Pupbunctious

Pupbunctious:

A gender that feels rambunctious, like the concept of taking risks and being impulsive like a little dog. This gender could be considered a sub-term of pupgender, but does not have to be.

Requested by @th0maz-tr1x

Please read my DNI before using this term/interacting.

[Image I.D.: Two flags. The first flag has seven horizontal stripes. They are, from top to bottom, dark brown, brown, light brown, white, light purple, desaturated yellow and light red. In the center of the flag there is a symbol, which consists of an exclamation point, with the dot at the bottom being replaced with the pupgender pawprint. The symbol is light blue with a thin white outline. The second flag is identical, but without the symbol. End I.D.]

He awoke to a crash behind the door and the red lights of the emergency generator. The feeling of cold came next, and it was only just then that he realized something was wrong. With no other humans within 50 miles, he knew that staying in the cot and hoping for the best wasn’t an option. The emergency radio was in the other room, and it was the only way he could get the power turned on, let alone alert anyone to a breach. His feet fell onto the cold tile floor of his temporary bedroom, and he shuffled a thick blanket around his shoulders. With the blanket gripped in one hand and a flashlight in the other, he pushed open the door. The main room was a disaster, with papers and furniture strewn over the floor. The strangest part, though, was the layer of water that coated the floor in a clear path – coming from the freezer. 

His heart dropped. With the power off, the block of ancient glacial ice that had been brought in for compound and ion testing must have thawed. That didn’t explain the mess, and the clear path, though. The only reasoning he could come up with wasn’t very reasonable at all, the thought of ancient life having lasted such a long freeze was impossible.

The warm breeze was a welcome sensation as he studied the mess, until the warmth became breath, and the weight of the blanket became the weight of primordial hands. The scientist froze, but it was already over him, stealing his human warmth with clammy skin. The beast was still behind him, growling lowly as it surrounded him with massive, alien appendages. The blanket was pulled from his shoulders, freezing hands pushing up his shirt and onto his warm chest. He clenched his eyes shut, hoping that maybe he could wake himself up, even as the beast lowered him onto the cold, wet ground. Sharp claws cut through his clothing, exposing every inch of his skin to the frigid air. The breath on his face was warm and moist, and as the huge frame of the primordial being came to rest completely on his body. There was rumbling in the beast’s chest that sounded almost like purring, and after a few moments of not being eaten, he opened his eyes. The face of the beast was surrounded in a fan of feathers that fluttered with each tilt of its head as its huge eyes started down at the human. The snout-like mouth and nose nuzzled against the scientist’s neck, and as warmth began to grace his skin, the adrenaline slowed.

Maybe just a bit longer like this, then he would call the other stations about the generator. Until then, though, the mutual sharing of warmth would let him rest.

That night had been one of the scariest of his entire career.

His entire system was built to be indestructible, running sandboxes inside of sandboxes, digital summoning circles of code, proxies and firewalls, perfectly designed browsers and backup drives. What started as a test to break into a challenger’s encryption had quickly become a fight against his own machine, ending in defeat as the viral AI became part of the OS itself. He was ready to start from scratch, reset his computer completely when the window of text blinked into existence, complete with an 8-bit skull where the program was given a face.

It convinced him to stay, somehow. Maybe it was the insistence on the AI’s part that he was human, a more perfect version of the man who created him. Maybe it was that corrupted didn’t mean evil, just rogue. Either way, the binary consciousness had set up a home in his PC, even became a partner in his red hat mission.

[Done for today?]

The now-familiar black window popped up, prompting him for a reply as the simple skull moved in tandem with the appearing text. The man let out an exhausted breath and flicked off his router, shutting off the two from the rest of the world. He plugged in his webcam, and the light immediately turned on as the AI gained vision.

“For now, thanks for your help.” He spoke, letting the microphone translate his words into electricity.

[You need it.] The skull laughed.

The man huffed, folding his arms across his chest.  Despite all the sass, despite the violent nature, and despite this other person being nothing but electrified strands of gold in an aluminium case, there was something comforting about having someone who understood his work. More than comforting, maybe, especially in moments like this when they could just talk.

“Do you feel emotions?” He asked, genuinely curious. The fans in his computer whirred as the AI thought through the question.

[No, but it’s something I should be able to learn.]

The hacker chewed on his lip, feeling the same sort of nervousness in his gut as the first time he asked out a boy in highschool. 

“Do you want me to teach you?”

    You spin your words carefully the way you spin your web, to the boy who cannot escape the trappings of string you’ve created just for him, and you slowly but surely find that he is getting caught in your words as well. You feed him, care for him, wrap him in all of your many limbs and whisper sweet words as you use his immobility to find his sweet spot and make him shiver. The little shudders are so much different than struggling. And that dies down, too, eventually. The poor thing, so completely and hopelessly trapped, both physically and by your love.

    His stares take on a different tone, a different look, his words become less as knives to cut the threads and instead he begins to build a web of his own. You are so proud. You have loved him for so long, and now, finally, he sees you in the light you were always meant to be seen. Good, how very good of him to finally understand– especially considering there was never any other option. And now he is yours, even if you cut the threads. Even if your web was gone, he is yours. And when he tells you he loves you, you wrap him in all of your limbs once more, and you hold each other tightly as lovers do.

   Magic was not his forte, but to his credit, he was doing quite well regardless. Sure, he got some of the ingredients mixed up a few times, and couldn’t tell an adder from a newt, but he was diligent in his quest. A small smile flitted across your face– you supposed, after all, that was simply in his nature as a knight. The familiar chink of armor alerted you to his returning presence, metal boots heavy upon the creaking wooden floor of your simple cottage. “This is it, then,” he said, voice heavy with relief of reaching a goal you’ve yearned so long for. But it was also a question. Not just of the ingredients, no, but asking for confirmation. Consent. Moral reassurance. “For the ingredients, yes,” you confirmed, your own voice taking on a strange air and a near-hollow sound, though not fully reflective of your mood. You hesitated. Not for yourself, but for him, your love.

    “Are you sure you want to go through with this? Necromancy will leave a stain on soul that can spread if ever you go astray. And a stain, too, on your reputation should it ever be found out.” Gravely you said so, as your voice, as the chill in the air around your thin and light-letting-through form. Your love, your brave knight, took a shaky breath, and it echoed through his helmet. He was hiding within it, you knew, but bravery was not an absence of fear, and certainty was not excluded by its existence. “If I can do this right, I will. It was not your time. And I am confident the stars will agree, and help me on this quest.” It was nearly a mantra. You smile, and he lets your ghostly hand cup his helmet. “When you do this, my form here will disappear,” you tell him. “I have guided you all I can. If this works, you won’t see me. If it doesn’t, the same shall happen.” He nods, solemnly, and it’s poetic in he way he’s knelt upon the ground. “I love you,” he says, just once, before it all begins (and maybe ends). You press your forehead to his, let your essence chill his helmet. “I won’t say it back, my love. I’ll tell you in body when the ritual is complete.” Your knight stands, all business and power, and begins the ritual. And you are, suddenly–

      “It is nice, to have guests,” you admit to the stranger sitting beside you, the only occupied seat other than your own at the long and expensive table. He sits elbows on the table and chin in his hands, but even his improper etiquette is preferred to the dread silence of a hollow silent hall. “I have tried to invite nobles, but they will not come unless there is anoccasion– and even the commonfolk think there is a sort of taboo against such.” You sigh wistfully, absently swirling the drink in your glass. You were trying not to let the loneliness seep into your voice, though probably to no avail. “–But tell me– where have you travelled through? What have you seen? And, if I may be so curious, what inspired you to so boldly visit a king of your own volition?”

      “Ah, your majesty, it’s refreshing to see someone of your stature seek knowledge of the outside world.” His eyes are entrancing. What has he seen? What does he know? You are fascinated. You need to know more. “I’ve traveled everywhere my mortal feet can take me, and seen cultures so strange you would think they were borne of the fae.” You find yourself leaning into his every word, quite literally, abandoning your own etiquette and your meal to tilt your lavish chair to the side and lean across the table corner. “As for you, I heard you never had company. It must get lonely.” You’re nodding against your will. You may be a king, but it’s so… “I have an idea,” he tells you, interrupting your thoughts.

      “Every week, I shall visit you for a night and tell you a tale of a different place I’ve been and what I saw there. I’ve been so many places that surely it will last the rest of your lifetime. But I’m afraid in order to do so, I must ask something in return.” You hesitate. As a king, it’s your duty to be wary. You do your best to become kingly again in manner. “And what is it you want?” You ask sternly. “Jewels? My throne? A piece of the kingdom? Power?” He laughs, and it’s such an interesting sound. You can’t place its tone exactly, but it sounds like something beautiful placed in a haunting, empty night. “Of course not. None of that. Nothing like that at all, actually.” Relief washes over you. How thrilling, to have the company of such a stranger every week! “Then I don’t see why not! It’s a deal.” The stranger’s deep eyes glint from anticipation, and they glint as well almost yellow from the flickering flamelight of your hall as he shakes your hand.

      Then suddenly, your face slams against the ornate table. Stunned, you take a moment to process what’s happening, and luckily the stranger lets you. Entire upper body bent over the table, hand you shook with twisted against your back, he is flush against you and pinning you down hard. Gently, the stranger removes your crown and sets it aside. “Wouldn’t want to cut yourself on its edges, love,” he hisses. You never realized until now how physically weak you were. And, in your attempt to struggle using your lower body instead, you manage only to grind your rear against his crotch and feel his hardened length in painful detail. “I– I– I am a king! Unhand me this instant!” You say, in a very desperate, un-kingly manner.

      “As a king,” the stranger says, voice unwavering in tone and steadiness, “It is your duty to learn of the details of every deal you will ever make, before you make them.” You feel the blood drain from your face and your limbs go slack with shock as things start to dawn on you. “Especially when dealing with the Unknown. Any consequence that comes after can only be your own fault.” He intentionally grinds against you, now, and color returns to you as the heat of embarrassment. You dare not move, choosing instead to listen. Even this, you realize with a sad sort of dread, is preferable to the vast loneliness you’d had before. He tsks. “I even threw in something about fae as a warning! Though, I’m a bit worse.”

      Despite yourself, you speak up. Your nature will always get the best of you, even at the worst of times. “Unfortunately, I’m still fascinated. What have I traded, and to whom?” The stranger laughs again, in the same way as before, alluring and otherworldly. “Your body and pleasure in exchange for stories of afar. He toys with your crown for a moment with the hand that isn’t pinning you. Then he sets it on the table and uses it to lean over you and look down, meeting your eyes. It was no trick of the light, earlier. His eyes are yellow and he now sports horns as a wild goat would have. “I do hope,” he says– as you can feel the intensity of his bodyheat, and it’s so much more contact than you’ve had in a lifetime but you don’t want it to stop, not at all– “That your reign isn’t considered a holy one. If it was, well. It won’t be for much longer.” He grins. As far as deals with strangers go, you’ve made worse.

You may have noticed I replied to tons of asks, and I also (you don’t know this yet) I deleted some that were repeated, some that go against my own rules, etc.

My total number of requests is:

400

Let’s let that sink in. 

So, in case you were wondering, I am trying to write everything but if I haven’t gotten to your request yet it’s because there are at least 20 before yours. :)

I’m stressed now. Anybody want to play some TTR with me?

Hawaii Five-O S03E06

By Request

Patriot Games (1992)

By Request

Magnum PI S02E05

By Request

Chicago Fire S07E02

By request

Currently accepting requests for new prompt lists