A Lucario’s Pre-Execution Makeover
Weasyl: https://www.weasyl.com/~unownace/submissions/2506383/a-lucario-s-pre-execution-makeover
FurAffinity: https://www.furaffinity.net/view/61453395/
Follow-up to this: https://www.sofurry.com/view/2266813
----
He groggily stirred awake, feeling strangely cramped. He tried to open his eyes only to find his eyelids seemed to be stuck firmly shut. He tried to open his mouth, but it too would not budge; he could taste metal when he felt around his teeth with his tongue. His lips too felt as though they were sealed shut. He tried to lift his paws to feel his face, only to find that all his limbs, torso, neck and even forehead were tightly strapped down to some kind of firm mattress. He tried to grunt, but no sound escaped his throat.
It all started to flood back to him…the bogus trial, the sentencing, the…surgeries… He struggled much harder, feebly trying to break free despite knowing it would be futile at this point, which the unyielding grip of the straps holding him down confirmed. He slump back in exhaustion, panting heavily as he was only able to breathe through his nose. He knew the gallows awaited him, but in this state it could not come soon enough…he wanted to be free of this living purgatory.
He heard the loud creaking of heavy metal doors opening. “So this is the scruffy mess of a Lucario in desperate need of a make-over?” an unfamiliar feminine voice spoke. ‘Scruffy mess…?’
“Yes, indeed,” a much more familiar voice replied, “I must say while the procedure was a resounding success, some tailoring would do wonders for this fine lady!~ She needs to be presentable for the audience after-all.”
‘Fine lady?! She?!’ Not only did that psychopathic Espeon surgeon physically take his malehood away, but now she has the gull to just flat-out missgender him?!
“Quite right you are, doctor. With your approval I’d like to take her to the dressing room to begin work on bringing out the elegance and beauty befitting such a lovely lady right away!~”
“But of course, that’s why you’re here after all.”
These two knew what they were doing. Even in his final days they were mocking him, treating him like some kind of doll to be played with and gawked at. Being publicly lynched without a proper trial was something he could begrudgingly resign himself to…but to have his very identity erased and written over just for the pleasure of his soon-to-be executioners? There truly was no low this corruption-infested excuse for a ‘justice system’ would stoop too.
He thrashed in his bonds; even if escape was impossible he wanted to make it know he would not let this humiliation go unprotected…little good it would do.
He felt the bed he was on being wheeled out of the room back out into the cold hallway he’d been dragged through the previous night. With the sound of the metal doors creaking back closed behind him, it seemed like it was only him and this new figure he couldn’t see whisking him away to whatever next level of indignation awaited him. She didn’t speak much, but she quietly whistled tunes to herself. If he wasn’t so heavily restrained this would have been the perfect opportunity to strike out and attempt a run for it, even if he wouldn’t get far without being captured again or shot…but the straps holding him to the bed simply wouldn’t budge. If only just one loop could loosen…one buckle could slip free…just one last chance to smack his captor across the face in a final act of defiance…but no amount of struggling would give him even an inch. He was truly and completely at this being’s mercy.
As he was lost in his thoughts he almost didn’t notice the surrounding air had gotten a bit warmer, with the wheels of the cart rolling on what sounded like hardwood rather than ceramic tile or stone. The subtle hint of shampoos and perfumes entered his nostrils. He heard a much more delicate sliding door close behind him.
“Alright, miss, we’re here!~” the figure practically sang, “I just need to take a few measurements and then we can begin crafting your new fabulous look!~”
He twitched and shifted slightly, too weak from struggling to do much else. He heard to unwinding of a tape measure before feeling a pair of three-fingered hands feeling him up and down all over, pressing the measuring tape to each part of his body. The constant light-hearting humming did nothing to settle him; like the Espeon surgeon it was clear this being had down this many times before and had zero reservations about treating him like nothing more than a mannequin.
“Hmmm…yes, I think I have everything I need to get started. I’m thinking something in light pink with some trim and ribbon,” she giggled, “Oh and can already picture how adorable you’ll look once we get you fancied up!~”
For the next several minutes he was left to twitch and squirm in his bonds, only able to hear the continual humming and the occasional sounds of scissors cutting fabric and the hum of a sewing machine.
Just as he felt like he was about to dose off again from exhaustion, you suddenly felt the restraints holding him down being gently unbuckled one-by-one. Was this his chance If he could just get even one arm or leg free for even a moment…but then he felt another prick of a needle in his arm and the familiar feeling of numbness immediately began to set in.
“The nice doctor told me you might get a bout rowdy as soon as your straps were undone, so she supplied me with a small dose of muscle relaxant. Don’t worry, it’s a very small dose so it won’t last nearly as long, but it’ll allow me to work on getting you dressed without much fuss. So just relax now, soon you’ll be the beautiful lady you were always meant to be!~”
These freaks really had prepared for everything…almost like they’ve done this dozens if not hundreds of times… With no way to resist as this being; seemingly with the help of telekinesis (she must have been a psychic type) hoisted his limp body into a standing position with his arms and legs spread out and his chin high; his thoughts drifted away from his own degrading experience and towards that of the likely countless others that likely suffered similar fates by these same hands before him…and would continue to do so after. Just how many Pokemon have had their dignity and lives snuffed out like this over the past few years just to satisfy the sadistic whims of this region’s justice system-turned-circus? Was his own fate even the worst out of the uncountable others who fell victim to this farce before him? Was his discomfort and indignity comparable to the physical and mental torture likely inflicted upon those before him? Was he truly one of the ‘lucky’ ones?
Lost in his own musings he hadn’t noticed the tailor had already begin dressing him, starting with what felt like a silky form-fitting body glove; like tights that covered everything from the neck-down…followed by a mask made of the same material that snuggly conformed to every feature of his entire head, including his ears and aura-sensors. The aura bracers were carefully one-by-one removed so the sensors could be slid into the sleeves of the mask before being clamped back on over-top of the fabric. With a few final tugs he could feel the seam at the back being tightened, followed by the trim of the neck of the bodysuit being pinched up to meet the bottom of the mask so they could be carefully stitched together all into one piece. He imaged at this point be probably very much looked like a featureless clothing store mannequin.
Next came some kind of garment pulled over his head that had tight form-fitting sleeves that extended beyond the reach of his paws, and from the poofy frills the brushed against his tail he concluded must be a dress with a sort-trim skirt, perhaps some kind of maid outfit. At this point he was too mentally exhausted to even attempt to protest. There was literally nothing he could do that would change his fate, and his captors had complete control over the smallest detail of the short remainder of his life. Whatever they wanted to shape him into, no matter how much in contradicted with his internal identity no longer mattered. No one would ever know or remember who he truly was before this. Every semblance of the Pokemon he used to be would disappear with him once the noose tightened around his neck.
He felt his arms being pulled and forced into a straitjacket-like self-hug by some kind of silky but durable ribbons, tightly and firmly fastened in place to further restrict his movement. Another larger ribbon was tied around his waist and pulled taut like a corset before being tied from behind; a large ridiculous bow he imagined.
Finally, a pair of shackles were clamped around his ankles, though these ones felt to have a thin layer of padding on the inside; as if these freaks cared about his comfort at this point. The chain between them (which felt super-short, like it only had three or four links) jingled like little bells, no doubt to add even more indignation to his situation.
“Aaaand we’re done!~” the tailor cheered, patting his silky padded shoulder. His knees started to tremble a little bit; not just from anxiety, but it seemed the drugs were once again beginning to wear off, allowing his muscles to receive signals from his brain once again. He nearly stumbled backward, only to be propped up from behind the hands of the tailor. “Ooops, dear me, don’t want to trip and ruin your nice outfit before the big show now, do we?” she giggled. Was EVERYONE in this messed up institution a giggling sociopath?
“Oh, but I’m sure you must be wondering what you look like after your make-over, you fabulous lady you!~” He internally sighed again. “I know just the way to show you!~”
…’Show him…?’ His eyes were literally sewn shut, how could she possibly-
“Here you are, don’t you just look absolutely gorgeous?~” He…he could…see…? Somehow he could see… There was a large mirror before him and the tailor (a Gardevoir in a long flowing white gown; he could have suspected)…and he… There was definitely a Lucario next to the Gardevoir in the mirror, dressed in the most ridiculously frilly Lolita-style maid dress with white tights, gloves and featureless mask… The forepaws were indeed held into a self-hug by bright pink ribbons, and an enormous bow was tied behind the waist. The shackles around the ankles looked like solid gold, though they could just be gold-plated…
There was something else off about this though…he didn’t feel like he was looking at his OWN reflection…like he was….off to the side a bit…? It wasn’t until the Gardevor turn her head to look at him directly that he realized what was happening; he wasn’t seeing with HIS eyes…he was seeing with HERS.
The Gardevoir giggled; it sounded even creepier with his senses passing through her own head. “It a fun little trick called ‘sight sharing.’ It really helps give lovely beauties like yourself a whole new perspective I’ve found. Go ahead, soak it all in. Take your time. It can be a lot, I know.”
She circled all around him, the perspective of seeing his own back-side from her eyes never getting any less jarring. Then as she caressed his tail, shoulders, ears, aura lobes…skirt… He shivered at the weirdness of it all, made weirder by the fact that he was SEEING himself shiver through the eyes of the one feeling him up and down.
“Hmmm…I think that should suffice for a bit of ‘self-reflection,’ don’t you think?” (his vision went dark again; the psychic connection was severed. His mind was back inside his own head again. As dark and isolating as that was, it was far less creepy than viewing his body own from the eyes of that witch…
“Well, it’s almost time for the big show. You just take a seat here and get comfortable. The ‘host’ will be hear soon to escort you to the stage. Be sure to give the dance performance of your life!~ It’ll literally be your last, after all.
He felt himself being strapped firmly down to a chair (which from how it wouldn’t budge when he attempted to struggle against it he concluded must be bolted to the floor.) Tata, lovely flower!~
With the sound of the sliding door closing again it seemed he was once again left alone to his thoughts. All he could look forward to was it finally all being over, nice and quick… It’s not like they could POSSIBLY have any other was to drag out his humiliation and suffering once he was standing on the gallows platform…could they…?
----
A follow up pick and story the very next day after the first? That’s practically unheard of from me these days. But I had the time and motivation to do it and it seemed like at least a few people really wanted it so here we go!~
And for those of you who follow my more macabre artwork, I’m sure you can all guess where this is going next. >;3
(We’ll see how quickly I can get a Part 3 out, assuming something doesn’t completely K.O. my motivation in the coming days.)
FurAffinity: https://www.furaffinity.net/view/61453395/
Follow-up to this: https://www.sofurry.com/view/2266813
----
He groggily stirred awake, feeling strangely cramped. He tried to open his eyes only to find his eyelids seemed to be stuck firmly shut. He tried to open his mouth, but it too would not budge; he could taste metal when he felt around his teeth with his tongue. His lips too felt as though they were sealed shut. He tried to lift his paws to feel his face, only to find that all his limbs, torso, neck and even forehead were tightly strapped down to some kind of firm mattress. He tried to grunt, but no sound escaped his throat.
It all started to flood back to him…the bogus trial, the sentencing, the…surgeries… He struggled much harder, feebly trying to break free despite knowing it would be futile at this point, which the unyielding grip of the straps holding him down confirmed. He slump back in exhaustion, panting heavily as he was only able to breathe through his nose. He knew the gallows awaited him, but in this state it could not come soon enough…he wanted to be free of this living purgatory.
He heard the loud creaking of heavy metal doors opening. “So this is the scruffy mess of a Lucario in desperate need of a make-over?” an unfamiliar feminine voice spoke. ‘Scruffy mess…?’
“Yes, indeed,” a much more familiar voice replied, “I must say while the procedure was a resounding success, some tailoring would do wonders for this fine lady!~ She needs to be presentable for the audience after-all.”
‘Fine lady?! She?!’ Not only did that psychopathic Espeon surgeon physically take his malehood away, but now she has the gull to just flat-out missgender him?!
“Quite right you are, doctor. With your approval I’d like to take her to the dressing room to begin work on bringing out the elegance and beauty befitting such a lovely lady right away!~”
“But of course, that’s why you’re here after all.”
These two knew what they were doing. Even in his final days they were mocking him, treating him like some kind of doll to be played with and gawked at. Being publicly lynched without a proper trial was something he could begrudgingly resign himself to…but to have his very identity erased and written over just for the pleasure of his soon-to-be executioners? There truly was no low this corruption-infested excuse for a ‘justice system’ would stoop too.
He thrashed in his bonds; even if escape was impossible he wanted to make it know he would not let this humiliation go unprotected…little good it would do.
He felt the bed he was on being wheeled out of the room back out into the cold hallway he’d been dragged through the previous night. With the sound of the metal doors creaking back closed behind him, it seemed like it was only him and this new figure he couldn’t see whisking him away to whatever next level of indignation awaited him. She didn’t speak much, but she quietly whistled tunes to herself. If he wasn’t so heavily restrained this would have been the perfect opportunity to strike out and attempt a run for it, even if he wouldn’t get far without being captured again or shot…but the straps holding him to the bed simply wouldn’t budge. If only just one loop could loosen…one buckle could slip free…just one last chance to smack his captor across the face in a final act of defiance…but no amount of struggling would give him even an inch. He was truly and completely at this being’s mercy.
As he was lost in his thoughts he almost didn’t notice the surrounding air had gotten a bit warmer, with the wheels of the cart rolling on what sounded like hardwood rather than ceramic tile or stone. The subtle hint of shampoos and perfumes entered his nostrils. He heard a much more delicate sliding door close behind him.
“Alright, miss, we’re here!~” the figure practically sang, “I just need to take a few measurements and then we can begin crafting your new fabulous look!~”
He twitched and shifted slightly, too weak from struggling to do much else. He heard to unwinding of a tape measure before feeling a pair of three-fingered hands feeling him up and down all over, pressing the measuring tape to each part of his body. The constant light-hearting humming did nothing to settle him; like the Espeon surgeon it was clear this being had down this many times before and had zero reservations about treating him like nothing more than a mannequin.
“Hmmm…yes, I think I have everything I need to get started. I’m thinking something in light pink with some trim and ribbon,” she giggled, “Oh and can already picture how adorable you’ll look once we get you fancied up!~”
For the next several minutes he was left to twitch and squirm in his bonds, only able to hear the continual humming and the occasional sounds of scissors cutting fabric and the hum of a sewing machine.
Just as he felt like he was about to dose off again from exhaustion, you suddenly felt the restraints holding him down being gently unbuckled one-by-one. Was this his chance If he could just get even one arm or leg free for even a moment…but then he felt another prick of a needle in his arm and the familiar feeling of numbness immediately began to set in.
“The nice doctor told me you might get a bout rowdy as soon as your straps were undone, so she supplied me with a small dose of muscle relaxant. Don’t worry, it’s a very small dose so it won’t last nearly as long, but it’ll allow me to work on getting you dressed without much fuss. So just relax now, soon you’ll be the beautiful lady you were always meant to be!~”
These freaks really had prepared for everything…almost like they’ve done this dozens if not hundreds of times… With no way to resist as this being; seemingly with the help of telekinesis (she must have been a psychic type) hoisted his limp body into a standing position with his arms and legs spread out and his chin high; his thoughts drifted away from his own degrading experience and towards that of the likely countless others that likely suffered similar fates by these same hands before him…and would continue to do so after. Just how many Pokemon have had their dignity and lives snuffed out like this over the past few years just to satisfy the sadistic whims of this region’s justice system-turned-circus? Was his own fate even the worst out of the uncountable others who fell victim to this farce before him? Was his discomfort and indignity comparable to the physical and mental torture likely inflicted upon those before him? Was he truly one of the ‘lucky’ ones?
Lost in his own musings he hadn’t noticed the tailor had already begin dressing him, starting with what felt like a silky form-fitting body glove; like tights that covered everything from the neck-down…followed by a mask made of the same material that snuggly conformed to every feature of his entire head, including his ears and aura-sensors. The aura bracers were carefully one-by-one removed so the sensors could be slid into the sleeves of the mask before being clamped back on over-top of the fabric. With a few final tugs he could feel the seam at the back being tightened, followed by the trim of the neck of the bodysuit being pinched up to meet the bottom of the mask so they could be carefully stitched together all into one piece. He imaged at this point be probably very much looked like a featureless clothing store mannequin.
Next came some kind of garment pulled over his head that had tight form-fitting sleeves that extended beyond the reach of his paws, and from the poofy frills the brushed against his tail he concluded must be a dress with a sort-trim skirt, perhaps some kind of maid outfit. At this point he was too mentally exhausted to even attempt to protest. There was literally nothing he could do that would change his fate, and his captors had complete control over the smallest detail of the short remainder of his life. Whatever they wanted to shape him into, no matter how much in contradicted with his internal identity no longer mattered. No one would ever know or remember who he truly was before this. Every semblance of the Pokemon he used to be would disappear with him once the noose tightened around his neck.
He felt his arms being pulled and forced into a straitjacket-like self-hug by some kind of silky but durable ribbons, tightly and firmly fastened in place to further restrict his movement. Another larger ribbon was tied around his waist and pulled taut like a corset before being tied from behind; a large ridiculous bow he imagined.
Finally, a pair of shackles were clamped around his ankles, though these ones felt to have a thin layer of padding on the inside; as if these freaks cared about his comfort at this point. The chain between them (which felt super-short, like it only had three or four links) jingled like little bells, no doubt to add even more indignation to his situation.
“Aaaand we’re done!~” the tailor cheered, patting his silky padded shoulder. His knees started to tremble a little bit; not just from anxiety, but it seemed the drugs were once again beginning to wear off, allowing his muscles to receive signals from his brain once again. He nearly stumbled backward, only to be propped up from behind the hands of the tailor. “Ooops, dear me, don’t want to trip and ruin your nice outfit before the big show now, do we?” she giggled. Was EVERYONE in this messed up institution a giggling sociopath?
“Oh, but I’m sure you must be wondering what you look like after your make-over, you fabulous lady you!~” He internally sighed again. “I know just the way to show you!~”
…’Show him…?’ His eyes were literally sewn shut, how could she possibly-
“Here you are, don’t you just look absolutely gorgeous?~” He…he could…see…? Somehow he could see… There was a large mirror before him and the tailor (a Gardevoir in a long flowing white gown; he could have suspected)…and he… There was definitely a Lucario next to the Gardevoir in the mirror, dressed in the most ridiculously frilly Lolita-style maid dress with white tights, gloves and featureless mask… The forepaws were indeed held into a self-hug by bright pink ribbons, and an enormous bow was tied behind the waist. The shackles around the ankles looked like solid gold, though they could just be gold-plated…
There was something else off about this though…he didn’t feel like he was looking at his OWN reflection…like he was….off to the side a bit…? It wasn’t until the Gardevor turn her head to look at him directly that he realized what was happening; he wasn’t seeing with HIS eyes…he was seeing with HERS.
The Gardevoir giggled; it sounded even creepier with his senses passing through her own head. “It a fun little trick called ‘sight sharing.’ It really helps give lovely beauties like yourself a whole new perspective I’ve found. Go ahead, soak it all in. Take your time. It can be a lot, I know.”
She circled all around him, the perspective of seeing his own back-side from her eyes never getting any less jarring. Then as she caressed his tail, shoulders, ears, aura lobes…skirt… He shivered at the weirdness of it all, made weirder by the fact that he was SEEING himself shiver through the eyes of the one feeling him up and down.
“Hmmm…I think that should suffice for a bit of ‘self-reflection,’ don’t you think?” (his vision went dark again; the psychic connection was severed. His mind was back inside his own head again. As dark and isolating as that was, it was far less creepy than viewing his body own from the eyes of that witch…
“Well, it’s almost time for the big show. You just take a seat here and get comfortable. The ‘host’ will be hear soon to escort you to the stage. Be sure to give the dance performance of your life!~ It’ll literally be your last, after all.
He felt himself being strapped firmly down to a chair (which from how it wouldn’t budge when he attempted to struggle against it he concluded must be bolted to the floor.) Tata, lovely flower!~
With the sound of the sliding door closing again it seemed he was once again left alone to his thoughts. All he could look forward to was it finally all being over, nice and quick… It’s not like they could POSSIBLY have any other was to drag out his humiliation and suffering once he was standing on the gallows platform…could they…?
----
A follow up pick and story the very next day after the first? That’s practically unheard of from me these days. But I had the time and motivation to do it and it seemed like at least a few people really wanted it so here we go!~
And for those of you who follow my more macabre artwork, I’m sure you can all guess where this is going next. >;3
(We’ll see how quickly I can get a Part 3 out, assuming something doesn’t completely K.O. my motivation in the coming days.)
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