been doing a lot of dollposting lately. sometimes dollishness is a metaphor for neurodivergence. sometimes it's just dolls being dolls. greatest hits collected here: https://princess.team/tags/dolls/
"lesson of the evening" (short fic, D/s)
# lesson of the evening
Along the canal promenade, a shouted demand, a refusal, a flash of orange sunset on polished metal.
"You've done nothing more than annoy me and get ichor on my dress, and yet nothing less than get my attention. Now that you have it," she purrs, as her hand on his shoulder slowly reduces her assailant to dust, "any last words?"
She reaches through his crumbling form to pull out the knife in her stomach. He gasps wordlessly, coughs little swirls of powder, his body threatening to fall apart and drift away on the quiet evening breeze.
"Ril," an exasperated voice calls from further down the promenade, "put it back."
"Put what back, Mistress? The knife, or…"
"The _soul_, Ril. Put it back. We're guests here. Someone might take offense. Besides, I doubt he could have hurt you."
"He might have hurt _you_, Mistress," the wearer of the now ichor-stained dress protests, even as she removes her hand. The dust swirls back into her assailant's body, and he drops to his knees. She looks down at him, disgusted, and throws the knife into the canal.
"Well, he won't now, will he? Leave him be. Assume a respectful waiting position."
The response comes from a lesser distance.
She kneels, bringing herself to the mugger's level, grinning and showing far too many teeth. His "obeisance" is a temporary result of shock; hers, while the grin would suggest otherwise, is genuine, and practiced.
Her mistress emerges from the shadow of a canal-side grove. She is not alone; another is with her who has not yet spoken.
"This was a lesson," her mistress says.
The mugger slumps over.
"Of course. Everything is a lesson," her mistress's instructor replies, amused, in a voice rich with unearthly resonances. "What do you think you learned?"
"That I have failed to control my thrall, once again," her mistress sighs.
"Unfortunately, no. You have failed to _understand_ your thrall. Failure of control was consequent. Tell me, what have you learned of Ril since I gave her into your stewardship?"
"What have _I_ learned of _Ril_? I was under the impression that she should learn from me. Well then, what have I learned from Ril? That she is impulsive, that she is often violent even by the standards of her kind, that she is quite proud of her appearance, and that if unless I compel her otherwise, she smiles, almost all the time. In fact, there she goes again. Ril, wipe that grin off your face, get that out of here, and return to this position."
With that command, Ril rises, heaves the unconscious mugger ungently into a nearby bush, and kneels again, her smile gone.
"Oh, child," her mistress's instructor says. "You think these faults of hers?"
"Well, yes, Domina!"
"Then, as I have been watching for some time, let me name them by other names for your edification, and perhaps hers. What you call impulsiveness seems, to me, to be anticipation of the desires of her Mistress. What you name unusual violence is protectiveness towards her Mistress, who, since her enthrallment, is the center of her world. As for her pride, I suspect she is trying to make her Mistress look good, and as for the smile…"
Her mistress's instructor chuckles.
"Did you ever _ask_ your thrall why she smiles? I have a theory, but I wouldn't want to hinder your education, or her satisfaction."
"I… no, I suppose not. Fine, then. Ril, why do you smile so much?" Her mistress looks at her instructor's face, and hurriedly adds, "You may speak freely, Ril."
From her kneeling position, Ril says, "Because I like you, you fool, never mind how bad you are at picking up on it. Why do you think I volunteered to be your thrall?"
Her mistress opens her mouth, and no coherent words come out: "Haaah. Whaaa?"
"Sometimes," the instructor says, "when a Domina-in-training fails this badly, she may atone for it by opting to reverse roles with her thrall and begin again. If her _thrall_ successfully graduates to become a Domina, the Domina-in-training may resume her own training, later, with another thrall. A risky gambit, but otherwise, her training is at an end, and her ambitions."
Ril watches her mistress sit heavily on the cobblestones in front of her. She refuses to meet Ril's eyes, mutters, "I _have_ been a fool."
"You have," the instructor says, almost simultaneously with Ril's, "Yes."
Her mistress turns to her, eyes pleading. "I don't suppose…" she asks her.
"Another few weeks of this, and perhaps I'd leave you to twist," Ril replies. "And yet I do still like you. Perhaps that's a real flaw of mine. You'll make it up to me, of course."
"Yes, of course! Somehow, I swear it!"
"Oh no, mistress," Ril says. "That wasn't a question. You will make it up to me."
Along the canal promenade, a bond of magic crumbles, its converse is forged, and a figure kneels at the hem of an ichor-stained dress. □
catgirl: doc, i can't fall asleep most nights, my brain won't shut off even though it's dark and i'm tired
catgirl: i think i have insomnyaa〜
catgirl: hey asshole this is actually a major quality of life issue for me
vet: say it again!
vet: ok let's start with a trial pack of Nyaambien to see how you tolerate it
catgirl: i hate that you're the only vet around here that takes my job's nyaansurance
The cat stood watch at the foot of the bed while his witch thrashed and screamed. An empty glass bottle bounced from the bed to scatter into shards across the floor.
Her flesh roiled, sometimes skin, sometimes scales. Her bones creaked like old wood. And at times, her eyes were wide and full of fire.
The cat understood only a little. He knew she was changing. He knew she was afraid. And he knew he loved her.
So he kept watch and waited to see what she would become.
and now i must answer the question of why demon.social is not sending outgoing toots 🤨
working again, for now
here's an article abt it https://coughingx2.wordpress.com/2018/12/17/pan-de-peace-was-a-show-about-bread/ and you can actually download it from here https://lastsubs.neocities.org/
i wasn't the gay communist who made it but i'm super proud of them
hot take: the SSH server and interactive processes connected to an SSH session should get an automatic priority boost over whatever other runaway service bullshit is happening in the background
having to use a virtual serial console to spank an overloaded VM back to normalcy is something that i should not have to do
anyone else run into issues like this, or am i doing something wrong?
"War", I say, picking ornament shrapnel and pine needles out of a gash on my arm, "war never changes"
the music is a major reason why i will always support our troops in the war on christmas
lewd, NSFW, sex and genitals of hellspawn
i believe some of the original lore on incubi/succubi was that they go succubus-mode, extract someone's sperm through their vagina, then shift into an incubus and shoot that same sperm out of their freshly grown penis
and if that isn't goals I don't know what is. Sounds fun as heck and that's not even mentioning that you could totally sell those services to people for all sorts of reasons. That's a dream life right there.
c_rrupted in transf_r
pARity ch&ck: 69%
xtra descriptors: ⚧, 🏳️🌈⚢, 👩🏻💻📱
location: s@N F̶rÅnciscō™
folLow reqs: 🆗🔞 cis dudes ask first