts.

“The honey is delicious. And the oils are–”

"Fee… Du machst mich verrückt."

He speaks through gritted teeth while panting laboriously in your hair. You're relieved to hear sorrow instead of anger in his voice, but it’s his body that makes you arch your back and guide your bottom to meet his crotch.

The biggest mistake you’ve ever done, surely, because the whole body behind you grows taut. He gives you a tight roll of his hips, pushing his cock against you with immediate fervour. His balls meet your bottom, tight and heavy: you have gone to bed in your ridiculous Roman dress because you were feeling cold, but you can still feel them. You can feel all of him.

“König… We–We need to sleep…”

You sound like a bitch in heat, not at all like a woman who wants to stop wherever this heated cuddle is spiralling into. König is letting out noises you didn’t even know a man could make, and it makes your cunt wetter than ever before: tight and throbbing and embarrassingly needy. You try to remind yourself that this is not the proper time or way, that you don’t want it to happen like this: with the smell of wine and blood and dirt and sweat surrounding you, with him soon thrusting that cock between your thighs and shooting his seed on the bed before he can even get it in. You don’t want him when he’s drunk, and you don’t want him when he’s clearly a bit angry with you still. You place a weak hand over his, the one currently wrapped around your middle like a bond.

“Please, I mean it…”

“Not the time for sleep, little one,” he rasps on your shoulder, mask dragged aside and mouth breathing hot against your skin. His voice is gentle but his body is not: it turns out he has only been waiting for the slightest little cue to have the permission to take you. Unfortunately for you, moaning and grinding your hips against him is more than just a cue.

“Göttin der Erde... Gib dich mir.”

He grunts odd, boorish words on your shoulder, leaving you breathless with another tight roll of his hips. It feels like a spell or a chant, the way he speaks. You want nothing more than to give yourself to him, and fear that whatever tie has been knotted between you two, whatever shackle has bound your souls together, has also granted him the ability to hear your thoughts. He must’ve heard them, or then he must smell the change in the air, because he rolls you on your back and pushes a knee between your legs.

“Meine Königin... Ich werde dich sehr glücklich machen,” he mutters more incantations in your neck, broad thigh forcing your legs further apart. He doesn’t even need strength to coax them open: they drag up and aside by themselves.

“Ah–Why can’t you talk like normal people…”

You sigh your silly thoughts out into the night air, and your fierce giant turns his head a little, now right there next to your cheek.

"Normal? Was ist das…?"

Your lips draw into a quivering little smile – you just can’t help it. Him lying half on top of you, asking what the word ‘normal’ means while smelling like an entire wine house just burned down makes your lips and heart flutter. Your soft laugh makes him raise his head a little, drunken, half-lidded eyes now fixed on you.

“The opposite of you?” You offer innocently and try not to laugh, but it’s no use. You start to snicker, then giggle, and the way he growls only makes things worse.

“You little–I will go crazy because of you,” he whispers, drunk as a heartbroken man can be. Your own heart seems to open with a flood.

“Then go crazy,” you whisper back.

And gods… He takes your sigh as a permit to go absolutely berserk. He crawls on top of you and rips your dress apart from the middle with both hands, exposing your breasts to him and the cold night air. There's a weight in his gaze that turns your nipples hard; a gaze of promise, just before he descends.

He attacks you like a starving man, devours and licks and sucks your breasts until you shake and moan on the bed, until your hands come to cradle his head with greed.

“I will make you scream tonight,” he pants roughly on your tits – you can feel the words on your skin. You’re veritably afraid that this man will swallow you before he even gets to the main event, which is no doubt to satiate the need to fill you with potent seed. He doesn’t exactly caress you, no: he gobbles you like your body is an entire feast, the generous kisses almost turning into bites when he reaches your hips.

“No–no teeth, König,” you try to whimper, somewhere on the borderline of tension and lust.

"Fee... I promise I'll fuck you like king. I'll fuck you until you cry.”

Your head goes blank from his words; from terror and love and lust. There's no time to decipher whether you should be afraid, because he scoops up your thighs, grabs you like a wrestling partner, and draws you against his face.

“Wait—What are you–”

Your words are cut off as he drives his nose up your cunt and breathes in your musk like it's divine incense. It doesn’t matter that you’re still covered by the skimpy dress he just ripped to shreds: the fabric is so thin that he could be virtually sniffing you through sheer gossamer.

There’s no escape now; he can feel how wet you are. He can practically taste it.

“König—”

You can't understand why he would want to push his face there, so you mewl and try to push him away – very weakly – but he’s immovable, glued to your scent down there, panting into your warm, wet cunt with harsh breaths and starved groans. You're lying there at his mercy, dress torn to pieces and breasts heaving, thighs spread as far as they can go.

It's futile to even try reason with a starved giant between your legs, a cunt-deprived warrior about to finally take what's his. You should've known better than to joke around and play with a man who could snap you in half – either with his hands or with his cock – and Mother was wrong: you're not smart at all, teasing a beast like this. A beast whose teeth are currently bared over your most vulnerable place protected only by a thin veil soaked with your wet.

König lashes his tongue out and presses it flat against your dress, on your throbbing womanhood, and your words turn into an ample, lewd moan.

“A–ah…”

You fall weakly back on the bed, head spinning although you haven’t drunk a drop of wine. The broad body almost trembles there between your legs.

“Ah… You want cock, ja? I can taste it,” he grunts, blunt as ever. The thought of that thing being bullied into you inch by thick inch makes your cunt clench tight. Gods, you want it, but it will never fit, never…

Unless he… Unless that's why he's down there, panting hot inside you, trying to coax you open with his mouth. Perhaps he's not that dumb after all...

“Please,” you beg for him to love you, taste you, take you, your pride melting into copper and gold, pooling somewhere down, down, down…

“Don't worry,” he speaks straight to your cunt like a man intoxicated with something far better than wine. “I will give you cock. All night.”

He lifts the dress with his nose like a dog, nuzzles under your ruined attire like it's his shelter for the night, headed back towards his plump prize. There will soon be nothing between his mouth and your poor, throbbing cunt, aching to be licked and loved by a cruel giant. A giant who brings you milk and honey and grapes and gold in all its forms…

But just when you have finally forgotten that beasts possess teeth, he sinks them into you. He sinks them into your inner thigh, waking you up from the dream with sharp, harrowing pain.

The fucking idiot actually bites you, hard.

“You fucking—Go to hell!”

You push him away in earnest now, using his shoulders to propel yourself away from him. His teeth threaten to pierce and tear skin because he's so reluctant to let go, and the horrors of the battlefield seep into your skin; the safe warmth of the womb turns into a suffocating darkness.

Your kicks have enough power to make him rise from between your legs, and the clear-cut pain in his eyes makes you want to both hug and hit him. You do the latter and hurl your fists at him, not bothering to even try to hit a target or cause pain; you just want him to stop making you afraid.

Of course, he takes your breathless state and lust-filled rage as a cue to leave – and he does precisely that, but not before he has struggled away from you and your fists in an overly dramatic manner. It would look funny in another situation, especially when he's as hard as ever, cock jutting high towards the sky just from having a little taste of your love. Drunken and slightly wobbly, he almost falls when he grabs the tunic from the earthen floor as if his tent is a site of execution where he will soon be stoned.

At the mouth of the tent, he stops, throws his head back, and roars. The guttural, booming rage echoes towards the gods like a furious curse, and you’re quite sure that the entire camp is awake by now. Every soldier nearby must be dying of a scared heart, thinking that there are either bears or Gauls upon them.

You hold your arms against your chest and safeguard your soft belly as you take in all his fury and frustration, then watch him stagger into the night, head hanging heavy between slumped shoulders. You’re left breathing, afraid and alone in the darkness, thinking about what the hell just happened… And spend the next moments in shock. Soon enough, the cold and terror fades, melting into something more palatable. You're shivering and wet, but intact, at least on the outside.

And the oddest thing is that you find yourself missing him. You miss his presence, his body, you miss his dumbness and his jokes. You fucking miss him.

The man who almost raped you.

With his… mouth.

You curl inside the furs and try to get some sleep with a hammering heart, ending up thinking about him all night. You thought he was going to pound you with that ridiculously long cock all night – and wasn't that his threat, too? – but what you didn't expect was that the giant barbarian who rips people's throats open with his teeth would want to lick and lap you into submission. You never would have thought that König wanted to bury his face between your legs, and eagerly at that.

Perhaps you understood his silly words wrong in your half aroused, half scared state. What if he meant to make you scream and cry from pleasure, not pain?

The burning bruise on your thigh reminds you that you are probably wrong, but you still wake every now and then from a thin sleep, glancing around you in despair, only to see that he’s not there. You feel so hollow that you think for a moment whether König has left the camp entirely, whether he is wandering away, towards some other adventure, exhausted with you and the war and the Romans.

The most unbearable thought in your head is not that he has left you for his dogs, however. It’s the thought that has abandoned you. That he has finally had enough. Because you realize… König hasn’t gone anywhere. He simply left to have his fun with some other woman. Perhaps he’ll be back in the morning, but his patience is gone; it has finally ended, your silly little game. A difficult slave girl who won’t even let him lick her cunt is simply no amusement to him anymore.

Just before dawn, your will breaks; it splits in half. You can almost hear it. The sound of cries is muffled in the bed that nowadays has both his scent and yours: both of your scents combined, mixing together into a wonderful haze of love and despair.

…

König comes back when the dawn is already turning into a full day.

He strolls into the tent the same way he left: with a hunched posture and unsteady feet, but the fervent vigour from last night is gone. Actually, you have never seen him so weak. The dramatic sighs, the groping and the bullying have turned into a piercing silence. His muscles have lost their strength, his head is hanging heavy between those once proud shoulders, and his eyes are cast down as if he’s hoping there wouldn’t be such a bright orb in the sky. He drags his feet as he enters the tent; he doesn’t even look your way when he goes and slumps in his chair.

You are so glad to see him that you nearly jump from the bed and fall right there at his feet. You want to kiss his thighs and grab his hands and look up at him, doting and adoring like a good little slave. You want to whimper and beg that he can give you love bites everywhere he wants.

Instead, you snap at him, voice filled with poison.

“Did you have fun raping women last night?”

There are leaves on his mask and dirt on his shins and knees. Even his hands are a little grungy, and the proud red Roman tunic could also use a wash. He sheds you a tired side stare, then sighs.

“Was?”

“Were you with women,” you spell out every word slowly like you’re talking to a child. The venom on your tongue threatens to spill out as froth. And you almost say, 'other women'. Almost.

König raises his head and looks at you with a slight tilt in his head. He’s curious again, so, so very curious. He has clearly fleed the sun into his tent rather than seek your gracious presence, which shouldn’t make you this glum... But what you just said has managed to brighten up his entire day.

“Meine Fee… She’s jealous,” he points out in a far more jovial tone.

“No. Not at all,” you hurry to say, chin drawing back from his stupid accusations.

“You are,” he says with unbridled fascination.

“I assure you I’m not.”

Your cheeks are heating up, and the nervousness inside your belly roils like a snake. How does he always manage to get you into a trap?

König leans back in his chair, now with his usual dignity on those shoulders. He even crosses his fingers loosely in his lap, looking like the conversation he’s about to have with you will, yet again, become another favourite of his. You’re not sure why you always feel like you’re being interrogated on the sly with him because König is the most simple, straightforward, blunt object of a man you have ever met. And still…

“Fucking other women is bad?” He asks innocently from that chair.

“Bad?” You huff. “Yes, if you have to force women under you, you are a brute.”

“And… ugly?”

“Very ugly. The ugliest man in the world.”

"Hm. But who say anything about forcing?"

König looks at you, calmly, as your stomach sinks from his words.

You can only stare at him as the world seems to fall apart around you, crumble into nothingness when there's sun shining and birds singing outside. Kicking him out of the tent – and almost kicking him in the face in the process – because you got afraid when he gave you a fervent little nib seems like the stupidest idea right now. If you were so willing to part your legs for him and moan under his tongue, surely some other insane woman would want to do that as well? Surely there is at least one woman in this camp who would gladly be pleased by this giant who doesn't hit or force women. Who only likes to… bite and squeeze and lick them.

You pout at him, lip almost trembling now, and he’s smiling, so, so very wide behind that mask. Gods damn him.

Then he rises and walks to you, suddenly looking like he isn’t suffering from a hangover after all. He strolls towards you with slow purpose, and you swallow the tears down, trying not to show him how they turn into ice inside your stomach.

“I have not touched women. Only you.”

He towers above you, looking down at you like you are indeed the most adorable thing in the entire world. You are not sure whether his words are to be believed, but something inside you says that this man never lies. As dense and dumb as he is, he is the most trustworthy human being you will ever meet.

“Only sleep with earth last night,” he says and starts to caress your hair. He even weighs some of it in his hand before sweeping it over your shoulder. Like you are simply his precious, silly little wife who has been spoiled too much.

“It was a cold mistress,” he laments, overly dramatic again, like a poor actor in a tragic play. Your heart aches, badly – you swear König is the most annoying man you have ever met, the most insufferable and lovable. You wonder if he has spent his seed on the cold, hard ground too. Given it to the Great Mother, who is a cold lover sometimes indeed… But not as cold as you.

You wonder how crazy it is that you have the power to drive this giant into the cold night from his own tent. König has had to face his hangover by waking up to a chilly dawn. His hand is not as warm as usual, and you start to worry that he has caught the wrath of wind spirits outside, soon rendering him weak and feverish. His skin is not supposed to feel this cold, not when he’s almost always blazing.

“I know a plant that might help,” you say diplomatically. “With your… Head.”

He looks at you, more and more curious by every passing moment. You hope he doesn’t weigh in his mind whether you are trying to poison him when he is weak. But he’s not that clever, perhaps, because he only looks at you like you’re an entire sun now, and very unlike the one that is giving him a headache today. You turn away from his hand – but not too quickly. You’re only feeling shy. And a bit uncomfortable.

“You should eat something. And drink water, not wine.”

“You care about my head?”

Gods… His voice is so, so soft. He’s seeing past all your defences again, and there is nothing you can do about it. You want to curse him but can’t. You simply can’t.

“Just… Eat some fruit, alright? And I need a kettle so that I can boil some water for the herbs.”

You rise from the bed and try to ignore his adoring stare. He doesn’t attempt to touch you again; he merely watches as you go about and eat a little something as if to show that when it is morning, people should have breakfast. Like you’re a mother trying to lead by example or a fussing young wife who is trying to help his husband. Your lips are a thin line as you search for grapes that aren’t too soft and a piece of bread that doesn’t yet have mould in it. You grab some figs: you know they are his favorite, and bring them to him to tell him you’re serious about him needing to eat.

And you feel silly.

You can’t even look at him. You’re feeling so odd, so weak, so warm inside, and it’s not because you’re disgusted; hell, it’s the opposite of being disgusted….

“I have fallen in love with you,” König says as he accepts your humble offering of food. You freeze in the middle of setting them on his palms, held upwards as if content with whatever you give him, even if it’s only a piece of bread and a few figs.

Gods. Mother… Don’t do this to me–

“That how you say it?”

You breathe in and out, calm, collected – you're not going to faint because some crazy giant thinks he's in love. Yes, that’s it… Everything’s alright. He’s just being silly again. He’s just playing his own little plays again.

But when you look at him, there is no actor there, no silly play: he’s just… König. He returns your helpless, cornered stare with warm kindness, reminding you of something, of some Roman or Greek god… Apollo. Yes, that’s it. Laureled sun god Apollo, the one everyone loves so dearly, because he always drives fear and doubt and darkness away. He’s Apollo, even though he doesn’t even prefer a bow.

And has the translator taught König the correct words? Has he memorized them so that he can say them to you when the time is right? Your lip starts to tremble, and you fight to not shudder a sigh. The old seer was wrong: this man will be your downfall.

“I’ll go get that plant,” you whisper, soft eyes wide and chest curled tight.

“Nein,” he says cheerfully, full of life and hope again. “Not alone, little one.”

…

A/N: Please don't send me death threats. Remember, big bang bang next chapter! Huge!!

Translations:

Sehr schön - Very beautiful

Kleine Fee - Little fairy

Hungrig? - Hungry?

Ich könnte dich niemals verlassen - I could never leave you

Für dich - For you

Du machst mich verrückt - You drive me crazy

Göttin der Erde… Gib dich mir - Goddess of the Earth… Give yourself to me

Meine Königin... Ich werde dich sehr glücklich machen - My Queen... I will make you very happy

Was ist das? - What is that?

#könig fanfiction #könig x reader #könig x you #könig x fem reader #könig x female reader #könig cod #konig x reader #konig x you #historical au #Roman soldier!König #könig smut

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hiraya-rawr · 2 years ago

Text

giving them a seelie pet —

characters !! diluc, ayato, wanderer, zhongli

note !! little drabble as im trying to fall asleep~ gn reader

Diluc

Doesn't know how to react when you gesture for a floating green glob to approach him. He gives you a death stare. "You do know this. . . thing might end up in one of the wine crates by accident? the winery isn't the safest place for a 'pet' or whatever you intend this to be. . ."

Accepts it anyway because gentlemen don't refuse gifts. he leaves it to the maids at first but it keeps following him around that he's forced to look after it (he's saved it from being trapped in fermenting wine barrels a handful of times).

Eventually comes to accept it, but also tries to make use of it. "We need to have a better way of communicating. Can you understand morse code? . . . no? squeak twice if yes. Now what about turning you into a spy. . . too difficult? then how about a delivery bird?"

Ayato

He found it amusing but also questionable because why on teyvat would you give a seelie as a gift? it's an odd present to receive that's for sure, but he accepts it anyway.

Has a habit of teasing his new little red friend. Often pokes it, either with a pen or his finger. He's tried offering it boba milktea once but couldn't figure out where the mouth was.

Wanderer

This guy would give you the weirdest look, "looks like you're not all right in the head, because a seelie. . . pet? ha, there's something you don't hear everyday. insane."

he is an absolute bully! would poke his seelie multiple times just to hear it squeak. if it squeaks a lot, he'll trap it in his hat and keep it on a table. eventually does grow fond of it, having something rely on him gives him... purpose, makes him feel needed, and it's nice to have something his (but he'll never admit it).

may share his hat with his little golden friend!

Zhongli

He's just really glad you thought of him to give the seelie to! they have quite the history and he'll tell you all about them as you give him the pet!

although seekies tend to be quite squeaky loud, his becomes very well behaved. (zhongli simply smiles and shushes it gently, telling it to read along with him if it wants, and the seelie would settle down). they become a very calm pair, casually reading or drinking tea, strolling down the harbor. seelie likes to rest on his shoulders!

ko-fi // gen.masterlist

#genshin x reader #diluc #diluc x reader #zhongli #zhongli x reader #ayato #ayato x reader #wanderer #scaramouche #wanderer x reader #scaramouche x reader #genshin #genshin impact

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acapelladitty · 8 months ago

Text

take a drink from an empty cup

Pairing: Cooper Howard/Fem!Reader

Summary: Pursued by the infamous ghoul who is hunting you across the wastelands, you find that he has a very creative plan in place to punish you for your continued disobedience. (3.1k words).

(warnings for: cnc play, forced deepthroat, orgasm control, rope restriants, physical violence, oral sex, blood, threats of violence, unprotected sex, fingering, mild aftercare, dark humour, subspace, predator/prey)

Fic Masterlist

Link to AO3

Rapid feet kicking up soft plumes of red dirt as they pound across the dusty ground, the heat of the sun on your exposed skin bears down like a sheepskin blanket - your slickened skin feeling hot and uncomfortable despite the chill of anxiety which powers your frantic movements.

Panting as you duck behind the corner of a building, your ears strain for any sound, any whisper of your attackers whereabouts. Wearing only a tattered shirt and light-coloured panties, you're too consumed by fear to have any shame about your state of undress.

A low whistle forces your spine to straighten, eyes peeking around the corner as you watch him appear from the depths of a side street.

"Running ain't gonna save you, sweetie. Best give up before you really piss me off."

The Ghoul.

Cooper Howard.

The man hunting you with the casualness of a cat preying on an injured bird, certain of the victory to come.

You could hear it in his voice, in the way that his low tones carry with ease across the abandoned town as they swept across you with the breeze.

"If you're unlucky enough, you might catch the attention of the gang in the next town over. I hear they use their finds to entertain the dogs or sometimes the odd deathclaw if it's behaved well enough." Cooper paused, his head visibly scanning the ground as he sought out your messy tracks. "Hell, might even do that myself if you keep playin' so hard to get."

His footfalls are steady as they approach the corner you're hiding behind, the polar opposite of your own trembling limbs, and a surge of strength forces you to push off from your hiding spot and make a break for it. You don't dare turn around and look at him but you hear his speed increase as he zeroes in on his hunted prey.

He's faster, he always is, and his hands lock around your shoulders as the solid heat of him pulls you flush to his chest.

"Caught you, sweetheart. Now let's see about taking what's mine."

Body thrashing as the hard bulge of his cock presses against the lower end of your back, a feral howl - half fear and half rage - claws free of your throat and you slam your elbow back. It connects with his groin, and his hands drop from your shoulders like they had burned him as his face twists into a violent scowl.

"Motherfucker!" Cupping his cock through his slacks with a tender motion, you take the momentay distraction to run once more and refuse to look back at him as he recovers and continues to hollers his threats after you. "You'll pay for that, darling. Eye for an eye and I take mine with teeth."

You run on adrenaline, the frayed shirt whipping around your upper thighs with every quick turn as you seek out an escape route. Eyeing up a set of wooden stairs which lead to the upper level of a nearby building, you bolt for them with a sudden swing of your hips.

You don't feel the rope of the lasso closing around your foot until it's too late.

One moment, you're running, and the next you find yourself slamming into the wooden boards with a pained yelp - your knees and tits catching on the edge of the stairs as your mouth glances off the banister, bursting your lower lip in a sharp flash of pain as the taste of copper immediately fills your mouth.

Stunned as hell, you can't even catch a breath as you flip to your back, staring up at the unforgiving sun.

Cooper, his hand coiled around the other end of the rope, is just as unforgiving and he tugs the length with a vicious heave - the pressure enough to snatch you closer and pull you down a few stairs. The strong wood clatters against the back of your head with a horrid intensity, the bump of two stairs causing stars to flash in your vision as they leave a dull ache in their wake.

He's on you like a pack of wild dogs, his body dropping atop your own to pin you to the stairs by the sheer weight of him. Bruised and battered, you can't muster the strength to fight him off and instead the pathetic writhe of your body only seems to excite him more as his face swims before your own.

"Seems to me like you owe me an apology, little lady. Now," Cooper pauses and his hand wraps around your chin to force you to meet his eye, "I could be a bad man and treat you nasty, beating that lovely hide til it bleeds and glows even redder than mine, but that's not what's gonna happen here."

Whimpering, his knee drops to press roughly against your lower stomach, emphasising just how utterly trapped you were as his smug, leathered face blocks the sun from your gaze.

"Where I'm from, we kiss and make up, and since it wasn't my mouth you chose to smack up, I think you'll be better suited putting those pretty lips elsewhere."

"N-no." You stutter out, a low whine increasing in pitch as his other hand pulls at your hair, his grip igniting fire in your scalp. "Please, no."

His hand scores across your face, the blow not enough to cause any real pain outside of disturbing your busted lip, but definitely enough to put an end to your refusals as you gaze up at him with watery eyes.

"Bite and I'll take those teeth, mind." Cooper warns, his brow furrowing in warning as the hole of his nose flares. "One by one. I'm sure you've taken ghoul cock before, sweetheart. What's one more, huh?"

As he speaks, he frees his cock with an excited grunt and his grip on your hair grows even more rough while he yanks at the strands to encourage your lips to part, uncaring of the split lip which is still gently bleeding.

"Nice and slow."

Incapable of doing much more, you open your mouth and accept his cock with a low whimper. He's already excited and as the tip of his cock glances off your tongue, you can taste his pre-cum, the pearly liquid more acrid than anything you'd tasted before. His cock is thick, the girth of it already threateneing to make your jaw ache as he slides himself across your mouth a few times - testing out your limits with a tight control.

"Oh yeah." Cooper rumbles. "This'll do. Time to work on your breathing, sweetheart."

Canting his hips forward, the tip of his cock buries itself down your throat and the suddenness of the movement makes your body startle - reawakening the various aches of your earlier fall as you choke around his cock and desperately claw at his clothed thighs with your fingers.

He ignores your distress, instead focusing on his own pleasure as he alternates between using his hand to guide your head along his cock and thrusting his own groin forward; both actions merciless in their treatment as an obscenely wet noise fills the space.

Head bobbing along his cock forcefully, nausea rises in your chest as his textured skin rams into the back of your throat - sparking your gag relax as you swallow around his cock in open panic.

"Keep massaging my cock like that, darlin', and I won't make it to the main event."

Cooper growls the words, smirking down at your misery as your vision swims, and he snatches his cock free with one swift pull.

Coughing and spluttering, you inhale big gulps of air and they burn your lungs like fresh hell - a light-headedness making your skull pound as you desperately try to fix yourself.

Lying like a broken marionette doll, your strings well and truly cut, you can't do anything but whimper anew as his rough hands grip their way up your thighs to cup at your cunt though your panties.

"You'll not be needing these any time soon." Cooper grunts, ripping the panties from you with a wicked strength; the fabric tearing like paper as you shudder and attempt to close your thighs around his hand. A move which quickly draws a low cry from your lips as he responds by pinching at your clit roughly with two fingers.

"Play nice, sweetheart, or I'll play rough. And you won't like that as much. In fact-"

The world spins as he flips you from your back, strong hands easily maneuvering you to ensure that your body is positioned on the stairs to allow him easy access to your holes - your head pressing into a higher stair as you tilt your face to allocate the pressure on your busted up lip.

Something like a sob slips free of your lips as one of his hands presses down heavily on your lower back, forcing your ass to arch up higher, as his other hands cups at your sex once more.

"Hmm, but which hole to use? I'm sure that hole has seen enough action to make any ride as smooth as a whisky sour." His fingers tease along your slit, refusing to push any deeper as they trail up to your skin and brush along the rim of your ass. "But then, if I want a tighter ride then maybe this fine ass would be better, might even learn you a lesson about showing respect too. I ain't afraid of a bucking bronco and I'm sure you'd take it like a champ."

"Not there." You mutter out, voice defeated. "Please."

"Hmm, then you better be good and I'll see about giving the little whore what she wants." You can hear the smirk in his tone as he gropes your body like a butcher measuring up a fresh hunk of meat. "Say it, sweetheart, ask me to fuck you and I'll let you choose."

"Plea-please fuck me?" The words taste sour against your tongue, the heat from his body making your head feel fuzzy. That, or the multiple knocks on the stairs were finally getting to you. Regardless, tears threaten the corners of your eyes once more as you are forced to play his little game. "I want you to- to fuck me."

"Well now," giving a low whistle as he lines the blunted head of his cock up with your cunt, Cooper has the gall to sound smug at the ask, "what kind of gentleman would I be to ignore such a request from a pretty little thing?"

With a single thrust of his hips, he buries his cock to the hilt within your cunt and the sudden burn of your flesh as it's forced to stretch and give way to his cock draws a strangled yelp of pain from your lips. His earlier actions having sparked some arousal in your traitorous frame, you weren't fully dry and Cooper chuckled lowly as his felt the moisture surrounding his cock as he stilled his hips.

"Well, well, well." He growls, his groin hot against your own as his balls hang heavy against your cunt. "Looks like this little hellcat isn't as unwilling as she wants me to think. You're soaked, sweetie."

Hot shame making you slam your eyes shut as you adjust to the pressure of his cock, you feel the heat of your walls being pulled roughly as he starts to lazily thrust. Every stroke is awful in how determined it is to make you feel every textured inch of his cock, Cooper pulling free until only the head is breaching your hole before slamming deep once more - his cock glancing off your cervix painfully.

Worse than that, is just how good it feels.

The ridged and slightly rough texture of his cock stimulates every nerve in your heated hole and the betraying arousal only serves to make the growing band of arousal in your gut even more cruel in its intensity.

It's uncomfortable, it's hot, and it's so fucking good.

Body aching despite the distraction of his cock, you try to focus on the building pleasure as a means to escape the other more shitty feelings which afflict you. In spite of it all, the tight band of pleasure across your groin is undeniable and his cock seems to brush the sensitive spot inside you with pinpoint precision, every thrust making your toes curl while you whimper and whine.

You come with a startled gasp, waves of pleasure crashing through your body as your cunt spasms around his cock - pulling him deeper as your walls milk him for what he's worth. He seems to appreciate it though, as his pace - if possible - grows even sloppier and his groin makes a obscene slapping noise while it bounces off your ass.

Overly sensitive, you squeak in discomfort as he continues to fuck himself into you without mercy; dragging your orgasm out until you're cunt feels heated and your limbs ache from the constant flex of the muscles. He's vocal too - grunts and low growls of pleasure marking his movements as his thick hands pin you into place to give his cock unfettered access to your hole.

Eventually, you feel his cock give a very definite twitch within your cunt and you gasp anew as a fresh heat floods your walls; his release pumping itself as deeply within your hole as it can while he remains flush against your ass.

"Goddamn, sweetie. Ain't nothing like it."

He pulls his cock free, the hardened length only just beginning to wilt and you feel the mess that coats every inch as it slips free. Body feeling well used and deliciously uncomfortable, you stay in place, unsure of what he plans for you next and in no fit state to escape without further injury.

"Smooth as a whisky sour." Cooper repeats his earlier words, his voice sated and low with his satisfactory use of your hole. "But i'm sure you got another good one in you."

His hand is harsh against your back again until the pressure forces your ass up higher - the combined mess in your cunt dripping free to the wooden stair below.

Panic reignites in your chest as a sinking feeling alerts you to his plans.

"I can't- please, don't! Please!"

He ignores you and you feel his rough fingers pressing along your slit until he finds the target of his little game - your clit already swollen and making itself an easier target. His forefinger grazes the nub and the intensity of the touch makes you howl as fresh lightning scores across your spine.

It only takes him a few deliberate movements, rough strokes giving way to a more gentle circling motion and your cunt clenches around nothing as he easily pulls a second orgasm from you; your legs painfully tense as you bury your cries in the skin of your forearm and hump your cunt in the warm air, wordlessly encouraging his fingers to push you even further.

"Greedy little thing." Cooper chastises, enjoying how pathetic your movements are as the shame of being forced to come around his fingers only serves to make the pleasure all the sweeter. "Look at how shameless you are, darling', pretending that you aren't desperate to be wrapped around my cock again."

Denying it with a frantic shake of your head, you ride his fingers regardless until he takes pity and pulls his hand away from your overstimulated and aching cunt - your legs trembling and fists clenching against the hard grain of the wooden stair.

Cooper exhales deeply, his body rolling from your own as he lays flat out on the stair by your side. The scent of sex and sweat hands heavy in the heated air, a pungent aroma that speaks to just how roughly he had treated you and your fingers are quick to sink into the lapels of his leather duster as you inch closer to him.

Sensing your movements, Cooper extends his arm overhead and allows you to burrow in close to his side, your legs hooking within his own while a pained gasp slips free of your lips as the motion causes the ache in your sex to sting anew. The gasp forces a soft coughing fit, your abused throat really forcing its attention as you shiver in place.

Wordlessly, Cooper sinks his hand deep within his side pocket and pulls free his flask, handing it off to you with a pointed look.

"Thanks." You croak out. Taking a deep swig, the warm water may as well have been taken from the most pristine, crystal blue spring as the relief it pours through your gritty throat and aching, heated limbs is like pure heaven.

Thoroughly fucked and satisfied, the comedown of your activities draws a fresh shudder from your spine as you hand Cooper back his flask - his blazing eyes watching your every move with pinpoint precision.

"Need anything else, sweetheart?" His voice is low and raspy, saturated with the same satisfaction as your own and his features are loose as his arm wraps around your lower back to keep you close.

Shaking your head, you blurt out the first thing that springs to mind. "Didn't mean to hit you in the dick."

At that, Cooper chuckles; a genuine laugh that rumbles through his chest as his head tilts back ever so slightly. Like this, in the post-fuck haze, he's at his most muted and content - his expression open and relaxed as he enjoys the feel of you against him.

"Liar." He accuses without fire. "Suited me fine though, darlin', cause it made it easier to smack you down those stairs."

Your little games were an idea of your own making, his enthusiasm taking some time to come around until he was convinced that you were eager and willing despite your actions.

"Great." Tired and slightly nauseous, you can't help but smile at him as the ragged edge of his nose hole flares with his suppressed amusement. "You banged me up good. My lip is fucked."

"Fucked more than just that, sweetie. You almost got away this time."

"Liar." You parrot his earlier words.

"Gotta say though, you're getting much better at swallowing my cock down-"

Interjecting quickly, you roll your eyes at him. "Didn't have much of a choice."

"-getting a bit too good mind. Might have to start making some scratch from those skills. Put you to good use. What do you think?"

The sun beating down on your skin as the uncomfortably sticky mess from between your thighs continues to drip free of your abused cunt, a weariness sets into your bones as you cling to him with desperate fingers - a strong desire to drift off into a short nap clawing at your senses.

"You're too much of a jealous son of a bitch." You sigh out, closing your eyes as you focus on the beat of his heart as it thrums beneath your ears. "You'd kill the first man to look at me funny."

Sensing your fatigue, Cooper matches your exhale with one of his own as he fixes his hat across his forehead.

"Sleep, sweetheart. We'll pick this dumbass conversation up when you're not dripping like an old faucet."

Eyes slipping close, the nasty comparison draws a smirk from you regardless as you wrap your leg around his own with a tighter grip and settle in for a recovery nap.

#mind the tags folks!! i do tag as appropriately as i can #cooper howard #the ghoul #cooper howard x reader #ghoul x reader #cooper howard x you #ghoul x you #fallout #fallout 2024 #fallout fanfic #fallout fic #fallout tv series #the ghoul smut #cooper howard smut #fallout smut #ghoul smut #walton goggins

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semiotomatics · 2 years ago

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update: he didn't make it :( poor lil guy

took a bird home from work today

thats a new one

#tw animal death #i do wonder what happened to him #if he just majorly overexerted himself or if he was injured or what #he was definitely Not Right #gonna suck to have to tell ppl at work tomorrow #i'm sure they'll ask #so far i'm 1 for 3 on successful-bird-rescues #not...*great* odds #but that's birds for you #also i'm kinda mad that my coworker just grabbed him barehanded #even if he was super weak #a) you don't know what diseases he might be carrying #but also b) unless you're trained in how to handle birds (which. didn't seem like it in their case) then you could seriously injure them!#esp if he's already stressed and behaving strangely #like. in no way do i think it was her fault #it sounds like the damage had already been done by the time she grabbed him #but it was irresponsible #like!! at least put some gloves on!!#even better--catch him in a box/towel/net #oh well #personal spewage #rest in peace lil guy

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ideas-on-paper · 11 months ago

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The mystery of P's skin

If there's one thing the entire Lies of P community can agree upon, it's probably that Pinocchio looks very, very handsome. Many people - including me - were enamored by his looks from the moment they first saw him in the trailers, by his soft locks, sweet freckles and big blue eyes.

However, even early on, I couldn't help but feel like there was something... odd about his features - more specifically, his skin. For a puppet whose outer shell usually consists of porcelain, wood, or some other artificial material, it looked almost too realistic.

Of course, it could just be very realistic looking faux skin (which, given Lies of P's 19th-century technology, would be kind of impressive), but after some careful observations, I get the feeling there actually might be more to it. And given some of the things I learned in my research about real-life automata, there might be a grisly, sinister secret behind P's innocent face.

[Massive spoilers for Lies of P]

[CW: skinning, violence to children]

The Lies of P character cards

The first time I noticed there was something strange about P's skin was when I was looking at the character cards Neowiz released back in 2022, as promotional material for Gamescom.

These cards feature high-resolution renders of the main characters, showing a lot of structural details of clothing, hair, and skin.

As for P's render, it looks like this:

One thing that confused me from the start was just how perfectly normal his skin looks. Most of the other puppets have porcelain skin, which creates a very distinct reflection when light falls onto it, as we can see with Polendina:

For P, however, we see no such effect, implying that his outer shell is not made of porcelain. Also, seeing how he occasionally squints his eyes on the character screen and how his skin squishes and stretches as a result, I think it most definitely consists of something else - because if I know one thing, it's that porcelain does not physically behave that way.

Instead, a lot of people (particularly fanfic writers) have come up with the headcanon that P has really realistic-looking faux skin. However, if that were the case, I would find it really puzzling just how many small impurities there are on his face. You would probably expect synthetically manufactured skin to look very smooth and clean, but in case of P, if you pay close attention, you can spot tiny irregularities giving the impression of skin pores, and even a bump above his left eye.

In comparison, P's skin actually looks surprisingly similar to that of the human characters from the game. For reference, here are the portraits of Sophia, Venigni and Eugénie:

See what I mean? There is virtually no distinction between the structure of P's skin and that of the human characters (to be fair, Eugénie's even looks a lot cleaner). Adding to this, these close-ups of P's face during the ending cutscene make it apparent that these small blemishes certainly, most definitely are skin pores.

Considering all of this, I've come up with a somewhat eccentric theory - that P's skin is neither made from porcelain nor some other kind of faux material, but real, actual skin.

Automata with animal skin and Vaucanson's "Flute Player"

Some of you may wonder: "But P is a puppet! How could he possibly have real, human skin?"

Well... this is where the disturbing part begins.

First off, we have to take a quick dive into the history of automata, the real-life clockwork machines providing the basis of Lies of P's lore. Originally, clockwork mechanisms took up an enormous amount of space, being used for huge clock towers in cities and large-scale moving sculptures. Over the centuries, the mechanical components became smaller, enabling clockmakers and artisans to produce more intricate crafts, including miniature reproductions of people and animals.

Clocks and music boxes featuring birds with real feathers were extremely popular, but there were also other automata coated with real animal skin: As early as the 17th century, we have a drumming bear with actual bear fur (located in the Mathematisch-Physikalischer Salon, Dresden) and a pair of lion table clocks (located in Skokloster Castle, Sweden) coated in the hide of lambs. From the 19th century, we know of a toy mouse by Gustave Vichy as well as a toy rabbit by Nicolas Théroude, both covered in real animal fur. In addition, there were various 19th-century dolls with leather bodies, and the company Jérôme Thibouville-Lamy even produced a miniature ensemble of monkey musicians with heads covered in soft leather, which could move their lips to show their teeth.

However, we don't have any accounts that skin was used for human automata - except for one extraordinary case from the 18th century.

In 1738, the French inventor Jacques de Vaucanson presented an automaton called "The Flute Player". It was the size of a real-life human, and in contrast to all other automata of the time, it didn't use some kind of sound box to produce its music, but actual air flow. The inner mechanism consisted of a system of nine bellows, divided into sets of three, which were each controlled by a weight to regulate air pressure. Each set was attached to a pipe, three in total, which all joined up into a single one, similar to a trachea. This singular pipe continued up the throat, widening at the top to form the mouth cavity where the air flowed out. To correctly play the flute, the automaton was equipped with lips which could not only open and close, but also move back and forward to cover the holes. To better control the air flow and create pauses between notes, the automaton even possessed a movable, silver tongue.

Despite this virtually perfect imitation of the action of flute playing, Vaucanson had to realize that the automaton's metal fingers weren't pliable enough to cover the holes of the instrument correctly - so, for the automaton to be able to execute its task, Vaucanson had to glove the hands in real, actual skin.

It's speculated it was human skin, although I couldn't find any source decisively confirming this. Either way, despite Vaucanson being a quite controversial figure among his contemporaries, he was a fascinating personality: He was one of the first to construct automata that were not meant to serve as mere toys, but which could do labor, being credited with the invention of what we today would call household androids back in 1727(!), and chances are he was neurodivergent as well (coming from my own observations as a neurodivergent person).

However, as much as I'd love to write an entire essay about Vaucanson right now, let's get back to our actual topic.

The procedure

To put it bluntly, what I think actually happened is this:

Geppetto took the skin of a dead boy, treated it in some way so it wouldn't rot, and then draped the skin over a wooden puppet frame.

I think from a moral standpoint, Geppetto would definitely be able to do this - however, it would require him to have a good deal of experience with human anatomy. As someone who builds humanoid puppets, I think he would at least have a theoretical understanding of it, but still, he's an engineer, not a doctor.

There is, however, one group with excellent medical knowledge who certainly wouldn't shy away from dissecting a human being: the Alchemists. Although Geppetto's dislike of the Alchemists is well known, he himself admitted that "in desperate times, I broke my own rule" after the disaster at the Grand Exhibition, and I assume Carlo's resurrection would be more than good a reason for that as well. Basically, my suspicion is that Geppetto had help from the Alchemists - maybe even from Simon Manus himself. If this was the case, I imagine Simon probably demanded some kind of favor in return - perhaps Geppetto and Simon struck a deal, with the Alchemists giving Geppetto free rein to execute his little experiment with the Puppet Frenzy, while he agreed not to interfere with their own. This would support the Mad Donkey's statement that Geppetto and the Alchemists were "scheming together". (Also, if they were actually working together, I think things already started with the Nameless Puppet, Geppetto's first attempt at resurrecting Carlo. In the cutscene before the fight against the Nameless Puppet, we can see that Geppetto's left hand has been fitted with implants, having the same bluish complexion that is typical of people who have been "enhanced" by the Alchemists.) However, I don't think Geppetto ever really trusted the Alchemists, so he probably planned to betray them at some point - at the same time, I think Simon knew Geppetto was deceiving him (reading thoughts is such an op skill), so he didn't fully rely on him either.

Regardless whether Geppetto had assistance or not, completely skinning a human without damaging the skin requires an immense amount of care. Looking at P's skin (or at least what we can see of it), there are no visible seams anywhere, which would mean Geppetto did his best to keep it intact, probably including the hair as well. (As we all know, P's hair looks very soft and natural, and you can't see any outlines where it was glued on; therefore, I believe it was left rooted in the skin.) Nevertheless, if you want to skin a body, you have to make a cut somewhere. One possible option would be the hole in P's chest (where the P-Organ is inserted), as there would later be an opening anyway; also, given that the Legion Arm would later replace the left one, there would naturally have to be a cut at the left upper arm. However, both of these openings would most likely be too small to completely remove the skin. Due to this, my suspicion is that Geppetto made a third, larger cut down P's back. It would be big enough to take the complete skin off, and it would also be convenient if P had something like a cam storage in his back, similar to the Jaquet-Droz automata. (This has been a headcanon of mine for a long time, since these cam discs act as an analogue storage for a clockwork automaton's movements, which are engraved into the edge. Given that P's combat moves are quite complex, he'd need a lot of space for those; btw, my theory is that the amulets from the game are actually interchangeable cams, because they have "information and memories that are useful for movement" imprinted on them.) I would assume both the openings at the front and at the back are usually covered with skin, with a small seam being visible where the original cut was. Whenever Geppetto needs to do maintenance, the skin would be peeled back to give him free access.

As for the rest of the process, I suppose it would be kind of similar to taxidermy. As it happens, the Victorian era (which is around the same time period the game is set in) was actually the golden age of taxidermy, when mounted animals started to become more lifelike - there was even a trend among pet owners to let their deceased pets be stuffed, as a way to "resurrect" them. (Just why do I always manage to stumble upon the most cursed parallels?) Once the skin had been taken off, any remains of fat and muscle tissue would be removed, after which it would be either tanned or treated with preserving chemicals. Following this, the skin would be mounted on a mannequin, in P's case probably a standard puppet frame made from wood and metal. Of course, you need to take precise measurements of the original body beforehand, and since this is about his darling son, I imagine Geppetto would put extra care into the modeling. At the end, all you'd have to do is add glass eyes - and well, there you have it: a perfect, biomechanical imitation of a human being.

However, we do know there were some unexpected changes in P, even physical ones like his hair growing. Presuming that he indeed does have real skin, I wonder if this may be due to the Ergo "recognizing" the organic material in some way, causing these lifelike reactions. I could imagine a puppet with human skin is quite unprecedented, so this would likely be a first time occurrence - in that case, it might potentially give a whole new meaning to Sophia's statement that P is a "special puppet". (I could go into even more detail regarding my theories about Ergo and P's transformation into "another kind of human" here, but frankly, I think this topic deserves its own post.)

I think P is far from Geppetto's first attempt, however: We do know from the description of the Nameless Puppet's Ergo that the Nameless Puppet (which presumably is a Frankenstein version of Carlo) was the first to be equipped with a P-Organ, but after it turned out to be unstable, it was left abandoned and locked away. In that sense, I imagine Romeo was something like a "field test" - I don't think turning Romeo into a puppet was something Geppetto planned from the start, but when he came and asked him, he presented Geppetto with too good of an opportunity to pass up. When the transferring of Romeo into his puppet body, all memories and personality intact, turned out to be a success, Geppetto decided to take the next step with P. I assume he designed multiple versions of P until he was satisfied, which might mean that the broken puppet in the swamp (which also seems to possess a P-Organ and isn't bound to the Grand Covenant) is actually one of P's predecessors.

Still, as interesting and disturbing all of these speculations are, there is one question that remains: If P really does possess real human skin, who was the original owner of it?

The origin of P's skin

The first, most logical assumption would probably be that Geppetto used the skin of Carlo. Back in 2022, when everyone hypothesized Geppetto had a son but no one could confirm it, I also assumed he took the skin of his deceased son.

Now that we know the game's story though, we have a bit more information. First off, it's heavily implied that the Nameless Puppet is actually a Frankenstein version of Carlo, which would mean that the weird organic-looking parts - specifically the upper body, right arm and face - originally belonged to Carlo's body.

Given that they have the appearance of decaying tissue, it seems like Geppetto did his best to save as much of Carlo's body at first, but ultimately was unsuccessful in bringing him back to life. Considering this, it seems quite unlikely that Geppetto would remove the skin from his son's body if he intended to preserve it. Also, you can actually see a nipple on the right side of the chest, which probably wouldn't be there if the skin was taken off.

There's another thing that doesn't quite fit into this: When looking at Carlo's portrait in the game, he looks strikingly similar to P at the first glance (so much, in fact, that I was afraid my wild fan theory might turn out to be true after all). However, upon closer inspection, one can make out a few subtle differences in Carlo's and P's appearances: Carlo lacks P's trademark freckles, and instead of Carlo's doe-brown eyes, P possesses light blue ones.

Granted, Carlo could've gotten the freckles later during his life, and the blue eyes might be due to the Ergo's influence (which I also assume to be the reason for Sophia's blue colored hair). However, when Carlo gets revived during the Real Boy ending, the differences are still there, as his outward appearance is not identical to P's:

If the Arm of God has the ability to restore things to their original state (which is how I interpreted it), that would mean Carlo looked different from P at the point of his death, meaning that P's skin can't be Carlo's.

Of course, if Geppetto did use human skin for P, but not Carlo's, that would make things quite complicated, as it would be extremely difficult to find someone who looks almost exactly like Carlo. Nevertheless, there's one fan theory I'd still like to talk about: Someone on Reddit actually proposed that Carlo might have had a twin brother once, whose soul got transferred into the lamp by Sophia.

I actually had a similar theory about Gemini before the game came out, although I never shared it publicly because I couldn't find any support for it other than Gemini's name and his death in the original book. Basically, the gist of it was that Gemini is the soul of Geppetto's dead son, which got separated from its body and somehow encased in the lamp.

Although this assumption is definitely outdated since we now know that Carlo is Geppetto's son, we do have many left-over questions about Gemini. (Some character development for Gemini is actually one of the things at the top of my wish list for the DLC; as far as characters go, I felt like Gemini was the game's single weak point, and I wish they would've utilized him more.) In fact, it almost seems like there was originally going to be an amnesia subplot for Gemini, judging by some of his comments. For example, we've got the remark about the fairy tale book at the Hotel, but despite remembering there was a person who particularly adored it, Gemini can't recall who it was. Then, we have this very interesting comment down at the Relic of Trismegistus where Gemini remembers that "someone was dragged away from here", but again can't tell precisely who.

Unfortunately, the game never builds upon these comments, and they're pretty much left standing as they are. In fact, I can't help the impression that this might be part of a cut storyline - even Sophia says that Gemini is "unique" and "more than just a guide", and Gemini himself states that he's a friend of Sophia's, and that she "woke him up the last time she was there" - although, once again, he doesn't remember the exact circumstances.

Now, I've noticed that "P is Carlo's twin brother" AUs are quite popular in the fandom, but I'd like to mention there's nothing from the game that hints at Carlo having a twin brother (at least, to my knowledge). Still, it is quite an interesting theory - if the assumption that it was Carlo who particularly loved the fairy tale about the wooden puppet is true (based on Geppetto's comment during the fight with the Nameless Puppet that he should've taken more time to read him from his "favorite book"), it would explain why Gemini, his former twin brother, knows about it. However, if it really was Sophia who transferred Gemini's soul into the lamp, it prompts the question of the exact circumstances of his death. Given that Geppetto was willing to murder an entire city just for Carlo's revival, I wouldn't put it past him to sacrifice his other, perhaps not-so-favorite son for his endeavor - perhaps that's why P looks very similar, but not identical to Carlo.

Still, it's probably best if you take all of this with a grain of salt, as even compared to my original theory that P might have human skin, it's pretty exotic at best. Also, given that Gemini is directly mentioned in a memory scene that presumably takes place at the Monad Charity House makes this even more questionable. At least, I think it's highly unlikely that Gemini is Carlo's twin brother if he accompanied the mysterious Stalker - on the other hand, it seems a bit strange that Gemini would know about Carlo's favorite book if they only knew each other what appears to be such a short amount of time, especially when their relationship didn't start on good terms. Again, nothing is for certain, as we don't see Gemini physically appear in the memory scene - the only thing that seems to be confirmed is that Gemini also was a human once (at least I can't imagine what a cricket lamp is supposed to do against two unruly school boys).

Other possible alternatives

So, let's say Geppetto didn't actually use human skin for Pinocchio (which, to be honest, would be a relief) - why would he decide to make P look slightly different from Carlo?

One reason I can think of is that he designed P as a kind of "idealized" version of Carlo - judging by his comment before the final battle, Geppetto seems to have been discontent with Carlo's "mischievous" behavior, so maybe he used that opportunity to make him the "picture-perfect son" he always wanted.

Then again, given how rarely Geppetto saw him, I wonder if he even knew what Carlo looked like at the point of his graduation. When he retrieved his dead body, perhaps Carlo's face was disfigured beyond recognition, and all Geppetto had to work with were some old pictures/photos and his own memory.

If that was the case, it would make sense that P's outer appearance slightly differs from Carlo. Still, Geppetto was confident his plan would work out, that the resemblance would be enough to trigger Carlo's memories - but for whatever reason, it didn't, be that because of physical discrepancies or because Carlo was already gone.

Conclusion

In the end, no matter what Geppetto did, the fact remains that it was an insult - not only to Carlo, but also to P.

From the moment he first opened his eyes, P was forced to live in another person's skin (perhaps even literally), with no other choice being offered to him. His entire existence is essentially a lie, being expected to fill the role of someone he just isn't. Moreover, in trying to revive Carlo, what Geppetto actually did was soiling his memory - the mere notion that a living person can be replaced is beyond disrespectful, and to let innocents die in pursuit of this madness is an atrocity I have no words for. Even if Geppetto did all of this out of regret for having neglected Carlo and not spending more time with him, let me spell out one thing Nick Carraway already said in The Great Gatsby: You can't repeat the past.

However, what was given to you at birth is not everything you have to be, and what others expect from you is not what you have to become. In my own way, I love Pinocchio very dearly, but that love extends far beyond pretty looks. I relate to his struggle, and I would do anything to aid him in becoming his own person. Whatever choice he makes for himself, I will support it, and no matter if human or puppet, I'm going to love him just the way he is.

Resources:

Anette Beyer's "Faszinierende Welt der Automaten - Uhren, Puppen, Spielereien" ("Fascinating world of automata - clocks, dolls, playthings")

About Jacques de Vaucanson

On clockwork automata in general

#lies of p #lies of p lore #lore theories #lies of p pinocchio #lies of p carlo #lies of p geppetto #automaton #I feel dirty just writing about this #but I had this fan theory for AGES and finally had to get it off my chest #then again it's just Geppetto being an obsessive creep so nothing new under the sun

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ironmandeficiency · 2 years ago

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stupid goose

pairing: fíli / hobbit!reader

word count: 2953

summary: a goose followed fili into erebor and refused to leave

a/n: this has taken over my brain

no one knew where that damn demon bird came from. all anyone knew is that when fíli returned from the markets of dale one day, he was trailed by a goose. this goose demanded in very angry honks to be let into erebor right behind the golden prince, and despite every attempt made to shoo the thing outside, the goose remained.

it honked during council meetings, entertained some of the young pebbles that had returned to erebor with their families, and generally caused a disturbance everywhere it waddled. fíli took to naming his new pet trøbbel, and he grew to appreciate the feathered chaos harbinger.

thorin couldn’t stand the damn thing. it would flap and honk and nip at him at the most odd times, namely when he was scolding his nephews. the king under the mountain was halfway convinced that fíli trained it to behave so.

the days turned to weeks, weeks into months, and trøbbel stuck around through it all. he was a common companion, and a very proper one indeed. eventually he learned some semblance of patience; the standard amount of patience in geese was alarmingly similar to the patience of dwarves.

trøbbel definitely lived up to his name, so much so that when bilbo sent word that he was planning a springtime visit to the mountain in a few months’ time, multiple correspondents thought it fit to warn their burglar about the newest addition.

“dear bilbo,

the company is delighted to hear of your pending visit to the mountain! many things have changed for the better since uncle was crowned king (not his temper, unfortunately for us all). everyone is looking forward to seeing you again, though i do carry a warning with this letter.

you see, a few months ago i involuntarily acquired a wild goose as a companion. he made himself known to me after leaving dale one afternoon and rather violently refused to be parted from my side.

this goose is a mighty beast that honks and bites diplomats (dwalin never loved him more than when he nipped at thranduil upon first glance of the elf) and steals food from the plates of those not paying attention. i warn you because trøbbel is very suspicious of new people, and i don’t want you falling victim to his wiles if he finds that you don’t have snacks for him upon arrival.

see you soon,

prince fíli”

bilbo was baffled. he was confuddled, stupefied even. how in yavanna’s green gardens fíli ended up with a goose was beyond his reckoning. the last time he heard of a goose forcing its way into someone’s life in this manner was being told the story of how his parents met when he was a wee fauntling.

it was a somewhat rare phenomenon among hobbits to be found by a goose in such a way. they were said to guide hobbits to their soulmates, the other half of their soul as created by lady yavanna. the goddess had to create an animal stubborn enough to aid her hobbit children in finding their soulmates, one that could easily navigate the hills and rivers of their lands, and the goose was her solution.

even though erebor was no west farthing, bilbo could imagine that any goose worth its tail feathers would find a way to survive in the lonely mountain. and, based on the letter he just read, one has.

taking into consideration the thing’s audacity, that bird of fíli’s is definitely a soulmate goose, and a right bugger at that.

the first thing he now had to do was inform fortinbras of this development. as thain and cousin, bilbo was sure that he could find some sound advice there.

now, if bilbo could figure out how to explain that fíli has a hobbit for a soulmate without putting thorin and balin into their deathbeds, that would be just peachy.

“HONK! HONK HONK!”

“i cannot believe you, tansy!”

“HONK!”

“yeah you better run, you wretched thing!”

tansy the goose had to be the biggest pain in the backside you’ve ever met, and that’s saying something considering the run-ins you’ve had with the bracegirdles.

she followed you to the markets, when you went on walks among the meadows and fields, and even snuck into the washroom to be there when you bathed. in your opinion, it was all a bit too much.

your tansy gave the wizard gandalf a run for his money when it came to disturbing the peace. on days you went to the market, she would follow you and honk all the way at passersby and intimidate them off the dirt path you were on.

she also picked up a very peculiar habit of trying to (and sometimes succeeding to) snag fine jewelry from the booths of dwarrow traveling through from the blue mountains. every time you would turn and see a shiny glint of silver or gold hanging from her beak, your heart would drop to your feet in fear. thus far, the merchants you’ve encountered were very understanding of your feathery thief and harbored no ill will against you as you returned their wares to the tune of an angry goose.

while those situations were mortifying and anxiety-inducing, you’ve reached the end of your rope today. tansy has committed a grievous sin by brutalizing your blackberry patch to the point of there being almost nothing left worth eating and you’ve had it up to your ears with her.

you chased her with a wooden spoon as you ranted about her foul deed and resolved to talk to someone about what to do about tansy the chaos goose. maybe the thain would have some advice?

“uncle! we’ve got a reply from bilbo!” kíli waved the letter in the air excitedly as he barged into his uncle’s chambers.

fíli follows kíli in, rolling his eyes as he snatches the parchment from his brother’s hand. “no, i got a reply from bilbo.”

the golden prince makes no mention of the second page bilbo wrote to him with explicit instructions to keep it to himself. that morsel of information was for him and him alone - well, for him and trøbbel, of course.

“hurry up and read it!”

“i would if you’d stop flapping about like trøbbel!”

in response to being compared to kíli (or maybe just hearing his name), trøbbel honked indignantly.

“dearest fíli,

it pleases me greatly to know that erebor is flourishing under your uncle’s rule. i am most excited to see you all again, especially in the comforts of your home.

while i thank you for your warning, i have some news of my own to share. there will be a hobbitess accompanying me on my trip-“

thorin cut off his nephew, his bright mood upon receiving bilbo’s correspondence immediately clouding over. “he’s bringing a hobbit lass?” the king’s thoughts immediately sour with thoughts of his burglar introducing the company to a spouse wooed by his tales of adventure.

both brothers caught the sudden wave of melancholy that surged through their uncle. his feelings for bilbo were a poorly-kept secret among the company, but there were none who had the courage to call attention to it.

“you’re almost as bad as kee with interrupting me,” fíli chastised before clearing his throat to continue.

“-there will be a hobbitess accompanying me on my trip that shares in your feathered predicament. with the description you gave me of your trøbbel, i’d bet all of my fourteenth share that he’d get along swimmingly with her tansy. she’s a menace, that one.”

“see uncle, you can remove that frown! bilbo isn’t courting anyone back in the shire!” kíli interjected with a small smile and an elbow nudge, hoping to goad thorin back into a good mood.

fíli sighed the sigh of a long-suffering older brother. “this is exactly what i mean when i talk about you interrupting me, kee!”

“but he was sad!”

“and i’m annoyed!”

“boys!”

one word put the squabbling siblings back in line.

“sorry, uncle.”

“do continue, fíli.”

“i send this letter ahead of me from bree. i hope you receive it in proper time so you can prepare the mountain for the impending doom that will be brought upon by two geese occupying erebor.

if you note the bite marks in bottom right corner and the occasional blots of stray ink on the parchment, those are courtesy of tansy. she sends her well wishes along with mine.

your burglar,

bilbo baggins”

thorin looks at trøbbel where he’s squatted directly on top of thorin’s favorite bedpillow like the cruel beast he is. the smug bastard has a wicked gleam in his eye as if he knows he’ll soon have a partner in crime to terrorize the whole mountain alongside.

oh mahal, please watch over this mountain.

erebor was teeming with anticipation, both for the arrival of the famed dragonriddler and for the next act of war from trøbbel. for nigh on three weeks, the royal bird has been eerily well-behaved. this was so out of character that fíli carried his companion to óin in the hopes the healer could figure out what malady had struck his friend.

there was nothing obvious to blame for the sudden silence of the royal bird, so the healer told fíli to watch over his bird and take as good care of him as possible.

he didn’t know much of anything about geese, so he simply opted to treat his companion like kíli when he was sick.

a cozy new bed was constructed, fíli monitored his food, and things seemed to be getting better. trøbbel slowly came back to his regular gremlin self, causing chaos that was mildly tamer than before.

at least the mountain didn’t get too comfortable without his shenanigans, because when bilbo arrived with his companion and their goose, all hell broke loose.

“hmm,” bilbo hummed to himself as he observed tansy sitting demurely on her designated pillow. she’d been oddly calm today, as if she knew where her company was going.

when bilbo explained the significance of tansy’s appearance in your life, you were flabbergasted. the idea of true soulmates was a sweet one yet painfully unrealistic in your eyes, something you read in bedtime stories. but with both bilbo and thain fortinbras’s confirmation that you received a soulmate goose from yavanna, you couldn’t deny it any longer.

then bilbo claimed he knew your soulmate and had fought alongside him against trolls and goblins and orcs and a dragon. he told you that he was rather fond of the dwarves of erebor, and that they were rambunctious and honorable.

but when he spoke of king thorin, the uncle of your soulmate, something was decidedly different from how he spoke of the rest of the company he kept. you could see the way his body visibly relaxed, how his eyes were softer and the appearance of pink on the tips of his ears.

your friend clearly held something more than respect for the dwarf king.

one night around the campfire, you told tansy about your suspicions. for a hooligan goose, she was a rather good conversationalist.

“i think bilbo loves that king of his, tansy.”

“HONK!”

“exactly! that’s what i was thinking!”

tansy honks back in response. living among hobbits, she seemed to pick up on some social etiquettes and right now, it was as if you were pleasantly chatting over afternoon tea.

you pondered what to do about this new development. bilbo was always seen as a bachelor, someone unattainable by shire standards. but just maybe, by the grace of yavanna, he’ll find his love in the heart of a king.

“say tansy,” a soft honk of acknowledgement came from your goose, “when you’re done leading me to my soulmate, can you help bilbo find his?”

in years to come, you will swear by the fact tansy nodded at you that evening by the fire.

“they’re here!”

“bilbo!”

“our burglar has returned!”

in the distance, they could see bilbo making his way towards the front entrance of erebor and unbridled joy swept through the company. how they’ve all missed their burglar in his absence from the mountain.

bard was walking alongside bilbo, who had dismounted from his pony when he entered dale and was guiding him along by the reins. at bilbo’s other side was another hobbit, presumably the lass he mentioned in his letter, and waddling with pride beside them was a goose wearing a red ribbon tied into a neat bow.

fíli made a break for the front gates as soon as the horn announcing bilbo’s arrival echoed through the crisp air. he genuinely missed bilbo and was plenty excited to meet the goose (and the hobbitess) described in his letters.

trøbbel dutifully followed behind his dwarf, waddling just fast enough to keep pace. at first. but in the distance, the royal goose of erebor heard a honk that resonated so deeply in him that he couldn’t dawdle with fíli, he had to go immediately.

his orange webbed feet pitter-pattered on the stone floors with the intensity of oliphaunts and the speed of rhosgobel rabbits, honking all the way. members of the company hollered after the speeding goose but trøbbel paid them no heed, far too focused on his destination.

“oi! trøbbel you mangy beast, get back here!”

“you ain’t beatin’ us to our burglar!”

the dwarves stood no chance at catching him, only following behind him like goslings in a rather lopsided row. apparently, trøbbel was going to beat them.

tansy was going to turn you grey long before your time if she had anything to say about it.

that wild beast of a bird strutted into dale with the attitude of the most pretentious hobbits in the west farthing, catching all sorts of strange looks from the big folk who never beheld such a human-acting animal. she honked and nodded to the growing crowd in greeting. you sighed at her antics but carried on, watching as bilbo’s entire countenance changed the closer he got to his dwarrow.

watching the entrance to the dwarven kingdom grow ever closer, you felt strangely lighter, almost as if you were coming home.

before you knew it, there was a stampede of dwarrow emerging from the front gates headed straight towards you and bilbo, led by a goose. logic told you that they were his friends from the journey, that they missed him more than you could imagine missing anyone.

but then tansy let out a screeching honk unlike anything you’ve ever heard in all your days. she immediately bolted for the feathered line leader, not even the slightest bit worried about being trampled by the pounding feet of dwarrow.

“tansy! tansy! oh you reckless fiend, you’re lucky i didn’t cook you on the way here!”

chasing after her was a terrible idea. instead, you elected to watch from beside your pony and hope for the best.

recalling bilbo’s stories, you could point out a few of his companions. bombur with his braided beard that weaves into itself, nori with the star points atop his head, thorin with his raven-colored hair…

the king of erebor was running like a hooligan towards bilbo at full speed, a wide smile on his face that bilbo led you to believe was a nigh impossible feat.

you nudge your friend with a smile, wondering why his feet weren’t going a mile a minute to reunite with his dwarf. “go to him,” you whispered. this seemed to spur him into action, bilbo making a mad dash for his king.

when thorin caught bilbo in a leaping embrace, their laughter was infectious. even tansy was honking joyously with them, echoed by another bit of loud honking you couldn’t place.

looking over, your tansy was nuzzling with the ereborian goose. they were waddling around each other inquisitively at first, then plopped down to the side of the path to watch the joyous reunion of king and burglar.

within moments, you realized what this meant: your soulmate was on his way. oh green gardens, you weren’t ready!

meeting your prince soulmate now, after a ragged journey across middle earth while covered in yavanna-knows-what, had your nerves vibrating with tension. your hands were clammy, eyes flitting around to spot him based on bilbo’s descriptions.

“trøbbel! oi you bugger, how dare you run ahead!”

you heard one voice clearly through the thicket of joyous bustling, and the entire world came to a screeching halt.

your soulmate wore a smile that could have blinded you, and his laughter put you in a tailspin. in the golden light of morning, his hair shone like the wheat fields you grew up playing in.

you had to be closer to him without another moment’s delay.

without your permission, your feet began to carry you into the growing crowd of dwarrow towards fíli. part of you wanted to dig your heels into the dirt because you didn’t know what to say to him! how did one even begin to introduce themselves to the person that the gods made to be their other half?

turns out you didn’t have to answer that question on your own.

in the time he spent on the road with bilbo, fíli learned quite a few pieces of important information about hobbits. they valued their food and their gardens, and placed great importance on flowers and their meanings. so when presented with his hobbit soulmate, he knew exactly how to make a good first impression.

presenting you a few sprigs of purple lilacs, he approached his one with a charming smile. “i imagine you’re starving from the trip here, love. would you like me to fetch you a warm meal straight from the royal kitchens?”

#fili durin x reader #fíli durin x reader #fíli durin #fili durin #the hobbit imagine #hobbit!reader #soulmate goose of enforcement #the hobbit fanfic #the hobbit fanfiction #fíli #fíli imagine #bagginshield #thorin oakenshield x bilbo baggins #bilbo baggins x thorin oakenshield

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lorelune · 2 years ago

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(cw: brat reader, self destructive reader, asphyxiation, minor gojo satoru x reader, past satosugu, implied yandere getou suguru if you squint, dark content if you squint)

getou suguru is going to kill you.

it's your first thought when you walk onto the grounds of his compound. when you feel the barrier ebb and shake, your technique rendering it useless for just a moment. a clear, noticeable cut you've left him.

'i'm back, baby.' it says. it's a siren song for someone with a temper like his.

you don't bother going to the main building. you splay out on a bench nearby, light a cigarette, and wait. suck down smoke and let it billow in the cold. you leave your pack and lighter next to you, and offer it with an open palm the moment getou suguru graces you with his presence.

"honored and revered one," you praise, voice sickly sweet. you stand and bow, cigarette high as you head goes low. "would you do me the honor of sharing a smoke?"

"i thought you'd left."

"hm?" you ask, a cheeky smile tugging at the corner of your lips. you light his cigarette. "whatever do you mean?"

he takes a drag, an odd thing to see when he's in his full monk get up. "you disappeared."

"i had work to do."

"'work'?" suguru's expression twist, something venomous lighting his eyes. "you hardly do work around our precious home— what dragged you off so far?"

you feel his cursed energy thrum. the angry loud kind that makes blood speed in your veins. you want to eat him whole.

"well." you smile a viper's grin. "satoru gojo still has my number. he got drunk. booty-called me. and i answered."

"did you now?" his smile feels wicked at the corners. you revel in it. "satoru doesn't drink."

"he does, actually. apparently he has a tradition of getting shit-faced on his ex's birthday." the cherry burns close to the filter. you're sure getou won't mind if you indulge in another. "and... yesterday was february third."

the silence of the compound is deafening. you swear even the tree birds have gone quiet in the hills, the river song silenced even as getou suguru stares you up. you imagine he's pondering whether or not to kill you.

"sorry to pick up your scraps." you light another, exhale in his face. "you've been busy lately, dear. i got bored."

"bored?" he laughs, cackles. there's cracks around the edges of him, you revel in them. what you wouldn't give to crack him in your own hands. "fucking an old bedmate of mine is how you satiate such a feeling?"

"absolutely." you want to split him.

suguru's cursed energy fluctuates, so quickly you don't have a chance to try and sidestep or avoid him.

"must i keep you on fucking leash for you to behave?"

a whip-like cursed, thin and covered in eyes, flicks and cuts the air. it wraps around your throat and you dare not to touch it. you can feel the poison of its half-flesh already seeping into you.

"really?" you ask, voice breaking. "isn't this excessive? i pwomise i won't ever fuck your ex behind your back again. though, satoru did seem pretty hurt, still, and i think he'd be down for a three-way—"

the cursed tightens and drags you down in to the ground. your knees hit pavement and you don't even have the air to spit an insult at suguru. always so childishly physical with his reprimands. your grin hardly wavers the curse drags you forward, on your knees at his feet.

suguru's expression is unreadable. you like that you've stumped him. rubbed at wound that isn't new or raw, not even festering, just healed wrong. the glee of it is exhiliharing.

he holds the cigarette to your lips and you take a drag.

"it would do you well to learn some manners, i suppose." getou sighs and exhales a lungful of smoke into your face. "if you'd like to paw for scraps like a dog, then i'll treat you like one."

he grabs a fistful of your hair, pain sparking at your scalp and you wheeze out a laugh.

"as if you don't already treat me like your l-lapdog already." your words break at the end, vision wavering at the edges.

you enjoy this too much, probably. getou suguru is a well-veiled man and finding his weak points has become your mission in your time within 'his family'. your technique is indispensable to him, both of you know it, and thus you know you have more rope than the rest of your 'kin'. you use it well. poke him. prod him.

force him to expend a curse on you, just to get you on your knees. the power you wield over him makes you dizzy. the ability you have to get under his skin is yours alone, and both of you know it. you think he hates you for it sometimes. sometimes, you think its why he loves you.

you know, later, you'll regret such thoughts. you'll be sore and aching and unable to sit properly and you'll wonder if it was a good idea to return to the compound while still dripping with the cum of jujutsu world's god. you'll consider that, perhaps, you've pushed getou suguru too hard.

you suppose, as suguru presses his lips to yours, bites at your lip until you're bleeding— it's best to save your regret. suguru is the most fun when he's angry, wounded in a way that he couldn't possibly be sane about.

so instead, you let him lick the blood from your lips, suck in air when the leash lets up (just enough)— if you've truly pisses getou suguru off enough to have him consider ending your life, you might as well enjoy the high of it.

#lore writes #drabbles #getou suguru x reader #getou x reader #suguru getou x reader #jjk x reader #tw dark content #tw yandere #juuuusut if you squint. maybe.

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chaifootsteps · 7 months ago

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honestly I think it's 50:50 odds at this point for the script to have Stolas say something like 'but I asked you if you were OK with the deal!' just to try and retroactively make him look better by retconning it in that he checked in with Blitzo about it (offscreen, where anything considerate he does always happens)

like on one hand it'd be better for the writers to clearly recognize a deal like the one Stolas proposed, in the circumstances he proposed it, is wrong (goodness knows some parts of the fandom need the reminder)

on the other hand I think it'd be frustrating for them to whitewash all of Stolas' mistakes by saying he totally was better offscreen, then get annoyed with the fanbase when they judge him more for how he behaves onscreen

Wouldn't put it past these people. There's no reasonable, non-insane way to excuse Stolas's extremely calculated and predatory actions in Murder Family because he was literally being written as a calculating, predatory character at the time, and there about a dozen ways Viv could have handled that if she decided last second that she wanted this character to be softer, but she's done approximately none of them.

It's like shitting on your neighbor's front porch, getting caught, and instead of cleaning it, trying to insist it's actually a rare endangered bird. Also, that everyone who says it's a shit log is seeing things and probably homophobic.

#Anonymous #viv stuff #stolitz critical #helluva boss critical #actual blog post

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moon-m4n · 6 months ago

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The casino must have gotten the wrong order. They love owning well behaved harpys to show off and entertain guests but the newest arrival has been anything but we'll behaved. He violently throws fits anytime anyone gets near him. He already killed his first care taker and will do so again. So why did the casino chose you of all people to work with the bird? Well the way the other harpys took to you they assumed this one might take mercy and let you close enough to train him for the floor work.

So here you are standing at the entrance to a murderous peacock's cage. The only thing keeping you safe is the door you now have to open. At least your bosses had the curtsy to have you bring him food so he might not focus on you at first. OK, deep breath and... the door creaks ominously as it slides open. The room is filled with foliage where this large birdman may be able to hide. It would be breathtaking if your fear wasn't in the front of your mind. Even in this tiny room you can tell he is not a safe creature, scratches on the walls and door make that obvious. Deep and ingrained in the metal layers. You rush in wanting to avoid letting him out. If anyone was going to die to day it was only going to be you.

The second the door closed everything seemed to become silent nothing made a sound and no creature showed it's self. You make an effort to blend into the door but just standing there was getting you no where. So you call out in a meak voice. "Excuse me. I have some food if you would like it?"

Was this human crazy. Just 2 days ago I crushed that guy who kept coming in to bother me and now this one just walks right in. I wish this creatures would just leave me alone.

Eliclips had been trying to think of a way out when this odd person barged in. He hated being interrupted and hated being here even more. This company had bought him recently after another incident happen and then got upset when he happened to not be the friendliest bird. The last guy made it clear he was going to bother eclipse every chance he got until he would submit to being a show pony. He nipped that one in the bud as soon as he realized how annoying he was. This new one looked to be the same story exept they seemed to be more calm and little scared. Just the way he likes em. Eclipse finds himself staring at this intruder with intrigue. They stand there nervously looking about. Looking for him. Well he better go introduce himself then. He slinks out of the bushes standing tall and stalking over with little grace. In the moment they can see him their eyes are glued to him and for once he actually likes the attention. He want to have you look at him all the time. Finally making it to the food cart they are using as a barrier, fear creeps into there eyes and for a moment eclipse is ashamed of being the one to do that to them. Just a moment before he reaches out and places his clawed hand on their shoulder. They look panicked. And start trying to explain themselves. He loves the sound of their voice, even panicked. He steps around their cart sheild and leans down to them carefully to not make them run. "I like you" The air freezes and they stop all their pleas for mercy and just stare up at him with a slack jaw. He leans even closer and wraps his hand around their neck not tight just enough to be close, and he slinks around them to hold them from behind clinging like a molted feather would. He wraps his other arm around their waist and pulls them close.

Started writing this after I saw the Harpy eclipse drawing for the blood and feathers au. By @missterious-figure

I don't write much so have mercy. (Actually one of my first public fic post) Enjoy as much as I enjoy this au!!

additional info I just drew the drawing today cuz I really want to have some fan art as the cover for this. I postponed this just to draw that.

#fnaf #fnaf daycare attendant #eclipse dca #au #fnaf eclipse #fanfic #wine and feathers au #blood and feathers au #fnaf au #dca au #dca community #dca fandom #fnaf dca #dca fanfic #harpy eclipse #harpy au

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shady-tavern · 7 months ago

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Preview for "Breaking Chains" the June Patreon Short Story

(warning ahead for implied abuse, assault and murder, please take care of yourselves)

*.*.*

In a valley across a great big lake, cradled between mountains like a god's cupped hands, sat a number of villages and towns. They were nestled among green meadows and greener forests like chicks in a bird's nest.

It was a peaceful place with people who considered themselves to be sensible and smart. They knew better than to do stupid things, to dress the wrong way or to cause trouble. They worked hard and rolled their eyes at anyone who didn't act like them.

They claimed to enjoy individuality, but the moment a colorful bard or a theater troupe with curious characters or simply someone different rolled through town, they began to whisper.

It was a pleasant place, as long as everyone did as expected. As long as everyone behaved. As long as everyone was sensible and smart and did as they were told.

Raine had always been a bit of a strange child, born to parents who could pretend very well to be like everyone else, but behind closed doors things were different. Behind closed doors they told her adventurous stories. They told her strange and wonderful stories.

They raised her on the ideas of hope and possibility and that, ultimately, good would have to triumph over evil. It was simply how the world was made, they told her.

Outside of their home, however, those stories felt very far away. They felt odd and misplaced, like her parents had heard them somewhere very, very far from here. Somewhere where the world was still bright and colorful and people were accepted the way they were. A world where no one was wrong, where no one felt like they didn't belong.

Her parents taught her well how to play along like they did.

"It's like a dance," her father said as he let her stand on his socked feet to dance around the living room with her, making her giggle and he tossed her up carefully and caught her again. "It's not so bad once you learn the steps."

"It's like this everywhere," her mother said kindly, quietly, but with a sadness, like she wished it were different but knew it wasn't. "All we can do is try and hold onto whatever happiness we can find."

Raine always thought it strange, that her parents made themselves smaller and quieter and milder whenever they went outside. They spoke softer and she could see the genuine emotions they bit back and ground down so they offered only a small, palatable portions to their neighbors.

The people of their town were of the opinion that strangers were to be treated with friendliness, but they should not be invited to overstay their welcome. Strange things ought to be ignored and no one ever went against what the temple priest said.

If he forbade entrance to the northern forest due to strange markings on trees or seeing a woman in a floaty, white dress disappear, no one went there. If the forbade using the river because there were ill omens, everyone washed their clothes elsewhere.

There was one thing he considered forbidden at all times, not just for seasons or until he had smoked out whatever evil he saw and that was a glittery cave up the mountain. It wasn't because the path was treacherous and would kill all but the most skilled climbers.

No, it was because he considered the cave unnatural.

Raine secretly thought that it was beautiful, it glittered in the morning sun and she could catch glimpses of it between trees and especially in winter when the trees were bare.

She couldn't help but wonder if it truly was an evil place, if it was rotten and malicious and would bring curses down on any who went their and their families to boot.

Still, she was a good girl. She didn't go where she wasn't meant to, she did as she was bid, she dressed properly and was polite and friendly and smiled, just as people wanted.

Deep down, however, she felt herself wither away bit by bit as she grew older.

The world wasn't fair, was the thing. She knew that pretty quickly once she started to notice things around her. She noticed the priest drink and not pay, even though the tavern owner was struggling to make ends meet after a bad year. All while he preached about the importance of taking care of each other and not taking advantage of people.

She saw the mayor tug the young girl he paid to keep his house back in when she wanted to leave, despite having a wife and children. The young girl never looked happy going to work, but no one said anything, even if other people noticed it.

She saw the blacksmith kick at her dog whenever she grew annoyed with its presence. When her apprentice tried to say something, she threatened to send the kid home without pay for the rest of the month.

Raine very quickly figured out the actual rules of this world. Those with power, with money and influence or just sheer physical prowess, those were the ones who decided what everyone else had to do.

It was easy to see the downtrodden, to realize just how much she herself suffered under made-up rules she had to obey, once she knew what to look for. How even those with little to no power still tried to get it from somewhere. Even if all they could do to get a scrap of it was to toss rocks at chickens to make them panic and run away.

Raine made sure to toss rocks right back at them and before she knew it, she kept doing it. She handed bits of food to kids with bruises on their arms, who were a little too thin. Even if they weren't thin, she still gave them something. She lured the blacksmith's dog away and kept it and was surprised when no one said anything. Then again, no one ever said anything.

So she took a good, long look at the rules. She turned them around in her head and then she started to push and prod. Careful conversations with neighbors who had the same smiles at her parents, who ground themselves down to nothing and who did their best to be sensible.

Raine found out just how many people actually thought like her, how many wished for better days, for kinder hands, for softer words. For more love everywhere.

She also found out that she was getting really, really angry.

She mulled over her seething fury that was close to being stoked into actual rage and she decided that this better world everyone dreamed of, that she dreamed of, could not come to fruition if she wasn't willing to toe the line.

To break some rules.

The first thing she did was walk up the mountain and visit the crystal cave. It was even more beautiful up close and absolutely breathtaking inside. The walls shimmered and glittered, the ground beneath her was veined as though some strange, glimmering green metal was running through it like the bloodflow of the mountain.

As she followed the tunnel beyond the cave, she noticed that same metal run through the walls, winding around clusters of crystal and overlapping before splitting again.

It wasn't until she reached the end of the tunnel and it opened up into a massive space, sunlight falling in from large holes above, that she realized it hadn't been metal veins at all. It had been roots.

What stood before her was a massive tree, the leaves seemed to be made of the finest gold, the bark made of cracked and peeling brown and green gems and there was silvery sap running down one side, a blade stuck in the tree, the wound still bleeding.

On the ground before it were six skeletons with rusting and rotting armor and weaponry.

It wasn't hard to figure out what had happened here, that this group of people clearly had tried to take down the tree, most likely because it was made of everything precious that greedy people wanted. Or desperate people. Clearly, the tree hadn't taken kindly to that.

As she carefully approached, the fine golden leaves of the tree shivered in an invisible breeze and she saw fruit hanging on the branches, looking like crystalline chestnuts. She was sure that just touching the spikes of the outer shell would pierce her fingers straight through.

Raine remembered all the stories her parents had told her like secrets, like they were giving her little drops of joy and sunshine to hoard and protect lest the world took it from her forever.

She knew magic when she saw it.

"Do you want me to remove the blade?" she asked and after a moment, the tree fell quiet.

She approached very carefully and nothing happened, not when she clambered up the roots, not when she reached for the blade, her fingers closing around the hilt and when she gave it a big pull, it slid free almost effortlessly.

Raine used the momentum to toss the blade, watching it clatter across the ground and immediately it turned to rust and crumbled like all the other weaponry. When she glanced back at the tree, the wound had stopped bleeding and was slowly closing up.

Smiling, she hopped down the roots and paused in surprise when a branch shivered and lowered itself, offering one of the half opened chestnuts to her with a little shake of golden leaves.

Raine remembered all the stories about deals and binding agreements, of faerie magic and curses and wicked little creatures and monsters that wanted to trick people.

Then she thought of her life filled with oppressive, suffocating rules. Rules that she had to listen to because more powerful people had made them up and reinforced them to stay in power and she held out her hands.

She was here to break rules and not taking anything from strangers was one of the rules. The tree wasn't exactly a stranger, but it had the capability to ruin her just as much.

But she wanted to be daring. She wanted to believe that the world could be good, could be better, that all the stories about evil things and ill omens and cursed babes and wicked witches weren't all true.

Or rather, that those people were only called bad and terrible because they could threaten those in power.

She wanted to be a threat, she realized. She wanted to be wicked and cursed if that was what it took to make things better. She wanted to grind rules to dust the same way she had learned to crush herself down until she was small and sensible and sweet and good.

The tree shivered, the leaves suddenly becoming shiny, like they had gotten polished all at once in one go, the bark gained a healthy shine and a chime like a song came from the crystals lining the walls.

The thorny shell opened and a chestnut fell out, gleaming a reddish gold and it was warm in her hands. It pulsed, like a heartbeat.

When she looked up, the tree seemed to be laughing, its leaves rustling and the crystals were humming and chiming, but it didn't feel like they were laughing at her. Raine closed her fingers around the chestnut, feeling it pulse gently, warm like a summer breeze and she found herself smiling.

It seemed that breaking the rules was one of the best ideas she had ever had.

The tree ushered her out and she left with a spring in her step and a warm heartbeat tucked into her pocket. She returned home, finding everything unchanged, but she realized that she was no longer the same.

As though her resolve had taken root within her like that strange tree in that cave and it had grown to fill her lungs, branching out and flowering and for the first time in her life, she felt like she could breathe.

Like she could walk tall without worrying that she was overstepping. That she was too much, too loud, too rude.

Raine found in the following days that she laughed louder, talked with less and less restraint and she realized how many people started doing the same once she dared to do the first step.

When she asked the priest about the ill omens he had seen on some fields that could not be harvested this year, even though families were struggling, he stuttered in his answer.

No one had questioned him before, at least not out loud and more and more people asked, sensing that he actually wasn't all that sure about these omens, until he said he'd take a second look.

During the next sermon, he said nothing about cursed fields and a bad harvest and even worse luck that would find them all if they ate what grew there.

When she saw the blacksmith shout at her apprentice again, she spoke up without even thinking about it. The woman looked taken aback, startled at being approached and while she cussed Raine out, she stomped away to continue her work. The apprentice sent Raine a grateful smile and the little chestnut in her pocket kept beating like a little heart.

The mayor, when she saw him grab the young girl when she tried to slip out of his house, startled just as much when Raine raised her voice. The girl used the moment to weasel away, keeping her head down and her shoulders hunched.

The mayor of course put a smile on his face and waved her off, laughing and telling her that he had to remind the girl to do a better job with scrubbing the chimneys. He joked about needing to keep an eye on people or they wouldn't work hard enough.

He squirreled away the moment he could and that evening, Raine was approached by the girl, who thanked her softly. They talked and the chestnut kept beating like a heart and the next day, the girl sent her brother in her stead, bigger and a year older and more than eager to take her place and protect her.

The girl took his job instead and where everyone at the farm told her that she was too little, too weak, too soft, she proved them all wrong. She was doing such a good job in fact, that the farm refused to let her go when the mayor showed up and by then, no other young girls wanted to work for him either.

Raine had spoken a lot with people, always carrying her chestnut in her pocket and she saw the shift among her neighbors. She saw the mayor suddenly threading more carefully as people started to get angry, she saw the blacksmith temper herself at long last when she began to lose business and the priest spoke less and less about ill omens and forbidden areas and he could no longer leave the tavern without paying.

They had grown afraid, she realized. They had grown afraid because their power had grown brittle in their hands, because people had realized that they deserved better.

They now felt the prey-fear that everyone else had to live with whenever they had to be around the big, strong predators that had money and muscle and the authority of faith behind them.

But it wasn't enough, Raine realized as the anger within her persisted, as she found that the rules were still there, just softer now. Gentler and bit by bit, they got reinforced again with different words. Words that still played on the same old fears people had. The same old thoughts that still lingered in their heads.

And the same old, vile power slowly, bit by bit, regained its footing. Smarter now, more careful and well hidden, but it grew once again.

*.*.*

Interested in more? Don't hesitate to head to my patreon! You can find plenty of short stories there and more on my masterpost, if you'd like to check out more!

#my writing #short story #fantasy #fairy tale #dark fairy tale #preview #writer tumblr #hope you'll like it!#there will be more short stories soon #thank you all for your support it means the world to me!

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humming-fly · 1 year ago

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every year for my birthday I do something self-indulgent and THIS year it's me finally organizing all the doodles and lore for my kirby oc Fayre that I have yet to put on tumblr into one place!

because i love you all putting the vast majority of this under a readmore but yeah if you want a collection of doodles and vaguely coherent scraps of info about my little guy please read on and if you want to ask questions about 'em go for it i love talking about these idiots

gonna also be mentioning a few other OC's here so for the record Strix belongs to @alagaesia-overlord and Stell belongs to @aseuki, because everyone knows it's more fun being insane about something if you have company~

real quick gonna just link to the past main posts on fayre for posterity lol

Fayre Details/Backstory:

So as has already been established in prior posts fayre is a very fae-aligned little critter that pretty exclusively hangs out in the woods with their 1-way mirror mask behaving for all intents of the word like some sort of weird cryptid. In terms of defining characteristics they have a set of very odd wings that constantly emit a stunning aura that causes confusion/distress when observed at close quarters, as well as a permanent 0.0 expression that they can't change (so no blinking, smiling, etc.) which is a byproduct of their creation as a mirror clone.

How all that worked out is their 'original', Prism, landed right next to a mirror portal as a newborn and more or less immediately wandered into it - my general headcanon about how the mirror doubles work is that they're made up of Every reflection someone has made up to the point they look into the amazing mirror, but since prism only just existed her first and only reflection was the 0.0 expression of a child looking through the mirror before passing through it, so fayre is locked and loaded with that expression but nothin' else. This is also why fayre's wings are way different than prism's bird-of-paradise setup, as technically prism's back was never reflected by the mirror either so it got the randomizer setting instead.

Despite being 'born' more or less at the same time the two never formally met until many years later, as prism wandered right into the mirror world and fayre wandered right out into the primary world and neither ever looked back. Differences aside, when prism did eventually track fayre down they immediately hit it off and now consider each other to be twin siblings. (Prior to meeting Prism Fayre didn't know they were a mirror clone, but largely took learning that detail in stride, as they do with most things)

In terms of early life fayre was actually found and raised by a small village of broom hatters, who came upon this child in a little crater they'd made after falling off the cloud holding up the mirror

The broom hatters assumed that fall was what had paralyzed their face, but fortunately as the broom hatters are a race of faceless creatures themselves the lack of expressions wasn't ever a problem. Not being able to move or open their mouth means fayre can't talk with it, but instead uses the general telepathic way of speaking used by most species lacking that particular facial feature. The main benefit of that skill is being able to throw their voice and also talk in hieroglyphics if desired

Fayre stayed with the broom hatters until reaching early adolescence, after which they left to go explore the natural world - though now living on their own they do still come back to say Hi every year or so during the Sweeping Seasons.

Fayre got their wings sometime while off living by themselves in the woods, and after some trial and error did figure out a way to more or less 'replace' their wings with a funky cape (the trial and error being a learning curve whereupon getting near people with their wings would cause people to get dizzy/sick, so for a while they were wandering around in a little cape they found until they could puzzle out a way to properly tuck them away) - while the cape is replacing the wings they're more or less 'in stasis', so damaging the cape doesn't damage the wings and vice versa, and is more of a strange pocket dimensional swap than anything. Thus the cape can't actually be removed from fayre, trying to rip it off them won't hurt or anything but will probably just yank them around a bit (maybe they're somehow trading their wings with an equivalent in the yarn dimension? who knows, they certainly don't)

The wings themselves are pretty odd as they look sort of like dragonfly wings but are actually made up of individual feathers of varying traits - general consensus is they are indeed very pretty, but other than gliding fayre can't actually fly that well with them. The stunning aura on them Does keep bugs and wildlife away though making them ideal for forest exploration, and fayre will wrap themselves up in them every night when going to bed as the wings work to deter any predators from going after them, and it's Comfy

~Plot Stuff Begins~

Meeting Strix:

For quite a while Prism was the only consistent point of contact Fayre had with anyone else, and even then the two only visited one another infrequently, both happy to largely keep to the homes and lives they've carved out for themselves.

The first major change to fayre's day to day life was the introduction of another puffball named Strix, who happened upon them while looking for their wayward coworker

After conversing a bit it was discovered that Strix is actually employed as a Reaper, of the paper-pushing variety, and only tends to poke their head out of purgatory when hunting down their work-shirking coworker.

Said work-shirking coworker is also the reason strix is the only person fayre has met that isn't affected by their wing's wonky aura - spending a few centuries in close quarters with someone who puts out a very similar status effect tends to build up an immunity, which fayre tries their best to take full advantage of

Fayre and Strix managed to hit it off early on, and occasionally meet up every month or so for an hour or two to get their required socializations in before wandering back off from whence they came. Strix will often share their work bereavements, or encourage fayre to actually learn some self-defense, which is largely met with playful ambivalence, though despite fayre's general disinterest in combat some minor progress was made on strix's part

(To that end farther the line a more favorable and not at all ominous deal was struck between the two so time will tell how that pans out)

During one of these chats strix also shared some of their Tragic Backstory:tm:, which fayre empathized with in the only way they know how

These friendly meetings continued with regularity for some odd years, up until fayre accidentally rode-along on one of strix's business calls~

Meeting Stell (aka The 'Among-Us' Arc):

Unfortunately for Fayre, Strix had been called to investigate what was reported to be an erroneous wish caused by a faulty comet, one without its proper safety regulations in place. Fayre tumbled on through strix's portal and into the sidelines of an ongoing fight between strix and some new armored fighter apparently affiliated with said comet.

Hoping to avoid whatever anime-ass conflict was going on over there, fayre started drifting towards the only other point in space of any note, the giant cat-like mechanical comet. Unfortunately for fayre, whoever had maintained that comet had rigged it up with a series of perimeter defenses, which fayre became intimately familiar with as they were shot down and forced to land on the comet itself to escape the bullet-hell firing at them.

Suffering some fun knicks and scrapes predominantly on their wings fayre pushed that on the back burner with their cape and started to look for an exit from this weird mechanical death trap. (Past this point Fayre has a quasi-permanent notch in their left feather).

Thus began fayre's fun-filled two-ish weeks of impromptu among us where they had a jolly time hiding in the vents and cutting wires to stall the maniac doing their level best to eject them with lethal force

Eventually contact was made with the assailant, whose name was apparently Stell, and an agreement was brokered just as Strix finally decided to stop by again to see how fixing that busted-ass comet was going.

after that misunderstanding was cleared up Fayre finally got off that shitty comet and after being dropped off in the woods by strix managed to trudge all the way to the mirror dimension to visit prism and get some bandaids (slash bullet holes patched up)

Mirror Arc & Beyond:

Some additional fun is had with the twins in the mirror dimension, namely the whole kitten kaboodle becoming corrupted for a time and fayre becoming a bit of an asshole because of it, which predominantly ended up aimed at strix who popped by to help sort all that out

post-corruption fayre found out apparently strix took the verbal abuse personally and fixed that all right up in their own way by visiting them at their workplace

tragically for fayre's happy-go-lucky attitude they've come to be attached to strix, which only became obvious once strix relayed a recent near-death experience to them and they got to experience their first ever Bummer Emotion

making that extra fun was learning said near-death experience was caused by their good friend Stell, which in turn lead to fayre's first ever Catching Hands Emotion

fayre's emotional roller coaster topped out after more or less jumping stell in a convenience store and trying to forcibly shove their own negative emotions down his throat after he brushed off the encounter he'd had with strix (partially due to running a high fever but that sure wasn't fayre's problem) - since then they've leveled back out and are back to being the most emotionally well-balanced of the three, which is a low bar to clear but hey first place is still first place~

#why yes this Is a birthday gift to myself #internet backups are important and also fun to find down the line hahaha #anyways hope you all enjoy my Special Little Guy #also tw for flashing image way at the bottom of this massive post #long post #like for real it's a Long post i used the full 30 images #fayre #kirby oc #ahh #my art #doodles

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wisteria-lodge · 9 months ago

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snake primary + neutral snake secondary

Hello. I decided to write this according to the list you gave. I have a huge struggle with my primary. I guess it is burned, but I don’t know what it is, or I don’t want to see it because that hurts my ego if it sounds completely fake or in some way empty, or I just don’t vibe with it. Which I understand is an issue in itself.

An interesting issue. You don’t want a primary assigned to you because you’re worried it’ll sound fake? I’ll keep an eye on that.

For my secondary I guess it is just straight up a lion, mostly being off or burned, burned badger or bird. I definitely use pre-made personas in social or stressful situations, but I prepare so little that I could be anyone.

This sounds like Burnt Bird secondary “I do the Bird secondary thing, but not very well.” Or possibly a Bird secondary model that you wish you didn’t have to use.

Before I have to tell you even if I don’t have clinical depression or a diagnosis, I don’t feel happy, and it probably shows. I am someone who cries every time they see Everything Everywhere All At Once, which at this point probably tells a lot about a person.

… it tells me that you’re very probably neurodivergent. Very possibly ADHD, but I don’t like to diagnose in these things. (Not actually possible anyway.)

Also, heads up for my English, it is nowhere near perfect or fluent, so there might be some annoying mistakes, even though I know you don’t point it out to people. I ran it through a grammar check, but I have little doubt I missed something.

Sometimes I wish I’d care more about other people, about strangers, but I don’t care much naturally, and it becomes even more pronounced when I am stressed or having to spend a lot of my energy outside myself. Then, that gaze towards outside shuts down, and I stop focusing and giving attention to other people.

You’re not naturally a Badger, taking meaning and energy from the community. Snake is absolutely possible, especially with the way Snakes will focus very intensely on their own bodies when they haven’t got a lot of extra energy to spare. Like, sure you’d like to do more, and doing more makes you feel like a good person, but that’s extra.

A co-worker could be talking about their accident and what happened to their family, and I would stare blindly and think to myself they are trying to get sympathy and I would not budge at this point. While more normally I would give them it, even if I didn’t feel sorry for them.

You might also just be low empathy, which is… just kind of a neutral thing. I’m low empathy. A lot of people actually find it comforting that they can be upset around me without getting doubly stressed that they’re making my day worse.

After all, some emotional work needs to be put into maintaining relationships and keeping it alive.

True. And the way you just kind of put that out there as a kind of ‘Rule to Live By’ is actually making me think Bird primary is possible... or a Bird primary model over a burnt primary?

As a kid I was timid, afraid to explore town, thinking someone will come and say I can’t walk there. I was never peaceful, but I followed my mother’s advice to ignore bullies and don’t give them attention. Jokes on me – I never learned how to fight and argue. I remember myself hot headed, attention seeking, trying to talk with others, even making up lies or cutting bangs by myself just so people notice me. But I was always careful not to make trouble for my mother, be safe, get no injuries, clothes fine and without a rip.

I’m leaning more Snake primary for you. Your mother is clearly a very important figure in your life, and what she thinks and values is important, because she thinks it. You ignore bullies, don’t wander, and don’t get in trouble because your Mom told you not to… but there’s still this undercurrent of but I would have liked to. In fact, the way you behave for your mom seems to be very at odds with the “attention seeking” “hot-headed” “notice-me” behavior from the rest of your life. I’m considering Snake secondary (because of the different faces for differnt people) or Lion/Burnt Lion secondary (because you would have liked learning how to fight and argue.)

I was obsessed with Three Musketeers, friendship and finding connection. I would focus on a small group of people or even one person and hold onto it. It started getting really hard time when I had no friends whatever. That pushed me into survival mode and made me quiet and thoughtful.

This focus on small groups of friends is making me really lean Snake primary. (Also, if you’re a Snake Lion, then The Three Musketeers would be *the* perfect media for you.)

I think I solve low-stakes problems with something that looks like a snake or rapid fire bird. I think if I can and have someone close I can call for help, I will. Once in the dorms my European windows fall off the hinges, I couldn’t close it or put it back. I could have definitely done it myself with more time and more focusing and seeing how things work. But I had a friend living there next to me, so I asked them to come. Not that they knew more about windows than I did, but as out both room windows were similar in age maybe they would have a similar issue and know what to do. I don’t think they did, but it was fun and I wish I could do it more - meeting life with your friends and not alone, that’s why I called them. Administration would have been the last resort, they were pretty meh. I think we just ended looking around and putting it back in somehow, just trying to close it in different ways. I was always careful with it after that.

That’s lovely. And… weirdly I think I’m going to put this in for primary, for that whole “meeting life not alone” thing. That’s bigger than just problem solving, that’s getting into why you do things at all.

The actual problem solving seems to be “lets compare the broken window to a similar, not-broken window and see what’s wrong.” There’s a *little* I Know A Guy bird in this ‘who specifically do I know who would be able to solve this problem.’ But I could honestly see coming from any secondary.

In high-stake situations, the most important thing to me is reaching a mental space where I am stable, looking around without panic. That’s why sometimes, instead of pulling an all-nighter before an exam I turned on a movie. I just couldn’t deal with the stress and said bye lol. I didn’t do it all the time, I also studied a lot, alone and with friends, although I cannot say where studying or the movie was more useful. I personally would say in high-stakes situations it’s most critical to try to calm down and manage my stress and anxiety.

This is making me say Improvisational secondary (Lion or Snake.) Extra preparation isn’t going to comfort you, it’s going to mess you up. You’re not a Bird or Badger, who’ll get stressed out if they don’t read their notes over one more time. You want the mental space and agility to correctly read and correctly respond to the situation, and so you’re giving yourself the best chance for that.

I had experience with bad roommates so in dorms I wanted to live alone, not bother or bothering someone. While this opinion wasn’t allowed legally in our college, students would bribe administrator. I hate bribing, giving chocolate for literally noticing me in someone’s place (it’s a bribe older generation does here while asking employees for something they think is a favor, but it’s kind of their job; why don’t we just stop being assholes to each other instead? I am not sure other parts of the world does this so hence the explanation).

It’s interesting. You’re describing bribing, like - yeah you’re breaking the rules… but everyone does it, and everyone knows everyone does it, and to some degree you’re even expected to do it. But even though it’s kind of normal, it still bothers you. And this would bother a Lion secondary (who love to be straightforward and honest) more than it would bother a Snake (who might not even think of giving an administrator a “”gift”” as a bribe.)

As I mentioned earlier, administrator was meh and everyone and their mother knew it, so you can imagine I thought this is big, and I have to survive this and come on top.

This is very Snake primary energy, it has that practicality I absolutely love.

Money, I thought, should be the most useful, but there’s also too much and too little. In short, I sit down, wrote an application, had an envelope in my bag, talked a bit about how I would like to live alone and tried to slip it out of my bag on the table as it was nothing special. The most interesting thing was that he seemed amused all this time, and even then, I had my hair down and had lipstick on, so I don’t know, maybe my baby face looked interesting, or maybe that’s just stress distorting my memories. I was kind of prepared, but not really if you know what I mean, I obviously needed more information, but I was either naïve and thought this will work or this will be enough. In some way I was also mostly thinking I hate this, this either will work with how much I prepared or not, let’s go in and see. Maybe not good enough for sorting according to high-stakes situations but thank gods in some way that the only ones I had are like this one or exams.

Now that I have built your anticipation,

You absolutely have, I am extremely invested in this story.

let’s check together how that ended up for me, shall we? I did get a room for myself, and I really loved the room I got the first year there. Its window opened up to a street, I saw a lot of trees, sky, a neighboring apartment complex that did not belong to college. The bribery? It went well, they were either monitored or they actually meant what they said that they can’t guarantee me anything, and that the college had plans to reduce the available space due to shortage of students. So in the end, I left with my money, a little bruised dignity and a new experience, that I knew I would never want to repeat. We just do what we need to do, and what we are okay about doing, no?

I hate bribery, but I wanted to live alone more, so it weighted over.

Something like that (and this whole story, really) makes me think your primary is fighting with your secondary. You think bribing is wrong, and your Lion secondary hates not just being direct and ASKING for what you want... but you want that private room, so of course you go for it. You had a bad experience in dorms before, you’re going to protect yourself. That’s the decision that you feel best about.

And when it came down to this conversation, you got dressed up, you considered your appearance and how you came across, you thought about what the right level of bribery would be. But in the end, you think that the fact that you looked “interesting” got you through. And “this either will work with how much I prepared or not, let’s go in and see” is SO Lion. It’ll work, or it won’t, it’s out of my hands.

Recently I made a hard decision of whether to go back home or stay. Decisions are hard for me, especially when neither one nor the other option look better. I tried to take all that I have gathered about the situation and see which side is/feels stronger, which one has more value.

I’m starting to see what’s got you confused about your primary. One thing about being in a Snake is that decisions get a lot harder when they don’t affect your personal safety and well-being, or the safety and well-being of your People. You’re making a decision with ALL the tools here - gathering information to know which side is stronger (Bird), asking yourself what side feels stronger (Lion), and also considering which side has more value (depending on exactly what you mean by “value,” this could be Badger or Snake. All those approaching are going to give you slightly different answers.

I left unfriendly environment which saw no value in me or my culture for a more friendly place, where my roots are, where I can make my own decisions, but I had to leave my family. I didn’t feel good there, had no one I wanted to hold onto. But even though I am not a badger, but I am still in a missing people mood.

I bet you are. You’re a Snake, and you don’t have any People right now. (You’re not Burned. You’ve just recently moved to a new place, and don’t have any People yet.)

This was absolutely the Snake decision, also. You didn’t feel valued, so you went where you knew you could set things up the way you like them. You left your family to do it, and sure leaving your family hurts, but I think you would have felt like you’d betrayed yourself if you stayed.

Connection is so human, and we fuck it up so bad from so early on. Does it matter if you still feel alone around people who surround you? It doesn’t, so maybe it’s better to let your family members rest, be somewhere lonely without them and try to do it yourself. Is it already depressing? I am sorry I hope this doesn’t feel like trauma dumping.

Nah, you’re fine. You’re absolutely going to find people you connect to.

My fantasies change with time depending on what inspires and moves me then. I fantasize about a Scandinavian style house, surrounded by snow and a night sky, full of books and huge windows when I just want to run away. Other times I fantasize about being a powerful wizard on the run or in disguise, just trying to live with friends, accepted and running from some kind of huge responsibilities or a war. Not that I never fantasized about something more ambitious, but that probably changed with how my life experiences shaped the worldview I have now. Do I have to mention fantasies of falling in love with someone nice while doing something that I like and brings me joy or is that just basic haha?

The “living with friends/falling in love with someone nice”... that’s very human, but since this significant other person features heavily in a short description of your fantasy, going to put that as a point for Snake primary.

The characters I identify most with probably has nothing to do with me or who I am, more with how I see them. I identify with Lorelai from Gilmore Girls. In my opinion, she has a similar energy to me, to what I think I am inside or could be with a little more stability and confidence. She talks nonsense, and it is fine most of the time, people still like her. She loves her community, her little town, she creates life there and doesn’t wish to leave, and she doesn’t feel a need to run or rush somewhere. I feel I am most healthy and stable when that rush leaves me, and I am stable enough in here and now to actually live there.

I was honestly pretty happy with Lion Secondary as a sorting for you. But now I wonder. This doesn’t seem like something a Lion secondary would say. It seems like a Neutral Snake would say. And Lorelai is a VERY loud Neutral Snake (and a very loud Snake primary.

Now, Lion secondaries can be mellow, and just want to Vibe, but I absolutely do see shape-shifting capabilities from you, and I wouldn’t expect to see them from a Lion (unless you also had models or performances.) When you were a kid you were careful and thinking a lot about the ‘correct’ thing around your mom, but wild around your friends. In the bribing situation you came in with a persona, but then switched around - you’re funny, you’re interesting, you’re naive. Also in the wizard fantasy - you’re running away from the war, you don’t want to deal with it. Lion secondaries tend to fantasize about being revolutionaries or leading armies.

Snake Secondaries who like staying in Neutral have a blunt take-it-or-leave it quality which I do see from you, but you also seem just... kind of tired. Not Burnt, but just kind of done with dealing with a family who makes you feel lonely, an administration who isn’t helpful, an environment that doesn’t value your culture... no wonder you just want the ability to just say whatever, and not have to think about it.

I also think that the lack of a Person (which is a primary issue) is making this whole ask much more ‘authenticity’ flavored than it would be otherwise. You want, you really really desperately want a person to trust enough, and value enough, to be that level of authentic with.

I identify with Joy from Everything Everywhere, because she feels like a friend who doesn’t need you to tell them how you feel in these feeble words, she looks at you, and she knows, the whole movie knows.

You’re fantasizing about someone who just *gets* you, immediately. (You’re fantasizing about a Person.)

Likewise, I identify with Hunter from The Owl House. He says he misses knowing who he supposed to be. He comes from a really unhealthy background, but I just feel happy thinking how not only he himself warms up to people, but others warm up to him, see good in him, accept him and start to care, not how good people care, but how a friend cares. Hahaha, I identify with Pippin from LOTR movies, because he makes mistakes, and everyone around him is like WTF can you not, why don’t you just stand in one place or be tied to a leash? He’s not stupid, he’s not careless, he’s not bad or ignorant per se, mistakes just happen, it’s natural and instead of being made to feel wrong, let’s just not do that and make it normal, because it will happen, and we will learn from our mistakes without pressure or shouting. It’s a miracle Pippin wants to do things after all.

You’re fantasizing about getting a group of People. Don’t think it’s at all a coincidence that both the Owl House and the Lord of the Rings focus on a small, rag-tag group of people who don’t quite fit, for one reason or another. I also think you’ve probably been dealing with someone who does not react to *normal* mistakes in a healthy way. So of course Pippin and Hunter would be comforting.

Things that make me feel powerful? Money, having choices, being able to say no, I will not do anything of what you suggest and instead do this completely different thing. Because I can, because I want it, because I can see I will succeed, I will make it. I can choose to do things my way. You need money or other resources to be able to do that. Calling a plumber and being able to pay them would make me more powerful than waiting for someone I know do me a favor based on our relationship. While not being able to select what I want, or having crappy choices wherever I look makes me feel locked up and incredible passive. To quote the quiz, helplessness doesn’t make me angry, it freezes m, but I don’t get angry.

Damn. Yeah, I don’t know what I can say to any of that. What is power? Money, and the ability to say no. And really, when you get down to it - money is important when it allows to say no. The more you can say no, the more powerful you are.

Recently graduating was the most difficult thing I had to do. I had little to no help, big expectations from the board and little freedom on what decision I could make. Myself already being anxious about what I will do in the future and this major giving me panic attacks in the making did not help focus and do it right. I wonder would it have been better if I majored in something I loved but was kind of useless, than something I hated but what is seen as practical and marketable.

There really isn’t a right answer there. Not everyone needs to love their job, but some do. Some people are fine without a steady paycheck, or without a large paycheck - but some aren’t. Any decision that involves the future like that is going to be a gamble. And I guess I’m at the point now, with how fast the world and the economy is changing, that trying to guess what will be practical and marketable ten years down the line - isn’t nearly as sure a thing as it used to be.

From what I’ve gathered, thesis can feel useless. I knew a guy who paid someone to write it for him, and honestly with my own experience I wouldn’t care about ethics of it now and would have rather done that if I could have a chance. In the end, how exactly writing your last paper, thesis shows your skills? Sure, you can follow academic paper writing rules, you can use computer, you can read and gather information from research papers, and you can ignore your anxiety and interview people, interpret their answers and have enough skill in a language you are using to not only make sense but follow all the rules. I guess you can use the skills somewhere; I am just talking myself out of this idea. Wait, if someone who never majored in your area and does not have the skills you worked for, can write you a paper and write it good, it’s not an excellent way to evaluate someone.

Yeah, Snake secondary for sure. And what can I say, you make a compelling case. The structural problems in academia, the classism, the behind-the-times - it’s very much still there, and there are lots of people who can talk about it much better than I can.

My friends were busy with their own stuff, my family were far away and with a big generational gap, professors didn’t help and then evaluated me strangely. It was really hard to see a person I knew for a few years, liked, wanted to impress be against me. Sorry I am tired, but I really needed to write something, and this seemed like a good thing to occupy myself with. Off course, I don’t know how you feel about academic unfaithfulness, but from my perspective, my experience was shitty enough that I wouldn’t give a flying sausage if there would be a next time, especially if I did everything else the right way. I really don’t know how much it was me, because it was me in some ways, but I still think my supervisor didn’t help me, but was ready to judge me. She probably felt she wasn’t paid enough to deal with my problems then. Right. You know what I want to do now? I want to never look back, never get back there, and never even touch this major. I want to leave it in the past and start anew. I want to be able to choose and not be tied to it.

Spoken like a snake secondary. And no wonder why you seem so tired. Also, being treated badly by your advisor is going to hurt anybody... but ESPECIALLY a snake primary.

Thank you for your time. Have a great day. Or night.

I will. :) Thanks for writing in.

#submission #sortme #wisteria sorts #shc #sortinghatchats #snake primary #snake secondary #lion vs snake secondary #double snake #neutral snake

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crybaby-magic · 10 months ago

Text

When Stars Align

chapter 7

“What do you mean she’s gone.I literally put her in her room there’s no way she just..just disappeared.And it couldn’t be a kidnapping seeing as no one would be stupid enough to take her even then no one in the human realm knows she exists.”Nezha says as he paces around your room.Willow just looks at him with annoyance.It didn’t make sense to her but she didn’t like where this situation was going.

Willow gets up from your bed heading to the door to leave.She pauses before she starts “Well it seem we must continue the search somewhere else besides the celestial realm.”Nezha looks at her quizzically.

“Do you suggest the human realm?You really think she’s gone that far.She barely has any power to heal a small cut nevertheless teleport to the human realm”He frustratedly says.Willow just blinks at him before walking out calmly stating one last thing with no emotion.

“Unless she go assistance somehow that lead to a magic boost.”

————————————☆———————————

“Hey wait up!”

“Keep up man”

The sound of giggling traveling around as you move through the trees in a child like manner.Being followed by to monkeys to make sure you don’t hurt yourself or bump into something dangerous.You slowly come to a stop at a slope that lead to a beach that had a big tree by it.“What’s over ther-ahh”You yell as you misstepped.You slide done to the beach in one peace.

“Hey are you ok”The darker monkey asked while he kneeled next to you.Nodding your head while you eyes are still closed from the slight pain you feel on your bottom.Your mind was soon snapped out of the pained dazed when Wukong yelled your names as he wave at a distance.You quickly rushed over.

Macaque just watched as Wukong showed you a sea shell found.Internally he was going through a rough time with trusting you.He found this whole situation odd and off.But Wukong begin Wukong was admitted on keeping you after you said something about coming from the celestial realm.He didn’t have much time to mull over it as Wukong yelled for his attention.You looked equally excited tail wagging while you bounced a bit.Rolling his eyes he headed over.

“So I had the greatest idea seeing as Yn never been to the human realm like ever I was thinking we take her to the village near by.”Macaque just looked at Wukong like he was an idiot for suggesting that idea to begin with.Wukong sensing his doubt stated up again”Look we won’t be there too long just wandering the shops a bit to give her an idea about humans.”

Macaque just looked at you and him before begrudgingly agreeing to it seeing as he would have done it anyway with or without his approval.

In your mind you made up different ideas of how humans behave at the outdoor shops.It was an exiting experience seeing as you never done anything unless supervised.Your kinda glad you meet the two monkeys even though it feels like you just been thrown onto them.

“So how about I take her on nimbus and you fly nearby so we don’t get lost.”Wukong stats as he summons nimbus.You look at the floating cloud in aww before yelping out from being picked up suddenly.Wukong holds you as he hops onto the floating cloud.Macaque transformed into a bird with no argument.He flew off ahead.Wukong looked at you before mumbling a “hang on”Then you were off.

The wind was harsh at take of but as you go it seemed to be easier.Opening you eyes you let out an aw from seeing your surroundings from high above.You three fly over water that was reflecting the suns light.Other birds flying about.The clouds passing by you was so fascinating.As you can pass the ocean you soon come across may trees and mountain.Before seeing a busy area filled with people it seemed to be a village.Wukong landed some way back away from the village.

He jumped off of nimbus before setting you down onto your feet making sure your balanced.Macaque had transformed back to his original form before landing besides y’all.You just stand in kinda awkward waiting for further instruction.Though you may have been excited your anxiety slowly creeped up.Wukong moved to a bush looking out at the crowd from the busy streets with vendors.He assessed the situation before disappearing from your eyes.

“H-huh?Where did he go?”You meekly said while holding onto Macaque’s clothing.You looked at him expecting some type of answer before Wukong appeared again scaring you to fully grabbing Macaque.The monkey you were holding feel stiff before moving you off.

“So i’m assuming you don’t know how to glamour.”Wukong said cheekily.You shook your head slightly confused.Wukong held up a black cloak.You looked at it questioningly.He just rolled his eyes before wrapping it around you and clipping it into place.He then pulled up the hood tucking hair into place to hide the pointed ears.The. cloak was long enough to hid your tail though you wrapped it around yourself just incase.Wukong did a once over before looking satisfied.

Wukong grabbed your hand and walking towards the crowd.You grabbed Macaque’s hand much to his surprise.Diving head first into the crowd you saw people and demons alike shopping,selling,mingling with one another.It was nothing like what mother had said the aura was so lively.You felt tugging from both hands seeing both monkeys pulling you to follow.They were talking to one another.Wukong begin very cheeky and Macaque being nonchalant to the behaviors.

They showed you things you never saw before.Your tried many foods some better some your still questioning.They even made you try on many outfits and hair charms.Though you barely interacted with anyone else you’re happy with these two entertaining you.Speaking of entertaining you saw the most beautiful dancing and music.Though you ended up wandering around.Getting lost in the process.

————————————☆———————————

Looking around at these stalls is very fun.There so many things i’ve never see. before.I was so caught up in my looking I didn’t realize I lost my two companions.I kept walking to the end of the street before stopping at one more shop.I was stuck I felt like I need to be here.I felt some connection here.I looked at the items.There was jewelry,clothes,and other nicknacks.My eyes wander before stopping on a stuffy.It was a white dragon.I felt as if I knew it from somewhere.I grabbed the stuffy from the shelf to get a closer look at its details.I was so enamored I didn’t hear the shop vendor come behind me.”Do you like it I came across it some time ago”

I took a couple steps back away from him.The vendor was wearing a black cloak covering his whole face it held an eairy feeling.I nodded my head before the man spoke up again”You can have it I don’t need it.Though something tells me you might.” My eyes widened shaking my head trying to protest before I hear my name get called.I looked back to see a worrying Macaque yelling for my name.By the time I look back the vendor was gone,but so was the shop.

“There you are I was starting to get worried that someone took you or something.”Macaque laughed out nervously.He look at me then my hands that held the plushy.”Hey why don’t we go back and find Wukong to head back to the mountain you must be tired.Like I would be if this was my first interaction i’m the human realm.”He pated my head before grabbing my hand to lead me to Wukong.I looked back once more to see the shop and the vendor.He was waving as I grew further away.

At some point we found Wukong who looked like her died.”Thank the heavens you found her.You shouldn’t run off like that you could worry people”Wukong tried to lecture.Macaque looked at him like he was a hypocrite.Wukong had summoned the cloud again.Lifting me up in his arms to settle one nimbus.Once settled we flew back to the mountain.

After some time we ended back to the mountain.We went to the top to the Water curtain to head into the cave.Wukong had helped me down off of the cloud.He lead me down the hall again into the room I woke up in the first time.When entering you see that the outfits,jewelry and hair charms that I look at today was in here.

Looking confused Macaque voice appeared to speak up.”Wukong had me teleport things we got at the shops for you here so we didn’t have to carry it here.”Accepting the answering headed to the new cloths to pick out something to sleep in.Heading behind a divider in the room that conveniently appeared to get changed.I leave the divider to head to the pit thing filled with cushioning.thinking about it it’s kinda like a nest.I headed there to lay down.

I stopped in my tracks seeing Wukong and Macaque in the bed with no shirt.Just a fluffy body.That was oddly toned.I feel my face heat up at the situation.To make matters worse the damned plushy was in between them.Wukong looked at me quizzically”Why aren’t you laying down….aren’t you tired?”

I meekly nodded before expecting my fate.I slowly fall in between them.Grabbing the plushy to push my face into to lessen the embarrassment.Both monkeys got closer to me as tiny monkeys joined to sleep.Macaque pulled the covers over my shoulders.Slowly my breathing evened out eventually the day caught up to me making me fall into a dark slumber.

masterlist

#macaque x reader #sun wukong x reader #lego monkie kid #sun wukong x macaque #fantasy #lego monkey kid sun wukong #lmk macaque #lmk sun wukong

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toyybox · 1 year ago

Text

Spiderwebs #23: Exit

Masterlist

content: lab whump, captivity, immortal whumpee, escape attempt, discussion of suicide

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

It occurred to Jackie that he wasn’t as good at tracking time as he once thought. One month at most, he’d once believed. One and a half, if you insist, but it hasn’t been that long. Knowing the truth was disorienting. It also occurred to Jackie that nobody had found him for over sixteen weeks. One hundred and twelve long, lethargic days. And counting.

He tried hard not to be upset and failed miserably. But he was often miserable, even before all this, so the feeling wasn’t anything new. In general, nothing new happened for a long time. They were getting into the swing of things now, and he was getting used to his new life. He didn’t act out, or behave too aggressively. He still complained, just to prove that he wasn’t okay with this, but he was otherwise compliant. He ate whatever pills Heather gave him. None of them were as bad as the thermoregulator, the one that had given him the awful fever. Heather stopped testing the paralysis drug on him, eventually. He re-read Oliver Twist for the third time. The spider on the wall had disappeared, at some point or another. He slept a lot. Waited a lot. What for, he didn’t know.

The results of her experiments were mixed. Sometimes the pills would do nothing at all. Sometimes they’d give him a mild high, or knock him out completely. One of the drugs gave him an allergic reaction. Sometimes the effects weren’t visible, but instead in his blood and flesh, a code which apparently Heather knew how to read but was lost on Jackie.

None of it mattered to him, of course. As long as he wasn’t in excruciating agony. As long as she didn’t bother him too much. It was all the same. A great, gray slush, a homogeneous accumulation of time, every hour clumping together to make days on end of absolutely nothing. Just time to kill.

It was hard to find hope. To find meaning, or a purpose. He found some pleasure in annoying Heather, and other times in her company, but she was not a very receptive companion. It was a passive way to live—she toyed with the limits and reactions of his body, and he waited. Anybody would be upset. Anybody would want something more. Later on, he would begin to miss the safety of these dull days, but he hated his situation at the time. He found it hard to think of escape. How long would that detective take to arrive? Where was that police officer now? Where was that kind neighbor, that helpful citizen? And where were his supposed quick wits, his Houdini magic against all odds? Nowhere to be found. Gone with the summer winds, buried under the concrete walls. They had died alongside the dandelions and warm-weather birds.

Something had to change. Something had to be done, he decided. He thought of this often, but he never actually came up with a plan. He kept waiting, and in the meantime: another drug, another test, and another day thrown out with the bathwater. But Jackie had to put his foot down eventually—today, he would do something. He’d push this easy existence out of balance, out of swing. Something would change.

“What are you thinking about?”

He turned to Heather, putting the effort into his voice, putting a smile into his expression. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”

They both sat on the bed, which was where they usually sat together, seeing as there was only one chair. Jackie used to find this uncomfortable, but it was normal to him now. As normal as being kidnapped and drugged on a regular basis; as normal as the concrete walls and carved bed frame.

“If you say so.” She continued to scrawl something down, the results of her latest test. It was another one of those drugs that resulted in no effect. It came in an injection, pressed into his shoulder. For breakfast, there had been an apple. Jackie had tried to fold a paper airplane, but he couldn’t remember any of the steps. Heather was wearing a powder-green sweater, which he thought was mildly amusing. She tended to wear gray or black. Just another day which would come and go.

He leaned over to try and read her handwriting. What could possibly be so fascinating, to make her fill in a page and a half?

Heather pushed him away. “No. This is my journal.”

“Oh, so you can have your own private book, and I can’t?”

“Stop being so irritating.” She snapped the journal close. “Go sit somewhere else, if you can’t mind your own business.”

“Fine.” He walked over to the writing desk and sat there. There weren’t many seating options in that room, unless one was okay with resting on the floor. Jackie did sit in the bathtub once, just for the hell of it, but that wasn’t very comfortable or sanitary.

She opened the journal and continued writing. Now that Jackie had nobody else to talk to, she became the main subject of his aimless examinations. She became the axis of his days, the pulley-and-chain from which he swung from. He wondered a lot about her. Where was she born? What did she like to eat? How did one go about becoming a scientist? Did she have a degree? A doctorate? Those things took years to complete, as far as he remembered. How old was she, anyway?

“How old are you?”

She put the journal down for a moment. “That’s rude to ask, you know.”

“Why?” He leaned over the back of the chair to face her. “You’ve asked me that before.”

“Yes, but you’re—” She gave up on arguing and continued to scribble. “Never mind.”

“Wait, let me guess. Are you… thirty? Thirty-one?”

She clicked her tongue. “Close, but I’m not that old.”

“Twenty-one?”

“I’m glad you think I look twenty-one.”

“I'm just guessing.” Jackie stared down at the ground. There was a dried-brown stain of blood, a tiny dot of it, still on the floor. He glanced up at the ceiling. Nothing interesting. It wasn’t textured, speckled, or covered in cracks, just a smooth plane devoid of character or imperfect charm. The same view as always. If he was bored before, then he was utterly agonized by apathy now. Maybe he could ask Heather for another book. Jackie was coming around to Oliver Twist, but he certainly wouldn’t mind something new.

“Alright.” Heather was done writing, it seemed. “That’s all for today.”

He didn’t bother to look back at her. “Oh?”

She stood and stuffed her things back into her book bag, which she usually had slung around her shoulder. “I’ll be busy this weekend, so there won’t be any experiments until Monday. Do you need anything, before I go?”

“Yes.” He would put a plan into motion today. He would find something to shake up all this gloom and doom. “Can I take a shower?”

"Alright. Follow me.”

He asked this fairly often, and Heather usually said yes—her dislike of filth extended to him, too. It got him out of the basement for a while, and he liked the way her soap smelled—orange blossom, according to the packaging. His requests to go outside again had all been denied, to his eternal dismay, but at least he still had the dignity of a shower. Sometimes, you needed to find peace in the small things, even if they were just bare human necessities. He could have been kidnapped by an absolute pig, after all. At least he had soap and hot water.

They walked up the hallway, to the upstairs bathroom. Heather watched him go into the room—this made him uncomfortable, the first few times, but now it was normal—and closed the door. Her footsteps echoed behind it, as she walked off to occupy herself with other, more interesting activities.

Jackie twisted the lock. It snapped into place. Jackie waited. As he so often seemed to do.

He turned to the mirror. His reflection stared back at him with a somewhat startled expression. His eyes, his jaw, his mouth—the same as ever. But his hair was a bit longer. A vague familiarity, his face. Like a song you couldn’t quite name.

If he was truly immortal, would he ever grow old? Or would this be the same face ten years from now, even a century from now? Jackie had aged so far, of course. He wasn’t an infant, clearly. He’d gotten taller. He’d seen those old photographs of a younger boy, all wide-eyed and wary before the camera lens. He couldn’t remember what it was like, being a child. The past was a distant dream.

He couldn’t imagine living a normal life again. Where could he go, after all this was said and done? He had no money, no home, no family or friends. It was possible that nobody remembered him at all. The person in the mirror only existed as a brief flicker. Like a fleeting candle-flame, or its shadow on the wall. He was a ghost.

He turned the water on, but he didn’t take off his clothes. He watched the water pour. He stood against the wall opposite the tub, watching it all go to waste.

He was raised better than this. Wasting water, on a spiteful whim? How uncouth. It was immature to throw a fit, and wasting Heather’s money would do nothing in the long run. Somewhere, at some point, he had the idea of frugality ingrained in him. By who? His mother, or a teacher, or his foster parents. But he was no longer a child, and those lessons had lost their clarity.

He had tried to die once, when he was younger. Just to get away from it all. Just to make it stop. Any means of escape were appealing. It was excruciating to stay awake, but he was too afraid to commit and follow it through. You could want something very badly and still be afraid of it, he learned. Stupid fears ruled over everything. It wouldn’t have made a difference, anyway. He would have lived regardless.

Heather had a medicine cabinet in the bathroom. Behind the mirror. Jackie thought this was so funny, that a cabinet could be built behind a mirror. There were bottles and bottles of pills, some recognizable ones like Aspirin and Panadol, and other names he could scarcely pronounce. Benzodiazepines, codeine, dilaudid. Also a few unlabelled ones, probably her own creations.

Whole bottles of pills, piles and piles of them, like a landfill, with all those artificial-sounding names. Oh, there was a pill for everything. To numb the pain, to ease the fever. This one would make you sleep, this one made you entirely unable to. Curse all biochemists, who played with the body like a dog with a chew toy. Maybe there was a pill that could end all this. A pill to cut the bear trap from his leg. A pill to trigger the curtain call, put him under that eternal and dreamless sleep. If only.

The shower would overflow if he kept it going. He turned the knob to the left, and the water sputtered to a stop. Steam clouded the mirror, so he could barely see his own face. Water still dripped from the faucet—drip-drip, a delicate twin heartbeat.

When Jackie usually left the shower, Heather was often nearby. In the kitchen, in the living room, or whatever was upstairs. He hadn’t prowled around her house yet, mainly because she always arrived too quickly for him to try. The bathroom door was very creaky, unfortunately. Hiding behind the lock wasn’t an option, either. If he stayed in the shower for too long, she’d threaten to take the door off its hinges and waterboard him in the bathtub, which normally got Jackie to hurry up. But it was different today. Heather hadn’t knocked on the door yet.

He unlocked the door and eased it forward. It whined as expected, likely alerting anyone within a ten-mile radius to his location. He winced, despite himself. Stupid fears. Freedom was an eternal want, and its cost was an eternal dismay. But nobody came forward to greet him. Even after a long, bated-breath pause, Heather was nowhere in sight.

Today’s the day. He took in a deep breath, held it in his chest, let the tension and weight of the air steady him. Houdini’s big show. Come one, come all.

He hadn’t thought of escape in a long time. But it always lingered in the back of his mind, grazing his thoughts. The exit was just down the hall. It was right there. Hypothermia was nothing to an immortal. If he collapsed in the snow, then he’d crawl on all fours. If his hands went black from the cold, he’d bite his tongue and drag himself by the elbows. It would all be worth it once he escaped.

He stepped out of the bathroom. Nothing happened. There was no landmine blowing up in his face, no captor to jump out from the corner and catch him red-handed. He thought of closing the door, but it would make too much noise. He needed to do this quick, do it clean.

Down the hall. He treaded lightly, though his boots landed louder than he liked. Into the living room. The window was padlocked, he noticed. The telephone seemed to have been misplaced. He glanced around, but it was nowhere to be seen. The room was otherwise unchanged, aside from a few big spiral-bound journals on the coffee table. Probably her notes. No time to look for new reading material—she could have returned at any moment. Around the corner. The door. The exit. Stage left. Curtain call, finally. It was over.

Sadly, Heather did not overlook such an easy path of escape. There was a lovely new addition below the doorknob: a big, black lock. It had a thick body, inlaid with glinting metal, a mass that could only be split by a sledgehammer. Maybe not even that—maybe a drill, or a blowtorch with some time and luck. But Jackie had nothing, neither time nor luck to waste.

He came closer to examine its build. It was a ridiculously elaborate thing. Attached to the black body was some kind of keypad, a rectangle with numbers you had to punch in. He’d seen this kind of lock before. There was a numerical password he needed to enter. His best bet was playing the guessing game, then. How many were there—was it in the hundreds? Thousands? Millions? He stepped back with a resigned sigh.

And he knew this would not work. Put your hat down, Houdini. Let go of that pretty white rabbit and get back to the bathroom. But something had to happen. Fine, the door was locked. But he could try finding the telephone again. Yes, that was a plan. It had to be somewhere in the house. He’d call the police and explain everything, and even if Heather found out afterwards they’d be able to come and rescue him. Now, he just had to—

There was a thump behind the door. Before he could react, something clicked in the lock, and the door swung open. And there was his captor.

Ah ha ha. He froze. This is bad.

She somehow managed to look ticked off and unimpressed at the same time. Had a lot of practice, he guessed. She was holding several plastic bags of groceries, which she set down to cross her arms. He could see the sharp outlines of packages, boxes, the tips of some lemons and a carton of blueberries. They sagged on the doorstep. Snow still stained the world. The air was stiff, and cold enough to make him shiver.

“I’m sorry,” he blurted on instinct.

"I'm sure you are."

She did not come over and make him regret it, this time. Perhaps she could tell that he was upset enough already. Instead, she just grabbed his wrist and dragged him back inside.

“This looks very incriminating, Jackie.” She marched him back towards the basement. “Do you know what incriminating means?”

“Yes."

“Then you should know that I expect an explanation.” They stopped in front of the basement door. “Go on. Give me your list of excuses. I’m sure this will be entertaining.”

“How is this entertaining to you?”

“I asked you a question.”

“You already know the answer.” He tried to wrench his wrist free from her grasp, to no avail.

“I suppose you’re right. You were trying to escape. I would have done the same thing, if I were you. But that doesn’t mean I’m happy about it.”

“Are you going to…”

“What?” she asked loftily. “Kill you? Torture you? Nail your hands to the wall? Peel your skin off with a potato peeler?”

He glared. “That’s not funny.”

“Oh?” She didn’t sound too remorseful. “I’m exhausted right now, anyway. But I am going to punish you, because I don’t want to encourage this kind of behaviour. I’m not letting you out of your room for the next week.”

“I hate you.”

“I know.” She opened the basement door, spilling a bar of light onto the stairs. “Of course I know. That’s normal, I think. But this is what you get for misbehaving. Don’t do it again.”

That was it. His great escape, with a rather anticlimactic conclusion. He went back into the basement, then spent the next week in restless inertia. And he remained just another weight on the axis, just another chain on the pulley. Still a rat in a cage.

He tried, and he tried, and he tried again to make things better. To find hope in that hellhole. But what did he have to show for it? Another day wasted and another punishment, and his life completely unchanged. I’ve got to get out of here, he thought. But how? How? Where was his exit? Where was that glowing, neon sign? How could he make it stop?

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Taglist:

@theelvishcowgirl

@lthrboy

@whumpy-wyrms

#whump #whump writing #whumpblr #lab whump #immortal whumpee #Spiderwebs toyybox #my writing

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