Your support makes Blue Moon possible (Patreon)((¯`'•.¸Introduction¸.•'´¯))
Hey all.
Back from a hiatus and here with another topic.
Please excuse the construction and likewise, any ring rust.
Stay awhile and listen, check out the plots below and see if anything happens to catch your eye. It probably gets better from here.
...I saw the thread title from a random image online. Quality folks.
[†] General Information [†]
- I've been writing on again, off again for about twelve years now. On a good day, I'd like to consider myself somewhat literate.
- General preference is PMs over threads. I don't have any available messengers at the moment and for whatever reason, Discord doesn't play nice.
- Expect at best a post within 24 hours, at worst within three days unless otherwise notified. If you don't hear from me within three days, apologies in advance. Health and all that. Post length varies, with intros usually longer and standard replies being at least a few paragraphs. Likewise, in most cases, expect a happy medium of narrative and smut.
- I'm more than happy to entertain any plots or ideas you may have, including existing or canon material. Do let me know ahead of time your expectations when it comes to depth of knowledge however.
[†] Kinks [†]
Hard Limits:
M-Preg
Scat
Vomit
Watersports
'Soft No':
Death
Gore
Harem / Reverse Harem
Incest
Vore
Kinks:
Ass Worship
Dirty Talking
Edgeplay
Face Fucking
Light Bondage
Messy (Drool, Fluids)
Sexual Exhaustion
[†] Plots [†]
Section 1:
Section 2:
[†]Canon[†]
Princess Peach (You) X Whatever
Since I'm running with the title until dignity and the edit monster gets the best of me or something smarter comes along.
[†]Writing Samples[†]
Under construction.
Can provide older material if interested.
((¯`'•.¸Thanks!¸.•'´¯))
Hey all.
Back from a hiatus and here with another topic.
Please excuse the construction and likewise, any ring rust.
Stay awhile and listen, check out the plots below and see if anything happens to catch your eye. It probably gets better from here.
...I saw the thread title from a random image online. Quality folks.
[†] General Information [†]
- I've been writing on again, off again for about twelve years now. On a good day, I'd like to consider myself somewhat literate.
- General preference is PMs over threads. I don't have any available messengers at the moment and for whatever reason, Discord doesn't play nice.
- Expect at best a post within 24 hours, at worst within three days unless otherwise notified. If you don't hear from me within three days, apologies in advance. Health and all that. Post length varies, with intros usually longer and standard replies being at least a few paragraphs. Likewise, in most cases, expect a happy medium of narrative and smut.
- I'm more than happy to entertain any plots or ideas you may have, including existing or canon material. Do let me know ahead of time your expectations when it comes to depth of knowledge however.
[†] Kinks [†]
Hard Limits:
M-Preg
Scat
Vomit
Watersports
'Soft No':
Death
Gore
Harem / Reverse Harem
Incest
Vore
Kinks:
Ass Worship
Dirty Talking
Edgeplay
Face Fucking
Light Bondage
Messy (Drool, Fluids)
Sexual Exhaustion
[†] Plots [†]
Section 1:
((¯`'•.¸Self Assurance¸.•'´¯))
“Well... Fuck me.”
Cloning technology was a slippery slope of sorts, two sides of a coin that presented equal amounts of opportunity and tragedy. On one side, advocates voiced the possibilities of farming organs and experimentation, of seeking new sorts of treatment and other medical and scientific breakthroughs that were otherwise impossible due to resources and time. The other side however disliked taking that extra step forward, in playing God and tainting the sanctity of life, willing to entertain the thought of subjecting lesser creatures to such operations but staunch defenders in preventing man from being replicated.
Perhaps you've heard of Dolly. If not, I certainly don't blame you, as she's more of a footnote than a landmark, more known for the controversy that was brought about than the advancements that came with. In a little corner of the world however, under the watchful eyes of government operation, they're conducting another variant of the cloning experiment on a somewhat willing host, having coaxed them with a sufficient amount of cash and incentive. The technology however was different as well as the limitations on the final product and when everything was said and done... Well, we have another human, but that's why we call it experimentation.
((¯`'•.¸All Saint’s Day¸.•'´¯))
“It’s a long ways to fall, from grace to your knees.”
It’s a hard life being a saint. In some ways, the status is identical with being that of a martyr; absolving others of burden and pain wears on the soul. Many start young, committing themselves to a lifetime of virtue and fellowship to those in need. The good ones either rise in the ranks, finding favor from the old guard, or find an early grave before the toll becomes too great. Despite being a brotherhood and sisterhood of pious individuals, new recruits are often seen as fresh meat for the grindstone, sent on dangerous expeditions or stationed in the most unsavory of locations. With but the blessings of their elders, a bible at their side and the teachings from the Church, many are sent on a mission not to enlighten and convert, but as scapegoats and pariahs.
On 34th street, in the impoverish sections of town where even light rarely bothers to venture stands one of these abandoned bastions of God. A market of underground trade, forgotten classes, the homeless and ruthless, it welcomes its resident chaplain with broken stained glass windows and a broken front door that may as well be revolving. For each morning that a new priest is appointed, it seems that by the end of the night, another saint has been broken in that festering pool of sin. Folklore speak of demons standing shoulder to shoulder with the underprivileged, of drug rings and slave trades, frenzied cults and other hedonistic pleasure in that deepest darkness. The good ones either die young or fall a long, long ways down.
((¯`'•.¸The Black Bride¸.•'´¯))
“Til death do we part.”
Newlyweds. There was that feeling of anxiety days before saying ‘I do’, being chastised by his friends for making that final commitment and pressured by his parents to take the deep plunge into holy matrimony. He dated her for a few years, becoming a believer in love at first sight, only hoping that the theory of your significant other changing after settling was a half-truth at worst, a fabrication at best. Waiting at the end of the aisle, surrounded by loved ones new and old, it was an endorphin high to see her walking down the aisle with a pristine smile, the same blush that made him fall head over heels. The feeling that nothing could get better crossed his mind, that assumption easily shattered when she echoed his brash confession, the words ‘I do’ echoing in that small room. For a moment, he felt like his heart stopped.
A year later, her heart did.
It was an unfortunate joke of sorts that she had changed, but not in the way that he was dreading. Instead of fearing that they might drift apart gradually, instead his beautiful bride had exchanged a white wedding gown for a white medical gown and, were things to not improve, would be in black garbs instead of lovely white. The doctors left her for dead, keeping the feeding tube in, but promising little more. The last thing they could offer was an experiment with a new drug which would require a waiver as it was still in a testing phase, promising no results. A few doses and some careful monitoring, and what started as a tragedy brought the woman he loved back… although she seemed to be different; a bit more gullible, open to suggestion. He agreed to bring her home, taking with enough medication to nurse her back to health, intending on keeping her on that regiment.
((¯`'•.¸Deja Vu¸.•'´¯))
“This is going to sound crazy... but have we met before?”
Star-crossed lovers; a romantic notion lost to Shakespearean times and afternoon daydreaming. True love is an entertaining thought, but the numbers rarely lie. If there is somebody out there specifically meant for you, the odds are against you in finding that perfect match. But every once in a while there's that feeling when your minding your business, going through the motions, walking through the sea of people and you see someone within that crowd. Your heart flutters. Your mouth runs dry. Your mind hits the floor running whether you're ready or not. And as crazy as it sounds, because you don't even know this stranger's name, you feel like you've been here before.
Nostalgia?
Your name might be Thomas. Her name might be Stacey. At least this time. Last time it happened? You probably don't remember anymore, but you went as Leonard, she went by Elizabeth. The time before? The gender roulette might have been a little more adventurous that day and you were David, he was Eric. But the most important part is that despite not knowing anything about this person now, you've known them all your life. Well... your past lives at least. So why not step up, introduce yourself, smile and shake hands? Yeah, the name is different, but you've been here before, time and time again.
...at least, you think so, right?
((¯`'•.¸Irredeemable¸.•'´¯))
“Know which side is the right side? My side.”
Peerless. Doubtless. Faultless. Guiltless. Sinless. All qualities that humans can fathom, sometimes attain, but rarely sustain. It's rather appropriate then that such attributes are considered superhuman, not merely features of a hero of justice but what the public expects from a defender of justice and the common folk. With such privilege however comes not only great responsibility, but greater burdens: criticism, expectation, double standards, hypocrisy. A hero can do no wrong. A hero should do no wrong. Privacy is a luxury that no longer exists when a person of great virtue decides to shoulder the laws of the world and maintain some semblance of peace. Gods can be condemned and forgotten, ridiculed and despised. It shouldn't be surprising that a single mistake can get such a response from the same people a superhuman is suppose to protect.
Sheep shouldn't be surprised when the lion bites back however, having been poked too many times.
What happens when a hero no longer abides by what is expected from him, but what he himself fancies? How badly can things spiral if he turns his back on the world, starts holding things ransom, demands tribute in order to retain his services or auction off justice as if it were just another public good? The only difference between a hero and a tyrant is the love of the people, but that shouldn't matter if it can be dropped at a moment's notice. The path of perfection is a long and arduous walk, almost as treacherous as that of redemption.
((¯`'•.¸Original Sin¸.•'´¯))
“I can say with utmost confidence, there’s nobody that’s closer to their fan base.”
Ever hear a song and swear that it’s about you?
In a world of borrowed ideas and manufactured superstars, top hits were churned out in systematic way that took the heart and soul out of the creative process. Perhaps it was what the people wanted, use to patterns, but much of the musical foundation was stockpiled from a selection of tried and true melodies and harmonies, accompanied with lyrics that were written by companies that did their research behind the screens and on the basis of degrees instead of inspiration. It was through that stagnation of the musical industry and some brilliant campaigning from his agent that a boy from nowhere USA managed to start climbing the charts with songs that, while lacking the refinement and polish that other billboard hits had, captured a certain authenticity that seemed to have been forgotten in these last few years. “My talent is inspired by and writes all of his own music” they would proudly say.
Whether it was a song about fawning over a girl he’d been thinking about, the disdain about a recent heartbreak, or something a bit more lusty that was unusual given the demographics that attended his concerts, there was an understanding perspective to each song. The music itself may have been impulsive and emotional, but the album releases were more like clockwork, going on tour for approximately a month straight for ideas and soul searching, playing previous albums and interacting with the fans before once more going into seclusion to write his new list of songs. The majority of his fans kept true, but if one were to do some snooping on the interest, it would suggest that he happened to be a bit closer to some of them than previously indicated, giving them the attention they wanted for just a little bit of inspiration.
((¯`'•.¸Pillow Talk¸.•'´¯))
“The only difference between bending and breaking is cleanup and payoff.”
Negotiation is a messy enterprise.
Whether in the political realm, the business market, small talk between friends or less savory deals behind closed doors, negotiation is often considered the exchange and compromise between two parties in order to (ideally) achieve some sort of verdict or joint agreement. The ones advertised on public broadcasts or for general consumption are the sort of exchanges most people consider when the word is thought up, when parties attend the meetings voluntarily and usually have some interest in trying to reach middle ground. That's either blissfully ignoring or willfully sweeping away the network of individuals raised and refined to conduct shady deals to guests of honor at a banquet that they may have never wanted to go to.
You've probably met a negotiator without knowing it. While slim, you may have run into the same 'negotiator' later on in life, as they often exchange different appearances (and likewise lifestyles) as per both the venue and the mission requires. Wordplay is like foreplay, an act of expertise that requires both finesse and at times, brute force in order to properly execute. When vendors and people realized that negotiators could be hired for things besides attrition and blackmail, for petty grudges or ruining lives, it didn't take long to hire out a personal militia of assassins that didn't necessarily take lives, but would do all they could to alter them. Again, to a negotiator, wordplay is like foreplay in that they are merely tools to an end. It doesn't matter if you don't want it or consider the intrusion uninvited.
In the end, surely all parties can reach an agreement.
((¯`'•.¸Rehabilitation¸.•'´¯))
“Born better or born broken. The choice is not yours.”
In the name of progression, the government first revised how prisons were handled, eliminating the privatization and business models of some of the larger organizations. Many critics applauded such a bold move as a liberal advancement, while others considered it short-sighted without a specific follow up. The second stage that followed, with mixed controversy, was the complete abolishing of the incarceration system and replacement with a more 'rehabilitation' style system that eased off of government budget, placing the duties in hands of mostly public charities, experimental studies and the majority to private shareholders. At first enforcing a 'strict' policy of reporting, supposedly the process devolved into a hierarchy of indentured servitude, but the recidivism rates and reallocation of public funds that were more transparent allowed the system to flourish.
Flourish enough to the point where individuals, without a prior record, could be screened to determine potential for criminal activity to not only safeguard the general public, but to be auctioned off to the highest bidder. No longer was a populace deemed innocent until proven guilty, but if the degree of assumption was considered legitimate enough, a 'criminal' could be stripped of their personhood and shipped off for a session of rehabilitation until their employer deemed the person no longer threatening to society. A true class system was instated of not simply financial standings, but of rights and privileges, where people could be openly traded, sold, bought, used and abused until they were no longer considered a menace.
((¯`'•.¸Stockholm Syndrome¸.•'´¯))
“Everyone always wants something. In the madness, it’s always important to remember what you want.”
Nobody likes to work. Well, it’s a blanket statement that isn’t true, but for the majority of the people, employment is a flimsy relationship at best, a cruel master at worst. Being an accountant was such a lifestyle, a gatekeeper to what kept the world spinning: money. Crunching numbers and predicting the future was a combination of pseudo-black magic at times and mind numbingly monotony at others, having to deal with various investments and their owners always looking to use a person. Thanks to civility, for the most part however, the worst lashings were verbal or distant threats, the sort of thing that a night on the town and a bottle or two couldn’t remedy. Then again, sometimes people happened to get a little more aggressive when they either didn’t get their way or when they could impose their personality on others.
Five long days and a police report later required a fresh start.
Credentials and the sympathy of some government employees can get a man back on his feet, even from the brink of despair. It wasn’t so much a complete renovation as a new coat of paint, shipped off to a new town with a new name, given a parting basket of pain killers and psychotropic to keep him company should the demons ever catch up… figurative or literal. The change from an accountant to a teacher seemed natural, if not ironic, keeping the label of civil servant with emphasis on the latter with the notion that there was little that teenagers could do to otherwise bully an adult around. Then again, it had been a while since he was in school, so quite a lot could change in those years since he had been on those public grounds. Likewise, even if it was against his will initially, a person could change quite a bit in five days with the right bit of persuasion.
((¯`'•.¸What We’ve Done¸.•'´¯))
“I know how easy it can be. Don’t let them drag you down too.”
Like it or not, everyone has a price.
The scary part is when that applies to the government, no matter how secretive or obvious it is. Show of hands; how many people here have met an honest politician? No need to rush. Problems became more evident when a select few became less discreet about their spending habits and where their influence went, creating a deeper rift between the elite minority and a much more mortified populace. Backlash would have been inevitable except that a sizable portion of public security had been conscripted into private militias, drawing the line in the sand even further. Speaking against the haves were taboo, standing up for one’s self just made you a bigger target. But is it really considered living rotting away in the shade?
Torn in the middle, between the deep pockets of wealthy clients and the ethical duties when they were sworn in are the remaining police departments. Underfunded and often having to find ways to make due with what they have, some officers have made deals behind their precinct’s back to make ends meet, others willing to take the high road even if it means being a private target and a public enemy. Having to keep the peace is hard enough in a country heading towards civil war, but being the last officially recognized power standing means it’s difficult to not abuse that privilege. Abiding by the law would maintain the scraps of one’s reputation, but bending the rules could get enough money to get through the month and take whatever, or whomever one wants.
“Well... Fuck me.”
Cloning technology was a slippery slope of sorts, two sides of a coin that presented equal amounts of opportunity and tragedy. On one side, advocates voiced the possibilities of farming organs and experimentation, of seeking new sorts of treatment and other medical and scientific breakthroughs that were otherwise impossible due to resources and time. The other side however disliked taking that extra step forward, in playing God and tainting the sanctity of life, willing to entertain the thought of subjecting lesser creatures to such operations but staunch defenders in preventing man from being replicated.
Perhaps you've heard of Dolly. If not, I certainly don't blame you, as she's more of a footnote than a landmark, more known for the controversy that was brought about than the advancements that came with. In a little corner of the world however, under the watchful eyes of government operation, they're conducting another variant of the cloning experiment on a somewhat willing host, having coaxed them with a sufficient amount of cash and incentive. The technology however was different as well as the limitations on the final product and when everything was said and done... Well, we have another human, but that's why we call it experimentation.
((¯`'•.¸All Saint’s Day¸.•'´¯))
“It’s a long ways to fall, from grace to your knees.”
It’s a hard life being a saint. In some ways, the status is identical with being that of a martyr; absolving others of burden and pain wears on the soul. Many start young, committing themselves to a lifetime of virtue and fellowship to those in need. The good ones either rise in the ranks, finding favor from the old guard, or find an early grave before the toll becomes too great. Despite being a brotherhood and sisterhood of pious individuals, new recruits are often seen as fresh meat for the grindstone, sent on dangerous expeditions or stationed in the most unsavory of locations. With but the blessings of their elders, a bible at their side and the teachings from the Church, many are sent on a mission not to enlighten and convert, but as scapegoats and pariahs.
On 34th street, in the impoverish sections of town where even light rarely bothers to venture stands one of these abandoned bastions of God. A market of underground trade, forgotten classes, the homeless and ruthless, it welcomes its resident chaplain with broken stained glass windows and a broken front door that may as well be revolving. For each morning that a new priest is appointed, it seems that by the end of the night, another saint has been broken in that festering pool of sin. Folklore speak of demons standing shoulder to shoulder with the underprivileged, of drug rings and slave trades, frenzied cults and other hedonistic pleasure in that deepest darkness. The good ones either die young or fall a long, long ways down.
((¯`'•.¸The Black Bride¸.•'´¯))
“Til death do we part.”
Newlyweds. There was that feeling of anxiety days before saying ‘I do’, being chastised by his friends for making that final commitment and pressured by his parents to take the deep plunge into holy matrimony. He dated her for a few years, becoming a believer in love at first sight, only hoping that the theory of your significant other changing after settling was a half-truth at worst, a fabrication at best. Waiting at the end of the aisle, surrounded by loved ones new and old, it was an endorphin high to see her walking down the aisle with a pristine smile, the same blush that made him fall head over heels. The feeling that nothing could get better crossed his mind, that assumption easily shattered when she echoed his brash confession, the words ‘I do’ echoing in that small room. For a moment, he felt like his heart stopped.
A year later, her heart did.
It was an unfortunate joke of sorts that she had changed, but not in the way that he was dreading. Instead of fearing that they might drift apart gradually, instead his beautiful bride had exchanged a white wedding gown for a white medical gown and, were things to not improve, would be in black garbs instead of lovely white. The doctors left her for dead, keeping the feeding tube in, but promising little more. The last thing they could offer was an experiment with a new drug which would require a waiver as it was still in a testing phase, promising no results. A few doses and some careful monitoring, and what started as a tragedy brought the woman he loved back… although she seemed to be different; a bit more gullible, open to suggestion. He agreed to bring her home, taking with enough medication to nurse her back to health, intending on keeping her on that regiment.
((¯`'•.¸Deja Vu¸.•'´¯))
“This is going to sound crazy... but have we met before?”
Star-crossed lovers; a romantic notion lost to Shakespearean times and afternoon daydreaming. True love is an entertaining thought, but the numbers rarely lie. If there is somebody out there specifically meant for you, the odds are against you in finding that perfect match. But every once in a while there's that feeling when your minding your business, going through the motions, walking through the sea of people and you see someone within that crowd. Your heart flutters. Your mouth runs dry. Your mind hits the floor running whether you're ready or not. And as crazy as it sounds, because you don't even know this stranger's name, you feel like you've been here before.
Nostalgia?
Your name might be Thomas. Her name might be Stacey. At least this time. Last time it happened? You probably don't remember anymore, but you went as Leonard, she went by Elizabeth. The time before? The gender roulette might have been a little more adventurous that day and you were David, he was Eric. But the most important part is that despite not knowing anything about this person now, you've known them all your life. Well... your past lives at least. So why not step up, introduce yourself, smile and shake hands? Yeah, the name is different, but you've been here before, time and time again.
...at least, you think so, right?
((¯`'•.¸Irredeemable¸.•'´¯))
“Know which side is the right side? My side.”
Peerless. Doubtless. Faultless. Guiltless. Sinless. All qualities that humans can fathom, sometimes attain, but rarely sustain. It's rather appropriate then that such attributes are considered superhuman, not merely features of a hero of justice but what the public expects from a defender of justice and the common folk. With such privilege however comes not only great responsibility, but greater burdens: criticism, expectation, double standards, hypocrisy. A hero can do no wrong. A hero should do no wrong. Privacy is a luxury that no longer exists when a person of great virtue decides to shoulder the laws of the world and maintain some semblance of peace. Gods can be condemned and forgotten, ridiculed and despised. It shouldn't be surprising that a single mistake can get such a response from the same people a superhuman is suppose to protect.
Sheep shouldn't be surprised when the lion bites back however, having been poked too many times.
What happens when a hero no longer abides by what is expected from him, but what he himself fancies? How badly can things spiral if he turns his back on the world, starts holding things ransom, demands tribute in order to retain his services or auction off justice as if it were just another public good? The only difference between a hero and a tyrant is the love of the people, but that shouldn't matter if it can be dropped at a moment's notice. The path of perfection is a long and arduous walk, almost as treacherous as that of redemption.
((¯`'•.¸Original Sin¸.•'´¯))
“I can say with utmost confidence, there’s nobody that’s closer to their fan base.”
Ever hear a song and swear that it’s about you?
In a world of borrowed ideas and manufactured superstars, top hits were churned out in systematic way that took the heart and soul out of the creative process. Perhaps it was what the people wanted, use to patterns, but much of the musical foundation was stockpiled from a selection of tried and true melodies and harmonies, accompanied with lyrics that were written by companies that did their research behind the screens and on the basis of degrees instead of inspiration. It was through that stagnation of the musical industry and some brilliant campaigning from his agent that a boy from nowhere USA managed to start climbing the charts with songs that, while lacking the refinement and polish that other billboard hits had, captured a certain authenticity that seemed to have been forgotten in these last few years. “My talent is inspired by and writes all of his own music” they would proudly say.
Whether it was a song about fawning over a girl he’d been thinking about, the disdain about a recent heartbreak, or something a bit more lusty that was unusual given the demographics that attended his concerts, there was an understanding perspective to each song. The music itself may have been impulsive and emotional, but the album releases were more like clockwork, going on tour for approximately a month straight for ideas and soul searching, playing previous albums and interacting with the fans before once more going into seclusion to write his new list of songs. The majority of his fans kept true, but if one were to do some snooping on the interest, it would suggest that he happened to be a bit closer to some of them than previously indicated, giving them the attention they wanted for just a little bit of inspiration.
((¯`'•.¸Pillow Talk¸.•'´¯))
“The only difference between bending and breaking is cleanup and payoff.”
Negotiation is a messy enterprise.
Whether in the political realm, the business market, small talk between friends or less savory deals behind closed doors, negotiation is often considered the exchange and compromise between two parties in order to (ideally) achieve some sort of verdict or joint agreement. The ones advertised on public broadcasts or for general consumption are the sort of exchanges most people consider when the word is thought up, when parties attend the meetings voluntarily and usually have some interest in trying to reach middle ground. That's either blissfully ignoring or willfully sweeping away the network of individuals raised and refined to conduct shady deals to guests of honor at a banquet that they may have never wanted to go to.
You've probably met a negotiator without knowing it. While slim, you may have run into the same 'negotiator' later on in life, as they often exchange different appearances (and likewise lifestyles) as per both the venue and the mission requires. Wordplay is like foreplay, an act of expertise that requires both finesse and at times, brute force in order to properly execute. When vendors and people realized that negotiators could be hired for things besides attrition and blackmail, for petty grudges or ruining lives, it didn't take long to hire out a personal militia of assassins that didn't necessarily take lives, but would do all they could to alter them. Again, to a negotiator, wordplay is like foreplay in that they are merely tools to an end. It doesn't matter if you don't want it or consider the intrusion uninvited.
In the end, surely all parties can reach an agreement.
((¯`'•.¸Rehabilitation¸.•'´¯))
“Born better or born broken. The choice is not yours.”
In the name of progression, the government first revised how prisons were handled, eliminating the privatization and business models of some of the larger organizations. Many critics applauded such a bold move as a liberal advancement, while others considered it short-sighted without a specific follow up. The second stage that followed, with mixed controversy, was the complete abolishing of the incarceration system and replacement with a more 'rehabilitation' style system that eased off of government budget, placing the duties in hands of mostly public charities, experimental studies and the majority to private shareholders. At first enforcing a 'strict' policy of reporting, supposedly the process devolved into a hierarchy of indentured servitude, but the recidivism rates and reallocation of public funds that were more transparent allowed the system to flourish.
Flourish enough to the point where individuals, without a prior record, could be screened to determine potential for criminal activity to not only safeguard the general public, but to be auctioned off to the highest bidder. No longer was a populace deemed innocent until proven guilty, but if the degree of assumption was considered legitimate enough, a 'criminal' could be stripped of their personhood and shipped off for a session of rehabilitation until their employer deemed the person no longer threatening to society. A true class system was instated of not simply financial standings, but of rights and privileges, where people could be openly traded, sold, bought, used and abused until they were no longer considered a menace.
((¯`'•.¸Stockholm Syndrome¸.•'´¯))
“Everyone always wants something. In the madness, it’s always important to remember what you want.”
Nobody likes to work. Well, it’s a blanket statement that isn’t true, but for the majority of the people, employment is a flimsy relationship at best, a cruel master at worst. Being an accountant was such a lifestyle, a gatekeeper to what kept the world spinning: money. Crunching numbers and predicting the future was a combination of pseudo-black magic at times and mind numbingly monotony at others, having to deal with various investments and their owners always looking to use a person. Thanks to civility, for the most part however, the worst lashings were verbal or distant threats, the sort of thing that a night on the town and a bottle or two couldn’t remedy. Then again, sometimes people happened to get a little more aggressive when they either didn’t get their way or when they could impose their personality on others.
Five long days and a police report later required a fresh start.
Credentials and the sympathy of some government employees can get a man back on his feet, even from the brink of despair. It wasn’t so much a complete renovation as a new coat of paint, shipped off to a new town with a new name, given a parting basket of pain killers and psychotropic to keep him company should the demons ever catch up… figurative or literal. The change from an accountant to a teacher seemed natural, if not ironic, keeping the label of civil servant with emphasis on the latter with the notion that there was little that teenagers could do to otherwise bully an adult around. Then again, it had been a while since he was in school, so quite a lot could change in those years since he had been on those public grounds. Likewise, even if it was against his will initially, a person could change quite a bit in five days with the right bit of persuasion.
((¯`'•.¸What We’ve Done¸.•'´¯))
“I know how easy it can be. Don’t let them drag you down too.”
Like it or not, everyone has a price.
The scary part is when that applies to the government, no matter how secretive or obvious it is. Show of hands; how many people here have met an honest politician? No need to rush. Problems became more evident when a select few became less discreet about their spending habits and where their influence went, creating a deeper rift between the elite minority and a much more mortified populace. Backlash would have been inevitable except that a sizable portion of public security had been conscripted into private militias, drawing the line in the sand even further. Speaking against the haves were taboo, standing up for one’s self just made you a bigger target. But is it really considered living rotting away in the shade?
Torn in the middle, between the deep pockets of wealthy clients and the ethical duties when they were sworn in are the remaining police departments. Underfunded and often having to find ways to make due with what they have, some officers have made deals behind their precinct’s back to make ends meet, others willing to take the high road even if it means being a private target and a public enemy. Having to keep the peace is hard enough in a country heading towards civil war, but being the last officially recognized power standing means it’s difficult to not abuse that privilege. Abiding by the law would maintain the scraps of one’s reputation, but bending the rules could get enough money to get through the month and take whatever, or whomever one wants.
Section 2:
“Bon Appetit.”
There's a particularly controversial chef that's been making the waves amongst wealthy clientele, less known for nutritional and delicious cuisine and more notorious for (safely and with his employer's permission) using odd or interesting ingredients that promote health and specifically sexual potency. To say the least, such a cook hasn't been popular amongst circles of married couples, but there's a certain allure and excitement to other demographics, enough for him to be hired again by his newest employer.
*Big Brother*
“Remember, I'm always watching.”
It all started the day she decided to leave past curfew, sneaking out of the second story for a midnight rager with some friends. Considering her age and the culture, it was expected that a teen on the verge of graduating would want to leave a lasting impression, even if she might not remember it the day after. Her parents on the other hand were rather disappointed with her actions, discovering her intrusion in the wee hours of the morning. Given that they were middle class suburbia and devoted to their own jobs, sending her away to a disciplinary school or hiring someone to watch her was out of question... leaving the unorthodox answer of setting up cameras in her room and appointing her older sibling as her warden until further notice.
*Family Values*
“You might have heard this before. Something about an offer that you can't refuse.”
Some bonds run deeper than blood, whether through debts or loyalty, friendship or promises. Through a combination of shady practices and favorable alliances, the Mavoli family maintained an empire behind closed doors that ran illegal trades and unsavory pursuits. Such merits brought about as many allies as it did enemies, resulting in a family bloodline getting ties to those that were selectively invited into the ranks. Wanting to ensure the bloodline continues running, the patriarch requested one of his best subordinates safeguard his daughter for the time being, intent on keeping his trade alive regardless of the costs.
*Long Road Home*
“Going my way?”
Its finally happened.
It started with notions of civil unrest, droplets of disobedience that were quickly quelled and swept under the carpet. News outlets were able to sway the beginnings of a revolution, but as the days went by the structure of civilization started to waver. The government, unable to maintain order without losing the impression of retaining a democratic society, initiated several orders and mandates ranging from quarantines of specific zones to ransoms for known leaders, curfews for the general populace and rationing of all goods and supplies. People start to get paranoid of neighbor and friend alike as things start to spiral into survival of the fittest, often looting public places and walling themselves up or driving off into the more sparse areas to start anew. Perhaps seeking supplies or sanctuary, possibly both, a refuge of the old world is driving down the road when they see a stranger on the side of the road, supposedly unarmed with a few gallons of water and things by his side.
What's the harm in pulling over?
*Madhouse*
“And how are you feeling now?”
Hysteria. Dementia. Addiction. Vices. Voices in your head. Demons in your mind. Rudledge Sanitarium has heard them all and more, an institution that has been funded by the government to treat and ideally assist the sick and disabled of society. Behind closed doors however, the main wardens and faculty operate off of an otherwise outdated paradigm, subscribing to the teachings of Freud and employing equally questionable (although based off of government visits and reviews) yet pragmatic treatments. The head psychologist, having long followed the otherwise wayward branches of diagnosis and treatment, believes that death and sex are closely tied, that the former is often the issue or fear and, surprisingly enough, the latter can be a tool to otherwise overcome such issues. Shock treatment? Lobotomies? Archaic and barbaric for sure, but the replacements are about as unscientific, if not nearly more shameful... but if it works... and it just so happens that a new client has been admitted for treatment.
*Possessive*
“We never got to say goodbye. And that's how you say hello?”
Head over heels... That's how the ideal romance was suppose to start, where eyes meet and spines shiver, hearts flutter and nothing else matters. Unfortunately, sometimes that's how romances end, not through fallout or infidelity, but a car accident and an eventual phone call with no chance to say anything else. You may not have taken it well those first few days, although the first romance is always the most special, the most thoughtful. Perhaps you moved on, perhaps something is holding you back. And one day, perhaps you noticed a message scrawled on the mirror, or a note left on your pillow, a whisper that caresses your ear or something a little less subtle.
*Privilege*
“In this day and age, it's a right to be wronged.”
It's all a race to the bottom where in the end, everyone loses. With automation and technology marching forward, minimum wage jobs and other labor was wiped from existence, leaving a portion of the populace without jobs or ways to support themselves. The government, finding lack of proper alternatives, opened up a few unsavory avenues in order to avoid resorting to welfare programs, including legalizing prostitution. Soon enough however, the standards in such markets rose to a point where people became employed to headhunt and find those most marketable girls and guys to list on the flesh market... even if they happened to be a little uncooperative along the way.
*Resume*
“There's only one question; do you have what it takes?”
Five years relevant experience. Two year degree. Four references. It's a dog eat dog world out there. For every job opening out there, it seems like there's five prospective job seekers ready to make the vacancy their own. While it's a prospective market to pick and choose, for people trying to climb the ladder, it becomes a game of how well you can sell yourself, sometimes literally. A fortune 500 company has an opening for a department lead, equally known for having harsh hiring practices. The current human resources manager has screened over 100 resumes, finding a total of five to interview through. In an hour of time, how far is a job candidate willing to go?
*Serial*
“I think we could work out... I mean, first you'll have to stop screaming...”
Five disappearances within the last month... it hasn't been a good time for Midwest America. All five people shared similar qualities of age (within their early to late twenties), college bound, night owls and either women or feminine in appearance. Late one night when the street lights are flickering and only the occasional restaurant or shop is open, a student is out after curfew despite the series of missing cases. The feeling of being followed is unmistakable, but that's what makes it true love. He knows you're there and knows you're alone. Sometimes true love is a feeling that is not always initially wanted... and the difference between a simple shuffle from five to six.
*Ultimatum*
“But you said you loved me, right?”
Days turn to weeks. Weeks turn to months. And sometimes, it felt like a beautiful instance. Other times, a hellish eternity. Then again, that's the gamble with how relationships go, often beginning with a flicker and drifting between a pleasing flame and a dreadful inferno. Sometime along the way, she wanted to start settling down. On the other hand, he was still acting carefree and refused to commit. A few days before she decided to press his hand, one of his friends managed to let him in on what was going to happen: she was serious enough to ask him to take the dive or break apart. Right before she went for the throat, he asked his own question, willing to see how serious she was: he wanted to commit, but wanted to know just how in love and devoted she would be to him.
There's a particularly controversial chef that's been making the waves amongst wealthy clientele, less known for nutritional and delicious cuisine and more notorious for (safely and with his employer's permission) using odd or interesting ingredients that promote health and specifically sexual potency. To say the least, such a cook hasn't been popular amongst circles of married couples, but there's a certain allure and excitement to other demographics, enough for him to be hired again by his newest employer.
*Big Brother*
“Remember, I'm always watching.”
It all started the day she decided to leave past curfew, sneaking out of the second story for a midnight rager with some friends. Considering her age and the culture, it was expected that a teen on the verge of graduating would want to leave a lasting impression, even if she might not remember it the day after. Her parents on the other hand were rather disappointed with her actions, discovering her intrusion in the wee hours of the morning. Given that they were middle class suburbia and devoted to their own jobs, sending her away to a disciplinary school or hiring someone to watch her was out of question... leaving the unorthodox answer of setting up cameras in her room and appointing her older sibling as her warden until further notice.
*Family Values*
“You might have heard this before. Something about an offer that you can't refuse.”
Some bonds run deeper than blood, whether through debts or loyalty, friendship or promises. Through a combination of shady practices and favorable alliances, the Mavoli family maintained an empire behind closed doors that ran illegal trades and unsavory pursuits. Such merits brought about as many allies as it did enemies, resulting in a family bloodline getting ties to those that were selectively invited into the ranks. Wanting to ensure the bloodline continues running, the patriarch requested one of his best subordinates safeguard his daughter for the time being, intent on keeping his trade alive regardless of the costs.
*Long Road Home*
“Going my way?”
Its finally happened.
It started with notions of civil unrest, droplets of disobedience that were quickly quelled and swept under the carpet. News outlets were able to sway the beginnings of a revolution, but as the days went by the structure of civilization started to waver. The government, unable to maintain order without losing the impression of retaining a democratic society, initiated several orders and mandates ranging from quarantines of specific zones to ransoms for known leaders, curfews for the general populace and rationing of all goods and supplies. People start to get paranoid of neighbor and friend alike as things start to spiral into survival of the fittest, often looting public places and walling themselves up or driving off into the more sparse areas to start anew. Perhaps seeking supplies or sanctuary, possibly both, a refuge of the old world is driving down the road when they see a stranger on the side of the road, supposedly unarmed with a few gallons of water and things by his side.
What's the harm in pulling over?
*Madhouse*
“And how are you feeling now?”
Hysteria. Dementia. Addiction. Vices. Voices in your head. Demons in your mind. Rudledge Sanitarium has heard them all and more, an institution that has been funded by the government to treat and ideally assist the sick and disabled of society. Behind closed doors however, the main wardens and faculty operate off of an otherwise outdated paradigm, subscribing to the teachings of Freud and employing equally questionable (although based off of government visits and reviews) yet pragmatic treatments. The head psychologist, having long followed the otherwise wayward branches of diagnosis and treatment, believes that death and sex are closely tied, that the former is often the issue or fear and, surprisingly enough, the latter can be a tool to otherwise overcome such issues. Shock treatment? Lobotomies? Archaic and barbaric for sure, but the replacements are about as unscientific, if not nearly more shameful... but if it works... and it just so happens that a new client has been admitted for treatment.
*Possessive*
“We never got to say goodbye. And that's how you say hello?”
Head over heels... That's how the ideal romance was suppose to start, where eyes meet and spines shiver, hearts flutter and nothing else matters. Unfortunately, sometimes that's how romances end, not through fallout or infidelity, but a car accident and an eventual phone call with no chance to say anything else. You may not have taken it well those first few days, although the first romance is always the most special, the most thoughtful. Perhaps you moved on, perhaps something is holding you back. And one day, perhaps you noticed a message scrawled on the mirror, or a note left on your pillow, a whisper that caresses your ear or something a little less subtle.
*Privilege*
“In this day and age, it's a right to be wronged.”
It's all a race to the bottom where in the end, everyone loses. With automation and technology marching forward, minimum wage jobs and other labor was wiped from existence, leaving a portion of the populace without jobs or ways to support themselves. The government, finding lack of proper alternatives, opened up a few unsavory avenues in order to avoid resorting to welfare programs, including legalizing prostitution. Soon enough however, the standards in such markets rose to a point where people became employed to headhunt and find those most marketable girls and guys to list on the flesh market... even if they happened to be a little uncooperative along the way.
*Resume*
“There's only one question; do you have what it takes?”
Five years relevant experience. Two year degree. Four references. It's a dog eat dog world out there. For every job opening out there, it seems like there's five prospective job seekers ready to make the vacancy their own. While it's a prospective market to pick and choose, for people trying to climb the ladder, it becomes a game of how well you can sell yourself, sometimes literally. A fortune 500 company has an opening for a department lead, equally known for having harsh hiring practices. The current human resources manager has screened over 100 resumes, finding a total of five to interview through. In an hour of time, how far is a job candidate willing to go?
*Serial*
“I think we could work out... I mean, first you'll have to stop screaming...”
Five disappearances within the last month... it hasn't been a good time for Midwest America. All five people shared similar qualities of age (within their early to late twenties), college bound, night owls and either women or feminine in appearance. Late one night when the street lights are flickering and only the occasional restaurant or shop is open, a student is out after curfew despite the series of missing cases. The feeling of being followed is unmistakable, but that's what makes it true love. He knows you're there and knows you're alone. Sometimes true love is a feeling that is not always initially wanted... and the difference between a simple shuffle from five to six.
*Ultimatum*
“But you said you loved me, right?”
Days turn to weeks. Weeks turn to months. And sometimes, it felt like a beautiful instance. Other times, a hellish eternity. Then again, that's the gamble with how relationships go, often beginning with a flicker and drifting between a pleasing flame and a dreadful inferno. Sometime along the way, she wanted to start settling down. On the other hand, he was still acting carefree and refused to commit. A few days before she decided to press his hand, one of his friends managed to let him in on what was going to happen: she was serious enough to ask him to take the dive or break apart. Right before she went for the throat, he asked his own question, willing to see how serious she was: he wanted to commit, but wanted to know just how in love and devoted she would be to him.
[†]Canon[†]
Princess Peach (You) X Whatever
Since I'm running with the title until dignity and the edit monster gets the best of me or something smarter comes along.
[†]Writing Samples[†]
Under construction.
Can provide older material if interested.
((¯`'•.¸Thanks!¸.•'´¯))