#shameless pandering | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

miss-celestia13 · 11 months

Text

Kiss With a Fist

Dark Richy x Dark OFMC Smut

Words: 4.2k

I didn't expect to write more for this pair. But Aylin wouldn't leave my head, and I wanted to test the boundaries of a really dark character and romance. You don’t even have to know the fandom to read this one 😂

On the run. Fighting and fucking. A lot. A hotel bed. Scamming the rich folks. Torturing Richy until he loses control. All of it is child’s play to Aylin.

TW: Vague Mention of Drugs. Robbing people. Consensual Violent Sex. Hair Pulling. Pain and Pleasure. Bondage. Utterly Shameless, Unhinged, Unprotected Smut and strange, sadistic ways of flirting😅 Dark/Black Comedy. Link to the first one shot is below. You don’t have to read it to read this one. There is no real plot. Just pure, filthy p*rn.

Run Towards the Monster

People Aylin wants to kill or seriously harm

1 - Sandra - Hotel receptionist. Gossiping old hag. Always has mascara goop in the corner of her eye. Asks too many questions. Apparently, asking for two room keys is an outrage she couldn’t accept.

2 - David - Gas station attendant. Greasy long hair and dirt caked under his nails as he handed her a hotdog. He tried to flirt and reeked of cat piss, and she couldn’t eat the hotdog after that.

3 - The new money dickhead flashing his Rolex and black Amex yet seemed impervious to buying her a simple martini. Ordered her a salad for dinner… that she had to pay for.

4 - Richy - Changes every day. That day, he was complaining about having to stay hidden. Not her fault the idiot's face is still being shown on the news. Told him to grow a beard, and now that was the source of his complaints, as it was going too slow. May slit his throat if he doesn’t shut the fuck up soon.

Aylin

The black silk dress that had hung despondently on the svelte mannequin in the overpriced store she bought it from was now the only thing keeping her skin from feeling flayed by the suffocating heat of the evening. She was perched at the hotel bar. A swanky, snobbish place she had chosen when Richy attempted to convince her a Motel 6 would suffice. Fuck that. She was a creature of luxury and comfort. Nothing else mattered but her beauty sleep, and well-being. Richy had shut up when she’d shoved him against the elevator wall, hit the emergency stop, and made him cum down her throat in under 90 seconds. She could still feel an ache in her jaw whenever she yawned. He hadn’t complained since though she knew he would be furious with her tonight.

Demurely, she sipped her martini, dry with three olives, and surveyed her target of the night as he ordered yet another whiskey. In order to maintain this lifestyle and ensure she and Richy remained free, she had gone back to her old pastime of scamming those with too much money and not enough sense. It didn’t take much. A revealing outfit, a flash of the expensive burgundy lace covering her freshly waxed cunt, and a salacious smile were typically enough to hook someone in. Usually, she would bed them and wait until they’d slipped into a very male doze before she rifled through their things and made off with a small fortune. Now though, Richy’s possessive side had forbidden her to try it. She chafed at the order, the ownership. But she enjoyed it deeply and grew increasingly heated as she pondered how he was faring in their room.

She had left him in bed. Not typically a cause for alarm or anger. But she doubted he'd ever been left strapped down so tightly he couldn't do more than curl his hands into tight fists. Oh, she was going to hurt later, but it was his turn first. She had left him with a bloody lip, and the coppery tang still lingered in her mouth despite the liquor she was sinking while waiting for this fool to give her the chance to slip something inside his vile drink. After listening to his bragging and pandering to his crippling need for validation, she wanted to skin him alive. People with money never deserved it, and neither did she, but she at least would have more fun with it.

When he finally deigned to return to the stool beside hers, she tossed a sultry smile his way, running the tip of her finger around the wide rim of her glass, and licked her scarlet-painted bottom lip, internally preening when he fell for it. Her long raven hair was loose and lightly waved, scented with rich coconut and sea salt. Her mark breathed deeply whenever she flipped it over her shoulder. That was the problem with people like her. Everything about them was designed to draw fools like this one in, beauty so sharp it could open a vein, no remorse to stop her from using it to gain what she wanted. How unlucky for him. As he leaned in, damp whiskey-stained lips pressing against the shell of her ear, she managed to lean into it and not shudder, using the opportunity to slip the drug into his glass.

Holding his attention captive until it fully dissolved, she mimicked his attempt at seduction and whispered, “Why don't we finish these, and you can show me your suite?”

Like a moth to a flame, he smirked like a cat and nodded, “I thought you'd never ask.”

Giving a girlish giggle that made her want to kill herself, she picked up her glass and threw back its contents, shivering as it burned her throat and warmed her from the inside out. The slickness between her thighs quickly became irritating, and she needed this farce finished to sate it. As her victim downed his drink, she hopped down from her stool and pretended to totter drunkenly on her too-high heels. Her “lover” was quick to take advantage, and this couldn't have been any easier than if he'd simply handed her his wallet. He wrapped an arm around her. His pungent cologne irritated her nose, and she grinned wickedly at the thought of Richy smelling it on her as she was led away from the bar and into the elevator.

He tried to crowd her against the mirrored wall, hands crawling over her like he had the right, and it took everything she had not to knee him in the crotch. Instead, she faked a saucy laugh, laying a hand against his expensive suit and tipped her head toward the cameras. A heavy sigh was his only reply as he relented his mauling and impatiently tapped his foot as they ascended to the penthouse suite. New money. She could smell it on him. Insecurity and shame that he didn't deserve his success hung in the air around him. How pathetically weak. What was the point in having money if he was too ashamed to use it? She would remedy that as soon as she had him safely inside that suite.

The elevator opened into a generous sitting room. Everything gleamed and glittered. There was even a goddamn chandelier. Fine furnishings and fabrics that dripped with wealth draped the walls and floor. He gave her a sheepish grin as he stumbled in before her, and his eyes widened at his sudden lack of grace. She fluttered her eyes at him and urged him to show her the bedroom before he could think too hard and give himself an aneurysm. He needed no further convincing. Following his staggering steps, she eyed the room with an analytical mind. A huge plush bed took up the majority of the ample space, and her dirty mind wandered back to Richy and how he was doing. This had taken longer than she’d anticipated, and he would be foaming at the mouth by now. The safe door was wide open, stacks of cash were visible, and she quickly looked away as he turned to her and flung out a heavy hand, swaying on his feet a little as she took it. Letting him drag her close, she feigned shyness as his roaming hands quickly found her ass and palmed her over the silk.

A slow, weighted blink and a surprised noise was the only warning she got as he slumped to his knees. The dose she had given him was enough for three men, and he barely made one. She crouched in front of him, gripping his chin tightly and forcing his dazed eyes to look at her. A brief moment of lucidity as he spat her name in an accusation she didn't deny. Nodding, a saccharine smile lit her face as she watched the horror bloom on his face before the lights went out, and he crashed to the floor in a heap of useless overgrown man-child. She moved decisively then. Grabbing one of the shopping bags he'd left lying on the floor, stuffed it with the cash and soon relieved him of his new Rolex.

There were some diamond cufflinks and a platinum tie clip on the nightstand that she had also stolen before she went into his wallet and purloined the cash there too. She thought about taking the credit card but didn't want a trail of purchases to lead the cops to her if they figured out she was helping Richy. Checking on her snoring victim, his phone had fallen from his pocket, and she took great joy in smashing it before she flung it down the toilet. He had nothing else worth taking. His carelessness and newness to the rich life had made it too easy. She locked him in the bedroom, taking his key card before she let herself out the main door and locked that too. He would have to wait for the hotel staff to let him out before they could begin hunting for her. And she would be long gone before then.

Cursing him and Richy as she trudged down what felt like a million stairs in six-inch stilettos, she knew she would have to cut and dye her hair. It had taken years to grow this long, and yet again, a fucking man had to ruin it. If she hadn't tempted her luck too far already, she would have killed the prick in the penthouse for the distress. The humiliation would have to do until the grim reaper came calling for him. Her mind was a labyrinth of half-formed plans and promises of retribution on her unending journey back to her room.

***

Aylin quietly let herself inside her room. The electronic beep as the door unlocked made her cringe as she spied Richy passed out on the bed. The sheets under him were rumpled. His wrists and ankles were rubbed raw, and she smiled slowly at the mental image of him struggling to get free before exhausting himself and falling asleep. She toed off her heels, tip-toeing over to the bed as a low simmer began in her core. How to wake him? She could simply yell at him. Or, she could do what she had wanted to do for days since he’d started bitching about being cooped up while she got to socialize.

What he didn’t understand was that she hated to be social. Completely despised having to pretend she cared about the things everyone else seemed to take great pride in. But she also knew she had to be seen doing so. People labeled her a loner, a weirdo, when she was alone for what they deemed an inappropriate amount of time. And it wasn’t long before they started paying close attention to what she was doing or saying. Rumors would start. Vicious, nasty rumors with the power to end her reign of terror long before she was ready. No, she had to act the part. Richy had done so for years, not realizing he was doing it, and now he was alone except for her, and he preferred it that way. Two weirdos were worse than one, so they had to make sure they were seen mingling.

Choosing option two, Aylin marched around the side of the king bed and leaned over him, watching him breathe for a moment before she lifted her hand and slapped him. Hard. Right across his face. Richy jolted awake immediately. Dark eyes blurred by sleep and confusion as she smiled sweetly at him. He bared his teeth, eyes narrowing on her as she winked and plopped down on the bed.

“What the fuck was that for?” He demanded, and she did not like his tone. She had come back. He should be grateful, not mad.

“You looked so peaceful. I didn’t like it.” She shrugged carelessly.

“Where the hell have you been? Did you fuck him?”

She gave an unladylike snort, fingers toying with her hair as her nipples hardened and peaked against her thin dress, and Richy’s eyes stuck to them like glue.

“And if I did?”

“I’ll kill you.” He swore, and now she laughed loudly.

He was practically snarling at her now, and she decided to push him further.

“Hmm. And how will you do that when I hold the key to your freedom?” She looked pointedly at the leather and steel cuffs strapping him down, and she saw the defeat in him, but he didn’t back down.

“I can be patient.” He promised, and she rose to her feet, smirking down at him.

He was beautiful when riled, in a way that would turn most off and frighten them. It only made her skin pebble as she shivered.

“I have a better idea,” she said darkly, sliding the straps of her dress down her arms before reaching behind her to pull down the zipper. Richy watched her hungrily as she let it slither down her body and pool at her feet, baring herself to him and delighting as his cock stirred to life.

She had forgone a bra, but the skimpy underwear felt good against her smooth sensitive flesh. He was quiet as she removed that, too, a predator caged as his captor gave him a taste of how Hannah had felt. Though she doubted Hannah had been so turned on, he could barely speak as Aylin swung her leg over his waist and straddled him. This type of power was a potent drug to her, an addiction that addled her mind and drove her to new heights of insanity. Like junk food and indolence, it was bad for her health, yet she didn’t care. Would keep indulging until it killed her or him.

As she leaned forward, the sway of her breasts caught his eye, and she raked her manicured nails down his chest, adding to the myriad of marks already tattooed there. She was marked into his skin, bruised and red. If she left him tomorrow, it would be an age before he could forget her. His blackened soul was the strongest aphrodisiac she had encountered as she felt his cock jump against her ass. The darkness residing in him came out to play as she lowered her mouth and dragged her teeth across his chest, wishing she could taste the wild beating heart underneath. Between her legs, she was soaked, and she knew he felt it as she shifted back on her haunches to stare him down.

“Do you still want to kill me?” She taunted, fingers pinching and pulling on his nipple to see how he’d react. A hiss of pain and a deep chuckle told her he didn’t mind it.

“Undecided.” He bit out.

Humming, she trailed a hand up his torso, wrapping it around his neck and pushing down until his air cut off. He groaned when she let up and bent down, nipping at his lips and darting her tongue inside to play with his as she squeezed his throat again. They were like lit TNT whenever they gave into their primal instinct to tear, bite, and taste. No thought other than the pleasure they could steal from each other. Letting him breathe, a cramping ache in her core too hot to ignore any longer, she reached behind her and grabbed hold of his rigid cock. No foreplay to ease her into it as she lifted to settle him at her entrance, intentionally clenching her inner muscles as he breached her cunt, and she left gravity do the rest.

Head thrown back, and teeth clenched, she reveled in the rough drag of his cock against her taut inner walls. Every hard inch of him stretching her too quickly it hurt them both. Richy's hands were fisted so tightly his knuckles had bleached white, his jaw jutting as he panted, and she bottomed out with a rough gasp. She fell forward as if given a blow to the head, hands scrabbling on his chest as she breathed through the invasion. He was so hard, knocked so deeply she could feel him in her stomach, a torrent of wetness dripping from her as she made small movements to ease herself. Taunting him with the slightest hint of friction until the veins in his neck popped.

Arousal flooded her veins, replacing her blood with flame as she flattened her palms on his chest, locked eyes with him, and slowly, painfully slowly pushed off him. It was pleasure with a serrated edge. Her insatiable obsession to be split apart and used harshly fast took over, and she moved over him until the sting and burn of being rent so abruptly turned to black ecstasy. A warbling moan fell from her as she slammed down, sweat already trickling down her neck as her chest heaved. Her nails cut half-moons into his skin. He didn't complain and urged her to move when she remained still to catch her breath.

Finding a rhythm that soon sent her spiraling, she swirled her hips with each sinuous slide down and felt him twitch inside her. He was too close. Too wound up and pissed off, he’d explode before she could have her fun. That wouldn't do. Ignoring her own need, she lifted him off and laughed as he snarled her name in warning. Crawling up his body, she straddled his head, gripping the headboard before lowering herself onto his waiting mouth and giving him a command he would not ignore.

“Put that mouth to work and make me come, or you won't get to.”

A grunt was his only reply before his tongue dipped into her drenched folds, her thighs clamped around his ears as she whimpered and rolled her hips. She didn't care if he couldn't breathe, not as he flattened his tongue against her clit and lapped at her essence. A carnal growl rumbled through him that she felt between her thighs. He worked her hard. Every flick and dart inside and around her caused her legs to tremble and threaten to give out. It started slow, a ripple of heat from her center, gentle waves of pleasure that made her cry out and plead for more. Then she ignited like wildfire as he devoured her like a man starved. It burned out of control inside her as her cunt clenched around nothing. Release was a song in her molten blood as he chuckled and grazed his teeth over her clit to make her wail like a demon possessed.

Backing away, her body quivered as she glared at his smug smirk, glistening with her wetness, his chin was saturated, and she couldn't resist kissing him. Salt and sweet, heavy on his tongue, and she wanted him to always taste like her, a fierce sense of ownership washing over her as she leaned back and took him inside her again. It was effortless now, so wet and pliant she had no trouble seating him to the hilt and bouncing over him until his face twisted in anguish and desperation. Each time she felt him nearing the edge, she stopped and toyed with his body, clawing at his skin and biting his neck, sucking mouthfuls of his flesh to mark him more. He was a work of art by the time he used the only words she would heed.

“You win. I can't fucking take this. You win, Aylin.” His voice was pained, destroyed under the weight of the tension straining his body. Victory rang like a bell in her head as she rose up, and he slid free of her with a lewd sound that made her smile.

Reaching into the nightstand drawer, she took out the small metal key atop the hotel bible and hurriedly unfastened his hands. She had just unlocked his ankles, her back to him, when her hair was gathered in a fist, and he yanked hard, dragging her across the bed. Whining, utterly delighted at the pain licking over her scalp, she didn't fight back as he let go of her hair and shoved her face down on the mattress. Pressing her sticky thighs together to counter the hollowness eating at the frayed strands of her sense of reality, he was muttering under his breath that she was a nightmare come to life. It was the loveliest compliment he had given her. She knew what he wanted but waited for him to tell her, a show of submission that would piss him off and make him treat her with unmerciful brutality.

“On your knees, ass in the air, and don't fucking argue.” He ordered and gripped her thighs in a bruising hold as she lazily did as told.

Forcing her legs apart, his hand pushing on her lower back to make her arch deeper, she sensed him behind her a second before he entered her in a reckless movement that made her bury her face in the sheet. Keening, she grabbed at the pillows for something to hold onto as he fucked her savagely. The punch of his hips as he gave no thought to her pleasure made her toss her head wildly, a burning ache in her core that made her even more unhinged, and his groans were music to her ears as she fluttered around his thick cock. It was a torment. A delectable agony she would submit to every night so long as he didn't become a risk to her freedom. His lack of care toward her excited her even more. He didn't give a fuck if she liked it or not, he did, and that selfishness spoke in a complex tongue to the poison seeping from her iced-out heart.

Blunt nails scraped over her hips, sweat making his grip slide as he overwhelmed her body. She had turned feral under the onslaught. Lifting her head from the bed to howl like a beast when his hand smacked her ass so hard her teeth rattled, and her cunt clamped around him like a vice. Pleased with her reaction, he did it again, harder and harder, her skin prickling and inflamed as he fucked her to the edge of another orgasm. Madness, her dearest friend, had full control as he reached under her, and between thumb and forefinger, he took hold of her clit and pinched.

He drove into her once, twice, another pinch on that swollen bundle of nerves, and she erupted so forcefully he cried out in shock. Her name ripped from his throat as he slammed into her one last time, and the thrill of his come painting her inside prolonged the torturous waves she was riding. Electricity ran like a current under her skin, every nerve fired, and her skin felt too small for her bones as it stole her wits and breath. It was too much to withstand. Her body spasmed in time with the pulse inside her. Her mind winked out as he slumped over her and flattened her into the bed.

The last thing she remembered when she blinked her bleary eyes open a while later was his claim that he would repay the favor at some point. The bed was a mess of damp sheets tangled around them as he snored beside her. He hadn't bothered to move her from the center of the bed, and he was curled up near the edge, holding onto the sheet for dear life as she sat up and assessed her body. The lingering ache between her legs was heavy and thick, the sinful feeling making her grin as she stood on shaky legs and padded to the bathroom to shower.

She noted a dozen new bruises and bite marks in the bathroom's foggy mirror. A red raised handprint was clear on her ass, and she wore them all like jewelry as she returned to the bedroom and got dressed in dark clothing before she woke him. He wasn't pleased and snapped at her, but they didn't have much time left. The man she had drugged would raise the alarm when the drug wore off, and they had to be far away when he did. Richy moved swiftly once she explained, and she packed her meager possessions along with the money, watch, and other items she had pilfered.

When they were both ready, she grasped hold of his shirt, dragging him down to her level to give him a biting kiss. Wondering where they would go next and what dark, dangerous things they would do to each other once they got there. They left the hotel under a cloak of darkness. The night shift receptionist was snoozing behind his desk as they crept past and snuck out the back entrance. The car they'd rented was nondescript, already fuelled up, and they were soon on the road. They would have to find another soon so as not to test their luck. But as the sky burned red and the sun began its daily salutation, neither cared what the future held. They were good with right now and were determined to make the most of it in their cruel, selfish, and maleficent way. She saw only one ending for their sinister dalliance, but until then, she didn't give a fuck.

This is either the best or worst smut I've ever written, and I don't know how to feel about that, lol. There will be no in between. Like marmite. You’ll either love or hate it. Let me know if you like it!

Part 3: Flesh & Blood

58 notes · View notes

republicansaredomesticterrorists · 1 year

Text

CNN is Fox Lite and is desperate for ratings. Trump was allowed a cherry picked audience that cheered him, his lies, his insults, and laughed when he insulted his rape accuser (that just beat him in court). His MAGAt packed audience also found it amusing when he called the female CNN moderator “a nasty person.” The moderator was unable to fact check him in real time and challenged him on very little as he steamrolled her. Conservative director of CNN, Chris Licht, desperately wants a Trump showdown in the election regardless of how heinous he was and remains. This took place the day after he was convicted of sex crimes and defamation. CNN is shameless and gutless.

#BoycottCNN is trending on social media and I personally have not been watching for quite some time. Their online presence still remains mostly neutral and separate from their egregious on-air pandering to lying fascists and propagandists.

57 notes · View notes

arizonaconservativegal · 7 months

Note

Have you SEEN how women behave these days? BPD Lana Del Rey coquette nymphet tradwife nonsense, shameless pedophile pandering, acting like a retarded 5 year old for coomers? If this is what womanhood is now then I can't blame anyone for not respecting it.

You couldn't sound more terminally online if you tried. Go move to Iran if you're so bothered by the way women live a free life.

23 notes · View notes

porterdavis · 8 months

Text

Quote of the Day

Vivek is a facile, clownish, shallow, shameless, pandering demagogue, but he is exactly what GOP voters crave these days.

Bill Kristol @BillKristol

21 notes · View notes

niqhtlord01 · 2 years

Text

Humans are weird: Ghost Stories

( Please come see me on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord Every bit helps)

The hour was late aboard the merchant ship Harrow’s Run, and Captain Septimus found himself strolling through corridors. His heavy footfalls sounding like hammers on an anvil thanks to his metallic leg which was all but impossible to dull. He knew his crew often joked about when they thought he could not hear that they could judge where he was on the ship by the time it took the sound of his footsteps to reach them.

Unlike his more mortal crew, Septimus was a Clarian and had little need for sleep save for a single hour a day. While the rest of his crew was asleep or manning the night rotation he would wander the corridors, enjoying the only company that was his internal thoughts.

In these hours of solitude he would ponder his recent expenses, plot out routes that would avoid the bothersome galactic toll checkpoints between borders, wonder if his little girl back on Thresal Prime would enjoy the latest gift he would bring her, and debate if venting the lower compartments of his ship would finally snuff out the vermin seemingly entrenched there.

Lost in deep thought Septimus wandered for hours aimlessly until he heard a commotion that broke him from his train of thought. He followed the noise to the mess hall and looked in from the doorway to see what was causing the noise.

The lights inside the mess were turned off but from the far side of the room Septimus could see several candles on a table flickering. Around those candles were several of the crew laughing, drinking, and taking bites of food they must have cooked themselves since the chiefs were not on duty for another several hours.

There was a Vorpal, a tentacle like being nestled on one of the stools, a Freng, a muscular if somewhat oafish being sitting on the floor and taking fistfuls of food between laughing, and to his lack of surprise a human taking several puffs from what looked to be a pipe of some sort.

“Fine night for a gathering,” Septimus said as he entered the room, “though last I checked the mess doesn’t open until dawn hours.”

Finally noticing their captain from the doorway the three of them got up quickly and stood at attention. “Sorry sir,” The human responded first, “I was merely continuing a sailor tradition of my people and these two were kind enough to help me.”

“Oh?” Septimus asked, calmly walking towards the table they now occupied; the human scraping their ear uncomfortably as he got closer as the confines of the mess hall made the noise from his metal leg even louder. “And what tradition would that be Mr….”

“Whitlock.” The human replied. “Thomas Whitlock, sir.”

Septimus nodded and repeated “What tradition is that, Mr. Whitlock?”

Whitlock straightened up and met his captain’s gaze and replied “Sharing stories, sir.”

“Stories?”

“Yes sir,” replied Whitlock, “stories we have heard or been a part of during our travels.”

Intrigued, Septimus decided he would hold off punishing these three for being up after hours.

“And what stories do you have to share?” Septimus asked as he took an empty seat at the table and motioned the others to sit down as well.

Whitlock looked embarrassed slightly and coughed into his hand. “I’m sure none of them would be as interesting as the ones you have.”

Septimus groaned at the shameless pandering. “If I had wanted to be brown nosed, Mr. Whitlock, I would have bought a pleasure bot, and not have come out from my quarters.”

The Freng chuckled despite himself before failing to regain his composure while the Vorpal poured the captain a fresh drink. Whitlock looked impressed with his captain’s candor and grinned.

“Well,” he began as he took another puff from his wooden pipe, “I do have one story I have been saving; but I warn you it’s not for the faint of heart.”

Septimus took the drink the Vorpal had poured and downed it in a single go. The fresh sting of the liquid made his eyes go wide and his skin crawl from head to toe, but he could not deny it was a fine vintage.

“Try me.” The captain chuckled and motioned for the Vorpal to pour another.

Whitlock leaned forward over the table, the light of the candles casting his shadow along the back wall of the mess hall like a great beast and whispered, “Have you ever heard the tale of the Ann Marie?”

Septimus thought for a moment, sifting through his thoughts and memories to see if he had ever heard of such a name before coming up empty and shaking his head.

“Several decades ago it was the finest warship humanity had ever built.” Whitlock began, his arms spreading out across the table in some grand gesture. “She was a warship made by the brightest minds my people had to offer and quickly became the pride of the human navy.”

“Deck upon deck of gun batteries, massive shield generators capable of repelling direct hits from asteroids, state of the art medical facilities, recreational halls, and crew quarters; but that wasn’t even the best part of this golden goose.”

Whitlock leaned over the table and spoke in a hushed tone. “At the very heart of the ship wasn’t just a reactor or power generator, but the very first human built AI which took up the name of the ship as her own.”

“Question,” The Vorpal cut in. “how can an AI have a gender?”

To Septimus’s surprise he shrugged rather than give a direct answer.

“Who can say?” He admitted. “But whenever the AI would project itself it would always do so in the form of a human female.”

“That is hardly grounds to designate a gender.” The Vorpal countered.

“Says the ball of jelly with dick looking tentacles for arms.’ Whitlock countered back, drawing another deep laugh from the Freng. The Vorpal looked down at their tentacles as Whitlock continued with his story.

“So being the pride of the navy she was, the Ann Marie was sent out to the front of every warzone and fleet engagement humanity found themselves caught up in.”

Septimus watched as Whitlock made finger guns and pretended to fire them at unseen targets around the mess hall. “No ship could match her in combat and she survived every engagement with nay but a scratch on her paint work.”

“That was until she was led into a trap in the Gondara Nebula.”

Whitlock’s voice became quiet once more. “She had made such a name for herself that the enemies of man had decided what better way to defeat humanity than to destroy their prized warship.”

“So they lured the Ann Marie into the Gondara Nebula under the pretense of several human distress signals calling for aide.” He blew a thick cloud of white smoke that hovered above the table. “So thick were the gases there that no sensors or scanners could pierce the veil and the ship was reduced to manual control.”

“Incredibly risky,” Septimus commented, more so to show he was still listening “and foolhardy.”

Whitlock nodded in agreement. “That it was, but her standing orders were to assist any human ship in distress and so the captain of the Ann Marie took her in deep into the Nebula in search for the signals.”

“They had just entered the thickest part of the Nebula, when suddenly BOOM!”

Whitlock smacked his free hand down on the table causing all three of his listeners to jolt in surprise.

“A series of explosions ripped across her from bow to stern; for the entire nebula had been riddled with mines that had lain dormant until just this moment.”

He drew in another deep breath and let out several small puffs of smoke, mimicking the explosions he just described. Septimus waved them away casually, but continued to hear out this tale.

“No portion of the ship was left unscarred, but was the worst was how a majority of the command crew had died in the initial explosion save only for the captain; though he was reaching the end of his rope not long after.”

“In his final moments he turned to the ships AI and spoke his last command through blood choked gasps.”

“Save the crew,” Whitlock spoke in a cough filled voice, “bring them home….alive.”

Whitlock say in silence after that, taking several more puffs from his pipe and allowing his listeners to catchup.

“What sort of story ends with such an anti-climactic ending?” Septimus said, breaking to quiet. “I would have thought you would have had the captain and his crew have a happy ending?”

To his surprise Whitlock let off a menacing chuckle and withdrew his pipe. “Not all stories have a happy ending, Captain; and this ain’t one of them.”

Intrigued, Septimus took another sip of his drink as Whitlock continued.

“So there she was; the Ann Marie alone and adrift in the void of space with a damaged hull and no command material left to take the reins. So the AI did the only thing it thought logical to fulfill the now deceased captain’s final order, and became the captain themselves.”

“How can an AI be a captain?” The Freng spoke for the first time. “Ain’t it just a machine?”

Whitlock nodded in agreement. “Normally it could never happen, but buried deep in the human navy rulebook it says that under extreme circumstances the shipboard AI my take control of the vessel to ensure its mission is completed; so the Ann Marie AI reasoned that the situation was extreme enough for her to take command.”

This made the Freng shift in their seat as if they were no gripped in some form of discomfort and unease. “Don’t seem right, need living people to lead….well….living people.”

Whitlock chuckled and smacked the Freng on their back approvingly. “You’ll make a good captain one day talking like that.” This made the Freng smile and reveal an unsettling amount of sharpened teeth as Whitlock continued.

“For the next seven days the Ann Marie AI directed the surviving crew on how to repair the ship; sealing ruptured bulkheads, locking off irradiated portions of the ship, repairing damaged power feeds and terminals, etc.”

“In those seven days the crew thought themselves fortunate to have such an intelligent captain helping them stay alive, but so blinded by their imminent survival they did not see the danger coming until it was too late.”

Whitlock leaned forward again and spoke in a whisper, as if he didn’t want the walls to hear what he spoke next.

“It started off with a few of the crew going missing.” Whitlock began. “One or two work detail would go missing while repairing a damaged corridor or some such.”

“What happened to them?” Septimus asked.

“No one knew,” Whitlock replied, “not even the other members of their work crew saw where they went; one moment they were next to them, and then the next they were gone.”

“This continued over the next few days as the ship continued to be repaired until half a dozen crew were suddenly missing and those that remained asked the Ann Marie AI where they had gone.”

“They are in sick bay, she said.” Whitlock said in a cheesy robotic tone voice.

“That’s it?” The Vorpal asked. “Nothing else?”

Whitlock shook his head. “That’s all that they were told and that they should not disturb them.”

“Days went by and more crew started vanishing eventually entire work crews simply vanished into thin air and the calm reply from the AI “They are in sick bay.”. “

“So,” Whitlock said now leaning back, “one day one of the younger repair crew workers had had enough and went to the sick bay. The doors were locked tight, so they popped open a nearby air duct and snuck in through the ventilation system.”

“As he reached the area inside the sick bay he peered through the grill of the vent hatch, and what he saw made his blood run cold.”

“What did he see?” Septimus asked without even thinking about it.

“Lying in the sick beds were the missing work crews, everyone one of them accounted for, but they were not as they once were.”

“Meaning?” The Vorpal asked.

“They had been cut open and operated on like science experiments.” Whitlock lifted up his shirt to expose his bare chest. “Organs ripped out and replaced with machinery, limbs detached from bodies and tubes jutting into where they had once been pumping strange liquids; but was worst of all was the mutilated bodies of multiple crewmen who had been horrifically fused together by the medical devices in the sick bay.”

Whitlock grabbed his chest and made it as if he was pulling his organs out and throwing at his listeners. Though a childish attempt at horror, what he had just said was more than enough to frighten them.

“Why would the AI do that?” the Freng asked sheepishly.

“Because if multiple crew shared the same body parts it could compensate for the portions that were missing.” Whitlock said with a straight face, but the Freng shook their head.

“I mean, why would it do all of that to the crew?”

Whitlock nodded his head in realization of the Freng’s original question. “The ship and crew weren’t the only things to get damaged in that little surprise attack,” Whitlock continued, “the AI got banged up as well; unhinged some might even call it.”

“It took the captain’s last order literally, meaning that it couldn’t allow any of the crew to die no matter the circumstances and would do anything it deemed fit to keep them alive until they arrived home.”

Septimus, the Vorpal, and the Freng all looked at Whitlock with horror written on their faces. The idea of their bodies being cut open and replaced with machine parts was too terrible for them to comprehend.

“What happened next?” Septimus asked.

“Well,” Whitlock resumed, “the crewman in the vents fled as fast as his arms and legs would carry him and went to warn the others. At first they refused to believe him, saying he had gone mad from the stress and the battle fatigue; but when they went to investigate as they had done, and saw the horror with their own eyes, the ship erupted in panic.”

“What was the AI doing during this?” The Vorpal asked. “It couldn’t have been happy to know its secret was out.’

“Surprisingly it took it rather well.” Whitlock replied, much to their surprise. “Though when it learned that the crew were operating within the vents, areas it designated harmful to the crew, it dispatched automated worker drones which had been assisting with the repairs to weld shut every access duct.”

“It then designated that every member of the crew was at risk of dying and sent the drones out to collect them and bring them to the sick bay so they could be monitored.”

“The Ann Marine went from being the pride of the navy to a madhouse as the crew hid within their own ship as the drones hunted them down one by one. The lucky ones hid so well that they starved to death.”

“And the unlucky ones?” The Freng asked.

“They were dragged off screaming to the sick bay, never to be seen again.”

The group of them sat in silence for a while. Septimus casually sipped from his drink and finished it, the Vorpal attempting to look as if the story hadn’t affected him, and the Freng clutching himself in terror with his eyes darting around the room as if searching for something.

“That is an interesting, if somewhat morbid story Mr. Whitlock,” Septimus finally spoke, “but does it have an ending?”

“Of sorts.” Whitlock replied. “The Ann Marie never made it back to Earth to fulfill its final mission; the damage it sustained too grievous for itself to repair alone leaving it trapped in the Nebula.”

“If it never made it home, how could you know of such a tale?”

The Freng and Vorpal looked up at this as if Septimus’s question was the fact they needed to prove this was all make believe.

Whitlock merely smiled and went back to smoking his pipe. “You been around as long as me your hear things here and there; like how ships that go into the Gondara Nebula rarely get seen again and the ones that do come out missing more crew then they went in with.”

“I met a freebooter on Hadrion Station a few years back that claimed to be the only survivor of a salvage op that found the Ann Marie in the Nebula. Said that the drones ripped his crew apart for spare body parts and organs one by one since they weren’t listed as part of the crew, and he barely made it to an escape pod before they finished cutting him up into pieces.”

“Sounds more like a drunkard spinning a tale for a free drink.” Septimus chuckled.

“Aye, I’d agree too,” Whitlock replied much to the captain’s surprise, “had it not been for the fact the poor devil was missing half his face.”

#HUMANS ARE WEIRD #humans are insane #humans are space orcs #humans are space oddities #scifi #story #writing #original writing #ghost story

397 notes · View notes

self-loving-vampire · 2 months

Note

🔥 Fanservice

I don't mind it as much as a lot of people around here do, but think it has its time and place. There are definitely situations where it distracts from or diminishes more significant events.

It can also be a kind of insult to one's intelligence when it's too obviously trying to pander to the most simple types of emotions for appeal instead of doing anything more complex, clever, or interesting.

I think at the very least these sorts of things work a lot better in media that is shameless about it. The horny fiction that knows what it's about and better incorporates that kind of thing into its narratives instead of just using it for low-effort jokes and attempts at arousal that go nowhere and mean nothing.

If it's going to be like that I'd rather go look at hentai and maybe actually cum.

11 notes · View notes

religion-is-a-mental-illness · 5 months

Text

By: Rakib Ehsan

Published: Dec 2, 2023

With a wave of anti-Semitism sweeping Britain – and London in particular – you might expect local authorities to jump at the chance to show some solidarity with their Jewish communities.

If so, you’d be wrong. Havering Borough Council is a case in point. On Thursday, it announced it was to cancel this year’s Hanukkah celebrations. The council claimed that erecting and lighting the large menorah outside Havering Town Hall could ‘inflame community tensions’ and lead to vandalism and disruption. (It had already paid for the specially designed menorah.)

On Friday, in the face of a considerable backlash, Havering announced a u-turn. It has been reported that the council had an ‘urgent meeting’ with Jewish community leaders and has since decided that the menorah-lighting event could indeed go ahead later this month.

But this volte-face will do little to erase the damage done by the original, spectacularly ill-judged decision. Indeed, Havering’s initial move to cancel the event has been roundly condemned by those of all faiths and none.

Nazir Afzal, the first Muslim chancellor of Manchester University, pointed out that the celebration of the Jewish festival has nothing at all to do with the war in Gaza. Dr Krish Kandiah, the director of the pro-refugee Sanctuary Foundation, pledged to stand ‘with the Jewish community in Havering’. Hope Not Hate founder Nick Lowles also intervened, saying that the council’s original decision was wrong ‘on every level’.

Muhammad Manwar Ali, an experienced figure in the counter-extremism field, was blunter still. He described the plan to cancel the event as ‘absolutely awful’ and a form of ‘shameless appeasement’. He’s not wrong. Havering seemed more concerned with appeasing anti-Semites than with supporting the local Jewish community.

Havering seemed to think that by cancelling Hanukkah celebrations community tensions would be eased. This is absurd. It would have made them worse. Not only was Havering threatening to cancel a religious celebration that has long brought joy and happiness to the capital; it was also pandering to nasty extremist factions.

Failing to stand in solidarity with British Jews sends a dangerous message. Regardless of your opinion on the conflict in Gaza, Jewish people are not agents of the Israeli government – they simply want to celebrate their religious holiday in peace. Havering was effectively threatening to suppress one religious minority at the presumed behest of another. All because it assumed that the visible display of Jewishness would upset – and potentially anger – the local Muslim community. Which is also incredibly insulting to Muslims.

Havering has not only failed its Jewish residents – it has also undermined religious freedom more generally. This kind of decision, although it has been reversed, still sets a sinister precedent. It suggests that the feelings of some minority groups should take priority over the rights of others.

If we want to build a truly harmonious and diverse society, we cannot capitulate to bigots who may take offence to harmless religious rituals. Now more than ever, we must rise above tribal identity politics in Britain. We need to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with British Jews and send the clear message that anti-Semitism and hatred will not win.

Imagine the cries of "Islamophobia" if, for example, Ramadan activities were cancelled. Imagine the protests and the violence that would have unfolded.

Now, notice how they were not even asked to cancel Hanukkah, they just voluntarily did so to placate the perceived offence of one group over another.

Not only were the Jews supposed to just quietly accept this, but it tells you the privileged position Islam occupies, even when nobody actively seeks to exercise that privilege.

#Havering Borough Council #Hanukkah #Hannukah #Chanukah #judaism #antisemitism #islam #religious freedom #islamophobia #religion #religion is a mental illness

14 notes · View notes

anxresi · 1 year

Text

NEWSFLASH: Pink-Streaked Plot Device Confesses Crush To Equally ‘Perfect’ Protagonist. A Nation Of Undemanding Fans Weep.

undefined

youtube

May I offer a few stray observations?

1. Zoe is not ‘Amazing’, Marinette. She’s just written that way. (Bonus points if you can catch the movie reference there)

She’s obviously SUPPOSED to be because she has so many friends and loved ones, can do everything she puts her mind to SO well and hasn’t got a single fault in her oh-so-sweet personality.

The problem with being so gosh-darn flawless though, is that you’re straight-out BORING... especially when put into the confines of a TV show where we expect the characters to be more than just insipid one-dimensional goodie-two-shoes.

If only they had someone better to replace her, like a rebellious anti-hero... with many layers to their character and plenty of scope for growth and change... yes, that would be MUCH more interesting than a perpetually shilled Creator’s Pet...

Oops, they already got rid of her. So sorry, my mistake.

2. People should be honored to be ‘loved’ by Zoe?

Not really. She probably ‘loves’ everyone, due to her single-note ‘nicey nice’ persona excluding her from expressing any mild distaste about anyone. Including her own newly-psychotic sister, who’s probably told her she despises her for years.

She’d probably skip merrily into whatever-bullshit-name-Hawkmoth-has-these-days’ lair in a yellow sundress and a basket full of oatmeal cookies, give him a little kiss on the cheek before prancing out singing ‘Tomorrow’ from Annie, leaving a trail of fluffy bunny wabbits and freshly-bloomed daisies in her wake.

Aaawww! *Retch*

3. “Adrien’s not the one I’m in love with...” OOOH HERE IT COMES! BRACE YOURSELVES...

4. ...AAANND like a deflated balloon, a broken swing and a show running out of ideas so quickly it shoves in these ‘serious’ moments that’ll never be referenced again, Zoe never explicitly says those three magic words (Alakazam, abracadabra and hocus pocus, right?)

I guess she wanted to be ‘special friends’ with Marinette the same way Rose and Juleka are. A more hopelessly unsubtle, pandering load of nonsense would be impossible to find... but it won’t stop a certain percentage of the audience from instantly shipping these two and finding this moment both ‘inspirational’ and ‘emotional’ (I can just see the hyperbolic tweets now: OMG I WEPT BUCKETS! I CAN RELATE SSSSOOOO MUCH etc)

Sorry, but I can’t get on board. I would say this was badly done whatever the sexuality of the couple, so you can kindly burn your placards screaming ‘BIGOT’ right now. The fact it’s so cynically aimed at a demographic that are often sadly overlooked in animation until recently (and naturally, afraid of some kind of Moral Panic the writers STILL can only hint at gay relationships instead of announcing them out loud) just makes the whole shameless manipulative process even worse, IMHO.

To all those who aren’t catered to by an often very heterosexual-focused cartoon industry, watch The Owl House. Give She-Ra a try. Just anything, instead of this pathetic... what was that term I heard the other day... Gaybaiting?

Yeah, that sounds about right.

(N.B If you get something positive out of this episode I am not seeking to devalue your experience or ruin your enjoyment... I am just saying, I think this is badly-done, poorly written tripe designed to earn the show brownie points when frankly it deserves none. A great example of virtue-signalling, to borrow a tired right-wing trope. You might disagree, and feel free to argue your case, but please respect my opinion by not calling me a bunch of profane names in response. Thank you.)

5. The short scene ends with Marinette letting the supposedly lovestruck Zoe down gently, with a hug and a silent promise to never speak of this again (believe me, they won’t).

It’s a good moment for both of these favorite, endlessly-hyped characters of Thomas... Marinette gets to show her ‘human’ side and improve her already sterling reputation, whereas a lovesick Zoe takes her rejection surprisingly well.

No tears, raised voices or even mucus bubbles... the entire emotional catharsis is over in less than 40 seconds. Guess they were too busy with more important stuff in the episode like Cheesy Chat puns, Hawkmoth’s Ham’n’Cheese and Marinette getting spotted panties from her Lucky Charm (I wish I was kidding... but I’m not. I’ve READ the leaks... *Shudder*)

.....................

So, to sum up then: another throwaway moment in an increasingly stupid show that could’ve been something special or left a lasting impact... of course, it does neither of those things.

I mean, what were you expecting at this stage? The people who produce it are clearly not making any serious effort whatsoever, whether that be in the writing department or stopping MASSIVE spoilers from getting out and ruining the plot (although, I think they already did a pretty good job of that even before this latest round of security breaches).

So if they don’t care, why should anyone else? At least it’s fun to vent about... but time for a break now, to watch something with a bit of actual quality. Hmm... *Decides to see the Amphibia finale for like the trillionth time.*

#miraculous #miraculous ladybug #ladybug #chloe bourgeois #Marinette Dupain-Cheng #Zoe Lee #ml salt #ml spoilers #Disney #Youtube

114 notes · View notes