02-23-2017, 11:42 AM
(This post was last modified: 02-28-2017, 12:40 AM by Kerberos.
Edit Reason: rating
)
Fucking Ty. Has some shit to figure out, does he? Well that’s fine. I do too. You know, I was perfectly okay before he actually fucking looked at me, with those goddamn eyes, in his stupid gorgeous face. Not to mention his stupid sexy as hell carved up body and his obnoxiously brilliant brain and his just annoyingly perfect Ty-ness. Whatever. I knew my role, and it was to perplex and annoy the shit out of him with my not even a little bit subtle passes. Well, and to hit on his ridiculous number of dads and drive the whole family crazy, just a bit. Rile them up, get their blood up, get my heart racing at the vague death threats in their eyes. It was a whole thing, okay?
Then that bastard actually looked at me. Which I suppose was my own damn fault. I had a stroke of just absolute brilliance appealing to that insatiably curious mind of his, seducing him with talk of experiments and hypotheses, proposing we run a few tests. Never actually expected it to work. Never actually expected him to let me in.
I didn’t have a damn chance after that.
That asshole went and made me want to be...more. Dammit. Better. Maybe fix some shit I’d left broken. So when he walked away with no strings attached, to go figure out his own shit, well. I decided maybe it’d be at least not the absolute worst idea ever to do a little of the same.
Starting with Lacey.
I’ve learned a hell of a lot since I left her in a heap on the ground. I mean, I made her body sing, but I didn’t just toe the line between pleasure and agony. I fucking stomped all over it. I like to think I have a little more finesse now. So really, the only logical thing to do is to go find her and fix what I broke, right?
Right.
Well pretty Lacey did happen to mention she was from that rando island off to the northeast, didn’t she. So what the hell, I walk across the ocean waves, circling around back because it’s more fun to use the backdoor sometimes. Shakes things up, keeps people on their toes. And wouldn’t you know, I catch a familiar scent in the air not too terribly long after I arrive.
“Lacey, baby,” I croon when I lay eyes on her, slipping through the trees and out of the shadows to let the light catch and gleam off my shiny metal self. “I owe you an apology. I was a little callous last time, and I thought, especially given the season, it might be a good idea to remedy that and tend to your needs this ti--god damn, honey, who fucked up your art?” I step around her, apology forgotten entirely as disgust and horror wash over me. “Berries? Fucking berries, and leaves and flowers and shit? Oh, baby, you’re so much better than that. What kind of fucking tasteless plebeian would--ugh, you deserve the primal, visceral work of fucking art I gave you, not this floofy bullshit. What the fuck? I’m so sorry, Lacey. What a damn shame.”
Then that bastard actually looked at me. Which I suppose was my own damn fault. I had a stroke of just absolute brilliance appealing to that insatiably curious mind of his, seducing him with talk of experiments and hypotheses, proposing we run a few tests. Never actually expected it to work. Never actually expected him to let me in.
I didn’t have a damn chance after that.
That asshole went and made me want to be...more. Dammit. Better. Maybe fix some shit I’d left broken. So when he walked away with no strings attached, to go figure out his own shit, well. I decided maybe it’d be at least not the absolute worst idea ever to do a little of the same.
Starting with Lacey.
I’ve learned a hell of a lot since I left her in a heap on the ground. I mean, I made her body sing, but I didn’t just toe the line between pleasure and agony. I fucking stomped all over it. I like to think I have a little more finesse now. So really, the only logical thing to do is to go find her and fix what I broke, right?
Right.
Well pretty Lacey did happen to mention she was from that rando island off to the northeast, didn’t she. So what the hell, I walk across the ocean waves, circling around back because it’s more fun to use the backdoor sometimes. Shakes things up, keeps people on their toes. And wouldn’t you know, I catch a familiar scent in the air not too terribly long after I arrive.
“Lacey, baby,” I croon when I lay eyes on her, slipping through the trees and out of the shadows to let the light catch and gleam off my shiny metal self. “I owe you an apology. I was a little callous last time, and I thought, especially given the season, it might be a good idea to remedy that and tend to your needs this ti--god damn, honey, who fucked up your art?” I step around her, apology forgotten entirely as disgust and horror wash over me. “Berries? Fucking berries, and leaves and flowers and shit? Oh, baby, you’re so much better than that. What kind of fucking tasteless plebeian would--ugh, you deserve the primal, visceral work of fucking art I gave you, not this floofy bullshit. What the fuck? I’m so sorry, Lacey. What a damn shame.”