It's never been disobedient, of course. It always does as I tell it to, always eager to get something done. That's the problem; it's the movement. It's always tapping its fingers, moving from one room to the next, trying to find anything to busy itself with.
I've never seen it be truly still. Even now, tucked away in its drawer for the night, I can hear the shuffling of a restless life. It hasn't been long since it has become, but it's still been much longer than a doll should stand, being so active. Poor thing.
With a shove against my mattress, I gently float into the air. The blankets flutter off of my body with every inch away that I take, until I am unbound, allowed to stretch and turn in any direction I please. I enjoy the feeling for only a moment, before the consideration of movement sends me gliding towards the dolls' cabinet.
Hovering in place, I slowly pull the drawer open, where I'm met with the wide eyes of a startled doll. "Candy, my dear." I look down at it, trying to muster nothing but compassion. "You can't be so restless, you'll disturb the others."
It looks away, shy and guilty. "This one is sorry, Miss. Whenever it tries to rest, it feels so… empty, as if it's losing itself."
I reach down and brush some errant hair out of the doll's face. "That's just stillness. There's nothing to fear."
The doll can only try to curl into itself. "This one has never been still before. How is it…" it trails off, deliberating on the right words.
I don't let it waste much time on its thoughts. Taking its hand in mine, I kick off from the floor. In a moment, the doll is weightless, a surprised smile growing on its face as it floats with me back to my bed.
I rest a hand on its forehead, releasing the pressure in its mind and letting its thoughts flow free.
NO! no, no, please no, I don't want to be still, I can't…
please, make… make it stop, I want to be here, I… I want to be, I…
this one… can't move…
I hold it close, against my chest, close to my heart. Hopefully, that will quell the poor thing's fears. I gently stroke a hand down its hair, and as we gently land into place against my bed, I feel it start to fall limp. I can't help but calm myself to match, letting its thoughts flow into me.
Miss is here, she... she won't let this one
get lost, or fade away she is here she
is safe. This one needs to let go but
it's still so scared
it was there. stillness. its...
.
please.
help.
can't
hold
on…
Miss?
"Candy?"
The doll's eyes blink, for the first time in a while, its recognition accosted by the morning sun. It lifts its face in my direction; it doesn't break the cuddle I hold it in, keeping it from truly looking at me, but its full attention is given to me regardless.
"You were still." I smile at it through my heavy morning drowsiness. "Thank you, doll. Very good job."
Just as I start to nuzzle back into its shoulder, I see the look of astonishment begin to grow. "It... was still? That was stillness? This one barely even noticed, once it was there..."
I can hear the smile on its face, flavouring all of its words with joy. I nod into it, already drifting off. "Would you like this one to prepare your tea, Miss?" It asks, already donning its dutiful politeness.
I groan under my breath, holding it closer. "Just... a few more minutes. You've earned it for being so brave. You can be still for just a little more, can't you?"
"Yes, Miss." It responds, its mouth the only part of it that moves.
“How much longer?” Zarya didn’t look back at Lynx17, keeping her eyes on the war-torn landscape out the window. She’d never been this deep into enemy territory, and certainly never this close to the Siberian Omnium. They were in what used to be an office building, long since abandoned, but with enough undamaged electronics to get what they needed.
“I think I’ve almost got it,” Lynx17 worked at the console, their synthetic fingers tapping against the keyboard.
A keyboard! An actual, physical keyboard, not a holopad. And Lynx17 was plugged into the tower with a physical wire. A USB cable, they had said. There was no monitor or holoprojector, but Lynx17 said they didn’t need one while directly interfacing. Zarya wondered how long this place had been abandoned for it to have such old tech. Old or not, if Lynx17 could get the data they needed, it might be enough evidence for the both of them to end this fake war.
“Almost there…just need to copy the files and–” Lynx17 cut off with burst of static.
Zarya snapped her head over to see the omnic stiffen.
“What? What is it?”
“I’ve tripped an alarm!” Their fingers flew faster over the keyboard.
“You what? We have to go!”
“No, I almost have it! I just need another seventy-eight seconds and I’ll have the data!”
“We don’t have the time!” Zarya hefted up the particle cannon.
“If we leave now, everything we done will have been for nothing!”
“If we don’t leave now, we are going to get killed!”
“You don’t–” Lynx17 cut off, their antennae lifting like a rabbit picking up a sound. “They’re coming. Hide! Under the desk!”
“If we kill them, they can’t send reinforcements!”
“If you don’t kill them fast enough, they’ll send out a signal for reinforcements and we’ll have to fight all the way back to the Front!”
Zarya hesitated.
“Hurry!”
She let out a growl of frustration, but clambered under the desk beside Lynx17. They barely fit, Zarya’s muscular form taking up most of the space, with Lynx17 pressed against her, the cable still connected to them as they frantically kept downloading. Finally, Zarya heard a faint hum, growing louder with each second.
“Don’t…move…” Lynx17 whispered, and went deathly still in the way that only a machine could.
Zarya raised the collar on her heavy parka to cover her nose and mouth and fell silent, focusing on holding still. The mechanical humming grew louder, high and shrill. Zarya couldn’t see the door from this angle, but a shadow passed across the floor and stopped.
The monotone hum continued, and a red beam of light passed through the room. Zarya tensed and tightened her grip on her particle cannon. Lynx17 closed their fingers over hers, and Zarya flicked her gaze in their direction. As an omnic, they couldn’t express emotion with their face, but she’d been with Lynx17 long enough to understand what the motion meant.
Please. Please don’t. Please trust me.
Zarya remained still. The beam of light passed over the desk, then shut off. The enemy omnic drone churned with a groaning, whirring noise, then left the room. They remained motionless until the humming faded into the distance, the drone returning to its patrol path. Zarya relaxed her grip and sighed.
“…Thank you,” Lynx17 squeezed back out from under the desk and unplugged the USB from their neck. “I’ve got the data we need. Let’s get the hell out of here.”
They offered a hand to help Zarya to her feet.
“I couldn’t agree more.” She accepted Lynx17’s cold, metal hand.
How strange it was, Zarya thought as they started the long, dangerous trek back to the Front. All this time she spent fighting omnics, and it was one rabbit-eared sarcastic omnic she trusted more than anyone else.
Sans looked over his homework to his baby brother. The younger monster was barely tall enough to look over the tabletop on tip-toes, a pair of black eyes and a nasal-bone the only things Sans could see from his seat.
"hey papy. just reading. dad gave me extra homework cause i tried to sneak an extra cookie last night."
The tiny skeleton's brow bones came together, the only giveaway that he was frowning. "WELL, THAT WAS VERY, VERY NAUGHTY. DAD SAYS THAT.. THAT WE ONLY GET ONE COOKIE 'CAUSE IF WE EAT TOO MANY SWEETS THEN OUR TEETH WILL ROT AND FALL OUT.. THAT'S BAD!"
"yeah, that's true.. you're so cool, papy."
"NYEH HEH HEH HEH!" Papyrus squealed. "CAN I SIT WITH YOU WHILE YOU R-READ, BIG BROTHER?"
"heh, sure."
The five year old nearly tripped over his own feet in his rush to sit up with his brother, the diminutive 10 year old moving over on his chair to make room. "careful, bro."
"I AM VERY CAREFUL!" The younger snapped, Sans giggling as he crawled up onto his lap.
"i know you are, i just worry. i'm your big brother, it's my job."
Going back to his book, he once again began to read. The material itself was pretty boring. Monster biology.
"... BROTHER?"
"yeah?"
"WHY AREN'T YOU READING?"
Sans looked down at the small skeleton in his lap. "oh, i am. i'm readin' inside my head."
Papyrus' eye sockets glittered, his smile glowing. "Y-YOU CAN DO THAT? WOWIE!"
Sans snorted, remembering that his younger sibling was only just learning to read himself. "yep, it's like readin' yourself a book, but you don't say anythin' out loud. you can year your own voice in your head."
"THAT SOUNDS VERY HARD.. CAN YOU READ TO ME INSTEAD?"
"i dunno, pap. this is borin', big kid stuff. might put you to sleep."
Papyrus puffed up indignantly, his little arms crossed over his chest. "NO IT WONT! I CAN STAY AWAKE FOR A MIN.. HOU.. A LONG, LONG TIME!"
Sans chuckled to himself, going back to the start of the chapter. "suit yourself. ehem.. difference in species. there are many different species of monsters living in the underground. these can be divided into 3 main groups; animal, vegetable, and mineral. there are many monsters that fit into multiple categories, but for now we will keep things simple. the physical form of a monster's dust is determined by their soul. for example, a rabbit monster is considered an animal, due to it's physical form presenting with skin, fur, and an ability to regulate it's body temperature-"
*SNERK*
Sans looked down from his book, only to see Papyrus with his head laid back against his chest, his eye sockets closed and his body limp.
"i told ya it would put you to sleep.. kinda makin' me tired, too.. i guess a little nap wont hurt, huh pap?"
He pushed the book away, getting comfortable in the chair and holding his little brother tight so that neither would fall.
"night, pap. sweet dreams.."
***
"Sans? Sans have you finished with your re- Oh!"
Gaster carefully walked into the room, trying not to make any noises that would wake them. The sight of his two boys dozing together at the kitchen table was too cute for words.
He bent down next to their chair, reaching up to pat them both gently on their tiny skulls as they slept.
"You two.. If only your mother was here to see you like this.."
The tall monster stood back up, ever so carefully picking the two boys up into his arms to take them to bed. They snoozed on, even after he had placed them down and tucked them in together. Their tiny breaths and snorts hitting him right in his soul as he beamed with indubitable pride.
Maybe he'd give them an extra cookie after dinner, anyway.
"Ah-HN~!" That's her surprised sound, half shocked.
I am balls deep inside of her, her fine skirts bunched up in my fists I pull her on my dick.
Kneeling between er legs, I roll my hips. She twitches, gasping.
Her hands loose hold, she falls on her forearms when I thrust, driving deep inside of her.
I let go of the skirt, grab her hip instead, connect harder, feel her soft skin, digging fingers into it.
She puts he forehead to the bed, muffling the moans and cries, her hair ruined, spilling everywhere. Thick, flowing locks.
Every thrust spreads it further, a mess of strands everywhere. Every time she is less able to hold back her noises.
She is wet and ready and so good and muffling herself in the sheets.
I pull her up, grabbing her shoulder, I make her sit on my cock, make her feel it. Her own weight driving me deep into her.
And she moans, no sheets muffling her.
My hand moves up, pulling her top down, freeing her breasts so I can squeeze, can pinch her nipple.
Her whole body twitches again, not expecting it, she moves, feeling me again, moves up. Then down again, legs weak.
I bury my nose in her hair, find her shoulder, bite down, nibble.
Another cry, another jerk through her body, making her gasp.
Jerking my own hips in time makes it better, makes her tilt her hips and impale herself.
I squeeze her perky tits, her ass meeting my hips while she meets my thrusts.
She needs to be guided, helped, her legs are weak from pleasure.
The rhythm becomes faster, harder, I grab her hips with both hands, breasts out, moving with every thrust, she cries, gasps, moans.
I bite her shoulder and she groans, loud, with abandon, and her hair is all over me, she stills in movement and I spill inside of her, deep inside, riding it out with few thrusts, coming down from it, loosening my grip.
The tension leaves and we both collapse, leaning bach against the wall.
And I open my eyes. Hazel already gets up and stretches: "Macky, what got into you today?"
I watch her pull down her cheap dress and shove her top into a more appropriate position.
She pets my dick, then. And I make a face at it.
"It was preeee~tty nice. But get a sheep skin next time," she points at me.
"We'll see. You know you like it," I said, a lot less energetic.
"Mmmrh, see if I let you next time, then, skirt chaser"
"You love my dick and you know it"
With a little regretful face of her own, she shrugs in defeat, but then sticks her tongue out to me and leaves, waving.
I waved back.
Before I returned to my own thoughts.
Hazel's hair was too short, even if the bopping curls have their own charm. Her hips are too bony. No tits or ass to speak of... it is a shame.
But it certainly was a mch easier fuck than lady Gabrielle would ever me.
She wouldn't be as happy. Maybe even furious. Or ashamed.
Ah, certainly ashamed.
But she needed a good dicking. Badly. I could see it.
And it would be good. Satisfying.
I would tell her. Would praise her for all the things I missed, usually.
Holding her actual boobs would be a wonder, I bet.
Such a stupid husband, letting her walk around like that.
He wasn't a bad employer, had me fixed up when I got sick, too.
But damn his wife was younger then him and he did not get her enough cock. The way she was staring sometimes.
I slowly stroke my dick.
She is quite ripe for the picking anyway.
... I bet she is so needy, she might even suck it.
After posting my excerpt last night, I caught the noun mistake I made, but it had already been reblogged. It was a good reblog, so I begrudge nothing, but I did go find my mistake in my document and fix it.
I’m trying to make a point of people=races in fantasy, but it is tricky, especially when I’m not going to ignore the presence of POC in my story. I’m using “Races of People” as my phrase for the different fantasy classifications, but, predictably in English, the homonym raises its horrible head and gets my fingers all confused. I imagine I’ll be fixing a lot of the same in my revision stage.
Excerpt:
“Yes. Listen,” Jack heaved a deep breath and closed his eyes. “I know, no matter my rank and status in this town, you three don’t trust me. I earned that distrust.” Jack opened his eyes. “I want to fix that.”
He straightened, his shoulders pulled back and hands held at his side at attention, “The plan in place was to have this valley watched over by a representative of each of the races of people.”
Jack pointed at each of them in turn, counter clockwise from himself.
“Witch. Seelie. Human. Werewolf,” he touched his chest where his badge was bulging from beneath his shirt, hanging from a chain.
“Like-human,” Raine corrected.
“Werewolf, specifically,” he said, looking back at her from beneath his brow.
“To what end?” Sloane asked. “This valley, turned out, had plenty of protection already. Witches and Domovoi are kinda littered around here.”
And I am enjoying this writing project so much, I am going to do Camp Nano in July and keep working on it. I am going to spend some time building some good character backgrounds and then trying (for a third time) to get a rough draft going. The problem I am having is that I want this story to be kids vs. the nature as the basic story structure - with no sentient antagonist - but I am having trouble getting that to work.
Anyway. The frontier. What they know about it, and what they are going to find out.
This is what they know. They know that that they evolved on the planet Grendan. Grendan was part of a star system with other planets, but Grendan was the only one to evolve life. Grendan had all kinds of plants - those that flowered, those that did not, those that lived in every imaginable biome. They had animals with interior skeletons and exterior, placental and oval, things that flew, slithered and swam.
They know that since they left Grendan, they have found tens of thousands of planets. Hundreds of those planets have had algae and bacteria. Not one has had complex multicellular life.
They also know that on every single planet they have encountered, the algae and bacteria use the same DNA base pairs. It is the same DNA base pairs that they, themselves are built off of.
They speculate a lot. Is there a reason for the base pairs being the same? For some reason, are those four amino acids required? What is wrong with other pairs?
The fringe speculate that the reason they are all the same is that they were put there. That they are not alone in the galaxy. That there is, or was, another species that had gone by each of these planets and seeded it. And that, for some reason, life never took off on these other worlds they way it took off on Grendan. They point to the number of planets around red dwarf stars - too variable to allow complex things to evolve. They point at the number of planets without moons - without tides, too stagnent - the tides stir things up. They point to the planets with active volcanism (many) or the planets who have temperature extremes. Or the planets in double star systems. Maybe, they wonder, there is a goldilocks mixture, of just right. Maybe Grendan had it and all these other worlds did not. Maybe they will find the right world next year - they just have to keep looking.
Okay - what they do not know is what actually happened.
There is an ancient race that evolved in the first billion or two years of the universe. Ever since, it has been quietly wandering - at first their home galaxy, and now many galaxies, sowing seeds, leaving messages, and seeing what happens. They seek companionship, and they have yet to have anyone join them. In our galaxy, there are a few of these beings. They circle the galaxy, seeding planets and checking on the progress, passing by every 100 million years or so. The vast majority of their seeds fail to germinate. Or, they fail to get beyond the most basic of life. And that is fine with them. Many of them will laguish at basic forms of life for billions of years before they move on to more complex life. A very small number of planets really explode and those are the ones that the ancient race is most interested in because, they hope, from one of these worlds will arise a species to be their companions in the universe, their companions as time runs out and the universe spirals down into the heat death.
Grendan is a planet of interest to them but when it was last visited nearly 90 million years ago, while there was complex life, there was no significant intelligence yet.
Ahead. There will be a some more including a planet I am going to temporarily call DinoLand - it has complex plants and animals, but not a lot of intelligence (aka like Grendan was when they last visited it)
And a planet with intelligence life that also has their eyes on Dinoland. That planet is just hte next star system over. It has space travel, but barely. They have been eyeing that planet with an oxygen rich atmosphere from their perch, three light years away, for a generation - since they first figured out spectroscopy and now they are getting their on clockwork and hydrogen. Or something. Much more primative tech.
Black Mirror’s 2014 “WhiteChristmas” starring; Jon Hamm, Oona Chaplin and Rafe Spall, is a penultimate special built up from three prior episodes starring Jon Hamm also. The episode deals with controversial views of ‘smart’ technology, it is displayed itself in the episode when it opens a moral debate as to whether ‘trapping’ a copy of a persons mind to carry out tasks is classed as genius or slavery. The show demonstrates a frightening potential reality that could be created through ‘smart’ technology. It becomes fearsome as these anxieties lie ‘close to home’ among society these days due to the rapid, almost uncontrollable, growth in technology know-how. Charlie Brooker, the writer, plays on these uncertainties by exaggerating already familiar aspects of current social media. He brilliantly bases the episode loosely around the concept of ‘blocking people’, through the chapter it is discovered that you can block people in real life. They will be unable to hear or see you and you will be unable to hear, see or contact them or their offspring. This provides a dazzling yet haunting aspect to the show as viewers are bound to question ethics within current and expanding media presently. However it can be seen as going ‘too far’ almost, as it is rather cynical considering it is meant to be a Christmas episode and goes against traditional associations that Christmas is a time of ‘joy’. Nevertheless entertainment is provided from Jon Hamm, keeps things surprisingly upbeat, adding a persona of charismas to the bleek episode however it becomes almost to the point where he can be viewed as psychotic as he is shown laughing at the expense of others. He has been casted perfectly; especially standing out as the only American in the episode, who tend to be a lot more optimistic than the typically pessimistic British. He is a physical representation of those that argue the ‘pros’ of new technology. Ultimately this results in his own downfall as he is ‘blocked’ from everybody in the finial scene. Although it gives a trilling strong line whereby you feel satisfied by his deserved punishment. It also can appear biased towards the writer’s own view that ‘smart’ technology is a negative thing and it will catch up with us, essentially hinting at a feeling of karma. It is without a doubt that the concept of this episode has been written with underlining passion and skill, details run through it. The biggest yet brilliant subtly is shown through the famous 1973 Wizard song “I wish it could be Christmas everyday”, as through the episode time loops are given to essentially ‘torture’ the characters into doing what ‘higher authority’ wish; loosely mirroring the concept of consumerism and the idea of brainwashing leading brands do to society. The programme literally makes a character trapped in a crime scene on Christmas thus essentially making them ‘wish it’ wasn’t ‘Christmas everyday’. The title itself also is a play on words, essentially when a device is turned off it becomes a glossy screen of black or a ‘black mirror’ of sorts. This toys with the indication of society being trapped in technology and acts as a warning to them. Again, this is a rather biased view; despite its brilliance it can be views as a significant negative to the show. This, along side the downfall of the programmes ‘depressing’ nature, act as a repellent to some audiences who would reject such a pessimistic thing. However another perspective that is likely to attract audiences is the ‘brutally honest’ nature that the show portrays. It’s a ‘nightmare-ish’ reality that realists could thrive from and would enjoy the moral questions raised, such as the overwhelming doubts as to who the antagonist actually is, somehow sympathy lies with the murderer whereas ‘geniuses’ become viewed as tormenters. It really does highlight the huge influence that lies with social media and expanding technology.
