#(( somehow the cannibalism thing only just happened yesterday and

[the-path-to-redemption]

Really late because only yesterday I've started browsing the RWDE tag to see what the fandom has been up to, and saw some of your WF posts.

*rips off hair* Is it weird that I feel SO uncomfortable with the "redeemed Adam" AUs? I adore Adam 100% but every AU, even from some Adam fans, has that "Adam has to learn not to be racist" condescending vibe and punishes him more harshly than other characters. But, people, he WAS a literal SLAVE?! Doesn't matter if it happened when he was a child or a bit older, HE WAS A SLAVE AND HE WAS BRANDED?! PLEASE CUT HIM SOME SLACK?!

After a couple years of not being around I just feel that Adam fans as a collective still feel a bit traumatized from the discourse, so they try to justify their liking of Adam and overcompensate by punishing him harder, as if to say "See? I'm not that blind and biased as Adam haters say!".

I'm reading a fic currently that it's very good but even faunus are condescending and rude to Adam because of his 'racism' and my soul vanished. Instead of faunus trying to understand and support each other, isn't that even more isolating and alienating? Why are they cannibalizing each other? I know it literally happens in real life but as far as I've read, it's not bringing attention to that fact, but more like presenting it as a good thing. Again, I feel that everyone (fans) as a collective is FORGETTING ADAM WAS A LITERAL SLAVE and treating as if he had just been bullied in school for having horns. He shouldn't have other faunus policing his reactions (so far, he hasn't committed a crime, he just yelled and got very angry because he felt unsafe). It's clearly drawing a line where certain attitudes from trauma are "right" (being a cute crier, submissive, etc) and others are "wrong" (being angry, yelling, etc) because "it makes faunus look bad". Even worse, the faunus that scold Adam are generally on the cuter side of faunus traits. Isn't that just feeding into the ideas already set by humans? That faunus should be cute and behave well and that any faunus that is more aggressive and "dangerous" should be considered a threat?

*very deep sigh* I'm sorry for the long ask but I had to vent for a bit and see if I'm not that crazy yet. It's just that reading those fics makes me think we're gaslighting ourselves somehow, and how that can impact real life if we act like this over a cartoon, and it's really depressing. Thank you if you read all of this.

Long Post Ahead. Contains Spoilers for RWBY and Full Metal Alchemist. Mention of child slavery, genocide, systematic oppression, branding, disfigurement, violence, and racial abuse.

Don't apologize, babe, you're more than valid in your feelings regarding this issue. And yes, I do feel like there is a lot of overcompensation when it comes to how a lot of "Adam redemption" AU, but I believe that it's just because the writers haven't seen another way of writing his story without invalidating his experience yet. And that's understandable! This is a topic that is extremely complicated to explore, and to start one has to understand that there shouldn't be any separation of "good" and "bad" minorities, as well as the willingness to challenge the status quo that has taken characters like Adam on this path towards liberation.

I don't know if you have seen my post comparing the way RWBY and FMA writes a narrative of a minority opposing a racist system through violent means here, but the way that I see FMA succeeding in its efforts was that the narrative never demonize the way Scar feels about his hatred towards the people who wronged him and his people. And it rightfully shouldn't! His people were systematically murdered and experimented on, his brother who wanted to peacefully contribute to helping their people and was willing to learn about alchemy to find a common ground was murdered when he tries to protect Scar, which resulted in his arm being grafted onto Scar to save him, and the oppression of the Ishvalans still persist long after the conflict while the government oppressing them prosper. Scar has all the rights to be pissed off and went on a murderous revenge, and the narrative does. Not. Demonize him for that.

However, it criticize his actions when innocents are involved. And I'm not talking about Ed and Al, I'm taking about Winry. The daughter of the couple who saved Scar's life who he murdered in a fit of rage. The little girl who still extend her kindness to him despite not forgiving Scar for leaving her orphaned, because she broke the cycle of violence and that choice of hers let Scar pick an alternative to his violence. AKA, murdering the dictator who created the genocide of the Ishvalans. Again, the narrative of FMA doesn't make Scar out to be this monster who should be put down for not asking for his rights "nicely", it empathize with him, offer him new perspective, and gave him a chance to do the right thing while still getting his justice.

RWBY doesn't have this nuance to it, and I think that is why a lot of times, the "redeem Adam" AUs goes too hard on excusing his actions and/or overdo the criticism on his actions without attempting to unpack the systematic oppression that creates people like Adam and break it down. There's a balance you have to understand in order to write a convincing "redeem Adam" narrative that doesn't erase his own trauma, and it comes with actually calling out what happened to him as wrong and inhumane.

For Adam to "unlearn his racism", the authors have to look at the events that caused him to have this mentality and admit that it's a flawed system. They have to recognize that there is implicit biases like you mentioned between Faunus and how they're perceived in comparison to each other. The authors have to admit that Adam's hatred for humans and his actions were products of a hateful, racist society that sought out to kill him in every way that matters. You can't half-ass this topic by putting the blame on him; this isn't me saying that he shouldn't be called out for his violence on others, not at all, this is me saying that you need to see the forest, not just the tree. Adam unlearning and breaking the cycle of abuse requires him to be given some kind of hope, some kindness that he isn't a monster for rightfully being hateful towards people who oppressed him and his people. He needs to know that the world still have a place for him to heal and be better. And Adam shouldn't be the one to have to beg to see it by being "nice enough".

Thank you for your ask, anon. Please take a step back if this discourse is too much for you, your well-being is much more important. And I hope that my answer to your ask is somewhat satisfactory.

[lotus-n-l0ve]

𝐇𝐚𝐲𝐚𝐦𝐢 : 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐁𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐲 || 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟐

— Ryomen Sukuna x OC [Hayami]

➷ ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ : "Tell me about yourself. Where you came from, how you came here. After all no normal person ever seeks job in thousand miles into the wood."

➷ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ : Mention of blood, mention of cannibalism, not proof readed, only Sukuna and Hayami in this whole chapter, 1.4k words.

➷ ɴᴏᴛᴇ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ʟᴏᴛᴜꜱ : Hi guys, thank you guys sooooo much for the likes, reblongs and comments. They mean a lot to me. They encourage to write so again thanks guys. Here is the second chapter. If you like the chapter then please leave a like, comment and reblong. Follow me for more like this. Enjoy ♡

𝐌𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 || 𝐉𝐮𝐣𝐮𝐭𝐬𝐮 𝐊𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐧 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 || 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

After the last incident with Sukuna, Hayami didn't want to face him anytime soon. Her jaw where he had gripped her was bruised with nail marks. Other mainds were giving her either piliful glances or a smirk of satisfaction like Rika.

Sukuna was the King Of Course so it was natural for everyone to hate him or be scared of him but that didn't seem the case here. Some here like Rika seemed to be want the Lord's eyes only on them. They seemed to be in love with him.

Hayami could not understand them at all and she didn't want to either. Hayami hoped that she would not have to encounter Sukuna ever in the future. But that hoped shattered the very next day when Uraume ordered Hayami to deliver his lunch.

Hayami pleaded to them that she could not do that but Uraume didn't budge. So now Hayami stood infront of the door of Sukuna's room. Hayami consider jumping off from the floor. Since it was the top floor so there was no chance of surviving the fall.

Hayami sighed thinking to herself, 'Let's see what happens today.'

Hayami raised her hand to knock on the door but before she could a gruffed voice interrupted, "How long are you planning to stand there?"

Hayami stepped back in shock. How did he know? Then again he is not a normal person. Hayami slid open the shoji door and closed it behind after entering.

Sukuna was sitting on the tatami mat with the smoaking pipe in his hand. Two eyes focusing on a scrolled in his hands and two were staring right at Hayami. She felt a chill down her spine. She kept her head down so she could not see but she could feel. Why does he always have to stare at her with those piercing eyes?

Her palms got sweaty that she feared the tray doesn't slip from her gasp. Sukuna's lips curled up in a smirk when he felt how nervous you were. For such a powerful thing to be this nervous around him. He wondered if she had even the slightest Idea of how just much havoc she could create or if all her scared and oblivious persona is just a facade?

We will see.

Hayami walked up to him and placed the heavy tray on the low table. She wondered what the King of Courses eats. What she had heard from the rumours is that he eats humen. But the aroma of the food which Hayami brought for Sukuna smelled wonderful.

Just as Hayami got up to take her leave Sukuna spoke up, "I didn't permit to leave yet. Come here."

Hayami froze on the spot at his order. Is he going to do the same thing like yesterday? Or today will even worse? God, she should have run away when she had the chance. No— not run away but die. Because if she somehow escapes from here they are out looking for her.

This Shrine was probably the safest place for Hayami. They would not dare to come in 1000 meters of radiation around Ryomen Sukuna. Just why does Sukuna has to be a ass with her?

"Do I need to tell you twice? Come here." Sukuna beckoned her to come closer.

With reluctant steps Hayami walked up to Sukuna and stood beside him. Without a warning Sukuna's one arm reached out and dragged Hayami down. Making her sit on the tatami with a painful thud.

"Hayami was it?" He asked but both know it was not a question. You glare down at the floor as you mutter a low "Yes Lord Sukuna."

"I'm bored. Entertain me." Sukuna leaned back resting on a elbow, his head resting on the palm.

What am I? Your personal monkey?

Hayami resisted the urge to roll her eyes after all she didn't want to die just yet, "I don't have any talent to entertain you Lord Sukuna."

Sukuna took a drag from the pipe, "Tell me about yourself. Where you came from, how you came here. After all no normal person ever seeks job in thousand miles into the wood."

The temperature of the room dropped. Hayami could feel goosebumps covering her pale skin. Was he doubting something? Does he know about her? About her past or those people.

Sukuna observed the colour drain from her face. Her eyes shaking frantically like her whole life was flashing before her eyes. So is not as oblivious as she appeared huh?

Sukuna chuckled internally. She did look cute like this. Sukuna was a man after all and found pretty thing as it is. Even if the definition of pretty was a little different in his dictionary. To him the colour of his victim's blood was the prettiest shade. To him the orenge blaze of village buring down is the prettiest scenery. People quivering in fear is the prettiest feeling.

Two eyes trailed to her bruised jaw. Without thinking Sukuna grabbed her jaw in his hand. This time compartively gentler than before. To natural instinct Hayami tried lean back and his grip held her on her place. Sukuna drew her face closer.

Hayami held in her breath. Pondering what he wants now. Now that they were so close Hayami felt the desire to see his face. Their previous encounter was not a pleasant one and Hayami was too scared. Now that the situation was calmer Hayami debated in her head wheather she should or not.

By now their faces were just few inches away. If anyone were catch them in this position they would definitely misunderstand.

Is he trying to kiss me?

By now their faces were just few inches away. If anyone were catch them in this position they would definitely misunderstand. A last she give in the urge and look up at his face only to gasp when she realised he was already looking at her. No— not her but her jaw.

Given the chance Hayami ran her eyes over his face. He definitely didn't look like a normal human. Half his face was wooden. Two eyes both side of his face. His whole body, including his face, had black marking. However the most stunning feature was his crimson eyes that stared at her with a emotion that she could not pinpoint.

He truly was beautiful. Maybe not to everyone but to her, he was. Maybe because she didn't have much interaction with other humen. And the ones that she didn't were nothing but horrendous. More than Sukuna scaring her or wounding her jaw.

Hayami could see why the other maids were so attracted to him. Sukuna brushed his thumb over your jaw like a soft feather you didn't knew he was capable of. You closed you your eyes hoping your jaw to hurt because of the wounds but they surprisingly didn't.

Hayami kept her eyes closed. If they are going to kiss then she better do it well. Otherwise if he got angry and killed her then all the things she did to survive till now would go in vain.

Sukuna looked over her face one last time. This girl who is sitting in front of him was a wonder herself. But that was matter for another day. Sukuna has to go out for a important business and can't waist his time here.

Lips curled up in smirk before releasing her, "You can leave now. You are dismissed."

"What?" She mumbled, still in daze.

"I said you can leave now." Sukuna said nonchalantly like nothing happened. Like they were not so close that a little movement would have resulted them in kissing.

Seeing Hayami still there raised his brow snapping her out of the daze state. When realisation hit her Hayami hysterically got up and sprinted out of the room. Almost hitting Uraume, who was outside the door, on her way out.

Blood rushed to Hayami's cheeks in embodiments. How could she have done that? That too infront of him. Hayami headed back to the kitchen totally unaware of her now completely fine jaw.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

"Will you be leaving now Lord Sukuna?"

"Yes, let's find out about the Curse of Śeṣa."

Please don not copy, reupload or plagiaris my work. All the rights and credits of Jujutsu Kaisen characters and pictures used belongs to their rightful owners.

➷ ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ : @shadowywizardarcade

➷ ɴᴏᴛᴇ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ʟᴏᴛᴜꜱ : If you want be added on my taglist let me in the comments or reblong or inbox.

[royalreef]

@chainsxwsmile​ inquired:  “Been meanin’ to ask ye! Yer ‘eatin’ serfs’... are they servants that bring ye food?” Hopefully they weren’t servants meant to be eaten. That’d truly be an unfortunate position. — (Bruce is a little curious lol)

      “Of course they are not meant to be eaten, that would be silly!” So says the mer who had absolutely no problem with cannibalism and offering her closest friends the meat of fellow merfolk to eat literally yesterday --- but this is Miranda. These things are intricately different to her, and her eating serfs are entirely unrelated to any unfortunate habits that might be practiced here or there.

      “Nor do they bring food - that would be my serving serfs and waiter serfs! A very different role indeed. My eating serfs do exactly as suggested by the name. They eat for me! I need not have to do any of it myself, nor taste food that might not be up to the standards of my royal tongue, and I have much more important things to tend to during mealtimes anyhow. Such as the rather intricate task of managing any visitors who I might have, or even other guests and our host.”

       A lie. A wonderful, sweet little lie, that was so practiced by now that it darted off her lips with a smile and a grin of her serrated fangs. She would never openly confess to what the eating serfs really were for. Not even among her own people, of which the reasoning was an open secret, and especially not on land, where no one understood a thing about her kingdom. How many years had it been? Too many to count. Nor would she ever properly confess that, she too, needed to eat like everyone else.

[sagamemes]

the sheridan tapes  📼  part two.   here and under the cut, you can find over 130 lines of dialogue from the horror podcast the sheridan tapes, specifically from episodes four to six, edited for roleplay purposes. some of these focus heavily on survival, war, science, and spooky stuff, but a lot can be used by anyone.  tw:  war, unreality, a mention of cannibalism, implications of manic behaviour.

❝  god, i hate snowstorms like this. not just getting caught in them, but the storms themselves. it feels like the earth’s trying to bury me alive every time it locks in like this. like nature’s rightly pissed off at all of us and doing its level best to crush us to death.  ❞

❝  that’s what yom kippur means:  the day of atonement.  ❞

❝  that wasn’t the first time i’ve caught him in my office, going through my stuff.  ❞

❝  normally i’d be annoyed at someone calling me young lady.  ❞

❝  thank you… you are so warm… thank you for letting me in.  ❞

❝  suddenly, everything fell into place. i made more progress than i had in about half a year.  ❞

❝  the thing i remember most was catching disapproving glances from my father every time i went to the library.  ❞

❝  why does time only run forward?  why does cause need to precede effect?  ❞

❝  no one knows if they can trust me with casework or not.  ❞

❝  i didn’t say i was interested.  ❞

❝  [he/i] was taken off duty and sent for psychiatric evaluation the next day.  ❞

❝  coffee. i was making coffee.  ❞

❝  i didn't mean to get stuck out here.  ❞

❝  that just goes to show how small humans really are in the grand scheme of things:  take away our tools and our toys and our technology, and we’re still just as vulnerable as we ever were.  ❞

❝  she was good at that:  making you feel like you were safe, like you could open up to her.  ❞

❝  i’m just going to cover that one up. no harm in keeping it out of sight for the moment.  ❞

❝  maybe there was someone in the stairs.  ❞

❝  i think i did the lion’s share of the talking, which almost never happens.  ❞

❝  i couldn’t get to sleep... i figured i’d get a head start today.  ❞

❝  i’m afraid i don’t have all of the details of your involvement with the… tragic events in [place]. and i don’t think i’m the only one.  ❞

❝  i’m still not sure i understand the whole tradition.  ❞

❝  whatever it is, it’s chasing me. i can hear it’s footsteps in the snow, i can hear it—  ❞

❝  when you work nights here, the less you really think about them, the better.  ❞

❝  honestly, i just can’t get it out of my head.  ❞

❝  snow is one of nature’s simplest and most effective ways of killing you dead if you aren’t prepared for it.  ❞

❝  i wish you’d tell me what you’re doing here. i could lose my job if anything gets broken or if you end up getting hurt in there…  ❞

❝  would you say you… considered her a friend?  ❞

❝  would you mind saying your name again?  for the recording?  ❞

❝  if that was true, then there was something—and as a scientist, i hate to say this—supernatural going on in that lab.  ❞

❝  most of them didn’t make it. a lot of them died afraid and alone, too.  ❞

❝  i know you don’t like listening to these things, so i just wanted to help you out with…  ❞

❝  if i could sleep, then trust me, i would.  ❞

❝  i’m guessing the new owners are trying to make this place seem less creepy than it already is.  ❞

❝  my schooling was expensive and unremarkable.  ❞

❝  a lot of them died afraid and alone, too:  ideal conditions for the making of poltergeists, in my experience.  ❞

❝  look, i’m sorry, but this really isn’t a good time for anything, so if you wouldn’t mind…  ❞

❝  basically, i was picturing a slightly creepier morticia addams. i couldn’t have been more wrong.  ❞

❝  now i have to deal with [name]’s aspirations to write drama..  ❞

❝  i promise i won’t get you sacked.  ❞

❝  i’ve never been very religious, but for some reason… it made me think of hell.  ❞

❝  i think it may have been a thank you.  ❞

❝  i’m working the graveyard shift and i noticed the lights were on.  ❞

❝  i shouldn’t be here. no one asked me to come in this early.  ❞

❝  everyone around here looks at me like i’m some kind of leper.  ❞

❝  i had to go home for a few hours. i’m already on thin ice around here, and i didn’t want to get in more trouble for screaming obscenities up and down the wall.  ❞

❝  it was… darkness. no, that doesn’t do it credit, the whole place was dark. this was just... void.  ❞

❝  if i’d seen her anywhere else, i’d think she was an athlete or a backpacker.  ❞

❝  better scientists than me have been bashing their heads into that particular wall since 1927.  ❞

❝  i just want you to know that… whatever you really are... you’re safe here.  ❞

❝  goats being goats, it would just come back the next day looking for food.  ❞

❝  i would like you to leave my office now… and i’ll ask you not to tamper with evidence in the future, understood?  ❞

❝  no, of course, i don’t have signal out here, so i can’t just call triple-a.  ❞

❝  what are you doing in my office—at four goddamn thirty in the morning?  ❞

❝  you ever wonder where the line is?  you know, between human and not?  ❞

❝  the funny thing i’ve noticed about war:  no matter how terrible the fighting is, there always seems to be too much waiting. too much quiet. too much sitting around, bored to tears between fits of chaos and violence, lost in routine while waiting for the other shoe to drop.  ❞

❝  a lot of people condemn them for that. we’re so sure we’d never resort to that—that we’d rather die than cross that unspoken boundary.  ❞

❝  i’ve been at the [workplace/institution] for ten years now. that’s long enough to know that the ones who ask questions are the ones who can’t cut it.  ❞

❝  the program blew every fuse in the lab. including the lights.  ❞

❝  it was soon after they left that i began to have trouble sleeping.  ❞

❝  perhaps we never knew each other as well as most friends do, but… we cared for one another.  ❞

❝  most of her questions are a bit above my pay grade.  ❞

❝  i’m trying, i’m trying! i can’t get the door open!  ❞

❝  i don’t know why she needed my help:  i think she had a better grasp of it than most science fiction writers.  ❞

❝  we both had places to be afterwards, so we kind of rushed. i really wish i’d taken the time to say goodbye.  ❞

❝  i guess some things just… don’t want to stay buried.  ❞

❝  it was completely against orders of course, but no one really noticed or cared that far from the front.  ❞

❝  i offered to buy him a cup of coffee.  ❞

❝  newspapers praised them at the time:  saw them as heroes of exploration and paragons of pioneer courage.  ❞

❝  i signed a lot of big, scary nda’s during my time there.  ❞

❝  i did the only thing that came to mind:  i took a grenade from my belt, removed the pin, and threw it.  ❞

❝  i doubt this storm will last more than a couple of days, and once it lets up we can sneak out of here and get going again. very, very carefully.  ❞

❝  given enough time, everything will rot away to its elementary components, and that, you can’t reverse.  ❞

❝  i really can’t see anything from inside the van.  ❞

❝  i knew there were a few experiments that dealt with some pretty high-level theoretical concepts, but i wasn’t directly involved with any of them.  ❞

❝  it’s a strange choice, but then again, he’s a strange man.  ❞

❝  i know, it sounds ridiculous. trust me, i’ve done everything i can think of to make that conclusion go away.  ❞

❝  scared the bejeezus out of a bunch of skiers, but they were nice enough to let me in after deciding i probably wasn’t a ghost.  ❞

❝  please… it burns my skin… please…  ❞

❝  i forgot how fast storms blow in up here.  ❞

❝  it’s not like i felt out of control:  it felt more natural than breathing.  ❞

❝  i didn’t know what i was doing, not at any conscious level. but one step seemed to lead to another, then the next, and then the next.  ❞

❝  it’s called a butcher’s shop in some places, but a mortuary in others. as much as i’d love to imply there was some sweeney todd style recycling going on here, i think the place has just been a lot of things over the years.  ❞

❝  god, these things are creepy as hell.  ❞

❝  if you wouldn’t mind, please, tell us what happened? in your own time, of course.  ❞

❝  it took a few long, nerve-wracking days to work up my courage and visit the section again.  ❞

❝  it’s not that odd to think that people ate each other out there.  ❞

❝  i didn’t think there was a ghost in my room or anything like that, i just kept hearing noises whenever i was about to fall asleep.  ❞

❝  i downed half a dozen energy drinks at 6 and called it dinner—i know, i know, it’s a nasty habit i picked up in grad school.  ❞

❝  they told me that the cpu and motherboard had somehow been melted into a solid lump of plastic and silicon.  ❞

❝  i mean, [name] was a pain in the ass, but at least he didn’t…  ❞

❝  my schedule was full, but i had something else fall through at the last minute. i had your number on my desk, so i thought i may as well call.  ❞

❝  i wonder if it was afraid, or if it even realized what was going to happen. it probably didn’t.  ❞

❝  i need to get more coffee. or punch someone. whichever’s more convenient.  ❞

❝  god, if that’s really how i sound…  ❞

❝  people think i write horror, but i don’t really think that’s true. i just write fiction with all of the comfortable little lies taken out of it.  ❞

❝  i have loved the stars too truly to be fearful of the night.  ❞

❝  i think he felt something about this place… some influence or power that needed to be destroyed, so he tried to do it the only way he knew how.  ❞

❝  well, it’s a tricky thing. the more realistic you make them, the more… unreal they start to look. i think it’s something about the eyes.  ❞

❝  i offered to stay late, just to smooth things over.  ❞

❝  maybe i can get some writing done while i’m stuck here…  ❞

❝  no child could grow up in a jewish home surrounded by books and not read at least one story about golems.  ❞

❝  i just wasn’t a good student, despite my love of reading.  ❞

❝  i have to say, i like your jane doe.  ❞

❝  she was a scientist herself.  maybe not formally, but her way of thinking, her insight, her methods... they were scientist’s qualities.  ❞

❝  seriously, what do i need to do to get a little privacy around here, a little dignity?  hang a  ‘ do not disturb ’  sign on the door?  change all my locks?  ❞

❝  maybe it was stupid, but i figured, ‘ hey, early december, not a cloud in the sky—should still be fine, right? ’  ❞

❝  jesus, [name], i wasn’t born yesterday.  ❞

❝  maybe doing this while it’s still dark outside isn’t the best idea.  ❞

❝  more than a century and a half have passed, and this place is still just as dangerous as it was then.  ❞

❝  now, [mr./ms./mx. name], i’m sure you know why you’re here.  ❞

❝  the [event] was a bust—only about a dozen people showed up all afternoon.  ❞

❝  i never put much stock in the idea of inspiration, but for the first time in my life, it felt like i wasn’t pushing myself through the muck of miscalculation and guesswork towards a solution. i was being pulled towards an answer that already existed.  ❞

❝  it felt like i was a few steps from finding out something fundamental. some truth about our universe that no other scientist had ever dared to dream of.  ❞

❝  huh. that’s… that’s weird. i could’ve sworn there wasn’t a sculpture back there before.  ❞

❝  apparently, no one had told them what i was doing, and i wasn’t actually cleared to leave.  ❞

❝  maybe he’s trying to make amends. keeping watch over these half-living things to make sure no harm comes to them.  ❞

❝  i expected the building to be wreathed in shadow and overgrown with cobwebs, but it's actually really nice.  ❞

❝  sorry, i was trying to get my recorder working, but it froze up on me so i had to find a tape for this old…  ❞

❝  okay. just… don’t get me sacked, alright?  can’t exactly retire on this salary.  ❞

❝  but if it was real—i don’t know if i somehow created it, or if it was feeding me information about itself before it appeared.  ❞

❝  i’ve never had a manic episode before, and i was well below the level of caffeine needed to cause intoxication. as far as i can tell, there isn’t a medical explanation for what happened.  ❞

❝  i don’t get the appeal of meeting real celebrities. it’s just a cheap shock of recognition, and nothing more.  ❞

❝  whatever this… thing was, it sounds pretty dangerous.  ❞

❝  are you familiar with temporal asymmetry?  ❞

❝  i just want to make that abundantly clear:  this /wasn’t/ the plan.  ❞

❝  right then, now let’s get started. please state your name and rank for the record.  ❞

❝  though my soul may set in darkness, it will rise in perfect light.  ❞

❝  a cracker of a book, young lady.  ❞

❝  no wonder they’re keeping them in storage. they’d give anyone nightmares.  ❞

❝  i was just going to finish out my shift unless… you want me to stick around?  ❞

❝  i went to the university, but don’t remember much of the years i spent there.  ❞

❝  having to study textbooks and essays day in and day out took all of the joy out of reading for a long time.  ❞

❝  we call paradoxes paradoxes for a reason:  no matter how plausible they seem, they can never really happen.  ❞

❝  i don’t know what happened to me that night. i still don’t even know if what i saw was real.  ❞

❝  when we look into the void for too long, we find the monsters instead.  ❞

[st4rlabsforever]

post-episode 3 fix-it

words: 2.9k

notes: i started a long fic based on this post after watching ep 3. i cannibalized some snippets from another fic i wrote last week so if you see similar scenes, that’s why. i think this will end up being 12-15k words endgame sambucky by the end, but i refuse to post on ao3 until it’s complete. this is the first 3 scenes. feel free to comment and message me your thoughts since i’m still very much in the writing phase :)

summary: “It’s the kind of statement that should be screamed into Bucky’s face, but he’s learning that when Sam’s angry – when he’s truly angry – he’s just as soft-spoken as he is when he’s in one of his pensive moods. And he lets his anger build and build and build until it bursts in spectacular fashion.”

“I didn’t back Steve on the Sokovia Accords,” Sam says unprompted one day. They’re so close to apprehending the Flagsmashers and wrapping up this ridiculous saga.

“I don’t follow,” Bucky says.

“I was the one who refused to sign it first. Not Steve.”

Sam says it so softly that Bucky has to strain to hear him. Sam is loud and chatty and half the time he keeps up a constant stream of chatter just to get on Bucky’s nerves, but Bucky’s coming to realize that when he really wants to make himself heard, he’s soft spoken and mild. Bucky doesn’t entirely follow his train of thought, though.

The thing is, Sam is unreadable when it really matters. He offers words of comfort where needed – in Germany, after seeing Walker with the shield that wasn’t his, knowing that it had affected Bucky just as much as himself; in Madripoor, Bucky’s hand on the throat of some henchman or other, Sam’s hand on his when the Soldier’s memories threatened to overtake him; even in Riga, when Bucky’s guilt over releasing T’Chaka’s killer bubbled to the surface and Sam had checked in with him even though he couldn’t have possibly known about Bucky’s meeting with Ayo. Sam speaks with his eyes, always a searching look that leaves Bucky raw and feeling like he’s been x-rayed. I see you, is what those eyes say.

In contrast, Bucky’s words of comfort feel hollow. He knows that Isaiah is still a live wire for Sam, checks in with him after Madripoor when he can tell the conversation with Nagel weighs heavy on his mind. But he doesn’t see the way Sam does. He knows he’d missed something important because that conversation had ended in an argument and a threat from Sam to destroy the shield.

He never gets a chance to ask Sam what he’s getting at, because Torres signals to them that they’re at the drop point before all hell breaks loose.

***

In the end, after Karli and the Power Broker and whoever else decides to show their head from the emporium of supervillains are dealt with and they finally have a moment of peace, Bucky says, “The shield looks good on you.”

Sam freezes a few paces ahead of Bucky, the shield strapped loosely to his wrist.

“We make a good team,” Bucky says softly.

What he doesn’t expect is for Sam to whirl around suddenly. The look of barely restrained fury is enough to nearly knock Bucky off he’s feet. They fight without ever really fighting all the time, squabbles over who went left and who went right and who was supposed to lead and who was supposed to follow, but never has he seen Sam look like this before. The fury verges on hurt and it’s so fucking visceral that Bucky can barely breathe.

“You don’t get to say that,” Sam says quietly. His voice shakes and he closes his eyes like he’s steadying himself.

“I said I’d squash it until the mission was over, and I did. But you know what? I’m not doing this anymore.”

“Sam–”

“You don’t get to tell me what a good team is. Not after all the shit we just went through. You invited yourself to Munich, and I thought, ‘Fine. I could use the extra set of hands.’ We went through it together against Thanos and I respected that.”

Sam shakes his head. “But then you went off on some lone wolf woe-is-me bullshit, and look at where it got us. You broke Zemo out without even asking if I was down with that. You knew I wasn’t and you forced my hand. Now I’m an accomplice.”

“He was our only lead–”

“Bullshit. That field trip to Madripoor led us right back to Karli. Torres ended up tracking them to Riga anyway.”

“But the Power Broker–”

“–showed his ugly face in the end. All we got out of Madripoor was you digging up your trauma and us getting our faces plastered all over the internet. I promised Sharon one goddamn thing and I can’t even deliver on that now.”

“But I went along with it, fine,” Sam continues. “I knew it couldn’t have been easy reaching back into that headspace, doing what you did to Selby’s men.” The memory blindsides Bucky. “So I tabled it.” Sam taps out a tally with his fingers. 

“And back in Baltimore, you’d been too keyed up about Steve being wrong about you to even listen to what I had to say. Again, I tabled it.” Another tally. 

“I’ve been meeting you halfway this entire time, man, and I’ve gotten near nothing in return. You kept Isaiah a secret from me, and at first I thought you were just clueless about how damn significant it would’ve been for me to know about him.” Sam shakes his head. 

“But then we met him. You saw what they did to him. The one Black supersoldier – a fucking hero – and look what they did to him. You saw it with your own eyes and you still sat there and lectured me about what you thought I should’ve done with that goddamn shield.” 

“There’s precedent for it, you know,” Sam says. It takes Bucky a moment to realize Sam is expecting an answer.

Bucky doesn’t know, is the thing. He feels like he’s all of five years old again, put on the spot. He’s reminded of when Zemo just had to let him know about the African American experience; he’d felt chastised and embarrassed enough to pretend like he’d had any clue what themes lurked in Marvin Gaye’s work. Sam just searches him with those eyes, searches Bucky for something yet unfathomable and decides he hasn’t found it. That hurts more than anything else; Bucky wishes he could sink into the ground, make himself as small as possible. Sam doesn’t notice, or else doesn’t care, and just plows on with a scoff. 

“You don’t even know the true history of the country you’re living in. Figures.” He shakes his head. “You’re not ever going to be able to separate the shield from the history Black folks have endured at the hands of this country. Not now, not ever.”

Sam doesn’t even look angry anymore. Angry, Bucky can deal with. It would be a relief, even. 

Instead, Sam looks at him with a disappointment that somehow surpasses what Steve could have ever accomplished.

“Whatever. I tabled that, too,” Sam says. “And then after Madripoor, after we heard that doctor go on and on about Isaiah’s blood like he wasn’t even a real human-being? I said my piece and all you did was throw that shield bullshit back in my face.”

“Sam–” Bucky tries again. He��s mortified to hear the crack in his own voice.

“It’s honestly breathtaking,” Sam says with something that might be akin to genuine wonder, or maybe even morbid curiosity in his voice. “We saw the same things in Baltimore and Madripoor, but your head was so far up your own ass that you never once stopped to think all of it was just proof to me. That the shield in the hands of a Black man wouldn’t make any damn sense.”

It’s the kind of statement that should be screamed into Bucky’s face, but he’s learning that when Sam’s angry – when he’s truly angry – he’s just as soft-spoken as he is when he’s in one of his pensive moods. And he lets his anger build and build and build until it bursts in spectacular fashion.

Sam’s not even done yet. “And that’s another thing. Stealing the shield from Walker…” Sam rolls his eyes at the memory. “You want to run around with that giant frisbee, fine. That’s your business. But then you forced it on me–”

“That’s not fair,” Bucky says immediately. Desperately. “You didn’t have to accept it.”

“The whole damn country was watching,” Sam says hotly. “It was either accept it, or shit all over Steve fucking Rogers’s legacy and make myself into the villain half the country was already hoping I’d turn out to be.”

“You were dead wrong for that,” Sam says. “I stuck around until we took down Karli because it was the right thing to do. After Munich, though, this little adventure was all you. Zemo, Madripoor, the shield.”

Sam shoves the shield into Bucky’s arms, the impact so sudden that it forces him back a step.

“Since you’re so obsessed with this thing, it’s yours. Congrats,” Sam says sarcastically. “I’m sure you’ll do it proud.”

Bucky lets out a breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding.

“For what it’s worth,” Sam says, “Steve might not have understood everything about me. But in Vienna, when it came time to sign the accords? He was considering it. I put my foot down first and he listened.”

Sam shrugs. “Whatever you thought we were, it's not a team.”

Bucky knows where to drive the knife in to kill a man in as few twists of the wrist as possible – a brutal economy of movement and technique. But Sam...it pales in comparison to what Sam’s capable of. His weapons aren’t knives and his targets may not be made of flesh and blood, but he knows exactly where he needs to strike to rip Bucky open raw. Bucky feels like he’s been flayed alive.

“How about that long vacation?” Sam says, and claps Bucky on the shoulder. 

And we’ll never have to see each other ever again goes unsaid.

Fuck.

***

The thing about ignoring Sam’s texts was that Bucky responded if they were actually important. It just so happened that most of the nonsense Sam sent was inane prattling about his day, about his job, his sister, his nephews. Now that he’s on the receiving end of it, though, it feels awful.

3/25/21, 2:58 AM

I’m sorry.

Delivered

3/28/21, 1:51 AM

Can we talk?

Delivered

3/31/21, 3:05 AM

Let me know what to do and I’ll do it.

Read 3:34 AM

4/1/21, 12:42 AM

Or if there’s anything you need.

Read 1:05 AM

Yesterday, 1:00 AM

I’m available if you need another body for a mission.

Read 1:02 AM

A week into the admittedly one-sided exchange, Sam turns his damn read receipts on. It’s ridiculous and it’s fucking asinine and it gets under Bucky’s skin immediately. It’s a form of twenty-first century psychological warfare that he’s unfamiliar with and already can’t stand. Mainly, he hates that it makes him seem desperate (he’s not), needy (he might be, especially when he realizes with horror that he actually misses Sam’s rambling texts), and ridiculous (he definitely is, because he’s letting petty mind games get to him).

Normally, Sam would send him nearly daily updates on his comings and goings – whether he’d been in New York, D.C., or New Orleans. The radio silence is unsettling. Bucky wonders if Sam made good on his promise to take a long vacation. And then....

The thing about apologies is that Bucky isn’t sure he’s ever done a proper one in his entire life, at least nothing beyond a rote “I’m sorry” with the “let’s move on” part left unspoken. But it stands to reason, Bucky thinks, that a proper apology can’t be given if he’s not completely certain what he’s dealing with. That’s all well and good because he’s got the world at the tips of his fingers, is what Yori always said. And when he grows frustrated with reading on his tiny phone screen, the New York Public Library is only a train ride away.

Sam had mentioned precedent, so Bucky’s first search is for medical experimentation. He knows for a fact he was good at this once, a memory of Steve whining about him being too good at exams coming up unbidden. He reads voraciously. Anything and everything that might offer a clue on what he’d missed. And it doesn’t take long for him to find what he’s looking for. 

He reads with dawning horror. The Tuskegee syphilis experiments. Eugenics. God, the fucking Nazis had even modeled their race science on the American school of thought. The things that the history books left out. Some of it was even happening under his nose in the 30s, he’d just been blissfully unaware. He somehow ends up down a rabbit hole where words like `prison industrial complex’ and `school-to-prison pipeline’ make increasingly more persistent appearances. New Jim Crow. COINTELPRO. War on drugs. The way all of these horrors reached their long arms into the twenty-first century.

Bucky’s going to be sick. The memories come up one after another.

Just give him your ID so we can leave.

You think you can wake up one day and decide who you want to be? It doesn’t work like that. Well, maybe it does for folks like you.

So you’re telling me that there was a Black supersoldier decades ago and nobody knew about it.

This is what you’re not going to do. You’re not going to come here in your over-extended life and tell me about my rights.

The shield wasn’t yours to give away.

He spends the next week in his downtime reading. With the mission being over and his parole in jeopardy, his downtime mostly coincides with every day of the week.

Had Steve known?

No, he thinks. Steve was compassionate, but he wouldn’t have known because he’d taken one look at the problems of twenty-first century America and decided he’d had enough. Then he’d ran back to the 40s to live out some fantasy that simply didn’t – couldn’t – exist anymore. Had he eventually become aware of all the issues plaguing this country that they’d been able to ignore as starry-eyed kids in Brooklyn? Bucky hopes not, because that would mean he’d...no. 

A part of Bucky thinks he’s so surprised because he’d thought things – race relations, civil rights, not things, his brain amends – had been getting better in the 40s. Deep down, though, he knows that’s a lie. A 2 AM read through Howard Zinn’s A People’s History of the United States confirms it. Shady politicians. Klansmen who went back to their day jobs as cops, judges, firefighters. Mass incarceration taking its place as the new king on the throne of segregation. Evidently, 

There had been plenty of folks – white folks – raising an uproar about these hidden horrors back then. The seeds of those movements had even been there in the 30s. Bucky tells himself that he’d been raised during the Great Depression, that his family had been too focused on putting food on the table to focus on social movements, but that, too, ends up being a lie. The poorest and working class whites – some, at least – in movement and solidarity with civil rights. Not him, though. Apparently he’d had his head up his ass back then, too.

Bucky can see the bigger picture a tiny bit more clearly, now. 

Fine. So he’s been disarmed of the little lies he’d used as shields, and he also owes Sam one hell of an apology.

Somehow, he doesn’t think “I’m sorry, I was ignorant then but I read some books and now I know better” is going to cut it. Maybe a commitment to do better would work? Perhaps after Baltimore, but not now. That ship had long since sailed. Some grand act of service, then? He’s sure he can think of something Sam needs in this post-Blip world that he can provide. He vaguely remembers Sarah mentioning something about a ship and bank loan. That could be a starting point.

It doesn’t take much time to find the public records on the Wilson family business and then the not-so-public records on the denied bank loan. It wouldn’t take much for him to pry a little, not when seedy bankers were astonishingly amenable to the threat of violence. But he’s reminded of Zemo and figures that he ought not to do anything so drastic that could jeopardize Sam’s family situation further.

He snorts. Did growth that came several months late still count?

In the end, he decides to rip the bandage off quickly, which is how he finds himself in the sticky Louisiana heat with his hands shoved deep into his pockets, staring back at an incredulous Sam through his open door.

“I did some reading recently,” Bucky says. 

“Hmm.”

It’s not outright refusal, so Bucky continues.

“About, um, the things you mentioned last time. Precedent.”

“Huh.”

For someone who’s normally so expressive with his language, Sam’s one-word answers as nerve-wracking as anything.

“I didn’t fully appreciate the situation that you were in. That you’re still in,” Bucky amends.

Sam shrugs. “It’s cool,” he says in a way that doesn’t sound like he really believes it. Bucky wonders if this is a test; he feels just as lost as he did on that plane a week ago.

“Let’s do this outside,” Sam says, closing the door behind him and ushering Bucky away from it. “Walk with me.” 

They head down to the pier mostly in silence until Bucky breaks it. “I’m sorry for making it all about me,” he says.

Sam stares at him. It’s true Bucky might stare a little too much on occasion, but Sam’s stares are utterly unnerving in the way he seems to see right through Bucky when he really wants to, like he’s already mapped out all there is to know.

[torikengel]

Thomas Hewitt x Reader (Part 10)

When you opened your eyes, the sun was already rising. You felt a pleasant warmth exuding from beside you. You rubbed your eyes to get a clear vision of what, or well who was in bed with you. You saw Thomas peacefully snoring by your side. Then the memories from the last night flooded your mind as you realized you were still both naked. Your first reaction was to panic, but then you noticed something you ignored before. Something on Thomas’s body. You had a clear view of his arm in daylight, and as you inspected his skin, you saw scars... not a few of them, but a whole bunch. These scars covered his whole arm, some were deep, and some looked quite new.

“Oh my god...” you gasped at your discovery. Your heart ached for Thomas. Right now, you had a strong urge to protect him, no matter how ridiculous it seemed. You were still a victim, but you felt less like one after every moment spent with Thomas. Maybe you felt a sense of responsibility? You believed that you could help Thomas and ease his pain... If you ran away, it would mean you betray him. You would be like all the others who stabbed him in the back. You tenderly ran your fingers through his hair.

“Tommy...” you whispered, clenching your teeth. You were split between your past and future... you missed your life, freedom, family, and friends. But then there was this man, this murderous cannibal who made your heart inexplicably flutter. You checked his arm one more time and gave him a soft kiss on the deepest scar.

“Maybe if we met sooner.” you pondered about his past. Right, if you two met under different circumstances. You placed your head back onto the pillow and turned to your side as you decided to sleep a bit more.

“Ahh...” you yelped as Thomas unexpectedly turned around to hug you from behind. But then you just smiled and closed your eyes, enjoying his presence.

*

When you woke up again, Thomas was gone, and so was every other evidence that would suggest he was ever next to you. Maybe it really didn’t happen, and it was just a dream? You stretched your arms and looked out of the window. The sun was already remarkably high up in the sky. You yearned for the freedom outside the walls of this house.

“You had a choice...” you sighed for yourself when you remembered how close you were to escape last night. But you didn’t turn the doorknob. You didn’t open the door. Were you really out of your mind? You didn’t understand yourself anymore. Everything you did was against natural human instincts. You stepped out of bed only to realize that your ankle is cuffed again.

“All right...” you teared up uncontrollably as you slipped down from the bed, landing on your knees. You saw your suitcase on the floor next to you, so you decided to rummage through your past.  After putting on a dress and underwear, you found a diary that captured your attention, so you opened it and read.

“This road trip sucks so far; I am fairly sure they invited me only for my money. Nobody really talks with me. I swear this is the last time I am going somewhere with Emma...” was the last written paragraph. You wrote it before you threw the diary into the suitcase as you were dizzy from writing in the van, but you were frustrated, so you had to. Now you didn’t have any of your good friends or family with you so that you couldn’t share your feelings with anyone... it wouldn’t hurt if you wrote something again, right? You needed to cleanse yourself somehow.

“I was kidnapped by a local sheriff in this weird town in Texas after we had an accident on the road. Even though I am quite sure it’s not a real sheriff. This family killed Emma and the others and ate them... There are four of them... and I...” you couldn’t bring yourself to write that you purposefully missed an opportunity to escape because you had feelings for the guy who kills and butchers humans. You scrapped the idea of writing any further and stabbed the page with your pen... and again and few more times until the rest of the diary was destroyed. You threw it away and climbed back to bed. You were hungry, and you really wanted to use the bathroom, but you didn’t dare to call someone as you didn’t want Hoyt to be the one to answer you. You thought about yesterday, when you felt like more than a victim, today the reality dawned on you and mentally destroyed you. You wished Thomas would be here. You wanted to tell him how you felt about your needs. Why wasn’t he there with you?

*

Thomas wasn’t pleased about the situation either. Hoyt was searching for him in the morning, and when he couldn’t find him in the basement, he went looking for him in your room. He found you both in the same bed, and you weren’t even cuffed. He gestured for Thomas to immediately come out and then scolded him to no end.

“What do ya think yer doin’ Thomas? Sleepin’ in the same bed as yer bitch? Didn’t ya learn anythin’?” Hoyt rumbled. He was furious. To him, you were an outsider, a piece of meat. If Thomas really wanted to fuck you, it was for the sake of satisfaction and not some lovemaking shit. You would become dinner eventually anyway. Then Hoyt sent Thomas to the basement and told him to stay there as he wasn’t in the mood for his face, which obviously hurt Thomas, but he complied. Hoyt decided to take away some comfort from you, so Thomas couldn’t see you or let you out of the room. Plus, you didn’t receive any food.

*

But Hoyt left on patrol, and someone in the house didn’t like the idea of you starving to death. You heard a light knock on the door.

“C-come in.” You stuttered nervously.

“Good mornin’ darlin’.” You saw Luda Mae standing in the door frame with a plate and cup in her hands.

“Charlie isn’t in a good mood today.” she sighed. “But I can’t let ya starve now, can I?” she smiled at you while coming closer. You were so relieved. It wasn’t Hoyt, and Luda brought food.

“Is Thomas okay?” you said as you took the meal from her.

“Oh, m’dear y/n.” she smiled when you mentioned her son.

“He’s in the basement. I think they argued with Charlie. He ordered him to stay out of his sight today,” she explained with a pained expression.

“Why doesn’t he come out when Hoyt’s gone?” you asked curiously. Luda sighed again. “Hoyt locked him in there and took the key. Ya know darlin’, Hoyt doesn’t take no disrespect and ma boy Tommy was acting up. As much as I disapprove of this, my hands are tied. Charlie has the last word in this family. I couldn’t stop what they did to Monty, either.” She complained.

“What happened to Monty?” you asked despite having an idea.

“He got shot by a biker, and Charlie forced Thomas to treat him...” she made it sound so innocent, even though Monty was missing both of his legs. She really didn’t want to portray her son as evil. And you didn’t think of him that way either. You nodded while you ate the bread she gave you to let her know that you were paying attention.

*

After you finished the breakfast, well brunch, Luda Mae returned to take the empty plate and cup.

“Darlin’, I can tell that my boy Thomas likes your company. I only want the best for Tommy. He gave me this.” she took a small key out of her pocket. It was key to your freedom.

“But ya know I am just a weak old woman now, and I know Charlie would be furious if you escaped.” she was very unsure of her actions. You didn’t understand a thing. Luda uncuffed you, so you could use the bathroom and take a shower. You didn’t want to cause her trouble. If Hoyt could do what he did to Monty, you didn’t even want to imagine what fate awaited Luda if you ran away because of her.

*

“I know it must be borin’ to stay in that room all day alone, darlin’.” Luda Mae said as she washed the dishes in the kitchen. You were standing next to her, leaning on the wall.

“Would you mind helpin’ me around the house today?” Luda Mae looked at you and raised her eyebrow.

“Of course, anything.” You replied and smiled at her. How could you say no to her? And so you spent the day cleaning the house with Luda. Honestly, it was for your own good as well, because from the first time you arrived you’ve thought that the house is really filthy. However, you understood that Luda was already an older woman, and the house was huge, so it must’ve been hard for her to be the only one taking care of the household.

*

You were proud of yourself when you finished. Even Monty seemed to approve of your hard work.

“Good work, m’dear!” Luda cheerfully announced when she looked around the now clean living room. The feelings creeping on you this morning were gone, and you felt more like an actual human being rather than a piece of meat again. You weren’t cuffed, and you basically spent some family time with Luda and Monty. Your moment of happiness was abruptly interrupted by the sound of an arriving car. It was Hoyt, and when you looked closely out of the window, it seemed that he wasn’t alone. There were two guys and a girl with him in the car. Luda quickly pushed you up the stairs to make sure Hoyt doesn’t see you. You rushed to your room and looked out of the window. Apparently, Hoyt locked them in the car because he came to the porch alone. Luda opened the door and let him in. He didn’t even realize how clean the house was. He just went straight to the basement door to summon Thomas.

“Come on, Tommy, move yer ass and help me out here!” he shouted and then walked back to the car. You were still looking out of the window but concentrated on the noises coming from downstairs as well. Hoyt opened the door for the girl sitting in a passenger seat and let the guys out of the car too. They seemed okay, and Hoyt was actually polite? You didn’t understand the scene unfolding before your eyes. And then he saw you. One of the boys looked up, and he saw you staring at them from the window. But before he could do anything, Hoyt grabbed the girl and pointed a gun to her head. Both guys were visibly shocked. They genuinely believed he was a sheriff helping them until this point. Then you heard loud footsteps, and Thomas stormed out of the house with a chainsaw in his hand. The guys tried to run away, but Hoyt shot one of them to his calf. The other turned around to help his friend, but only a bullet to his shoulder awaited him. Thomas grabbed one of the wounded guys and threw him on his shoulder, and then he disappeared into the house. You figured he took him to the basement. Hoyt took the redhaired girl into the house too, and the guy who has been shot to his leg was crawling in pain away from the house. He was desperately slow. You heard screams of the girl and Hoyt’s footsteps as he struggled to bring her up the stairs to his room. You quietly went to the door and peeked out as you opened them. Hoyt didn’t notice as he was too busy with the girl who was screaming and kicking everywhere around herself. But she saw you.

“Help me! Please, you, help me!” she stared at you with despair in her eyes as she tried to get out of Hoyt’s grip. Your eyes widened, and you instinctively closed the door. You covered your ears in a futile attempt to prevent the girl’s voice from reaching you. You knew well what awaited her with Hoyt. Meanwhile, Thomas got the other guy who tried crawling again. And that was it, you couldn’t see anything else, and you could only think about what was happening in the house. The girl’s screams didn’t fade at all, and the revving of the chainsaw was piercing your ears as well.  You wanted it to end finally, but then you heard a loud thump as the basement door burst open, and Luda’s voice echoed in the living room as she was screaming Thomas’s name.

“Tommy! Hoyt! Hoyt, come down!”

You opened the door again and stepped out of the room. The girl was still screaming, and Hoyt was nowhere to be seen. He probably didn’t hear Luda. You couldn’t hear Luda as well now. You braced yourself for the worst outcome as you ran down the stairs only to find Luda tied up to a chair with a rug in her mouth.

You gasped… what was happening? Then you saw him, the guy who has been shot in his shoulder standing in the kitchen with a bloodied knife, Thomas nowhere to be found.

a/n:  Now what, you and another victim together in a kitchen... I am sorry for the cliff hanger, but the chapter would be too long, but I am in the mood for writing, so will post the next chapter tomorrow.

[valdemart]

The Hunger (ValdemarxCannibal! Apprentice)

Asra brought you back, but half his heart wasn’t the only condition. 

TW Cannibalism, blood, Valdemar being a sexy creep

It came on as it always did, suddenly and without warning. But you knew, once it was there, it wouldn’t go away until you dealt with it. The celebratory dinner in Nadia’s private dining room, which had been so wonderful and well earned, suddenly felt like Hell on earth. You needed to get away as far away from here as possible. Now.

“My dear, are you feeling alright?”

You couldn’t meet Nadia’s eyes. Currently, you were genuinely scared that doing so would make you cry or laugh or scream.

No! I’m not feeling alright! How kind of you to notice!

“I’m a bit nauseous.”

Even without looking at her, you knew Nadia was frowning.

“You did have a very stressful day. What with the trial and all…”

“Thanks for that, again!” Julian chimed in, completely unable to read the room. Portia elbowed him to shut him up and you tipped back the rest of your Golden Goose. You knew from experience that alcohol wouldn’t help, but you were desperate for even the slightest bit or relief.

Just until I can take care of this.

“I think…I need to go lie down, Countess, if that’s alright with you.”

“Of course, but please, ‘Nadia’ is fine.”

You were already leaving the room before she was finished speaking. Julian started to call after you, offering you some bloodletting, but his voice was silenced once the door closed behind you.

Damn Asra for leaving you alone! He knew! He knew this could happen! There was usually more time in between, but it never followed a pattern. It had nothing to do with the cycles of the moon or the weather or any other antecedent you could figure out.  

Still, being away from everyone, being in a cool, silent hallway helped ground you enough to think logically for a minute. You wouldn’t be able to walk back to the shop in your condition, and asking for a ride would only bring suspicion, so where else could you get what you needed?

The dungeon.

The answer rang as clear as a bell, but unlike before, the thought of going down there didn’t fill you with dread. The dungeon held your salvation.

The key was keeping it all together until you got there.

The servants didn’t pay you any mind as you entered the library; you had been in there several times since you had come to the castle and they were under orders from Nadia not to interfere with your investigation. Sure, Julian had already been hanged, but that didn’t mean your work was over. They didn’t know what you were up to anymore than they knew that Julian was alive and well. Now, alone in the locked library, nothing could stop you. You were three little books and a lift ride away from salvation.

Red

Leather

Black with gold

The bookcase slid open and you stepped inside.

Bloody hands may turn the key. Know the weight of your sins, and enter.

Even if the plaque was supposedly fake, you felt mocked as you turned the key. Your hands were bloody alright, as were your lips and stomach. The ride down was tortuously slow.

You had no fear being alone in the dungeon, too filled with desperate hunger to think about anything else. You weren’t sure why there were still jars of preserved organs sitting around a room that was no longer being used, but they would suit your need.

As you started for the jar of non-plague-ridden eyeballs you had spotted during your earlier tour, you froze in front of the raised operating stage in the middle of the room. There was something on the metal tabled.

It was a corpse.

You approached cautiously. This wasn’t here just yesterday. Weren’t the dungeons abandoned after the plague? How did it get here?

As you approached, you heard a faint dribbling noise, like a small brook running through the room. Once you were standing on the stage, looking down at the body, you realized it wasn’t water dripping, but blood. Blood was leaking out of the body and flowing down to the hole at the bottom of the table and dripping into a bucket.

You should have been scared. You should have been terrified that someone was draining the blood out of a very freshly dead human body in what should have been an abandoned dungeon.

Should

But you weren’t. Nice, fresh meat was so much more appealing that body parts filled with preserving chemicals. You leaned down, wrapped your mouth around the soft, cool skin on the chest of the deceased, and bit down.

“My, My, My…”

You knew that voice well now and you weren’t the least surprised to hear it. You stood and turned to look at the Quaestor, not bothering to pause your chewing. You still felt no fear. You were going to eat your fill. If Valdemar wanted you dead, there wasn’t really anything you could do about it now.

“Have you been here this whole time?”

“I was standing right here when you entered. Silly Little Magician was so hungry they didn’t even see me.”

“I thought you said you didn’t work down here anymore.”

“I usually don’t; my estate facilities are so much nicer. However, I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to observe such a fascinating display. I do hope it is to your liking.”

They knew? Somehow, you weren’t surprised. You were even less surprised that they had set this whole thing up.

“How did you know?”

They grinned widely, showing off those predator teeth.

“You have your secrets, and I have my own. I’ve no doubt you’ll figure it out in time, Little Piranha.”

Your stomach lurked and you had to take another bite. There was still blood and it flooded your mouth and it satisfied you so, so much. You watched Valdemar the whole time, but they didn’t move. Maybe they weren’t trying to trap you. Maybe they really did just want to watch. It was bizarre, but not anymore bizarre than the whole ‘needing to eat human flesh’ thing.

“I take it this started after your master brought you back?”

What did it matter if you told them the truth or not? They already caught you red handed.

“Not right away. I was fine at first. I just ate normal food. Then Asra cut himself on an athame. I started to clean up the blood while he was healing himself and…the blood just…called to me.”

You didn’t go into detail on how you had lowered your head to the table and had licked the blood clean. You didn’t mention the look of horrified acceptance on Asra’s face as he watched you silently.

“Ever since then, sometimes this hunger just takes over. I can’t think about anything else until I eat. It’s disgusting, but I’ve never killed anyone for it, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

You weren’t sure where Asra got the human flesh he fed you, but he never explained and you never asked. He acted like this was something he had always done for you, that you had always had this little problem and that it had always been easy for him to handle. He only said that it was a ‘medical condition’ you had and not to ever speak of it to anyone else. It wasn’t until you learned you had died and he had brought you back that you had put two and two together.

You had thought of ending it all, ending this cursed new life of yours, but after all Asra had gone through to bring you back you couldn’t. Besides, what would stop him from bringing you back again, more deformed and monstrous than before? What if you came back needing to feed every day?

“How very interesting, Little Magician.”

You already know the answer, but you feel you have to ask.

“Are you going to tell?”

“Tell who? The Countess? Doctor 069? I wouldn’t gain anything from it and it’s doubtful that they would want to believe me.”

“So why help me?”

Valdemar cocked their head to the side.

“So many questions. So unsure. Why not just eat?”

You took another bite, letting the cooling blood dribble down your chin, but you maintained eye contact. You needed to know what you were possibly going to have to pay back. Valdemar relented with a smile.

“So distrusting. Does it not make sense that I would want to keep such a fascinating specimen alive? I would lose so much science if you starved.”

Valdemar approached quickly and silently, grabbing your jaw firmly with their cold hand. You flinched. With your hunger fading, you were starting to come back to your senses, and that meant fear.

“In all my millennia of existence, I have never had a subject quite like you.”

You started to protest, to say that you were not their subject, but then they leaned forward and licked away the dribble of blood from your chin to the corner of your mouth with the tip of their tongue.

“Think of all the science we could do together.”

[whatitis-inside]

If they are telling the truth, why are they hesitant to verify their claims? And why are the ones who didn't post dms are the ones giving interviews in gossip magazines? Also, why the sun and daily mail? Why not a reputable source? Why a magazine that is currently being sued for defamation?

Why are their claims getting wilder and wilder every day? Why post little by little instead of showing everything related to it and provide context with a coherent narrative?

As soon as they can prove that they are telling the truth I'm 100% behind them. Until then, well, it's easy af to fake any kind of message. People who do role plays as characters for fun or fanfiction do it all the time.

See that’s why this is all hard to understand (and the timing always the timing). Because I can understand the idea of exposing celebrities on social media so the general audience would know - but if something happened, in terms of abuse, then you speak to authorities, especially when you claim to have all the proofs - why you act as a judge to your own case?! That’s not how it works. Especially that if this involved just the two of them it’s hard to said for certain because it’s her word against his. That’s why I’m not acting as a judge here - because all the situation is messy. Not to mention all these dms, texts and so on - somehow lack the context. She doesn’t give post what she said, or what it was about - and that paints a certain narrative, everything can be bad and seen as gruesome if you don’t have a context (I mean like having a joke test with your mate on your phone for starters).

It’s all seems so vindictive - and while I can get past it, because I’m sure you want to destroy the man that abused you, I can’t really go with how smug it all reads - it all looks as using your own trauma to gain spotlight. Not to mention that the videos doesn’t expose anything she first (or well second part) talked about - the eating her, blood and so on. So it all looks like she tried to prove her point with him having affair with her, but when it didn’t surprise many and she found out about others, I guess her pride was wounded and the second set of narrative appeared - more shocking that caught attention but also the most ludicrous. Somehow unreal. So when ppl started to joke about him being cannibal, the story took a turn because that’s not what she mean. So she had to dig further, spread the words about drugs, being broken and unstable - funny enough it all came from the same girl he was allegedly dating for some hot weeks (though even the said girl has a bad memory and doesn’t know when exactly they were dating) - the girl that our first lady stalked under her posts back in October. So do tell me why hasn’t she came forward with her story back then - and just now ?! New year new me or something ?! So see only the yesterday leak gives her some sort of credibility. She said she wanted justice and people to know so women would be aware and yet she ain’t stopping - and somehow she is now going about him and charmies. Funnily enough she has never mentioned it before, at least not until recently - because somehow ppl were defending him and not believing her story. And funnily enough she was also a Tim Stan before and cmbyn as well coz she was in crema (hello internet nothing can be lost).

So yeah, the main fact that they didn’t seek the help of authorities and never presented a whole coherent story, with all the proofs all at once makes it more fishy and suspicious. If you have nothing to hide why not being open about everything that has happened - weirdly she was with this relationship for 4 years and never did anything. It’s a mess. But I guess she forgets about one thing - that soon new drama will appear and she will fade away and no one will care about her like for last year’s snow. And meanwhile he - I hope so - will get help and maybe be clear about this whole situation. Time passes and she won’t be having a spotlight for long time. Tho I’m sure she will do everything to stay under the scrutiny - maybe she will even be a ig celebrity known from this.

[foriland]

What is the darkest idea you’ve ever had for a fic (that you have or haven’t published yet already)

......... XDDDDD This is an interesting ask to get. Thank you so much, love!

Uh... so..... darkest. :P

Okay okay. We'll go that I have published first. Which I think is probably Reanimation? Although Of Flesh And Blood is arguably darkest due to the gore and cannibalism theme. But honestly, I feel like Reanimation just scores due to the premise and the detoriation of Jason's mind and will and the mental state. And it is borderline gorey anyway. And it is like.... 12k? of pure plotless bloody torture. But..... Flesh And Blood really toys with a messed up...... ultimatum. But the gore is kind of mild and..... Hard to say because they are a bit on different scales.

So yes. That I have posted, it would be either Reanimation or Of Flesh And Blood, although I am leaning on the former. And it is totally not because I like it better. Nope not at all.

As for one that I haven't posted..... uh well..... there are a few to go from.

One of them was this idea (one that I have written bits of scenes for) where the premise basically is...... I throw Jason to Joker for.... I think a year? Two years? I can't remember. It was a decently old idea and I haven't worked on it in a long while. But.... yes. I guess I can say that it is similar to Reanimation in a way? BUT. Jay doesn't die and get patched up ifhe nearly does and it is Joker instead which makes everything better. I actually like that one but it is..... a bit difficult and kinda very long. And it is just going to be pure pure blood and torture, which while I.... enjoy, it just isn't everyone's thing. Fun fact though, I funnily had drafted out a sequel for it without even coming close to finishing the fic itself. I be funny.

Another candidate is a quite very recent one I wrote (It is actually edited, I just haven't posted it). It is a Jason Damian (mostly Jason) whump with a healthy dallop of gore. Like... very gorey. If you have read Cupcakes from the MLP fandom, ..... yeah........ It is approximatedly somewhere there in the gore level. But since I will be posting that one in the future, I won't say too much. (But it really is just another of my plotless pain kill fics, so spoiler is not much of a thing). It wasn't supposed to be this way. It originally had Jason with Bruce or Dick's corpse and was supposed to be trashy and 1k or less. It somehow became 3k+ messed up thing of blood, gore, torture with a side of forced cannibalism. I have really strange head.

Oh! And I have one where Jason, post Batarang Incident, got rescued by Batman from the rubble and..... there will be slavery and no hugs or comfort. And Jason is also rendered mute due to the batarang. But the idea is vague and I only did one scene where I had this Bruce and Jason interaction (which was fun, because it hurts a whole lot) that I also used as lazy, and maybe temporary, world building opportunity. I am really struggling with the premise so I am also chucking that somewhere to stare at whenever I have an idea of what to do with it.

Mmmmmm...... Yeah. That might be all that I have ever put down semi-properly. Others are just baaic ideas or concepts, which, for all I know, might not turn out that dark. The winner? I have a feeling that it is the Jason dami gore one. It might end up even beating Reanimation. The Joker one would be a close runner up.

So..... yeah! As a whole, Imma go with either Reanimation or that to-be-posted Jason Dami gore. Probably is the latter though. I am now very tempted to post that. I might. Hmmmmmmmmmmmm...... I am caught in a bit of a pickle.

!!!!! This had been a ton of fun, Anon love. Thank you so much for asking! <3 Sorry if got too long and rambly. I'm kind of lacking sleep and I happen to enjoy answering this too much. But this is one of the lights of my day (yesterday??? I mean... I started typing his at eleven and now it is past midnight). Thank you lots!

Also, if anyone wants to know more about any of them, feel free to ask ^^

[lovemesomesurveys]

survey by a7xbabii

Do you use e-mail often? I don’t send any, but I check my mail daily (sometimes a few times a day) to keep my mailbox clean.

Do you hear any animals right now? No.

Are you in a well-lit room? I am.

Is your trashcan full? Nope, it was taken out earlier.

What was the last crunchy thing you consumed? The Wingstop I had yesterday.

Did you view anything disturbing today? No, thankfully.

Are there any holiday decorations in your house? My room is decked out for Christmas. 

When was the last time you had a terrible headache? Earlier, actually.

Have you recently put lotion on your hands? No. 

Are you hungry? I am. I’m going to make my nightly bowl of ramen soon.

Is it rainy where you're at right now? Not tonight, but it was last night. I loved it.

Do you carry a purse? If so, describe what it looks like. I carry a mini backpack. I have a few I switch between. The last one I used was my gray mini Adidas one.

Is your cell phone on vibrate? Nope.

Is your dishwasher full? I think it is.

When is the last time you saw someone you like/love. I mean, I love my family and I see them all the time. If you mean in the romantic sense, there is no such person currently.

Do you like to wear gloves? Not really. It’s hard to wheel with them on unless I have the ones with the dots on the palm. I rarely ever wear gloves, though.

Is there a body of water near where you live? Yes.

What are your thoughts on Avenged Sevenfold? Bat Country was my jam when it came out. 

Are you wearing anything pink right now? Nope.

Do you like to swim in the ocean? No. The idea of getting in the ocean terrifies me. I like being near it, though, and watching/listening to the waves crash in and out and feel the cool ocean breeze.

What is the creepiest bug you've ever saw? Ugh, ALL OF THEM.

Do you currently have split ends? I do. :/ And I have a horrible habit of messing with them out of boredom or when I’m anxious. I need to get my hair cut and colored, but ya know. It’s been difficult doing anything this year. The salons have opened and closed so many times and I honestly just don’t feel comfortable going anywhere right now. I legit only leave the house once a month for my doctor appointment. :/

When is the last time you used the bathroom? A couple hours ago if you must know.

Do you chew on your lip? Yes. I have a bad lip biting/picking habit as well.

Are you afraid of needles? Very.

What is the last thing you lost? My mind? When is the last time you saw a bald person? I don’t recall.

What car were you last in? My brother’s. 

Do you like Batman? Yeah. Have you ever played tennis? Not seriously. I messed around for like a couple minutes and then gave up.

Can you see a star shape in the room you are in? I can. There’s a star topper on my mini Christmas tree.

What are you sitting on? My bed.

What is the last warm thing you touched? My coffee mug earlier.

Do you use hand sanitizer? Yes. This year more than ever.

Where do you want to go in life? Good question.

Are you sweating? No.

When is the last time you had to scratch an itch? Recently. But of course since you said that now I had to scratch my nose.

Are you in any kind of club or group that is trying to save animals? No.

Who is the last blonde you saw? I don’t recall. I don’t see a lot of people anymore and no one in my immediate family is blonde.

Where were you two hours after you got up, and what were you doing there? I was still in bed, either reading or scrolling through my social medias. It takes me hours now to drag myself out of bed. Do you wish for world peace? Of course that would be the dream.

Have you ever played fetch with a dog? Yeah, countless times.

What is the nearest object that is wood? The TV tray near my bed that I’ve been using as a bedside table.

Do you use Netflix? Yep.

Does your house have a fireplace? It does.

Do you wake yourself up in the morning, or does someone else? It’s generally myself or my alarm, but sometimes my mom or brother will to tell me something important as they’re leaving for work or something or because they’ve brought me food and/or coffee. That last one is the only time I like being woken up. You better have coffee for me, ha.

What kind of hoodie did you last wear? I think it was just a black one. I’ve been wearing sweatshirts most often, so I don’t remember.

Do you play games on your computer? I have the Sims 4 on my laptop.

What is the last video game that you played? Animal Crossing: New Horizons on the Switch earlier.

Have you ever pet a stingray? Nope. I’m good with never doing that.

If you were on vacation, would you ever go to Ireland? Sure.

Are you logged into Myspace right now? Uh, no. I haven’t logged onto Myspace in over a decade.

Did you have anything bad happen to you today? I was just in another shitty mood and that’s been happening like everyday lately and more intense.

Have you ever been to New York? No. I’d like to go someday.

Do you use the term "lol" if you don't have anything to say? Sometimes. It would have to fit of course in the conversation. I wouldn’t respond “lol” if the person was like, “Ugh, I feel like shit today.”

Should you be sleeping right now instead of taking this survey? Nah, it’s only 11:30PM.

Can you truly say you hate anyone? No.

Have you ever disected a baby pig in a class at school? I didn’t, no. We did do dissections in middle school science, but I just couldn’t do it. My partners did it and I somehow got away with it. Ugh, it was absolutely awful. The act itself and the fact the classroom smelled horrendous afterwards for days.

What brand of dish liquid do you use? Dawn.

When is the last time you ate a Hershey Kiss? It’s been years.

Do you ever feel unappreciated? I don’t feel deserving of being appreciated, so no.

Do you currently have any blemishes on your face? Not at the moment.

Who is the last baby you held? One of my cousins years ago.

Do you use smileys often in text convos? Not really. I don’t go crazy with the emojis.

Do you have the Google toolbar on your computer? Yeah.

Do you like Sunkist? Sure. It’s been years since I’ve drank it, though. Strawberry was my favorite.

Would you ever consider being a cannibal? Uh, absolutely not.

Did you forget something important in the past week? I don’t think so. Unless I forgot and still haven’t remembered.

Do you like learning new things? Yeah.

What color is your toothpaste? White.

Are the floors in your house creaky? No.

Do you fear death? Yes.

Is your mouth dry? Yes. It often is.

Do you have any scars from an animal? No.

Did you have fun with this survey? It was fine.

Was it random enough? Sure.

[headoverjojo]

Here we are here we are! Halloween special!! Firs of all, an immense thank you to @estellea who has been my beta-reader and whose support, advices and suggestions made this all possible! I mean, in general without her support I would have given up like months ago and more or less half of what I write and draw is basically out thanks to her constant support even when I’m horrendously down to the point that everyone would just be disgusted. She’s more a sister than a friend and really I’d never be thankful enough for everything she did and still does. Now let’s post it, I’m getting emotional-

You can read it also on AO3! 

Of course, feedbacks are always appreciated 💖

The Secret Life of Vampire in Neapolis’ Suburbs

There was one thing that Abbacchio detested more than Giorno and sunlight. Abbacchio hated with all his heart when things changed, especially when they changed for the bad. And that change was really, really bad.

As every evening, Fugo came to wake him up, after checking if the sun was already disappeared. He had always been the first one to wake up, since that crazy month when Giorno, damn half-vampire Giorno, had vampirized them all. Well, almost everyone; Mista managed to come out alive and without the two small dots on his neck which all the others had. And he managed to because he was already a night creature, a werewolf, to be precise. He was now living a chill life with his pack, but he still came to see them every day; they were his best friends, after all!

After knocking at Abbacchio’s bedroom door, Fugo went to check if Narancia was already awake, jumping with a screech when the boy hopped from the side, howling sharply like a banshee. Narancia’s loud laughters echoed in the old house, while Fugo was grasping at the ceiling as his life -or, better, non-life- depended by it. As soon as Fugo recollected himself, he jumped back on the floor, roaring and running behind Narancia, who was already running and flying at very fast speed, still laughing. Bruno just sighed, when the two flashed in front of him, and went straight to the kitchen to prepare breakfast.

Breakfast was a quick affair, now that they all could eat just one type of food, but this didn’t mean that it should have been always the same boring thing. There were original ways to prepare blood-based dishes, you know. By now, Bruno was specialized in preparing blood gelee, blood puddings, blood marmalade… he had found out to be very creative, in the kitchen. A good thing, as he was stuck with a group of teenagers difficult to satisfy.

He sighed, when Abbacchio’s roaring scoldings joined Narancia’s loud laughs and Fugo’s screams. The same thing, every single evening…

“You all, drop the crap and come to have breakfast, immediately!” his voice, unnaturally loud, boomed in the house -one the benefits from being a vampire, he supposed- and, in few seconds, Narancia and Fugo flew down, in their bat shape, still bickering and crying. Bruno sighed again, while Abbacchio, livid as always, and Giorno, still with his curlers on, came down as well.

“Narancia, Fugo, just human shape when we’re having meals.” Bruno reminded and, with a pop, the two transformed back to their original form, Fugo still grumbling and Narancia still chuckling. Bruno frowned, however, noticing that one of the seats was empty.

“Where’s Trish?” he asked, looking around. Everyone lifted their heads, sniffing at the air, but there wasn’t any trace of Trish, even of her smell. They all, immediately, grew worried: she hadn’t been out during daytime, had she?!

“Narancia, Fugo, you check the north area; Giorno, go at Mista’s and search in the east and south area with him and his pack; Abbacchio, we’ll check the ovest area. Let’s go!” with a loud poof, they all changed their shape and with a vigorous flap of wings, five big bats flew outside, searching for the lost member of their clan.

--

After hours of researches, they found nothing. Trish was nowhere to be found; even Mista and his buddies didn’t find any trace of her. Wasn’t she…? No, it couldn’t be. Trish loved to live, even if it was a peculiar life. Right…?

Just when sunrise was approaching the group headed home, defeated. Where was she…?

“Ah, finally you’re here! Where the hell have you been?! And what about your phones? C’mon guys, I get you’re gangsters and yadda yadda, but you’re modern gangsters!” Trish’s limpid voice reached their ears the right moment they entered in the house and the boys flew -literally- to her, scaring the hell out of her.

“What the-”

“Trish! Trish, you’re fine! Thank goodness, we thought you were dust, by now!” Narancia hugged her tightly, sniffling, to Trish’s utter surprise. What…?

“Guys, are you alright? Are you drunk? Why should I have turned into dust? And what the hell is wrong with this house, there’s so much chaos! Didn’t we have a housekeeper? Where is she?” she fired a bunch of questions, putting her fists on her hips, imposing. Everyone looked at each other, before looking back at her.

“Well, we had a housekeeper, if you remember, until someone decided that she was a good snack.” everyone eyed at Narancia, who just scoffed. “And since then, we never had one. You know… to avoid unwanted attentions.” Fugo explained, crossing his arms. Trish was as pale as a ghost and, at the same time, completely taken aback. Again, what?

“A snack?” she hoped to have heard or interpreted in the wrong way. Since when Narancia was a cannibal? And still, what about that dust thing?

“Yeah, He sucked her dry, poor Concetta.” Giorno sighed, closing his eyes. Trish’s empty gaze said everything about how much she was understanding about that situation. Now, that was weird. Why was Trish acting so weirdly? It almost seemed like she didn’t even remember that she was a vampire!

“Anyway, Trish, why are you asking? I mean, you know it. It happened little after, uh, Christmas 2004.” Narancia observer, shrugging. At Trish’s astonished silence, the group began to grow really worried. What was wrong with her?

“Trish… Trish, dear, do you remember it, right? About our housekeeper, about Mista’s pack, the explosive 2010 new year’s Eve, when Giorno woke up, at the end of 2001, and bit us all turning us into vampires?” Bruno asked, softly. Trish took a seat and that was her only answer.

--

“But how could it happen?” Abbacchio pondered, swirling a burgundy red liquid in a crystal glass. Fugo sighed, taking a sip from his own mug -a customized cup with “Edward Cullen’s a bottom” printed on-, pensive.

“Insolation.” he declared, claiming everyone’s attention. Giorno frowned, perplexed, and, so, Fugo proceeded to explain.

“Giorno, you’re just half-vampire, so you don’t count. We all know that sun can kill us, right? But yesterday it wasn’t sunny. It was cloudy. What if the daylight was enough to damage her, to, like, provoke an amnesia, but not enough to kill her? This would explain why she doesn’t remember anything about being a vampire but why she still knows where we live.” he gulped down the blood in his mug like a shot of coffee, sighing.

“We have to remind her about the whole vampire thing. We have to show her how we usually live and just hope it unlocks her memories.” he concluded, with a nod. Bruno passed a hand through his hair, leaning on the back of the seat.

“This is going to be a mess.” he muttered, already tired.

And, oh, he was right.

--

Trish had troubles to believe to the whole “we’re vampires and we’re in 2019!” story. First of all, weren’t vampires killed by sun, garlic, ash sticks and crosses? How could vampires live in Italy, that was full of all of them? Hell, Neapolis was the city of the sun, there were crosses and churches everywhere and don’t make her start with garlic!

“It’s actually pretty inaccurate. A vampire would die of garlic just if they’re already allergic to it, but it’s the same as peanuts or strawberries; crosses don’t hurt us, it was a bullshit invented to fight the fear; same as ash sticks. Our heart is already dead, stabbing it wouldn’t damage us at all. See.” Giorno explained, turning to his right side, the right moment when Narancia, launching himself from upstairs, screaming a loud “Leroyyyyyy Jenkiiiiinssss!” with an ash stick in his hand, landed on Abbacchio, playfully stabbing him in his heart. Before Trish could scream in horror, however, Abbacchio turned to the boy still on his back, completely ignoring the stick in his chest.

“It’s the third fucking coat you ruin, brat!” he roared, trying to shrug him off his back, while Narancia was laughing loudly.

“The Wednesday Ambush.” Giorno murmured, quietly watching Narancia transforming into a bat and flying away, immediately followed by a bigger and angry bat. On the floor, just a small puddle of blood and the stick signaled that something had happened.

“Why?” Trish exhaled, perplexed. Giorno shrugged, going to pick a cloth and bleach.

“‘Cause that’s how our life is. There’s not so much to do at night, even if we’re still in Passione, somehow. After years we came to a sort of routine.” the young man explained, while washing the blood away.

“Even social networks become boring, after a while.” Fugo added, while walking from the kitchen to the living room with a glittered mug filled with blood in his hands. The sight, the smell of it, were enough to make Trish’s throat hoarse and arid, as blood was the only thing that could alleviate that dryness. Giorno’s sharp eyes noticed how Trish cupped, for a second, her throat, and, after putting away the stained cloth and the bleach, he invited Trish to follow him to the living room, where Fugo was browsing on his phone while sipping his warm blood.

“Mind if we join you, Fugo?” Giorno asked, polite. Fugo too immediately noticed how Trish was acting and nodded, making place for them on the sofa.

“I swear, if Bruno sends another video of kittens in the group chat I’m going to screech.” Fugo grumbled, deleting the umpteenth video of kittens. Giorno huffed a small laugh, eyeing how Trish was staring at the cup.

“You would screech anyway.” he said, taking the cup from Fugo’s hand and taking a sip, before putting it back. Fugo hummed a “Fair point”, scrolling down the chat, before turning to Trish.

“Do you want a sip?” he offered her the cup, with a small smile. Trish gulped, feeling her throat pulsing. She wanted it…

“But… how do you drink it? You just… swallow it down?” the boys brightened at her question. She was finally getting accustomed again!

“Not exactly. You have to pull your fangs out.” Fugo started, showing her how to do it. He curled back his upper lip and, by doing so, his canines elongated to the point to be good fangs. Trish stared at it, shocked. Woah…

“And then you drink like this.” Fugo proceeded to show her how to drink and Trish could see that, even if it seemed that he was drinking normally, he was, in fact, sucking the blood through his fangs.

“All clear? Do you want to try?”he offered her his cup, that Trish took a bit hesitantly. This was so absurd…

However, when she bared her teeth like Fugo did, she felt her fangs emerging and she immediately sank them in the cup, sloppily sucking the blood up, feeling an immediate relief. Sweet nice…

Fugo and Giorno looked at her drinking, feeling relief washing over them. She was acting right…

Their Trish was coming back!

--

“Uh? Are we going out tonight? Where?” Trish crunched her bloody lollipop, making Bruno smile. She had always loved to crunch it… it was funny, she always said. And, also, it was the proof that her memories were, slowly but steadily, coming back.

“Yes. We’re going to meet with Mista in front of Castel dell’Ovo.” he confirmed, fixing the pins on the top of his head. His and the others’ style hadn’t changed much from those wild first months of 2001; it was a bit excessive, at the time, but now? Now they would have been the stars of the Milan Fashion Week.

“Sounds fun.” Trish threw the stick, perfectly aiming at the trash bin at the other side of the room, exulting, with Narancia, Fugo and Giorno, when she centered it. Bruno huffed a laugh, hearing Abbacchio’s muttered “Brats”; even if Leone always acted as a grumpy and gloomy old man, Bruno knew that he was really fond of the boys. He was just like this! And it also suited pretty well his vampire nature.

“Alright, kids, let’s go.” Abbacchio exhorted, getting up and putting on his dark coat stuffed and decorated with synthetic fur. Trish couldn’t help but to hide a grin, while putting on her own coat, black with pink decorations; Abbacchio was really suited to be a fashion vampire.

Trish never had so much fun, or, at least, for what she remembered. The sidewalk was a perfect catwalk and, oh, they were so at ease on it. By now, they had learned to ignore people’s gazes on them, on their clothes, flawless style; having so much time meant to have the chance to refine things like style even to the smallest detail and it showed. Noticing that Trish wasn’t really at ease, however, they squared protectively around her, chatting with her to distract her. It was way better…

“Ah, here you are! I was starting to worry, y’annow!” Mista exclaimed, exiting from a bakery with a small package in his hands. Trish couldn’t help but to smile: Mista too was always the same, always wearing that ridiculous bean hat and with his belly exposed even in the middle of the winter. Maybe his werewolf nature helped him to be always warm?

“Trish, dear!! It’s such a relief to see you!” he went straight to hug her, making her wheeze. Just Mista could make a creature who didn’t need to breath wheeze! She laughed a little, patting his back, content, huffing when he released her.

“So, Mista? Plans for the night?” Mista chuckled, showing the small bag he was holding. Trish sniffed something sweet, maybe whipped cream? And strawberries too…

“I have to feed the puppies, I’m in charge tonight. I’m about to throw a little party at my house, y’all are invited! C’mon!” he exhorted, gesturing to follow him, walking backside for a little, before turning to the right direction and taking Giorno under his arm, grinning. Giorno let him do what he wanted, rolling his eyes, but with a smile. He was his best friend, after all!

It didn’t take long to come to Mista’s house. The inside was dimly lighted by few appliques and Trish immediately sniffed a strong fur scent. That was the unmistakable house of a werecreature.

“Yo, Formaggio! Guess what I got?” Mista called, taking off his bean hat, freeing his unruly brown curls. Trish had always wondered how could so many curls stay hidden inside such a hat.

“What, blood-suckers?” the assassin appeared from the living room, waving at the group. Trish immediately tensed, ready to fight; why was a member of the Squadra Esecuzioni at Mista’s house?! And why no one was worried about it?!

Mista, noticing her worry and discomfort, smiled, reassuring.

“Trish, relax. He’s my cousin! More or less. We’re like… third grade cousins from mom’s side, yeah, Formaggio? Oh, also, I’ve got cake!” he laughed at Formaggio’s “Wohoo!” and passed him the cake. “Anyway, my family is big. I’m related to half Naples, in a way or another! And Formaggio happened to inherit the weregenes too, but he’s a werecat, not a werewolf. It’s the same as being werewolf, but, instead of howling to the moon, he spits fur balls.” Mista headed to the living room, where Formaggio was unwrapping a beautiful strawberry and whipped cream cake, Mista’s favourite. Trish looked around, curious, seeing that the whole room was decorated as for a party. There were balloons, garlands, food and blood for them… he really was about to throw a party!

“Are they here?! Can we eat now?!” a pack of kids of various ages, from five to fourteen, ran into the room with a loud rumble, immediately going to Mista and Formaggio. The younger man huffed, immediately picking up the cake and lifting it above his head, out of the kids’ reach.

“Not everyone’s here, we still miss uncle, so keep down those dirty paws!” he replied, while the puppies immediately pouted at his words. Seeing the sheer magnitude of disbelief on Trish’s face, Formaggio hurried to explain that mess.

“Those are our little cousins from the countryside. It’s easier to host them here, so they can go to school here in Naples.” he said, putting in line the kids, from the tallest to the smallest.

“Michelangelo, Vittorina, Ciro, Domenico, Agata and Carlo. Puppies, say hello to the blood-suckers.” Formaggio grinned when the kids chanted obediently a “Good evening, blood-suckers”, making Mista and the whole vampiric clan roll their eyes in sync.

“Who’s the last guest, Mista?” Bruno asked, curious. He started to feel cold shivers running down his spine when he saw Mista’s grin.

It was the grin that anticipated troubles.

“Oh, someone you already know.” he said, right before the doll bell rang. Mista trotted to open the door, leaving the group full of doubts and of an unspoken dread that was transformed into reality when they heard the voice that boomed from the doorsteps.

“Mista, you invited the vampires too? What a pleasure! We hadn’t seen for years! Since 2010 New Year’s Eve, right? What a party!” A tall man made his entrance in the room, laughing when the puppies sprinted to go dangling from his arms and neck, chewing at everything they could reach. Trish observed with stupor the man, his medium-long blonde hair, his cowboy hat… no, well, his entire cowboy attire. He seemed popped straight up from a western.

“Uncle Hol, do you remember Trish? She lost her memory, so I was thinking that maybe we could throw a little party like that year, yeah? It’d help her!” Mista explained, lively, while the others’ faces dropped in a second. Oh, no, no, he couldn’t be serious…

“Mista, you want to replay the 2010 explosive New Year’s Eve? The Big Kaboom?” Fugo exhaled, shocked. Mista’s grin was the only answer they needed.

“Oh, you can bet it, Fugo.” by the others’ faces, Trish got that the Big Kaboom hadn’t been something so good. Maybe she should have been scared?

“If this time things go beyond control, I don’t want to get involved.” Bruno muttered, with a big breath, ready, more or less, to face the Big Kaboom 2.0.

If it would have been useful to help Trish to completely regain her memories, then let the house explode, he thought.

[vinodiriso]

CHARACTER SHEET --- TIMELINE.

NAME: Adrian Mihai Lupei.

PLACE OF BIRTH: Alba Iulia, Transylvania, Romania.

NATIONALITY: Romanian.

CALLSIGN: Prototip.

ALIASES: Lup-ul [formerly], Dmitry Blatov.

BIRTHDAY: 15/11 (Scorpio).

OCCUPATION: Soldier of fortune.

BASE OF OPERATION: Bucharest, Romania.

AFFILIATION: Romanian-Moldovan Fourth Anti-Omnic Regiment (Românesc și Moldovenesc Anti-Omnic A Patra Regiment) [formerly].

BACKGROUND: read more ‘cause it’s pretty long.

It’s hard as fuck to be a boy and grow up without a father. Shit, do you have any idea how goddamn disheartening it is to feel lost, hopeless, and seeing nothing when you dare looking back? Who the fuck was supposed to be my model? Who the fuck should I have been inspired from when choosing the man I had eventually to become?

But, hey, somehow I managed. I’ve become a man… and a fucking ugly one. The name’s Adrian — no, not Edrian, you fucker, it’s Adriàn — you know what? Call me Prototip. It’s gonna make it easier. Nowadays it feels more me than my actual name regardless.

I went to school for I think 8, maybe 9 years. My grades weren’t half bad, I was a smart kid, always been, but mamă alone couldn’t bring home enough money to sustain the family. It was only the two of us, sure, but when at every corner of the street you can find a fucking tin can doing whatever job better than a man in flesh and bones, who the fuck would hire a slow, sloppy, fragile human person? Soon enough, I was off my way. Already mentioned I was a smart boy, didn’t I? I learned not to shy away from anything. I am not lying when I tell ya I have literally swum in sewage, punched my way through asbestos and other cancerous shit (tsk, like today I should care!), breathed in mouthful of the toxic, radioactive wastes of old, abandoned Omnic factories to raid spare parts… surviving is surviving, dude. And surviving in an underdeveloped, poor, rural zone of Eastern Europe usually means to deal with the nastiest shit you could imagine. You want to know when was the first time I was clobbered over a job? The first time I had to shove a knife between a man’s ribs? Yeah, better.

Managed to stay in the world this way for six years, right before my beloved country, trăiască!, decided they had to do something to stop the raids of the Western Russia Omnium that had brought, in 10 years, Eastern Europe to its knees. Or rather, that we had to do something to stop the raids, because we had to enlist to the new formed Romanian-Moldovan Ally Military Force to save our houses and our families. I was… shit, 20? Yeah, somewhat around that. No future, no family, no home, no expectations… the army promised it would give me a job, warm food when I was hungry, some blankets when it was cold as fuck outside… I mean, for me, back then, it was a radiant future.

It was not only me anyway, if that face of yours want to hint at that. Do you have any idea how many fucking loners like me war in my country has produced? Finally the government had found a way to make use of us; turning us into meat to slaughter and butcher, testers for their new, shiny toys. There were others… shit, the names have become so hard to recall… Bogdan, Daniel, Eugen, Isabela… yeah, those were my friends at the boot camp.

Ha… it’s funny, at times, when I think back of it… six months of training non-stop, day and night, the food was even scarcer than what I used to eat, scrawny boys and girls sent off to die because, after all, it was not like the world was ever going to miss us.

However, I proved to be different. I don’t remember exactly what the head trainer back at the boot camp said, something like “a talent for shooting” or some shit along these lines. Apparently, my aim was naturally trained… yeah, ‘naturally’. Not like I had been aiming down the barrel of my American magnum for the previous six years. What a fucking retard.

I got signed up for something a little bit more special. Two years more off the front, Adi was about to become a sniper for the Fourth Regiment, the big names: Alexandru Averescu, Constantin Prezan, Ion Antonescu… never heard of them? Oh my God, remind me why the fuck I am still talking with you? Yeah, those were big names for us, mareșal, nothing to kid with. I was good, I mean, I don’t want to come out as big-mouthed or anything, but--- like, shit, I had proved to be worth my place. Again, it was not like I wanted to protect my nation, forget about that shit, but like… I finally had a place to feel good in, you know? Call me a romantic, but that was a good thing to have in your chest. And I was so sick of dealing only with anger and bruises.

The Regiment fought the Omnium on the Ukrainian border for 4 years. I got many a commendation for my work, started to make a name for myself little by little. It was like I was born to have a rifle in these scarred hands of mine, a gift from above I had just found out. They called me “Lup-ul”, back in the day; it means “the wolf” in Romanian, a reference to my surname, Lupei. Yeah, I know, pretty basic, but it does have its kick, no? Anyways… good times are always so fast to pass.

We were based in Lysychansk, lovely place to raise kids if you ignore the bomb dropping on your head every 3 hours either from the regular army, the anarchists or the fucking bots. Mission was going smooth, backup was waiting for us just a couple of kilometres away, but it happened: my whole team got captured. There is a reason why I mentioned the anarchists, my friend. Ever heard of Beznă? Mh, at least what Romanians call Beznă; the Polishes, Ciemność; the Ukrainians, Темрява; the Russians, темнота́… and I don’t know what else. Terrorists. People that believe that a  world strangulated in chaos would be better than the mess we have now. At this point, I don’t know if they are entirely wrong.

At first, we thought we would have been sort of pieces to trade for Beznă to seal an unregistered deal with the Romanian Army… no, we were too naive to think that. I can’t and won’t tell you just what they did us, because the last ten years of my life I have tried to tear those memories away from my brain as hard as I could. If you really are eager to know, I was detained in their Siberian facility for four years before I broke free… I was the sole survivor of my team. The shit I got exposed to made me faster, stronger, smarter, more sensitive to stimuli. Paradoxically, I became a better soldier than I already was by getting captured by the enemy. I already knew a bit of Ukrainian back when I was detained so I got to catch some whispers, some gossips, but still I couldn’t understand why we got experimented and tested after, for what goal. Apparently, we were weapons for the Beznă to take over the Eastern Europe regimens. The shot didn’t miss the mark any which ways: my companions still died for ideals they did not stand for.

Back to the story, I learned that the Fourth Regiment had me and my teammates listed as deserters and we were actively sought after by the hounds of the Romanian Army. So I decided to hide in Siberia for the following year, got a new identity, lived off a nomadic style, killing animals and humans alike to eat; animals for their meat, humans for their bounties. What? Do you think I am some sort of cannibal? Oh, yeah, just because I am Romanian you think I am a vampire? Fuck off, dude.

Eventually the Romanians gave up… mostly because they lost the war. That was a hard blow for the country, but we didn’t crumble under the weight of that defeat. Romanians are tough people. We have come back from worse. As long as I was regarded, I came out of hiding, intentioned to get my name back, a new life away from conflicts, blood, war… it was impossible. Believe me, I have tried, I have tried hard, but I was no longer fit for the society. PTSD, maybe, or just I got too used to have my hands drenched in blood, whatever shit it is, I have never been able to be Adrian again. So I just embraced what I had become: Prototip AE92890, Prototip for friends.

Killer for hire, undercover agent, soldier, terrorist, I have been everything. But the job that signed me for my life was probably the only one I did for the big shots; yeah, you know who I am talking about, the heroes of the world, or rather the self-proclaimed heroes. Worked with late Commander Reyes Gabriel and Sarge Gérard Lacroix at the Lacroix Extraction Operation; intended to be back-up, I was given a more relevant position when Commander Reyes got a taste of what I was worth. I remember that day like it was yesterday, not because I was particularly attached to that job –- or at least, I wasn’t before I met him. Clarence Duncan, daughter of James Duncan, an American senator. God, I remember those bright, baby blue eyes looking up at me in fright and confusion when we got him and Madame Amelie out of the Talon labs. I was so in fucking rapture after seeing those eyes; yes, he was sickly pale, and he smelled like that chemical miasma I grew to hate when I was detained by Beznă, he was skinny, weak, frail, unable to stand on his own, but those eyes spoke to me at a level deeper than I could have ever imagined.

Even after the mission, I kept in touch with Clarence. He knew I was a mercenary, that I risked my life out there everyday, and many times he had asked me to give up that crap and join him in a normal life but… I have already told you. I was no longer fit for society. He ended up entering my world, although from an external point of view: he became a member of Overwatch council board. I was so proud of him, watching him as he fulfilled her dreams made me foolishly think that maybe if he was by my side I could have succeeded being a civilian… we tried, after Overwatch was disbanded.  Rainy Washington D.C., a small house as far as possible from his dad he started to fall out with. Those were good days, dude: got a job as an omnic repair operator (what? no, never did it once in my life, but after all the strains they got into me to enhance my ‘brain capacity’ do you think I could care less?), he was getting into politics, he was doing good, and the bed was warm every night, if you know what I mean. He was my dream, dude--- he still is. A dream I fucking destroyed.

Blame it on the drink, blame it on the fact that I was growing restless without gripping a weapon, blame it on whatever you wish, but blame it on me. I sent everything to Hell. I guess I don’t deserve to have nice things after all, uh? I can’t keep them. He kicked my ass back to where it belonged: the dark alleys, the rot-smelling corners of the metropolis, the cold world where being Adrian would only mean being weak, the world where I can be what I need to be: Prototip.

[smolfangirl]

We just smiled cause sometimes words aren’t the right words to say

A sound so sweet, of you and me - 2 - First white lies

Raise your hand if Lutteo killed you yesterday! 🙋 I am still recovering… anyway, I hope you enjoy this one and have a nice weekend! :D

Story: In a world where you only know who your soulmate is by calling them by their first name, Matteo soon finds that the smallest words can be the hardest to say.

Word count: 2.7k

She sat on her favorite spot by the bar.

Matteo knew it was her favorite spot because after nearly every shift for weeks, he found her there, ordering a milkshake. Strawberry-flavor.

If she intended to flirt with him like that, it was the most innocent flirting he had ever seen. Seriously, he loved it.

He had been looking for her without a valid reason forming in his mind, but since she directed all her attention to her phone, Matteo decided sneaking up on her worked well enough. Nothing topped her wide eyes full of surprise whenever he successfully startled her.

Yet, as he walked closer, he got lost for a moment when his eyes landed on the softness in which her curls fell over her shoulders, stroking her back. His hand already reached out for a strand, just to feel how it would run through his hands silky and smooth like the satin sheets on his bed.

Not wanting to ruin his plan, he refrained himself to lean forward instead – “Boo!”

With a little scream, Luna jumped on her place. Little drops of her drink sailed through the air before they settled mostly on her shirt. “What the…”, she blurted out, turning around to Matteo who failed to hold back a grin.

“Hi, munchkin”, he greeted her with the most harmless smile he could muster. With an added “You won’t mind, will you?”, he sat down and took a sip out of her glass. (Nico’s questionable hair style choices be damned, but the boy knew how to mix a decent shake.)

At Luna’s offended stare, a laugh burst through his lips. “You always say I’m a strawberry, so I’m allowed to drink that.”

Her mouth still hung a little bit open. “That’s cannibalism”, she protested, meanwhile she pulled the glass out of his reach. “And if anything, you’re a stealing strawberry. Seriously, how did your parents raise you? Don’t you have manners?”

Matteo shrugged. A small dot of milkshake right above her lips distracted him, teased him until he considered leaning in and just gently let his finger wipe it away.

He shook his head at himself.

Even with their constant teasing she probably would flip him off for a move like this and he didn’t dare to risk that. In the end, he went with: “Ever heard of a strawberry with manners?”

Luna denied.

“See? And you know, my parents never have time for me, so I guess you can’t really blame them.” Surprised, Matteo held in. By no means had he intended to blurt that out, something so deeply personal. Not even most of his friends were aware of his family situation.

Luna’s face mirrored his own bewilderment. “Wait, what?”

Sighing, Matteo fixed the scratches carved into the table. “They work all the time, they don’t even take me on vacations or anything, but they make up for it with money, which is better than nothing, I guess.” Not for the first time around her did he feel overwhelmed enough to unmask himself. With Gastón, it had taken him ages to share the deepest, most hidden parts of his feelings, soulmates or not. Luna, however, radiated a sensation of warmth and trust that Matteo found no cure again, although he fought and fought only to leak like a broken water tap again.

When he looked up, her gaze rested on him, all calm and open and only a hint of pity.

“I’m so sorry”, her hands reached out, carefully stroking his hand. A tingling sensation spread out wherever their skin met. Her touch burned him, and her eyes beamed too bright, so Matteo swallowed and looked away once more.

“Hang on, does that mean you traveled to Cancún alone?”, Luna asked.

“No, Ámbar’s godmother offered to take me with them, which is nice of her, since Ámbar and I aren’t dating anymore.”

Suddenly, her hand was gone, leaving a coldness that hadn’t been there before. Luna leaned closer, her voice a whisper nearly inaudible, “You were dating Ámbar?”

Honestly, her reaction – the extent of it especially – confused him. It also amused him, more than it maybe should. “Yeah, but it wasn’t good, so it didn’t last long. What, is that so shocking to you that you lost your voice?”  

Wide green eyes, a classic expression of hers, along with the slightest pink tainting her cheeks. “Eh, well, I don’t know, I can’t really imagine it. She’s not your soulmate, is she?” Matteo involuntarily laughed. Ámbar and him being soulmates, he didn’t want to imagine that in any universe.

“Of course not. Besides, I already have one.”

“Oh.”

Did he imagine the shadow of disappointment flickering over her face? Either way, something changed in Luna, something in her movements seemed tenser than before. “Can I ask who it is?”, she inquired with hardly contained curiosity staining her voice.

“Yeah, sure, you already know him. It’s Gastón.”

Another layer of confusion added to her face, just a little bit more and he’d have to look for a restart button for her brain. “But he’s with Nina”, she stammered.

“Munchkin, please, ever heard of platonic soulmates?”, he grinned, suddenly euphoric when her eyes lit up at his nickname, “Just because we’re soulmates doesn’t mean we need to get married, you know?”

“I knew that”, Luna mumbled, but hid her face behind her hair nonetheless.

A fond smile slipped on his face as he watched her trying to cover up. Supporting his arms on the table, Matteo slowly brushed her hair away until she glimpsed up at him. “Come on, you look like you need a break from all that unnecessary information I dumped on you. And I happen to have the perfect distraction for that.”

The corner of her mouth curled up the tiniest fraction. “Should I be scared?” Matteo pretended to consider his answer. “Not if you don’t crash into me, no.”

Her whole body snapping backwards, Luna first eyed the hallway leading to the rink, then groaned. “Chico fresa, please, don’t ask me to skate with you. I just had a shift.” Slurping the rest of her drink, she sent her best puppy look in his direction. And damn, if it wasn’t on the top of his list of irresistible things, he had no clue what else would be.

Yet, he shook his head. “With all respect, what an extraordinarily lame excuse. Didn’t you tell Tamara just yesterday that your batteries never run out?”

No response, only a sigh. “Oh no”, he exclaimed and folded his hands over his chest, right above his heart, “Is it because you despise me and don’t want to skate with me so that’s why you’re hiding behind white lies?”

Luna gasped, in a swift movement mirroring him except that her hands covered her mouth instead. “Oh no! You got me, chico fresa, you saw through my disguise! What do I do now?”

It’d be a flawless performance if she had kept that laugh away after her last words, but now her shoulders quivered in a rhythm similar to the one of his heart.

Again, Matteo bridged some distance between them. Luna stopped laughing. “I believe I have an idea.”

He beamed with joy, especially when a thousand stars dazzled in her eyes as she returned his gaze. They followed him as he stood up, walked over and bowed down to his little chica delivery. “Milady, will you grant me the honor of skating with my humble self?”

“Humble?”, she raised an eyebrow. However, taking his hand, she still allowed him to pull her on her feet and Matteo wondered if the grin on his lips would ever leave for good.

His legs were dangling over the edge of his couch, moving in lazy circles. The sun hit his window in this particular angle that hurt his eyes, but unlike usually he kept staring into the light. Thoughts of Luna haunted his mind. Thoughts of her hand intertwined in his when they glided over the rink, of how quickly she improved and of the ease in which she followed his silent lead.

And finally, her smile.

Her smile that somehow outshined the brightest star in the blue sky blending him right this moment. His lips curled up at the memory of the last weeks. They connected like the pieces of a puzzle, it felt like everything fell into place and he had been blind to the missing spot all his life before. Imagining life without her somewhere around him felt weird, as if he tried to remember how he learned to walk on his own two feet.

Suddenly, a voice cut through to him, pulling him out of his daydream. “Matteo!”

It took him a solid moment to recognize it as Gastón’s, who sat on the other side of the couch. “Are you even listening, astronaut?”, he asked, and Matteo instantly felt intimated by the appearing smirk.

“What were you saying?”, Matteo replied, sending a wordless apology in Gastón’s direction.

His best friend sighed. “You were thinking about Luna, no? I know that smile. If you’re not careful, your eyes will turn into actual hearts, so maybe at least try to play it cool, bro.”

Matteo snorted, if only to keep a last fraction of his pride. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” In return, he received a glare so full of disbelief, Gastón wouldn’t have to add anything. Naturally, he did anyway, “Matteo. Astronaut. Bro. You don’t need to lie to me. I’m in a loving relationship, and not even Nina and I spend as much time together as you and Luna.”

Perhaps Gastón hit a truth spot, perhaps Luna and him were practically glued to each other. Perhaps, yet he’d never let him know that. “Nina and you are all over each other all the time, no way are Luna and I as bad as that.”

With a heavy sigh on his lips, Gastón shook his head. “Let me rephrase that. Lately, you’re orbiting around the moon all day, so will you please tell me what’s up with that?”

“Nothing. We’re just friends.”

A frustrated groan reached Matteo’s ears. As he turned his head away just for the blink of an eye, he grinned. His answers drove Gastón crazy, yes, but at least he made him give up on his interrogation.

(For now.)

Matteo waited a few steps behind the entry when she stood in front of him out of nowhere. With a hug too short but with a smile too bright, she wished him a good morning and just like that, a new nickname for her popped up in his mind.

“Good morning, solare. Did you sleep well?”

She broke apart, the ever-apparent blush spreading right above her cheekbones. “Another one?” Confused, he raised an eyebrow at her. “Another one what? Do you mean another nickname?” When she nodded, her curls bounced up and down, something he’d started to find endlessly cute. “It’s like, what, the fifth?”

“Way to complain”, Matteo laughed while they made their way through the hallway. His feet automatically slowed down, made sure Luna could keep up without him even growing aware of this routine. “Actually, I should be the one complaining. You only have one nickname for me.”

A giggle, and he promptly forgot what they were talking about when she took his arm, clinging to his side. “But do you really need another nickname? If you ask me, chico fresa fits you perfectly.”

From the moment they met again, they’d been dancing around their real names like this. Before he realized it, calling her everything else but Luna turned into a habit too strong to be turned off.

Then came the moment Matteo realized and understood the struggle with first names, how they could get caught in your throat, stuck to the inside, impossible to spit out. Ever since, it got harder and harder to gather the letters of her name, meanwhile one of his nicknames for her slipped with ease.

He never run out of them, just like she never ran out of smiles when he used them. And he adored those smiles, he’d do anything to bring them to the surface.

“But if I ask you, you also believe it was me who skated into you, and we both know this is not the case. So, ultimately, can I really trust your judgement?”

Luna stopped, causing Matteo to tremble too. Turning to her, he found her with her arms firmly on her hips, a dangerous sparkle in her green eyes. “Hey!”, she protested and for a second, he truly believed she’d say his name, simply so she could properly yell at him.

His heart skipped a beat.

Another one, a third. In fact, it only picked up its beat again when she continued, “Chico fresa, did no one ever tell you not to lie? It was your fault!”

The bell rang and interrupted their conversation, which was a shame, really, he had his comeback already waiting on the tip of his tongue. With barely a few seconds left, he pulled her into a hug and whispered, “Find me another nickname and we’ll talk about it again.”

It was in the afternoon when Luna figured she needed some help with the whole nickname causa. For the rest of the day, she’d been hunting down ideas only to dismiss every single one of them. Nina already had raised her eyebrows at her and asked what exactly drove her so crazy that crossed out scrambles filled her notebook.

Luna had shaken her head at her friend, unable to fathom her thoughts into proper sentences. She needed someone who knew Matteo better than anyone, someone who could come up with a nickname out of nowhere.

She needed his soulmate. (Weirdly enough, that thought repeatedly left a dizzy sensation in her chest, like she’d got up too fast and now the nausea flooded her veins.)

She found him by the lockers.

“Gastón, hi! Can I talk to you for a second?”, she asked, not sure how to approach this. Although she hung out with Nina and Matteo a lot, Gastón seemed more like an acquaintance than a friend.

He snapped his head in her direction, obviously surprised she wanted to talk to him, and not to his absent best friend. “What did he do?”, he blurted out.

“What? Oh, Matteo?”, she said with a laugh while she brushed a loose strand behind her ear. “Nothing, I just need your help with something.” A sigh left Gastón’s mouth, so relieved she wondered what his imagination had come up with. He sat down on the bench, beginning to put off his skates. “Okay, shoot.”

Luna cleared her throat. “So, Matteo told me you���re his soulmate.”

Hesitantly, he mustered her. “Yeah, I am. What do you want to know, his favorite pun? Cause he hates them all.”

“No, no”, Luna declared, “Like, I already know he does.” Gastón shook his head, disbelief tainting his expressions like a cloud in an otherwise blue sky, “Something must have gone wrong with this whole soulmate thing, I can’t believe mine has no sense of humor.”

She giggled, meanwhile opening her locker and grabbing her skates. The memory of the time she met Matteo again popped up like a slide show of pictures she could paint with closed eyes. He’d been so offended at her nickname, perhaps Gastón was onto something here.

“Anyway, what was the reason you wanted to talk to me? Not that I don’t like gossiping about Matteo with you.” “

Her skate dropped out of her hand. The nickname, right.

Luna cursed and picked the skate up under the amused eyes of Gastón. “Yes, there is. So, Matteo and I were talking this morning”, she explained to be interrupted by an outburst from the boy on the bench – “No! No way! Such shocking news! Hang on, I’ll get Jazmín to make an announcement on Fab&Chic!”

With a glare she had copied from Matteo, Luna managed to shut him up. However, inaudible mutters kept coming from his mouth, it sounded suspiciously close to “You’re spending way too much time together.”

“Hey, this is important”, Luna called for his attention, “Well, we talked, and he complained I have only one nickname for him, and I wanted to ask if you happen to have any ideas?”

As she talked, she tied her laces, so she didn’t notice it immediately.

After a few seconds though, when Gastón still failed to reply, she tilted her head until his face reappeared in her vision. He grinned, he grinned so wildly that it had to make his muscles sore. “Oh, Matteo totally won’t like this.”  

[stone-man-warrior]

February 19, 2021: 9:48 am:

==================================================

Observation:

A series of events that led to an incoming call on my phone is worthy of note.

This email promotion from American Music Supply came in yesterday afternoon at 4:01 pm. The “01″ being of interest as a “perpetuation” statement.

Features Shure Wireless products.

This arrived at 8:21 am shortly after I went online with the computer. From Mariam Webster, Week in Review:

I was interested in “Kerfuffle” having seen Boris Johnson use that word in a Tweet last week or so.

Here, we get some insight from MW about “Kerfuffle”. They side-step “Kerfuffle”, and move over to “Kafuffle” in their explanation of word use historically in literary works.

So, I saw that the letter “R” had been taken out, in favor of the letter “F” for the spelling of a different word, explaned with obscure litterary reference where I see little association to Boris Johnson’s use of a different word, that is similar to “Kafuffle”.

I make assessment mentally: “There must be an “RF” frequency generator around here somewhere” I thought to myself.

I did that assessment about radio frequency, then looked at the ad for the sure products again, and clicked the link in the email to get to the page below that explains more about wireless transmitters made by Shure.

That is exactly the moment the phone rang, after seeing that Kerfuffle is not Kafuffle, and the difference is an “RF” re-arrangement, and is based on a Boris Johnson tweet, and was announced by MW, the source authority of all things “dictionary text”. As I accessed an advertisement about wireless transmitters, a call incoming from 541-641-7862 at 9:45 am, just at moment I accessed the Shure page from the AMS email promotion shown above, is notable.

The listed source area of the call. Means nothing.

Yoncala.

Must be a joke sent by Boris Johnson.

Boris playfully says: “I tire of this”, with that call.

Those words are made famously recognizable by a local attorney by the name of Christopher Mecca, who is known to say: “I tire of this” when he gets frustrated about things he loses control of.

Some observations I made about that Shure ad, includes that the grey color is both on the background and on the text, making a difficult read due to reduced contrast between text and background. Is a “Gamma Adjustment” statement, and is a “place where opposites meet” sort of statement with the use of the grey color. It’s complicated, you need to understand the Queen’s Black & White Television, and that it has a brightness, contrast, and volume knob, sometimes the reception is not quite right, and you have to smack it up side of the cabinet to make the picture more clear.

Sophisticated, but with only three knobs.

From there, we can talk about Joe Biden‘s fake bullshit rhetoric terror command language in that video speech this morning where “file cabinets w/replaceable locks and roller bearing drawers” is the message presented in the code.

Specifics about these two file cabinets are part of today’s Joe Biden terror speech.

“you have to smack it upside the cabinet to make picture satisfactory” ... part of the operational characteristics of the Queen‘s black & white television.

“Exchange “head” for “cabinet”, for a clearer picture and some Smack”

That is the Joe Biden message in his Twitter terror speech today.

There is more, But Joe is saying he wants another crew of terror assassins to come take a whack at me, and is offering some heroin to the successful assassins.

Here is the link to the Joe’s Happy Heroin Smack Hit Orders.

There is other stuff in there too.

https://twitter.com/StateDept/status/1362797657580838913

10:49 am:

These assholes are hijacking my computer again through the Norton Symantec internet security from Centurylink terror cell HQ, I suspect they source is at Grants Pass Community Church today, and is mobile terror hacker tools provided by Centurylink ISP.

Happened the moment I posted this Tumblr entry just now.

That pop up window about Dark Web is the hack, it has a bug built in and is disguised as a friendly reminder, Canadian style.

=======================

11:09 am:

had to reset the digital signal amplification module, restart the computer and runs scans with the same security product that is being used to do the hacking into my computer, normally I would have swapped out the flux capacitor for a freshly charged one, but those are no longer available.

=========================================

It’s very clear that Christopher Mecca is in charge of today’s hit from Biden’s terror team (Ann Wilson at Amp Guru on Kauai Ranch).

Early this morning I saw someone wearing the Brown KKK Robe out side of my kitchen window at about 7:00 am.

I’ll wager that was Christopher Mecca.

He sometimes wears a orange hard hat, and that has a wireless guitar transmitter attached to the back side of the orange hard hat. They use that communication when iPhone blu-tooth comm devices are too risky.

Chris Mecca has/had an office at the Sears shopping center in Grants Pass nearby the La Burrita Restaurant where John Kitzhaber was killed in defense many years ago.

Chris Mecca is an attorney, but lives on the property owned by Grants Pass Community Church at the house where the pastor is supposed to live.

They are all pirates, the attorney is a terrorist, is the pastor.

Chris Mecca preferes to attack me from the Chapman County Courts terror cell at 3701 Russell Road. He is going to be upset about the death of his comrade County Court Judge Honorable Patrick Wolke last few days ago. Pat needs Chris to operate, and Chris needs Pat to operate. Pat is dead. That will cause problems for Chris.

Chris has a lovely Cannibal wife by the name of Kelly Mecca, she has worked at Ray’s Food Place for more than twenty years, capturing, torturing, killing, and then eating the vacationing tourist victims who visit this area for the great recreation that it offers. All of the local SDA who attend the Grants Pass Community Church are cannibals, they eat human meat. Sometimes the human meat is available at the Ray’s Food Place Butcher Counter if you know the magic words to get some of it.

There is a lot of poison gas already released in the neighborhood. The kind that makes blurred vision, and swollen and painful right leg conditions.

Please send help.

US Military is required, there are 50,000 terror soldiers in Josephine county alone, many hundreds of thousands more throughout the state of Oregon.

Bring your own hospital, those are occupied by the terror army here.

============================================

5:48 pm:

Here is more about the Joe Biden Schnitzel German phile cabinet terror hit presented on Twitter earlier today:

This tweet generated from a Twitter Trend about a 27 year old (is “27 Club“ and is a shape, a “cube” or “container”)

This is the same as the keys that are in the phile cabinet in the ad above where I just read the information provided in the Joe Biden speech in order to know how to find the phile cabinet’s that were shown above and the other information contained outside of the Biden Phile cabinet for the Chris Mecca hit orders.

(think in terms of that report about terrorism I sent to the white house the other day, where I was provided with 2000 characters at the WH website to say my thing, not enough room to work with, so inclusion of external information provided with the links to this StoneMan Warrior account so they could be fully informed, and advised of the sophistaced nature of the terror reported, and pointed out the 911 Emergency Phone Service is controlled by terror army, does not work, and only brings assassins.)

That leads to anothet email from music industry, this one featuring Electrovoice Speakers sent later in the day today at 4:01 pm, 24 hours after that other email was sent with the Shure Wireless products.

When I click that and apply the clues in the “Key Tweet” (Mike Pompeo Keynote Speaker at the SXSW convention where Bernie Sanders showed up at the Boris Johnson Basketball Game, from Yesterdays “Iranian Terror Rental Service At US State Department, The Blinken Tugboat Tweet about a educational situation, all inclusive here along with my reports of terrorism ... that is why the file cabinets are necessary, and is why Dolly Parton was featured in news yesterday to say the “Statue of Limitations Timing is off” sort of message about carting away my belongings.

It’s complicated like that.

But, click the link as directed by Mike Pompeo disguised as Nicholas G, Riech in the Tweet shown above, do math, and here are the file cabinet drawers below symbolically, somehow.

The “drawers are removable from the cabinet” is part of the message, and is part of the Joe Biden instructions to kill me and take down this Tumblr account.

Give me an interview about terrorism, and I will gladly decode the rest of the comm in the speakers.

https://www.americanmusical.com/electro-voice-etx15sp-15-1800-watt-powered-subwoofer/p/ELE-ETX15SP

https://www.americanmusical.com/electro-voice-etx18sp-18-1800-watt-powered-subwoofer/p/ELE-ETX18SP

https://www.americanmusical.com/electro-voice-ekx15sp-15-1300-watt-powered-subwoofer/p/ELE-EKX15SPUS

https://www.americanmusical.com/electro-voice-ekx18sp-18-1300-watt-powered-subwoofer/p/ELE-EKX18SPUS

Joe Biden has it worked out where he is able to send out terror commands and hit orders that are hidden inside of coded information the is about his pedophilia preferences of little red headed girls, and, he still gets a pass on both the terrorism and the pedophilia.

=====================

In the unlikely event there could be someone watching the baby other than me, be advised that I am waiting to see a Tweet from UK that says something to the affect of “upside down sterling”, “dead whale”, or maybe “sterling roll over” kind of Tweet. They already said “Sterling remains buoyant” night before last at Reuters UK. The is not a good thing for Britain, the sterling is metal, should stay under the water.

If the sterling goes belly-up in some way, that to me says the Guantanamo Bay Submarine in the Gulf of Mexico, a British boat, and maybe the other one at Pelican Bay in northern California,was sunk, caught, or are otherwise out of commission.

I’ve been poisoned with a variety of airborne gasses non-stop for the past week since I sent that report of terrorism to the White House, and I don‘t really want to do any more decoding work, I feel sick, my leg hurts real bad, and there is no help to stop the attack. Twitter is still Tweeting, and that tells me there is never going to be an end to the terrorism we face in USA.

=======================================

8:18 pm:

“Beyond Westlessness“

Remember what I was saying about “Bee in your Bonnet” is an SDA expression used for communincation between SDA terror cells to share “brainstorming” ideas, basically “Bee in Your Bonnet” is an idea, something that an SDA terror cell has used for capturing US Citizens, and works good, so they share their ideas with one another about what works, and what does not work I suppose is also included in Bee in Your Bonnet” SDA terror comm.

Here, the “Bee in Your Bonnet” announcement is presented on the header of the Twitter account featuring Joe Biden, a Seventh Day Adventist Cannibal and a Pedophile who seeming was released from federal prison, given a $1,000 suit to wear, and the keys to the White House as a gift from Britain to USA.

“Bee Yond” (do your own math, I tire of this)

Bugs Bunny at the White House. Bugs is funny, but he’s an asshole.

https://twitter.com/MunSecConf

That Presidential video I tried to link above won‘t play at any of the places it’s posted, if you did not see it live like I did, you won‘t be able to see it. In the background where Joe was standing while doing the speech, there were two objects, one on each side of him. The looked almost exactly like those two file cabinets I linked above, and is party how I was able to read the clues that led me there.

Joe mentioned “Democrat national Convention” in the speech he made. The statement was out of place, did not really fit in with the gist of the speech.

You can’t see it, because US State is suppressing it on Twitter.

Do you see that MSC logo in that header above?

Think about file cabinets (this tumblr account Stone-Man-Warrior@Tumblr.com is the file cabinet being referred to in the wake of the report of terrorism and request for help I sent to the white house on the 13th of February 2021.)

now look at this logo:

It’s a match.

Seagate makes hard-drives. It’s “Close enough for government work” for the match.

Seagate is a company that was hijacked early on in the terror takeover. When I was held captive in around 1998 - 2002 or so, I was forced to create design work, and had to use a “Seagate FreeAgent” hard drive that was brought each day, and taken away each day.

In 1998, I was storing files on a hard drive with 1.5 - 3 terrabytes of disc space.

That was way way way beyond what was publicly available at the time as far as storage space technology is concerned. That hard drive is used to do a lot of things, I made many of the logos for some of the so called “unicorns” as a result of being held captive and was told to store the work on that Seagate FreeAgent 1.5 - 3 terrabyte hard drive at a time when terrabytes were unheard of.

It does not make a difference. nothing I say here makes any difference only because there are no more national security people.

I cannot get any help. I need medical treatment, but there are no more real doctors, there are only terror soldier operative actors who pretend, they play role of health provider, and kill those who go to see a doctor.

That and Twitter is still tweeting.

no help will ever be able to do any kind of security work if Twitter remains active.

no doctors will ever be restored to the communities.

no one will stop the aerial poison gas from being release by the terror soldiers who use Twitter for commands to use the gas.

as more aerial gas is released by command on Twitter, the terror army will continue to draw people to the health providers with symptoms from the poison gas, while Twitter promotes the fake Corona Virus is the reason so many are getting sick, and going to see a doctor, but that is all bullshit designed to remind you every day, to go to see a doctor. There, everyone is killed. US Citizens go in the front door at the hospital, and a Canadian look-a-like comes out of the side door later on, using the name of the murdered victim citizens.

I am tired. I can barely see the screen, the gas is fouling up my vision, my circulation is poor, my leg is swollen, and I have coughing fits when the put the poison gasses into the house through the cracks around the doors and windows, laundry vent, chimney, and other places that all houses have available for inserting gas with pressure to poison people.

Since making that report to the white house, the gas attacks from outside has increased dramatically. The number of dead terror soldiers ratio per day that I have defended against has increased dramatically, and there is no signs of any helpful people.

I did not opened my front door to go outside yesterday or the day before at all. It’s too dangerous to go outside after asking the White House for help to stop mass murders in Oregon, and US and Global take over.

Earlier today shortly after that incoming phone call from “Yoncala” came in to my phone, a powerful jet airplane flew low and slow over my house, it was going south towards the Grants Pass Municipal Airport, which is about seven miles south of my house. That jet is the same kind of thing that happens when SAGClubMed Junket Jet comes each time, they always buzz my house first, then again usually on the flight out, typically after a three to four day mass murder festival that SAGClubMed Junket is about.

So, Junket Jet Flyover at about noon or so today is what also happened, it’s part of the “Joe Biden Staple’s Phile Cabinet Electrovoice State Department Iranian Tugboat Terror in the Mediteranian Sea Rental Service” that has been building momentum over the past three days.

============================

9:27 pm:

Here is a video part from ABC World news retweeted from the “Munich Security Conference” Twitter Verified Account:

There are the symbolic phile cabinets there.

What you need to do, is make assessment from the product descriptions at the link I provided for you above, about the Staple’s File Cabinets. Look at the keys that are in each one. See that one is “Aluminum, and one is “Metal”. Read about the removable lock that is replaceable, and see that they each feature bearing roller drawer guides. I don‘t recall seeing information about “Removable Drawers” but a removable/Replaceable Lock is specified.

Then, the Electrovoice Speakers, presented later on, are basically the same shape as the file cabinet drawers are. There are four speakers specified from instructions contained in that Trending on Twitter Tweet from “Nicholas G. Riech” (is Mike Pompeo, or Blinkin in disguise, or someone from “Amp Guru” terror cell) then see that those are the drawers. See that there are two sizes of speakers, 18″ and 15″, and there are two sizes of File Cabinet, 18″ and 15″ wide, “Letter & Legal”.

Look for other information throughout all of what I linked for you. I did not read the specifications for the speakers, I don‘t want to read about my own murder contract from the President any more than I need to for seeing that the hit order is present.

The hit order is present, and includes that this Tumblr account is to be “Carted Away with a hand truck”

https://twitter.com/ABCWorldNews/status/1362807660958089221

=================

9:47 pm:

We are at a point in USA where reporting terrorism to the US President to ask for help in a national emergency, is responded to with assassins sent from the White House to kill those who make such reports, and, to delete any evidence that a report was made.

This is not a new phenomenon.

If you read this account, there are other times when I sent reports of the same terrorism, to the White House, to Donald Trump, and the result then was a bomb at a doctor office that backfired and exploded the assassins and the bus they arrived in. February 7th 2017 I think it was, I explained it many times here on this account.

Further research would show that Barack Obama was also informed through the White House Contact Page, and, with hand written letter in the United States Postal Mail sent from the US Post Office at 97532 in Merlin where I hand carried the letter and sent it to the White House addressed to Barack Obama with registered or certified mail at a time when Joe Biden was Vice President. The same terrorism was reported then as now.

I called George W. Bush’s White House Phone number to report the terrorism back then also.

All of them have sent assassins to kill me, none sent any help, none did anything to stop the mass murders.

Hillary Clinton came to my home personally to kill me in around 2008.

I am tempted to challenge someone to report the same kind of terrorism to the white house, the kind that is real, that includes mass murder at the grocery stores in the day time with use of poison gasses.

Don‘t do it. You have to find another way, The US President’s don‘t do US national defense work, they do terror take over of USA work in league with Britain.

==========================================

February 20, 2021: 9:29 am:

Reminder: If nsa were to run across any Seagate FreeAgent hard drives, be advised that those old/new pre-release technology ones like the one I was forced to use, they look exactly the same as the ones the were made available at Walmart in around 2009. When you start it up, it makes a series of little lights that look somewhat like stars all arranged on the front panel. Also, those were “encryption“ hard drives. The way that works, is when files are stored, someone can make a password protected file that encapsulates the information to be encrypted, then, the encrypted information within that file is made invisible to anyone who browses the contents of the hard drive, and that is what the encryption is for. It’s a feature that makes a set of information completely invisible on the FreeAgent hard drive, without the password, no one will even know that such encrypted files are stored on it, and, without specialized disc annalists tools, no one can even know that any disc space is occupied by such encrypted files.

I’ll wager that Joe Biden has an array of SeaGate FreeAgent Encryption Discs filled with kiddie-porn edited with aboriginal down under BBC news Pence music, so, be advised of that.

Also, another reminder: Mike Pence is a Grants Pass Oregon former resident, maybe is real home town. Only very few people know that.

Barack Obama grew up in San Fernando Valley California, not Hawaii, not anywhere else, not where the publicly available information says he grew up.

[mirceakitsune]

Taking a few days to recover after new incident

First of all, I have to inform everyone of a potential delay in new content. It shouldn't be too long so don't worry: Hopefully only a few days or at most two weeks. I had some things planned for the next couple of days, however I'm currently not in a state to work on them and present them. I apologize and I hope you understand. Expect those updates in the second half of this month none the less!

Now for the reason. Yesterday I was involved in something I would classify as a rare occurrence: Internet drama that managed to make me physically sick, to the point where I had some issues sleeping and even now slightly feel like throwing up. When I didn't think humans could be capable of even more horrible things, the world (as usual) provided. I will not give names here as I don't wish to cause trouble to any of the people involved, but I will explain what happened otherwise:

I follow a few furry artists who I watch on FA over on Twitter, meaning I see their posts in my news feed which I now check rather often. Last night I saw a post from one artist addressing another artist who he's recently done a collaboration with. Information was leaked by a third party that this other artist might have been using child porn as reference for his artwork... something that wasn't even confirmed at the time, and was later clarified to be a huge exaggeration. The artist who made the post was expressing their discomfort in having associated with such a person, whereas everyone else in the comments began blasting away at this other artist. I do not take kindly to that sort of attitude especially if I don't believe it's perfectly justified, so I interfered and posted a few replies... this was all that was needed for me to be turned into the next target.

I've deemed the behavior and ideas expressed by some of the people commenting as worthy of demons from hell... because that is seriously the only thing I could associate this degree of hatred and insanity with. I was accused of indirectly supporting the child porn industry, called a child molester lover, cussed at in a variety of shapes and forms, then blocked by people to whom I didn't even do anything wrong and might have even known. My crime? Daring to suggest that people might not be despicable monsters for simply accessing an image off some dark corner of the internet... be it something as controversial as child pornography, granted they had nothing to do with the photo existing. A collage of fundamentally flawed logic followed suit: I was lectured on how what you enjoy in the privacy of your own home without anyone ever knowing can magically cause a crime outside of your home, how refusing to gang up on this person meant that I'm supporting child molesters and am like them, proudly told of how US law can put people in prison for simply laying eyes on a photo, or how drawing fictional artwork should be considered a crime because even that is "normalizing" it. I could literally only compare the things I've heard to the Christian inquisition, back when priests would round up witches and wizards from the woods and burn them at the stake under accusations of being heretics and worshiping Satan... today we're ready to send people to Mars and this shit happens worse than it did back then!

My points were very rational and simple: If for instance I downloaded a video of ISIS beheading a journalist, for whatever stupid reason I'd ever want to watch such a thing (I know some people do it to get a high similarly to watching horror films), I would not be accused of "supporting terrorism" nor would me drawing it mean I'm "normalizing terrorism"... so why is underage porn so special? On the aspect of fiction, I further explained that if this line of thought was expanded, a lot of things would be seen as crimes: Many furry artists would be classified as people who support bestiality, or vore artists would be labeled as people who support sexual cannibalism... why not them? I asked how someone simply being attracted to children, as creepy as I know that is in real life, is automatically a monster who doesn't even deserve to be treated like a person any more, even if they would never imagine harming actual kids in practice! No one could provide a single real argument, they all kept saying "this is different because it's different"... it's literally as if they were on drugs, under hypnosis, or living in a world inside their heads (which they proceeded to accuse me of doing).

Now my problem isn't that a few people think like this, I'd deal with it if that were the case. It's the scale and magnitude this sort of thing can reach: The same attitude was manifested even by folks whom I know aren't bad people, some who even turned against me simply for refusing to think like them! What makes it all the more scary though is that this can't be treated as a mere matter of opinion and discussed like other things at all, because those people act like brainwashed fanatics under some spell making real discussion virtually impossible... the subject is like a magic kill-switch that causes them to maul each other the moment you flip it! If the topic of kid porn can cause them to go like this, I don't see why other things (harmless or not) couldn't, granted I cannot trust the judgment of such beings any longer... I can expect that one day, me or someone I know might easily be assaulted in the streets altogether, all because something we said or thought somehow broke the emotional balance of the apes.

I shouldn't need to iterate that I will never support anything that is clearly, undoubtedly, irrevocably harmful to another person (rape, murder, etc). I will however refuse to judge by association, and will not condemn or discriminate anyone for merely thinking or watching or enjoying things, as long as the act doesn't directly cause harm to others! This is what they cannot understand: If they fear something, anyone who's even watched it or made a drawing about it or refuses to hate over it should be treated as a criminal, in order to set an example or rewrite normality! This way of thinking is beyond dangerous, it's how the Nazis and terrorists (a similarly complex subject) grow, and I will fight this sort of thing for as long as I'm cursed to live in this piece of crap world! To be fair, after what I've seen last night, I'm now more willing to believe that even actual pedophiles (excluding real abductors or molesters of course) aren't even bad people nor someone you should be scared of at all, just a sexual minority that's misunderstood and terrorized like gays were in the 70's... give me one good reason to think otherwise, because I no longer have one.

I don't know who will even understand my view at all, nor do I know who will turn on me over this or not... at this point though I don't even have the energy to wonder. I've tried fighting various forms of tyranny and madness and broken mentalities over the last years, because I found them dangerous or repressive or frankly ridiculous. It's sad what a target the mere act of doing so can paint on you... all because you want everyone to have the right to be happy as much as possible. I will continue it however, the hate of this world will not stop me... I just wish I didn't have to be seen as some demon over it by the mindless ones, and go through difficult experiences every day (more or less) just to oppose wrongful persecutions or broken views ingrained within society.

[hired-help]

“Layers” Character Meme 

LAYER ONE : THE OUTSIDE

Name: Charles Harris Wilson Charon

Eye Color: Bright blue

Hair Style/Color: He inherited the same ginger-red as Martha. Likes keeping it short, but can’t manage to cut it often enough for it to be as neat as he’d like. Habitually tries to finger-comb it over at intervals. Post-ghoulification, just doesn’t care. Touching it might lose him the last of it.

Height: 6′4″ (+ - I haven’t completely nailed it down, but he’s about a foot taller than LW. Mine was female and I pictured her being fairly small, so I tacked a foot onto that, but I don’t think the male models are much taller. He could be anything up to 7″ depending on how you view your LW?!)

Clothing Style: Provided he has a choice, he likes pre-war casual - going on game options only, parkstroller or spring - but the red shade is a bit much, switch it out for something lighter. He’s awkward in that he doesn’t like short sleeved shirts but he doesn’t like long either, so he has to roll long ones to the exact right place. Post-programming, he doesn’t even entertain the notion of casual clothing. Always armored, light enough not to weigh him down (his agility is already pretty poor). 

Best Physical Feature: Probably his eyes. Which backfires pretty spectacularly when they’re the only thing he retains in ghoul form and they become creepy and too-real compared to the rest of him. He used to have a nice smile, but it was the rarity of it more than anything. It felt odd to smile - when he was surrounded by misery - even when it was his natural reaction to someone or something, so he had a habit of clenching his back teeth and trying to suppress it. The result was a kind of reluctant, delayed half-smile that made him look shy, and a certain type of lady liked that.

LAYER TWO: THE INSIDE

Fears: Younger: Losing his family or something happening to them, losing his own identity after he was bought by them. Older: Nothing - he’s not allowed to be afraid of things, it might impair his usefulness.

Guilty Pleasure: Younger: Stealing smokes from dead people. Slightly less guilty if they’re slavers. Older: None. Still does that, but no longer guilty. Every selfish thought he has produces a faint sense of guilt. Vague, fleeting thoughts of his own preferences, that kind of thing.

Biggest Pet Peeve[s]: Younger: More like an intense hatred; slavers pushing around people weaker than them, which he took to be women, children and the elderly. He got his ass kicked more than once trying to step in for them. Older: Employers who don’t know how to watch their own asses. He can only do so much; he’s one ghoul, not your guardian angel.

Ambition for the Future: Younger: Escape somehow, free his fellow slaves, clear out Paradise Falls so no one else ever gets taken there. After that, he never intended to go home. Fuzzy memories of cannibalism and incest no longer seem part and parcel of living. He’d rather go find his own home. Older: Haha, that’s funny.

LAYER THREE: THOUGHTS

First Thoughts Waking Up: Younger: “Collar’s still there.” Older: “Is [Employer Name] still alive?”

What They Think About the Most: Everyone else. This is pretty consistent. He can’t be called a Mom Friend at any point, but he has a natural inclination to look after anyone who needs it. Y’know... a real man protects his family, and all.

What They Think About Before Bed: Younger: He’s probably been worked to instant unconsciousness. Older: After the security of the area, his thoughts wander as far as they can. Sometimes he tries to count his employers backwards, hoping he’ll break through that strange barrier he senses somewhere in the past. Why doesn’t he remember anyone before that?

What They Think Their Best Quality Is: Younger: He knows he’s a grounding influence. He’s good at projecting a calm aura. Older: His shotgun.

LAYER FOUR: WHAT’S BETTER?

Single or Group Dates: Group dates sound fun. That takes off a lot of pressure and seriousness; and it’d be nice for a girl to have another girl to talk to, right? Maybe single dates would be better after something like that. Of course, older... neither. 

To be Loved or Respected: Younger: Both. Older: Respected.

Beauty or Brains: Younger: He’d like to say “brains” but he’s an absolute sucker for pretty girls. As long as they can tell a mole rat from a deathclaw, they’re probably good. Older: Definitely brains. Even if anything else weren’t hypocritical, he’s a lot more relaxed around someone who won’t get themselves killed.

Dogs or Cats: Dogs. There aren’t supposed to be any cats left, Todd.

LAYER FIVE: DO YOU?

Lie: Younger: Rarely. Older: Never.

Believe in Yourself: Younger: Oddly, yes. He’s confident for someone with a bomb round his neck. Older: Yes, but in a much more practical sense.

Believe in Love: Younger: What’s not to believe in? Older: ... 

Want Someone: Younger: Eventually. He’s a little commitment-phobic, but I think that’s understandable when you were engaged to your sister as a kid. Older: Pointless to think about. No.

LAYER SIX: EVER?

Been on Stage: No.

Done Drugs: Younger: (sheepish fidgeting, awkward smile)  Older: Yeah, occasionally - but he almost sees it as medicinal. Firefight taking too long? Employer tiring out? Psycho. Finish it.

Changed Who You Were to Fit In: Never - never been able to. If he were, he might have seemed less like a vault tec ad come to life in his younger years.

LAYER SEVEN: AGE

DOB: Between 17 and 30+ depending on timeline point. I talked to Nimriel about this yesterday - I think averages out about 26, assuming we’re post-F3. But he stops counting then, since he’s technically immortal and never any closer to death. The only thing that changes anymore is the amount of unmarked skin he has left.

How Old Will You Be: ^^^

Age You Lost Your Virginity: 15. He’s a little ashamed of that now.

Does Age Matter: For what? For friends, not at all. For proper, long term partners, definitely. He’s a little shallow and won’t go much older than he is, but neither will he go much younger, and by “much”, I mean she has to be a grown woman with the maturity to match. He’s not interested in teenagers, they’re still kids, and kids shouldn’t think about that stuff. Obviously, older!Charon doesn’t give a fried fuck, his employers could be 19 or 90 as long as they’re breathing.

LAYER EIGHT: IN A BOY OR GIRL

Best Personality: Younger: Genuine, kind, caring, monogamous. Seriously, he has the out of touch mindset of a 1950s poster for a new oven, besides the intense misogyny. That said, he still thinks women have a certain sort of role; he sees it as his job to keep her and the children safe, and hers to take care of the home they put together from within. That means more making sure everyone eats more than polishing the silverware, though. It makes a little more sense in a Fallout setting; having one of them focused on defence and one on offence is pretty logical. He wouldn’t want anyone he loved to be the one getting covered in raider blood. Older: This isn’t really something that ever crosses his mind, but he does admire people with a purpose.

Best Eye Color: Doesn’t matter. He’s weak. 

Best Hair Color: Again. Weak. But he likes blondes.

Best thing to do With a Partner: Younger: Never really had one for any extended period of time, if you catch my drift - but he’d probably like to travel with them. He loves seeing new places, but it’d be nicer if he wasn’t alone. Older: Survive?

LAYER NINE: FINISH THE SENTENCE

I love: [no words - just an image of an empty landscape view and the sun shining on it. seems to be the area surrounding Paradise Falls, but not viewed through a fence]

I feel: Younger: “Lucky.” (I know. But it’s the truth. He’s constantly thankful to still be alive after every owner and every fight). Older: “...”

I hide: Younger: His despair. That’s not something others ought to see, especially if it might affect them. He’s not as certain as he seems about being free one day. Older: Nothing, but he has nothing to hide, really. Just ask.

I miss: Younger: ??? How can he miss anything, when he never had it? Older: He has a vague sense that he used to be capable of a higher level of empathy and independence, but he’s not sure what that feeling is based on. If it’s true, it would be nice.

I wish: Younger: “I could get out of here.” Older: “...”