Light NSFW (the song... Has vibes), but Eris truly just gives me the same fibe as the song "Rule 34" by Fish in a Cage. They definitely have a peculiar relationship with possessiveness, making sure that it is solely theirs... And destroying what is in their way to grab it.
I do wonder : is there a reason for it ? A reason for this development ? We know they were not supposed to have the throne... Perhaps it is linked ? Or perhaps it's in their nature ?
I imagine having a star sibling could definitely do that to someone who's politically oriented...
Could there possibly be a universe where he has a different outlook on things ? Perhaps if they were chosen as heir ? Or if they were born as a noble, instead of the crown ?
Love the game, by the way ! The countdown is such a nice addition !!
We loved listening to that song, it 100% suits ERIS's vibe, especially these verses:
I have you strung,
Strung in my web
[...]
Forget yourself,
Surrender your mind
Thank you for the spot-on rec, anon! And the spot-on deduction LOL
Of course, perhaps Eris's means to an end are highly... morally questionable and unconventional— but come the reveal, you may even find yourself compelled enough by their reasoning to stand by their side. Eris is a product of their circumstances as much as their nature. As you said, they are the second-born and therefore not truly entitled to the throne. But MC will get the chance to discover that it is, in fact, not the biggest differentiating factor between them and their older brother, the Crown 👀 (no spoilers!)
In some other timeline, under different circumstances, maybe they indeed wouldn't feel the need to possess all that which they think may slip their grasp (they'd definitely retain their desire for prestige and to protect what is theirs by any means, though).
Thank you for playing and we're so happy to hear you're enjoying it so far!! 🩵 As the dawn draws nearer, we plan to make the countdown even more precise— down to the month/day/hour.
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content: second person pov, choose your own adventure, living weapon whump, living weapon whumpee, conditioned whumpee, rocky recovery, comfort, nightmares, past trauma
Your thoughts are going a million miles an hour. You're back and forth between going to Freddie and asking for her comforting words, and getting out of bed and running as far away from her as possible, so as not to put her in danger.
Selfishness wins out. You slowly and quietly get out of bed and shuffle over to the open bedroom door. Freddie's door is open as well, even if just a crack. You push it open. She doesn't even stir. She's so vulnerable. If your handler really decided to hurt her, she would be entirely defenceless.
"Freddie?" you whisper. Nothing. "Freddie..."
She finally moves. She groans in her sleep, turning over. You'll have to be a little more assertive. A little more bold.
You were trained not to be bold. You were trained to be quiet, submissive, pliable.
"Freddie," you squeak. Not very bold.
"#064?" She finally blinks her eyes open and sits up. "Is everything alright?"
Suddenly, you feel stupid having come over to her room over a nightmare. But it was so realistic, so visceral... "I don't think I'm supposed to be here."
That's a funny way of saying 'I have put you in mortal danger by being here'.
"What do you mean?" She rubs her eyes, trying to focus.
"I..." How are you meant to explain it without giving away what the facility is? "I just... I don't think..."
"Have you been up all this time? Thinking about this?"
"No, I... I had a nightmare. And I don't think I'm doing the right thing by taking advantage of your kindness."
"You're not 'taking advantage' of anything. You're just trying to exist. I don't think that's a crime."
You do.
The two of you stay silent for a bit. Freddie seems to be waiting for you to speak, but you're desperately waiting for her to convince you she can protect herself. If she doesn't, you don't know how you could muster the audacity to stay at her place.
"Do you want to sleep here?" she asks after a while.
What would that solve?
"Why?" you ask quietly.
"Well, when I have nightmares, I often wish I had someone to sleep next to. To feel safe."
That sounds... so simple. Also, ineffective. Sleeping next to someone not combat-trained will do nothing to make you feel safe from your handler, the most terrifying woman you've ever met.
And yet.
"I'd like that. If that's okay."
Freddie smiles at you sleepily. She pats the space next to her on the bed. "Climb in."
You carefully climb into bed with her. She's warm, and she doesn't talk or make it weird, she just closes her eyes again like this is all natural.
"Are you sure this is okay?"
"Mhm."
"Sorry. I won't bother you."
"You can talk, if you want. If you have something to get off your chest. I'll listen."
You have life-saving information you need to get off your chest. But you know you won't share it. You're too much of a coward to sell out all of your family and make Freddie understand how wrong she is for having taken you in.
Because her blanket is warm, she is warm, and you're already starting to feel sleepy again.
—
The next thing you know, you're jolting awake again.
For a moment, you have no idea where you are. Baby pink walls, inricate dressers, a painted picture of fruit above a large mirror. You look to your left; Freddie.
Right. You're in Freddie's room.
"Sorry, did I wake you? I was trying to be quiet," she says, her face the very picture of compunction.
"Are you going to work?" you ask.
"Yeah. Well, if you're awake anyway, would you like to have breakfast with me?"
You nod much too eagerly. Salami sandwich. You'd kill for one.
"Okay," she says with a smile. "Come along, then."
You do, quietly, and while you're walking to the kitchen, you note how much your body has improved over just two days. Your bones probably won't heal right, there's a bit of a chronic pain problem you're staring down the barrel of, but the last beating your handler dished out to you as a parting gift won't claim your life. Probably.
Freddie puts the sliced bread and salami on the table. Then, two plates.
You don't dare reach out before she gestures to them with a smile and an encouraging nod. Then, you gingerly take a single slice of bread and a few slices of salami.
"As always, have as much as you want," she says.
"Thank you, Freddie."
"What was your nightmare about?" she asks casually as she takes a slice of bread for herself.
CYOA where events and paths are based entirely on user suggestions
I am writing a CYOA where every event/path is an action suggested by a user. It's a pretty simple concept in thought, and I figured I'd try putting it here to get it out there a little more. You can also suggest new starting points for it to begin with.
Here's a link to where I posted it: https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/180162/infinitum
New events will be new chapters! More rules on the actual description page for the story.
I made the cover myself.
if you are wondering why its on an account called the infinite tailor that's because I'm keeping it separate from my main stuff. check it out or suggest something here!
thing is I need people for this to work but I can't seem to get any people
content: second person pov, choose your own adventure, living weapon whump, living weapon whumpee, conditioned whumpee, bodymod, rocky recovery, comfort, nightmares, lady whumper
You're just standing there, eyes flicking between the bed and Freddie. In your head, you've already made up your mind: you will repay all this kindness by at least telling her your 'name'. But your mouth doesn't move. The conditioning still running deep, to your very core.
"Is everything okay?" she asks.
"Yes," you reply, swallowing. "You've done... a lot for me. Too much, probably. I don't really deserve—"
"Let's not go down this path," she cuts in, her voice soft. You clear your throat.
"Well, the point is... I am... indebted to you."
"You're not."
You furrow your brows. No, you definitely are.
"I do this because I want to help, not for any transactional reason," she continues.
"Still, I... You at least deserve to know my name."
That gets her to perk up, listening intently. She says she doesn't want a transaction, but that's clearly a lie. She says she doesn't want to find out more, but when the opportunity presents itself, she doesn't turn it down.
"My name... Um..." Suddenly, you feel self-conscious. Everyone outside has a proper name. What will she think? "My name is #064."
Freddie is still silent, like she's waiting for more. Then, after a few seconds of silence, "That's... it? That's your... name?"
You shouldn't have told her. She must be judging. She must hate you. She must—
"Okay," she says. "Nice to meet you, #064." She has a smile on her face.
Was this really okay to share? You can't help it, you return the smile, though yours must be a little timid and tentative.
"Just to reiterate: you don't have to tell me about your life in exchange for all this. But I'm grateful. I have something to call you now. Even if it's..." She trails off. "Well, anyway, ready for bed?"
"Yes, Freddie."
"My room is across the hall; if you need anything, just holler. I'll go finish my dinner."
You nod. You wouldn't bother her even if you were dying, she must know that.
In any case, she exits the room and pulls the door almost closed behind herself. You take that as a sign that though you're treated as a person here, you still don't deserve privacy. Though with how close to closed the door is, it's more privacy than you've ever gotten — in the facility, the doors had to be fully open at all times, and you had roommates.
You look at the bed. Freshly made. The covers are adorned with little purple flowers, the pillows are white and purple. It almost feels too pretty to ruin by lying in it.
You fidget for a few minutes, just standing by the bed, before you muster up the courage and get under the blanket. It's so soft. And so warm. The scent of the detergent Freddie used to wash them is pleasant. This is so much better than the park bench, even better than the facility.
No. You mustn't think that.
But they kicked you out, didn't they? What use is it, clinging to the memories?
Those are the only memories you have. Your past. Your identity. What are you supposed to cling to, if not that?
You don't have a lot of time to ponder these things. Sleep in your wonderfully comfortable new bed pulls you under within minutes.
—
You're at the facility. You're training, slashing up dummies with the blade in your left arm, punching others with your right.
Your handler watches.
"Too slow!" she shouts at you.
You try harder. You work faster. You hate the training dummies — your left eye, the one functioning as a heat camera, doesn't pick them up, so it's harder to tell where they'll come from.
Before you can land another blow, someone grabs your hand. The training dummies disappear, and it's just you and your handler. Darkness closes in on all sides. You see nothing but her furious face.
"You're useless," she hisses, squeezing your wrist until it aches. "You're better off dead."
"No, please—"
She lets go and slaps you. "Talking back? Just when did you become so bold?"
She's right. You should take the punishment quietly.
She punches you, and you fall to the floor. "You're a useless," kick, "no-good," kick, "waste of space," kick.
You don't curl up. If she wants to kick you to death, that's her prerogative, as your handler.
"I know you told her your name," she says as a final kick lands to your stomach. "I know, and I will find you, and I will cut out that blabbering tongue of yours."
That's her prerogative.
"And I'll teach your new 'friend' what being so close to you entails."
That gets a reaction from you. "No, please, don't hurt her—"
Kick.
"Already attached?" she sneers. "I'll make sure you see her battered corpse."
—
You jolt awake. It's the dead of night. Your handler is nowhere to be seen.
Through the walls, you see Freddie's heat outline, lying in her bed. You're gasping for air.
'If you need anything, just holler.'
Your heart is beating out of your chest. Your handler will know you told her your name. She always knows. Freddie is in danger. You put her in danger.
Stay quiet and try to go back to sleep.
Call out to Freddie.
Get out of bed and go to Freddie's room to seek comfort.
Get out of bed and run. She's not safe while you're here.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
content: second person pov, choose your own adventure, living weapon whump, living weapon whumpee, conditioned whumpee, bodymod, rocky recovery, comfort
"Please..." you mumble, tears gathering in your eyes. "I don't know what to do..."
Everything in you screams to leave. It's dangerous. You've already revealed more than you wanted to, by complete accident. How can you know you won't compromise the entire mission of the facility by just staying here and blabbering?
You hear Freddie push back her chair and stand again. She rounds the table and stands next to you, but she doesn't touch you.
"Can I... Can I hug you?" she asks timidly.
A hug. You haven't been hugged in... ever. It sounds... good, right now. To be in the arms of someone caring, even if that care is contingent upon—
No. You don't want care like that.
"You just want to—" You hiccup. "You just want to find out more, and I won't tell you more, so just— just leave me be and let me go—"
"No," she says gently. "I don't care about any of that right now. You're distressed, and I want to make it better. You look like you could use a hug."
She's manipulating you, a voice in the back of your mind that sounds an awful lot like your handler whispers.
You slowly lower your hands. She's looking at you with compassion. Manipulative or not, you just... You want a hug. Is that so selfish?
Yes. Yes it is.
Still, before you can change your mind, you nod. Freddie steps closer and envelops you in a gentle hug. Her arms around you feel warm and her scent is just the same as what lingered on the jacket, just a little stronger. You hug her back, clumsily, like, well, like you've never done this before.
"It's okay," Freddie murmurs. "I'll keep you safe from whoever it is you're afraid of, okay?"
How could she? A whole organisation of trained assassins, all after the same goal: to kill the traitor. How could she ever keep you safe from that?
You just have to make sure you don't become a traitor.
Freddie slowly pulls away. "Better?" she asks with a smile.
Well... This solves nothing, but... "Yes. Thank you, Freddie."
"I'll set up the guest bedroom for you."
"But you haven't finished the—"
"I can eat after. Do you want to take a shower while I do that?"
You hate showers. The cold water doing nothing to make the deep ache in your bones go away, the careful maintenance of your metallic arm after one, it's all a hassle and...
But you can't just inhabit the guest bedroom dirty.
"Yes. Thank you."
Freddie smiles at you. "Okay. I'll show you where the bathroom is, and I'll bring you a clean towel and pyjamas."
You spend longer in the bathroom towelling your prosthetic dry than you actually spend in the ice cold water. You clench and unclench your fingers, and for the first time, you wonder what will become of this arm now that there's no one around to maintain it. Will it eventually just stop working, leaving you with one arm and a useless piece of metal hanging limply by your left side?
You try not to think about it. It feels impossible.
The pink pyjamas Freddie laid out for you are soft and warm, a little big on your frame. You don't mind. After spending 20 years sleeping in the most uncomfortable but practical pyjamas you could imagine, this feels quite... luxurious.
You step out of the bathroom to find Freddie still in the guest bedroom, arranging pillows. "Ah," she says when she sees you. "You're done. I'm almost done as well."
So many pillows. Such a soft-looking blanket. Luxury, luxury, luxury. You don't deserve any of this.
You can still change your mind. Change out of the pyjamas, run far away so Freddie can never find you again, protect yourself and the facility.
But you're tired. The promise of another sandwich the next day is — embarrassingly — enough to make you want to stay.
"Are you okay?" she asks, and you realise you've been spacing out. "Sorry about the pjs, I—"
"No," you cut in gently. "They're perfect. This room is perfect. I just... I don't understand..." Tears threaten to well up in your eyes again. "Why are you doing all this for me, if you won't even try to get information out of me?"
