#blank white bulb

[ajay94]

[psychotic-nonsense]

< || >

"Eddie...?"

"I'm sorry. No. Not quite."

"The hell does that mean-" Steve doesn't get to finish. His body reacts on its own again, wanting to surge and face the evil head on. All it does is strain everything in him again, makes him hiss in pain and struggle to remain upright.

The hand that he didn't even realize left returns, and the other holds a wet cloth. It dabs at his forehead, lukewarm and comforting. Everything is as cold as the Upside Down, these days.

"Not important. It really is best that you stay in place." That tone is monotone again, the brief moment of clarity gone. It's back, the... thing using Eddie's voice, his body, his face like an amateur puppeteer. How brutally ironic. "You must heal."

Steve, ever stubborn, bats the hand above him away. It's just a limp wave in his state, but the thing backs off. The hand behind him remains though, surrendering to help Steve find his way up. It's tough, considering how swollen one hand feels and the lingering phantom pains that Steve's body endured but Eddie's did not, but Steve gets himself into a sitting position.

"'Not important,' my ass." Probably not the best threat when Steve hacks up a lung immediately after. The thing doesn't respond, and when Steve faces it again, it's face is painfully blank. Wide, yellow glowing eyes stare at him, a bare hint of white at its center, so utterly familiar yet simultaneously foreign.

"If you're not Eddie, then what are you?" Steve spits, full of emotion compared to the husk beside him. He brings his left hand up to his chest, rubbing softly along the wrist with his other and wincing at the feeling.

The thing takes in a breath, eyes flitting off to the side briefly before returning. Still with that infuriating lack of emotion. "You are not in a good state to have this conversation."

It reaches for Steve's hands with the rag, and he pulls them out of reach. Too quickly, as well, his jaw instinctively clenching with the motion, resulting in an even more embarrassing groan of pain. "You don't know that," Steve forces out.

"I do."

"How so?"

"You are injured, weak. And this is a complicated matter."

"You just don't want to tell me."

"Because it will be too hard for you to hear."

Damn, it's got him there. As much as Steve wants to know, he's not sure he could bear the answer. Everything rubs so raw, everything having happened in such quick succession to him, and he feels like a live wire.

It reaches for his hands again, now frozen on his lap. Steve doesn't fight it, lets it carefully take his hands in its own. "Rest, let yourself calm." The thing says. "Then I will tell you."

Steve, begrudgingly, welcomes the still damp rag it wraps around his swollen hand. Doesn't do more than flinch when it's warm hands begin carefully massaging his through the cloth, thumbs circling around the wrist in a barely there pressure Steve feels in pulsing waves.

He takes the time to study the thing beside him. Human, definitely, an exact replica of Eddie at its core. Same clothes, same hair, all the same from the last time Steve saw Eddie alive. Except this thing glows like a faint light bulb, the light seeming to come from its entire being rather than one place. Steve already knows it's eyes, wide and unfeeling, pure gold but for a pale shape at the center.

Then there's the scars. When Steve last saw Eddie's body, there was a huge gash along it's left cheek, deep and bloody. Now the mark remains, but it glows the same damn bright gold as everything else. No blood, no tears, and this thing seems to have no problem talking with it. He wonders what that means for the wounds that took Eddie.

A slightly stronger pressure is applied to his wrists, and Steve groans again. The hands stop, let him breathe through the pain. Sprained, at best, and the doctors lingering around Hawkins have more to deal with than one possibly broken bone.

They've been sitting in silence for who knows how long now, the rag in their shared hands already cooling. The massage and quiet have done their job for Steve's brain, allowing him to come down from the panic. He's still pretty raw, but he no longer feels so in danger.

"Can I ask you something else then?" he asks carefully, voice raspy and soft.

The thing doesn't respond right away, and doesn't look up when it answers. "Yes."

"Where'd you get hot water from?"

It almost seems to relax at the question, as if it was expecting a different one. It still hasn't moved, still cradling Steve's hand. "Your bags had water and matches. This place had pots, and we are in the woods."

Fair enough, Steve supposes. "Why bother? Water is water."

"It is cold, and you are weak. We assumed the heat would help."

There it goes with the 'we' thing. It referred to itself that way earlier too. But Steve knows he should be wary with what he asks, so he ignores it for now, in place of something far more important.

"Is Robin okay?" His voice cracks a little there. Neither of them talk much louder than a whisper, but Steve still glances over at his best friend. She remains asleep, unmoving in every place but the one that matters.

"You both have similar injuries. You have woken, so she will too. She will be okay."

Steve sighs, put more at ease by that than he thought he'd be. Yet the response only creates more questions. He gently pulls his hand away, turning back to face the thing beside him. It does the same. Confusion to blankness.

"How'd you find us?" Steve asks slowly.

It blinks in response, pausing. "I found you in the Other woods." It says 'other' like it's a title. "I don't know what happened to you."

"Why did you bring us here?"

"It was empty. Close to the Gates."

Steve's coming up on the point of no return. He can feel it. He doesn't ask the more obvious, important question, but he can't stop himself from toeing that invisible line. "Why take us in at all?"

The thing finally shows its first sign of emotion in a while, eyebrows furrowing just slightly. Guilty again. "This is your home. You weren't safe there."

They stare at each other for a while after that. Steve holds back every impossible question he has. It watches him, face falling just a tiny bit more, waiting for him to break.

Steve cracks. His voice shakes, fighting to keep himself in control. To stay calm enough so he can finally get answers. "You apologized for bringing us... here earlier. How did you even know about that- about any of this? The boathouse, the medical supplies, how to start a fire. What-" He stops himself before he goes too far.

Its eyes search his expression, flitting between the injuries across his face. Still just the barest hint of guilt in the slight furrow of his eyebrows. Eyes still wide and inhuman. "I was told."

Steve doesn't ask, 'By who?' Doesn't let it come out in the desperate wail it wants to. Because he already knows. So he gives that plea to another question, puts as much emotion into the pathetic whisper that slips past his injured jaw.

And he breaks. "What are you?"

[bonesxbows]

Act Naturally - Chapter 1 (Cooper Howard X Reader)

Masterlist

While exploring an old section of Hollywood, the two of you stumble upon an old advertisement for a cowboy movie. But the man on the poster looks suspiciously a lot like Cooper, even down to the same smile. But it couldn't possibly be him...right?

(WARNINGS) - anger issues - negative self talk (from Cooper not you)

I feel like I dragged this on for way longer than it needed to be BUT it's a done thing now and tbh I'm pretty happy with it. I fucking adore soft Cooper moments and idc if I have to write them all myself

Also! This idea came from @land-of-evergreens-and-dye so full credit to them for letting me stew on this prompt

Hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it! Reblogs and comments much appreciated!

Banners by @strangergraphics

The two of you had found yourselves in an old section of Hollywood. It had been so long since Cooper had told you his reason for bringing you here that you’d forgotten what his motivation for this excursion was. Although it didn’t really matter to you, you’d follow him anywhere whether he wanted you to tag along or not. There was no separating you two. Not anymore. 

Most of the buildings had been boring to scavenge through, if you could even find a way inside at all. Not much was left of the boulevard besides dusty sidewalks and rusting billboards. But one building in particular piqued your interest. It had a larger facade than all the rest where small billboard-like signs hung above the wide double doors. Broken and busted bulb lights framed the signs and the rows of black lettering were missing far too many letters to be able to read it clearly. What letters you could make out only baffled you more than the strange-looking building did. 

‘Co - How - Starr - in - Th - M - Fr - Dea - Horse’

“Horse? What’s a horse?” you asked out loud, more to yourself than to him. He usually never listened to your mid-exploring ramblings, though he never did tell you to stop. You turned around to find him staring up at the old sign too, although his brow was creased and a scowl was stuck on his face. You placed a hand on his shoulder and he turned to you, his expression softening as his eyes shifted to looking at you instead. 

“You wanna check inside there, don’ you?” He asked. 

You nodded and gave him a small smile. “Can we? Please? I’ve never seen any place like it before.” 

“Hm. ‘Spose we can. But make it quick alright?” He checked his pistol’s ammunition levels and flipped the barrel back into place once he was satisfied. You led the way forward, pushing the swinging doors inward as Cooper was right behind you, pistol in hand and trigger finger ready. 

He was a little disappointed when the place appeared to be empty. But the feeling didn’t last, he couldn’t stay upset as he watched you scurry around the place, your eyes wide with fascination. The interior was even more astonishing to you than the exterior had been. Rows of folding booth-like chairs covered the majority of the floor, their fabric exterior faded and torn, and in the back of the building was a wooden stage. Ragged old curtains framed the blank wall behind the stage where its faded white paint chipped and peeled off the plaster. There wasn’t much hiding between the rows of chairs besides dust and sand but you still kept your hopes high that the rest of the building would hold something worthwhile. 

“What is this place? Some kind of shooting gallery?” you asked, your wasteland-born intelligence of pre-war places was lacking, but fortunately for you, Cooper liked you enough to fill you in on what knowledge you didn't have. 

He chuckled at your observation. He supposed a shooting gallery was just about the closest thing you could get to a theater these days. “Not ‘xactly, sweetheart. It was used for movies, picture shows, that kinda thing. A place where folks could feign ignorance ‘bout the end of the world fast approachin’ on their heels.” 

“Movies? Like the kind on those busted-up televisions?” you continued to explore around as you talked. He followed you, keeping an eye out for anything out of the ordinary that could be dangerous while you focused on the useful and exciting things you could find. 

“Mmhm. Just like those. Never endin’ loops of fairytale stories kept alive by people long gone by now.” he explained, and you ended the conversation after that. His voice was strained and scruffy, meaning he was either remembering something he wanted to forget or he was getting agitated. Either way, you knew it was in your best interest to stop asking questions. 

Things got progressively more interesting when you discovered the back rooms of the building. The first one had been large, with dusty velvet ropes leading to a counter filled with food machines and nuka-cola dispensers, you’d come back here to scavenge all the food you could carry with you on your way out, but the hallways and storage rooms were what really piqued your attention. 

Posters lined the wooden walls of the hallways, the plaster that had once surrounded them now nothing more than dust on the ground. The paper was old, torn, and extremely faded, even with the lack of sunlight in the place. The color was all but gone from the paper, but you could still make out the words if you squinted hard enough. 

“Cooper Howard Starring in The Man From Dead Horse.” The letters matched up with the ones from outside but yet you were still baffled on what exactly a horse was. The poster had no other information to help clarify, although you found it interesting that the man on the paper supposedly shared your cowboy’s name. 

“Huh.” You exclaimed as you studied the pictures. 

“What?” Cooper called after you, pulling his attention only slightly away from the containers he was looting around the place, looking for spare ammo or anything else that was useful. 

“Nothing. Just something about these posters. Are these about those movies you were talking about?”  you asked, which had him turning around to examine the poster along with you. The only response he gave you was a short grunt, which you knew translated to a yes. You shifted your eyes back to the paper on the wall. Most of the color may have been gone but you could still make out a blue shirt on a man with a white cowboy hat on top of his head. He stood in a pose with his revolver in the air and his other hand on his hip. He wore a smirk on his face that felt familiar and something in the back of your mind itched like you had seen this all before…somewhere. But you couldn't pinpoint the memory. 

When you turned back around Cooper was already gone down the hallway so you hurried to follow him, tearing your eyes from the poster but keeping your mind on the nagging feeling it left you with. Maybe if you turned the picture over in your head enough times the memory you were looking for would click, or so you hoped. 

His attitude had significantly changed after you found that poster. He became more on edge and that gruff exterior he had when you had first met him was back. He rushed through the rest of the building, seemingly not caring if you were behind him or not. By the time you caught up with him, he was shoving his way back out through the swinging front doors. You could see the finger on his pistol’s trigger starting to twitch. You followed him outside and down the road a way until he stopped in front of the first billboard he saw. 

Like everything else in the wasteland, the colors were gone and the picture was faded, but you could clearly tell it had been an advertisement for Vault-Tec before the bombs. Cooper didn’t hesitate to unload every round in his revolver through the billboard. Pieces of wood and metal went flying and you instinctively covered your face, listening to the bullet casings and wood chips hit the concrete around you. He eventually ran out of bullets, although you could still hear him clicking the trigger. Once the gun sounded empty you lowered your arms again, examining the now hole-riddled Vault Boy on the billboard. Cooper’s face still held a nasty scowl. 

“You got a personal vendetta with Vault-Tec I don't know about or something? What just happened?” you asked. If you were anyone else he would have filled you with lead just for asking a question right then and there. He was currently too angry to deal with stupidity. But he would never purposefully hurt you, that was one line he refused to cross in his mind. But unknowingly to you your words only fueled his anger more. 

“Shut it. Let’s go. I’m sick of this place.” he snapped, his usual drawl and accent missing and replaced by venom in his words. He quickened his pace out of the block of streets and you followed him, but you kept your distance to a minimum of a few feet at least for the remainder of the trek. 

It had been a few hours since Cooper’s outburst and the two of you had set up camp for the night inside of an old diner. He had seemed to calm down a little but he had set himself up in the corner of a booth with his hat pulled down over his eyes and his feet kicked up on the table in front of him. Which left you alone with your thoughts in front of his makeshift campfire. You watched the sun sink below the horizon as you replayed the earlier events of the day over and over in your head, still trying to connect the dots. You stared at Cooper, his supposedly sleeping form leaning against the worn material of the diner booth, hoping that if you focused on him hard enough you could will the connection in your mind to click. 

And then the realization hit you like a lightning bolt, your eyes pulling all of the pieces together in front of you as you stared at his hat and the rough skin poking out from underneath it. 

You sprang up from your seat on the ground, sliding yourself into the booth on the other side of the table in front of him. He didn't seem to notice until you reached over and yanked his cowboy hat off of his head with one swift motion. His eyes shot open and immediately landed on you. 

“Can’t a ghoul get some shut-eye ‘round here without you botherin’ him?” he scoffed, pulling himself up into a sitting position and turning to face you across the table. You didn’t respond and instead placed his hat on the table in front of you, staring at him with full intent. He was unbothered underneath your intense gaze, either he was used to being stared at or knew you weren’t much of a threat to him. “I got somethin’ in my teeth or is this a new hobby of yours I don’ know about?” he asked, your silence was irking him more than your constant staring. 

You let your eyes do all the work and your imagination filled in the blanks, pulling both images in your head together; the man from the poster and the man sitting in front of you. His dirty blue shirt peaking out from underneath his duster confirmed your suspicion. 

“You’re him.” was all you said as the realization set in. 

“Pardon?”

“You're him! From the poster earlier! That's why he looked so familiar!” your excitement was getting hard to contain. You had known Cooper was from before the bombs but you hadn’t known he was THAT Cooper Howard. 

“Darlin’, I have no idea what you’re on about. You best forget ‘bout that whole theater ‘fore you go and stir up trouble.” he told you, folding his arms in front of him on the table as his brow darkened his eyes. 

“What’s the big deal, Coop? Why didn’t you tell me? Is that why you rushed out of there so quickly?” you spoke quickly, the questions flooding out of your mouth faster than you had intended. 

“Hmph. ‘What’s the big deal?’ The ‘big deal’ is that man is dead. Has been for over 200 years. I ain’t keen on bringin’ him back neither. His optimism and gullibility got him killed and that was the end of that. I’m done rememberin’ the sorry excuse I got for a past. Reminiscing don’ keep you alive for long.” his western accent was tangled together with poison as he spat out his words. But his scary looks didn’t work on you anymore. 

“Maybe, but you’re still him, Coop. You’ve adapted to the wasteland but you’re still you. Roughed up and scarred a little, sure, but who isn’t?” you told him, doing your best to keep your voice soft to combat his spitefulness. 

“A little? Sweetheart, I’m a damn monster, everyone out ‘ere thinks so. Whatever was left of good ol’ Cooper Howard died when this here skin started fallin’ off. I’m done bein’ nice in a world that does nothin’ but kicks you when you’re down.” 

“I don’t think you're a monster.” 

It was one sentence, just a few words, but it made him pause. His scowl vanished for a few seconds and was replaced by a look of confusion. There was a small smile tugging at his lips too, if you were quick enough to notice it before it was gone. He sighed and leaned back against the booth. 

“Well then that’s one hell of a lapse of judgment on your part sweetheart.” he hooked his hands together and put them behind his head, cradling the back of his neck as he closed his eyes again and leaned further into the booth. But you weren't done with the conversation just yet. 

You got up, grabbed his hat off of the table, and shifted yourself into the booth he was sitting in. You looked at him and then looked down at his hat in your hands. A relic from over two centuries ago, covered in sand and caked in dirt. But still a working and functioning cowboy hat. It protected its wearer from the harsh sun and there was a sense of safety woven somewhere in between the fibers. Broken and beaten and even dirtied beyond repair, it was still a hat. And Cooper was still a person. 

You climbed on top of the table, being careful not to accidentally kick him with your feet as you positioned yourself in front of him and placed a leg on either side of his body. You placed his hat in its rightful place on top of his head, making him open his eyes again when he felt your touch. He looked up at you curiously, fully not expecting you to be on the table in front of him. You reached down and grabbed both of the lapels of his duster, balling the fabric up in your fists as you pulled him forward and smashed your lips into his. You were quick with your movements, something you had learned from being around Cooper so much recently, which left little to no time for him to react or protest against your sudden affection. 

Although he didn't seem to mind. His hands found their way to your hips almost automatically and he slipped them under your shirt, grabbing at your soft skin roughly. Tomorrow morning you would have bruises all over your hips in the shape of his fingertips, but it happened so often now that the purples and blues were a permanent part of you. You had started this impromptu makeout session but he was determined to finish it. His tongue worked fervidly like he was mapping the constellations in the night sky across the inside of your mouth. He never once gave you the chance to take the lead and he was as quick as a viper to wrangle back control when you tried to take it yourself. At some point he had shifted his hands underneath you and scooped you off the table, sliding you right into his lap while still keeping a strong grip on you, never once slowing down with his tongue. Your legs were forced to wrap around him, your bodies now flush against each other in the booth. 

It wasn’t long after he had pulled you closer that you had to pull away, panting and taking gulps of air. You finally let go of his jacket as you leaned back against the table, feeling the metal edge digging into your back as you did so. 

“You know for a so-called ‘monster’ you sure know how to make someone feel breathless.” You told him as you admired the way he was smirking at you. Ironically it was the exact same smirk from that old poster of him, although you noticed he had shifted from that old-school charming look to now one that held an aura of danger around him. 

“Hm. Well, now I’ve never been the type to pass up an opportunity when it’s handed to me. ‘Specially if it ends with somethin’ pretty sittin’ in my lap.” his grip on your hips was still ironclad as his eyes raked over you. His stare felt similar to a hunter stalking its prey. You knew what he was doing, trying to convince himself he was right by acting like a predator, but you knew the truth underneath the facade. You had seen firsthand how he had cared for you and looked after you even when he stood to gain nothing in return. 

“Whether the old Cooper is dead or not doesn’t change the fact that I love this, right here, right now. Whatever led to you being my cowboy, I wouldn’t change a thing.” you ran your fingers up his chest as you spoke, fiddling your way underneath the collar of his cowboy costume to run your fingertips along the raised edges of his scarred skin. He sat back and let you touch him, not making any move to try and stop you. He’d let you do anything your little heart desired. He was your cowboy, he knew that, and yet two hundred years ago he would have never imagined meeting someone like you. He’d be damned if he would let anything happen to you, you were the only good thing he had left in this fucked up world. He refused to let anything else be taken from him. 

“Whatever you say, sweetheart,” he mumbled as he brushed a strand of your hair behind your ear, relishing in the way the soft cartilage felt against his marred fingertips. He ran the very tip of his finger against the edge of your ear, earning a tilt of your head as a response to the sensation. 

“Cooper?” you asked, making his eyes flick to yours. He noticed you had pulled your hand out from under his shirt and instead, you had placed it on top of his chest, mindlessly fumbling with the ancient fringe attached to the front. 

“Hm?” 

“I still have one question,” you told him, knitting your brows together in curiosity. 

“I’m listenin’.” he had been so enraptured by your affection that he had no idea what to anticipate, especially when your face had turned so serious. 

“What even is a horse, anyway?”

It took him a great deal of effort to stifle his laughter. 

[qin-qin16]

[Xcutioner, Cross x Dust, puppy love (from Cross), there is nudity but with no suggestive content (is all bones), there is something weird between them…]

"Y'know something? I think that all Dusty needs is a good bath!" Cross couldn't tell if Killer was just humming another one of his lame jokes or if it was an order disguised as casual conversation. "Why don't you help him out? Maybe he needs someone to lick his wounds clean."

Once again, his superior's face was adorned with a blank expression, an open grin and eyes so wide they looked like they might open up through his skull.

Killer didn't need to say anything else. Even though Cross' spine trembled as he swallowed a growl, all he did was follow his superior's advice, even though his shoulders tensed just hearing that half-choked chuckle — he knew Killer was laughing at his blind, obedient steps.

[...]

The anatomy of a skeleton was nothing new to Cross; not only were they all similar to each other, but it was even less surprising when everyone around him matches his bones and scars.

Still, despite what his mind tried to convince him, Cross couldn’t stop his little white dots skittering over Dust’s bones, the eyelights growing brighter with every piece of clothing that hit the floor. The only item neatly folded was his scarf, resting on top of the toilet lid.

Dust’s bones were pale, thin — maybe even malnourished — with dark stains scattered across his body. What were they? Cross didn’t know, and he didn’t have the intimacy (or the courage) to ask. But one thing was certain: the ash hiding in the cavities of his body didn’t come from cigarettes.

His bones gave a slight rattle as the silence between them broke. Along with the sound of crumpled clothes and bare feet slapping against the bathroom floor, Dust let out a low groan — so deep that Cross almost believed Dust’s soul itself had sighed. He was hunched over, hands trembling at the edge of his shorts. For moaning you make sounds, uh? Horror’s voice echoed in his mind, as scornful as the memory.

"Let me do it." The words slipped out before he could stop them, a violet flush spreading across his skull as those two glowing eyes shifted to meet his.

The light in his eyes was stronger than the flickering bathroom bulb, and Cross couldn’t help but swallow hard — the silence between them heavier than before, making Cross’s thoughts grow louder. He shouldn’t have said something so stupid! All he had to do was keep an eye on Dust so he wouldn’t screw up like last time!

Before Cross could get lost again in a whirlwind of doubts, the sound of bones scraping against the floor snapped his attention back. Dust was facing him now, his ribs marked with those same dark, mysterious patches — the darkest ones at the center of his sternum, near where his soul should be.

Cross swallowed hard as his gaze rose once more, locking onto Dust’s serene and unreadable stare. Those eyes, always so aggressive and violent — a sea of turquoise blood — now held an unexpected calm. His face, clear of any shadow, was laid bare for the soldier’s trembling eyes.

And as countless thoughts raced through Cross's mind, voices clashing with each other — some screaming for him to just turn around and go back to his room, others pleading that he had to help—

"Sit." The harsh command cut through all of Cross's thoughts, and without hesitation, he obeyed, just before Dust clicked his tongue in disappointment.

His knees hit the carpet with a soft bump; the tips of his fingers gently brushed the fabric of Dust’ shorts, feeling it damp, sticky, stained with both magical and human blood. Still uncertain, Cross glanced at the other’s face one last time, searching for any sign, any instruction, anything.

But all Cross found was a smile full of disdain, a malicious gleam in Dust’s eyes as his hands stayed far from his own shorts — waiting for Cross to do the work. His fingers slid to Dust’s hips before the tips of his fingers finally began to pull the shorts down slowly, as if afraid that any more forceful movement might make Dust collapse.

With one more gentle pull, his hands dropped along with the garment to the floor. There was no surprise, only paler bones and a thin pelvis, dark stains marking his femurs just like the rest of his skeleton.

Even though there was no flesh in front of him, Cross couldn’t help but lower his gaze, his hands instinctively resting on his knees.

"Well... the bathtub should be good by now, I think…” He murmured after a moment, his bone cheeks flushed with a faint lavender tint.

However, his eyelights dilated as his attention snapped back to Dust, his skull being gently fondled by a bare hand — a heavy, slow touch, sliding down to his neck beneath the shirt’s collar.

"Good boy, you can go now." Cross was already standing before Dust had even finished speaking, almost tripping over the folds of the rug as he rushed through the door — slamming it shut behind him, the loud “bam!” echoing through the suite.

His final memory was Dust's laughter on the other side, muffled and hoarse — taking pleasure in his nervousness and bones tinged with purple.

@what-have-i-unleashed (bc your muse is here) and @ciphmoomew since you want to read it :3c

[boxeom]

• When Judgement Day Comes •

🌻[The Failure of Truth and the Success of Lies]🌻

Synopsis: Hiromi gets yet another guilty verdict, but luckily, you are there to pick up his stray pieces.

Contains: Higuruma Hiromi/gn!reader, heavy angst, hurt comfort, a lil spooky (:3), (cw.) heavy intrusive thoughts, (cw.) suicidal ideation, (cw.) heavy dissociation, non-sexual intimacy, acts of service, bird facts (it's symbolism, I promise/I also just know way too much about birds and must share my knowledge), disgusting amounts of soft and emotional fluff.

Wc. 5k+

[Message from the Box]: Uhhhh…first time actually posting my writing. A bit nervous. I have literally been writing so much stuff in my personal life and have literally finished stories I've just been a wee scared to post so they've just been sitting in my drive for like…three years??? Maybe there will be more to come if I actually hype myself up enough- I'm proud of my writings, I think I'm an okay writer (I think), but posting them always makes me feel urrg. Anyways, I hope you enjoy it! (IF YOU SAW THE UNCOMPLETED VERSION OF THIS, NO YOU DIDN'T. 🫵🏽)

-Boxe in the Box

Hiromi's eyes peel open slowly to meet the dark roof of his car. He blinks a few times, head lifting from his headrest to stare ahead at the dark and practically empty parking lot just outside the courthouse. The sun was up when he had gotten into his car- how long was he sitting here? A nearby lamppost flickers. Harsh pale yellow light flashes in rapid patterns- straining Hiromi's eyes and painting his skin ghostly white for only mere seconds before plunging him back into shadow. Hiromi chuckles without a hint of amusement. Those really were the only two sides of the coin, weren't they? The head is too bright- too harsh, it leaves you squinting in wait to adjust- to have to eventually hope that you can one day comfortably live in the exposure the light paints you in. Meanwhile, the tail is too dark to even tell whether or not you are conscious as everything passes by right in front of you- leaving you to blindly stumble your way through uncertainty. You can flip that coin as much as you want. But was the hope for heads every time really worth it? Was this worth it?

Was life worth it?

The intrusively dark thought comes creeping its way out unexpectedly- forcing Hiromi to look it right in the face and come to terms with his subconscious questioning the idea of living. It isn't new, not at all. Hiromi has always had thoughts like that, but he's never given them his attention in favor of pursuing his passion to redeem the world of justice and honor. Right now, though? Hiromi finds himself not countering this consideration of life with his usual optimism. He's too tired. He's so tired. Hiromi takes a deep breath and slightly shakes his head, starting his car, flicking on his lights, and leaving that damned parking lot he's had too many moments of defeat in. He doesn't see the dark figure flickering in and out of existence just beneath the light of that lamppost in his rearview mirror watching his retreat- nor does he see the bulb begin to surge with power, shining too brightly until it shatters with an unheard pop! and litters glass onto the asphalt below. He doesn't see that whatever had been watching him was now gone.

•••

Driving has always been something that Hiromi has come to appreciate. Despite the unfortunate impact careening around in a highly flammable steel box at speeds humans were not meant to move at pouring gray smog into the air from every hole had on the environment, Hiromi finds himself comfortable in the mindless routine of turning the steering wheel, pressing or easing off the acceleration or brake, using the appropriate signals when it was time to use them, and everything else that came with such a common act. His windows are down- wind whipping in his ears and face as he naturally drives the speed limit right at its number, blank eyes staring ahead and occasionally glancing to the left or right. Today, though, something is...different.

He finds himself disassociating from the world around him- from the other cars sharing the road and forgetting that living, breathing people reside inside them. He wonders what would happen if he just pivoted into the black Mercedes Benz he saw littering a styrofoam cup full of cigarette butts a couple miles back. He wonders what would happen if he got on the ass of the rundown truck blaring bass and shit with its driver who blatantly has his eyes glued to his phone. Hiromi can feel the upper half of his dress shoe continue to press down on the acceleration, his vehicle revving along with the action as if to egg him on to go faster. He finds himself not caring when he cuts someone off or doesn't use his turning signal. His chest feels positively hollow. Just like before, he doesn't see the dark figure lounging in his backseat just behind him.

It's like he snaps awake when he finds himself in the elevator of his penthouse, the default cheery tune of elevator music making his clear exhaustion look almost comical in the mirrors paneled to the walls surrounding him. His heavy eyes blink. Hiromi's head swivels to the wall to his right suddenly- eyebrows drawn together in puzzlement. He could have sworn, in the corner of his eye, someone was just with him in the elevator. There had been a flash of long black hair and uncomfortably pale skin, donned in a dark robe of some kind. Before he can give what he just saw much thought, the elevator dings and the steel doors slide open. Hiromi blinks a few times and lightly shakes his head. He lifts his free hand, pinching the bridge of his nose before his palm drags down the rest of his face and he sighs deeply while leaving the elevator. Hiromi's shoulders slouch and his feet are heavy against the floor below him. He slips off his shoes, toeing them in the corner before stepping further into his home.

"Hiromi?"

And just like that, the lead in his muscles and fatigue weighing him down just melts away as you peek around the corner to meet his eyes. You meet him halfway. It doesn't go unnoticed by Hiromi how your eyes look him up and down in clear concern and what he really thinks is pity. "...Guilty again, huh?" He doesn't even need to explain it to you anymore. Hiromi feels every single ounce of negativity cursing his mind, body, and soul simply disappear as he steps into your open and warm embrace. Your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him flush against your body as a hand cradles the back of his head and welcomes his heaviness. Hiromi's forehead drops to your shoulder and his eyes slide close in relief to be with you. "I made dinner. Hungry?" He shakes his head to decline your offer. There's a moment of guilt in the pit of his stomach that he selfishly turns down your effort in caring for him, but that feeling is soon washed away as you nod instantly. You understood. You always understood. "C'mon," you give a soft kiss to his temple, "let's get this suit off."

With your hand in his, you lead Hiromi into your shared bedroom and take his suitcase to put aside on his desk. You sit Hiromi down on the edge of your bed gently and go about grabbing some more comfortable clothes for him to wear. Hiromi watches you with the softest gaze as you return to him, setting a fresh pair of boxers and one of his old college shirts beside him. You start loosening his tie, “Wanna get washed off? We can lay down afterwards.”

“Yes, please."

“Want me to join?”

Hiromi's heart swells to a point where his chest aches. He leans forward into you, head resting on your chest to listen to your steady heartbeat as he hugs your waist and draws you close between his legs. He just needs a moment to take you in- to feel you in his arms. You let him, return his embrace without question. His heavy eyes close slowly.

He's home.

•••

Hiromi lets out a long sigh as he sinks into the hot embrace of the lavender scented water filling the master bathroom’s spacious tub, resting his arms along the porcelain edges. His eyes peel open when you pass by- pulling your shirt up over your head and tossing it into the wicker laundry bin against the wall. He tilts his head, taking you in from head to toe as you slip your shorts down your legs. Hiromi’s eyebrows knit slightly.

“Where'd you get that bruise from?” He asks in concern, sitting up and reaching out for you- palm smoothing along the back of your bare thigh where a large, dark bruise welts against your skin. “Hm?” You peer over your shoulder at Hiromi with a frown of surprise, “I have a bruise?” “Yeah- it looks horrible. Did this happen recently?” “Oh, right,” Hiromi’s thumb gently rubs small circles against your flesh as you chuckle sheepishly, “I slipped and fell while running late to a meeting the other day, but it didn't hurt or anything.” Hiromi lets out an exasperated sigh, “How do you always manage to hurt yourself? Please be more careful, you have enough scars and bruises as it is.”

You raise your hands in playful surrender as you step into the bath, “I know, I know, I'm sorry.” Hiromi just shakes his head with a smile and welcomes your body against his when you join him within the water. You hum out in satisfaction, your back pressed to Hiromi's chest- your skin warm and pleasant flushed to his. Hiromi noses at the crook of your neck before leaving a fond trail of kisses down the gentle slope. Your hand reaches back as you tilt your head to give him more room, fingers threading through Hiromi's dark hair and scratching his scalp just the way he likes as his lips linger on the scar that curls at your left shoulder. Hiromi closes his eyes and wraps his arms around your waist to pull you closer still. “How was your day?” He asks against your skin. “You don't want to talk about yours?” You shift slightly in his arms to peer at him where his chin is tucked into your shoulder. “No,” Hiromi tilts his head to gently bump yours, your temples resting against each other's, “I just want to hear about you.”

You don't respond, but Hiromi can feel the way your cheek rises just a bit with your smile.

The next thirty minutes or so are filled with you telling Hiromi how you've spent your uneventful but peaceful day off (“boring is best”, you always say) as the two of you bathe together. It's a routine that you're both familiar with- one that Hiromi holds very dear (and he knows you do as well). You always insist on washing him first, working soap against his skin with a delicate touch and melting away the stress and tension of his day. When it's your turn, Hiromi is never not thorough. He finds it oddly relaxing- cleaning another person's body for them (though, he'd never done such intimate acts with anyone before meeting you so maybe he finds it so comforting because it's you).

His favorite part, though, is when you coax him to rest back into your chest and wash his hair. Tonight is no different.

Your hands do wonders. How you aren't the most famous massage therapist in the world, Hiromi has no idea (but he's more than happy to keep your talents for himself, anyways). Your fingers work through his hair with a touch that could rival that of an angel's. The clean and woodsy smell of Hiromi's shampoo fills the air as you knead his sensitive scalp, the heavenly combination nearly causing him to doze off in the water the two of you sit in. Hiromi's head lulls whichever direction your hands work in and his eyes have long since fluttered shut at the sound of your voice very seriously recounting a nature documentary you'd been absolutely appalled by earlier this evening.

"-and the mother bird won't realize that she's been taking care of a baby that isn't hers! The cuckoo hatches along with her babies and she'll feed them all, but the thing is that the cuckoo is much larger than the others so the mother will focus on feeding them more than her own." You tell him, disturbed by the information you've learned, "The other babies will either starve to death because they aren't getting enough food or be pushed out of the nest by the cuckoo because it needs more room. It's called...oh, what was it?"

"Parasitic brooding..." Hiromi finishes for you, having remembered seeing the term in a book he'd read once.

"Parasitic brooding! That's it!" You frown deeply, "It was really...sad. I know it's just nature, the cuckoo is just doing what its instinct is, but still...I can't help but feel bad for all the birds involved. The baby cuckoo especially."

"The baby cuckoo? How come?"

"...I'm not sure. It's just...the idea of a baby that's planted into a family it's meant to destroy without even knowing..." You trail off long enough for Hiromi's eyes to open and tilt his head back against your chest to see your face. "...It's a scary thought." He correctly words your feelings aloud. "Very." You agree solemnly, absentmindedly shaping Hiromi's hair into spikes. It's a bit surprising to him- how affected you seem by this concept. He's sure there's something there, something complex within you he's yet to uncover. Your relationship was founded and built on patience and trust- both of your backgrounds are complicated enough to have shaped who you are today significantly. And you've both mutually confided in one another about your pasts with time.

Hiromi knows there is still more about your life before him that you haven't told him about. However, he would never dream of trying to push that information out of you. Whatever it is, whenever you are ready to tell him about it, he'll be there for you the whole way. It's a silent promise he'd made to you early on into your friendship that he has no intention of breaking now after three years of being together.

He slowly sits up, turning in the water to face you and cup your face in his wet hand. You lean into his touch with an apologetic and sheepish smile. "Sorry...I was getting too into my head."

"You have nothing to apologize for."

"But I'm supposed to be taking care of you today, not the other way around."

"We can take care of each other at the same time, you know." Hiromi reasons, his response being a trill of your lips and a playfully dismissive wave. "Impossible."

With a shake of his head, he kisses your forehead and chuckles against your skin as you snicker along with him. When he leans back, you're beaming up at Hiromi with a smile that will never fail to make the rest of the world just disappear. He breathes your name. "I love you." "I love you, too."

"Keep telling me about the documentary. What else did it talk about?"

"Oh! Did you know that there are families of lesbian lizards?"

•••

Hiromi climbs into bed beside you, letting out the hundredth sigh of the day when he flops face first into the sanctuary of his fluffy pillow. He hears you snicker and coo with sympathy to the side and he can't help but smile. You pull the cool duvet over him before settling in, your hand resting on the nape of his neck and absentmindedly playing with the short dark tufts of hair there. Hiromi turns his head to meet your eyes. The two of you simply stare at each other for a moment. His mind wanders back to the failure of his day- to the look of pure contempt on his client's face when the verdict was given. Will the next time be the same? And the time after that? What about the inevitable case he'd take a year from now? Will he ever make a difference? Is he the kind of person that can even make a difference...?

"What're you thinking about, Hiro?"

“...Do you think I'll ever change anything?”

Your expression is hard for Hiromi to read, even after these years of being with you, but he can see the sympathy in your eyes. There's something else he catches just in the subtle downturn of your thoughtful frown. It's complicated and deep and almost devastating. It's like you've heard these words or asked yourself the same question before, but in a way Hiromi can't seem to grasp. Your palm glides to cup his cheek, thumb stroking the corner of his eye rhythmically. Before he can think any further on it though, the brief glaze to your stare disappears to something he can actually recognize. Love.

“I do.”

There isn't a hint of doubt in your whisper. You continue;

“You are…a righteous, beautiful, and passionate soul with the mind to accomplish anything and everything you want. You're always learning, always watching, always adapting. And I wish- every single day- I wish I could be even half as strong as you are. You're unshakeable, Hiromi.”

Hiromi has never been a very outwardly emotional man. It takes a lot for his heart to bare itself so clearly. Even so, you are easily able to sway him as if it was as simple as breathing- like he is a book with its pages ready and waiting to be read and analyzed by your eyes and your eyes alone. It's a terrifying and exhilarating experience. To be seen, known, and cherished.

“You won't just change anything, Hiromi.” You smile so softly, finger brushing away the tear Hiromi hadn't noticed was falling until your touch. He lifts his hand to cover your own and weaves your fingers together. “You'll change everything. I know it.”

“...How?” His voice is so quiet, he almost doesn't hear it himself…but you hear him.

“Because you're Higuruma Hiromi. And I love you.”

There's such a serene silence that falls between the two of you, Hiromi almost feels like he's caught in a dream. Your skin is painted by the loving strokes of the rising moon’s brush- your eyes sparkle brighter than any mere shooting star that's ever streaked across the night sky. You're ethereal. Hiromi has to question- has to wonder what it is he did in his past lives to have earned the grace that is you. What he does know, though, is that you're here. With him.

And that is more than enough.

The shadows of your and Hiromi's bedroom shift, something darker than the black blanket of night slinking silently across the ceiling. It moves slowly and deliberately- spindly and twisted limbs like the branches of a dying tree moving the bulbous, swollen trunk they are attached to. The damnable thing crawls down the wall the headboard of the bed presses against, making its way closest to Hiromi's side. Its pencil thin neck stretches and cranes with the accompanied sound of crackles and pops (as if stretching bones it does not possess), two wide bloodshot eyes that are much too human yet far too large leer unblinkingly down at the soundly sleeping man just within its reach. Its face holds no features- just a silhouette of a head that is too small compared to its sac-like body. It's like a child's rendition of a giant spider they saw in their nightmares has peeled off paper and grew the size of a car. It stares, drinking in the face of the human who's woe it bore from. His desperation, his sorrow, his guilt, his regrets- all a delectable ambrosia that fills its fat gut. But it is not enough.

There's a soft, almost undetectable sound from it. Like the slow inhale of a dying man that draws on and on and on and on and on, hollow and wheezing and infinite. The space where its mouth should be begins to fall cartoonishly from the upper half of its face, a cacophony of ripping tendons and snapping cartilage growing more and more frequent the more its gaping maw yawns open. It draws closer to Hiromi, jaw unhinging and stretching to the size of Hiromi's upper torso.

Closer. Closer. Closer. Closer.

Creak.

The creature's mouth snaps closed, head shooting up to the sudden sound of something just barely moving to the right. Its wide eyes widen further when it meets the subtly glowing gaze of you. You stare into its very core- shaking the foundation of its being. Your expression is void, yet the unbridled wrath storming in your eyes and lashing through your energy strikes something into the newborn curse. Something so horrible, it cannot truly comprehend how or why you make it feel.

It feels fear.

The curse is fleeing before it realizes, scattering with uncanny speed across the floor and heading straight towards the glass doors leading to the connecting balcony. It crashes through the glass, pieces digging into its fleshy body but it is undeterred. Gnarly fingers wrap around the railing as it heaves its body up, ready to jump over the edge and escape into the night. It watches as its own body suddenly hurdles over the edge of the railing unceremoniously- plunging silently over the edge and disappearing. Its eyes shake as it slowly peers to the side.

"The next time you are born," your voice is soft and even as your fist tightens around its severed neck with a strength that has the curse's eyes about to pop out of its head, your free hand resting over its face, "make sure it isn't by him."

There's a sick, wet, tearing sound- purple residue spraying across the floor of the balcony as you reduce the curse’s head into a ball of meat, raw cursed energy rushing through both parts of its body before exploding in a display of churning blue flame. Any evidence of its existence is instantly eradicated. You look back just as Hiromi is startled awake from the shattering glass, snapping your fingers as the ruined glass door flashes and is fixed in the blink of an eye. Hiromi bolts upright and his head snaps to where you're re-entering the bedroom. "Sorry," you whisper, "did I wake you?"

"Wh-What the hell was that?!" Hiromi asks in panic, eyes flickering around your bedroom to find whatever it was that had awoken him. Guilt picks at your bones as you tilt your head and furrow your brow in feigned confusion. "What was what?" Your boyfriend stares at you like he's trying to decide if he's gone crazy or if you've gone crazy. "Th-That...that sound! It sounded like glass was breaking!" "...Glass? I didn't hear anything, Hiro."

Hiromi blinks a few times, processing your words- his mind running. You can see him thinking. You know that he definitely knows he didn't dream that up, but your reaction clearly makes him question himself. “You're stressed, baby. It was probably just a nightmare.” To ease (and distract) him, you move back into bed, your hand gently cupping his face to turn Hiromi towards you and meet him in a soft kiss. He relaxes with a slow exhale through his nose- you can feel his rapid heart beat calming where you rest your hand over his chest. “C’mere, let's go back to sleep, hm?” You murmur when you pull away, your answer a quiet nod. Hiromi moves with you- your hands gently holding his shoulders to guide him to rest on top of you.

Hiromi sighs as he lays his head on your chest, your fingers threading through his hair and running through his hair to tempt his eyes to fall closed. It's not long until you feel Hiromi's breathing slowly even out like it always does when he sleeps. You glance to the balcony door, releasing your hold on the illusion to assess the damage. There's a giant hole punched right through the now ruined glass door, pieces scattered across the ground (but luckily it's far enough that Hiromi won't accidentally step on the pieces when he wakes up tomorrow). You inwardly groan before setting the false image back into place and shut your eyes.

You'll need to get that fixed tomorrow.

[iinovich]

𝙋𝙝𝙞𝙡𝙞𝙥(𝙡𝙞𝙥) 𝙂𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙖𝙜𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙭 𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧

Synopsis: You attend your AA meetings at least once a week and you yourself know that you've always had your eyes on the Dirty blonde, maybe, this could be the day you could make something out of it.. Wouldn't you like to know?

Wc: 1.3k

Cw: alcohol, violence, drugs, angst, intoxication, aa meetings

A/n: my first oneshot, shameless too, enjoy lol

.・゜-: ✧ :.・゜-: ✧ .・゜-: ✧ .・゜-: ✧ :-.・゜-: ✧ :-　　　　

You've never seen him like this and thought you never would.

AA meetings were something you tried to attend at least once a week, and when you do successfully force yourself to leave your mess of an apartment that reeks of cigarettes, you can’t help but notice the blue-eyed dirty blonde that looks like he crawled out of his own grave and always sat at the back of the AA meetings. He always showed no emotion, his hands were always dug into the pockets of his worn-out jacket and his face was always blank. He's only stepped onto the podium of the AA meetings once to talk about his alcoholic laced stories but you know he was hiding something more intense, something deeper, and you can't help but want to claw your fingers down into his throat to find out. He talks while looking down and you recognize the shame intertwined into his voice as he speaks, an emotion you were very familiar with.

But that meeting happened weeks ago.

You're sat at one of the back rows of today's AA meeting. You're only looking up at the ceiling as the sob stories of the recovering alcoholics are only boring you to death rather than inspiring you to change into a “better person”. You stare at the flickering light bulb dreading for today’s meeting to end quick. You can't wait to light a new one and find your next fuck that's usually on the L that you take back to your apartment. It's only that you take interest into today’s meeting when you hear glass shattering. You whip your head to the left and see that soul dead man gripping harshly on the collar of a typical addict.

"What the fuck did you say?" You’ve never heard him raise his voice, he was always so quiet and reserved and he always speaks in a whisper.

"You Gallaghers are all white trash, don't know how the fuck your whore of a sister got out of jail, all you fucking Gallaghers deserve to rot at the clink" he's slurring his words, what kind of asshole comes into an AA meeting intoxicated? Your thoughts halt like a train when you see Blondie over there landing a hard hit onto the drunkies's jaw. He collapses on the floor and he’s coughing like a maniac as he's in between laughs, blood leaving his lips like Niagara Falls, you wince at the sight.

"Fucking kill me gallagher, forget you're being recorded by a camera?" The maniac shouts out in between his laughs. The recovering alcoholics are leaving one by one not wanting to be a part of this bloody dispute, and you're pretty sure one of them are calling the police, if not a drug dealer, this situation seems normal to relapse in your eyes.

His blue eyes whip to the corner of the room and he looks back at the drunkie with eyes that speak louder than the punch he landed that echoed around the room.

"You're a fucking lucky man, if I ever see you again...you are a fucking dead man"

He enunciates the last five words before spitting on the man's face and the drunkie still can't help but laugh.

Blondie digs into the pockets of his jacket again before leaving and you notice that he’s mumbling something to himself and yet despite the gruesome altercation that you just witnessed seconds ago, you feel drawn to just say something to him, to follow him. You follow your gut and follow his tracks on the way out of the building with your own hands dug deep into your jeans, but the pockets of a woman's jeans can only go so far. Your platform boots are thudding on the hard pavement as you exit the building where the meeting was held, you see him leaning on the wall to your left where the stained white paint of the building walls are only deteriorating.

You look at him and see a cigarette in between his lips as he mutters a quiet “fuck” that you can read from his occupied lips.

"Need a light?"

He looks at you for a second and doesn't reply to you, but instead leans his mouth towards your hand that's already raised up with a lighter attached to your fingers and you find yourself lighting his cigarette. It's only after the puff of smoke that exits his lips that he decides to talk.

"Thanks"

You both sit in the awkward yet comfortable silence as the lights of Chicago fill in the awkward atmosphere for you.

"Name?"

"Y/n"

"Philip, call me lip"

You nod your head before asking him the very obvious question that's been weighing the back of your head.

"What the fuck happened in there?"

Lip shrugs as another puff of smoke exits his lips before he looks at you to give you a brief explanation.

"drunkie Talked shit about my family, didn't know he was drunk until I punched him"

Silence took over the atmosphere again, the Chicago lights now struggling to save it.

"Why are you here?"

You've been dying to ask him that the moment you had laid your eyes on lip.

"None of your damn business is why I'm here"

He states with venom laced into each word and he says it quickly. You didn't say anything to anger him, you didn’t give out a remark to piss him off yet he's spoon feeding you a comment that makes you scoff and you're thinking about walking away. But you're entitled and egotistical ass won’t let you leave until you spew something nasty back.

"Well fuck you lip, just starting small talk cause I can't help but notice we're the only fucking loners in that shithole, guess you can't seem to pull your head out of your ass."

"I hope you enjoyed your cigarette lip"

You last managed to say as you enunciate his name, popping the p before walking away.

"My toddler of a brother got into my sisters fucking coke and he’s having seizures left and fucking right, I don’t know who the fuck bailed my bitch sister and I have no fucking idea how I’m going to pay for my brothers medical bills, you- you fucking happy?"

There's so much anger and hate in his words. But you're just so fucking egotistical that instead of walking away and feeling any sense of remorse, you turn around and see lip whose twisting his heel on the cigarette that you lit for him.

"Just because you gave me a light doesn't give your entitled ass the right to know shit about me"

You furrow your brows.

"I was only being nice-"

"Nice my fucking ass, you just want to get a fucking egotistical boost from the sob stories that you want out of me, is- is that it?"

Lip says unstable, your face is twisted and turned into confusion, not understanding how the fuck he's pulling words out of his ass.

"I don't know what the fuck I said to you to piss you off but-"

"Oh, go fuck yourself" he yells and he kicks the metal trash can near him, the clanging of the metal hitting the building wall and tearing the thin paint startles you and your heart starts fucking pounding.

And it all clicks.

His face is flushed red and sweating, his eyelids are drooping against his blood shot eyes and you see him stumbling after he kicked the trash can.

He's fucking drunk.

The two of you are looking at each other, panting. One in intoxication and the other in vexation.

You slowly back away while you're shaking your head ever so slowly. You can't help but think how fucking stupid you were for thinking that maybe you could have another chance at life with a random guy you found intriguing at an AA meeting- heck, wanting to pursue something of anything with a recovering alcoholic was already the first mistake. But now you're just standing there, wondering why the fuck you wanted to be a part of this shit in the first place.

"Go get some help lip."

_______________________________________________

Thank you for readingg!

[taeyongsfemdom]

| Paint My Body |

•couldn't think of a description for this but it's filthy and cute!

•contains: femdom/sub, titty-fucking (aw yeah shawty) subby taeyong tingz, fluff at the end.

•Hi Besties!! Welcome to the only fluffy fic I'll write on this page (kinda sorta.) This was bumping around in my brain for a good little minute and I think I kinda ate with this one. This fic was heavily inspired by SHALALA album pics where Taeyong is painting and doodling (love those pics btw)

•just a cute lil fluffy fic that I wanted to do for ya'll 💕 hope ya'll enjoy!

It was a beautiful fall morning as Taeyong was in his art room just painting away on a canvas since that was one of his favorite things to do outside of rehearsals and studio time. He always needed something to get away from the hectic world of being an idol, he couldn't be happier when you surprised him with his very own room to unleash his creativity. The door was wide open as you stood in the doorway watching the handsome man staring at the blank canvas, his hand kept pushing his hair back while rocking the most casual outfit to exist, which just a white shirt and blue jeans with his barefeet on the tarp.

"Knock, knock!"

"Goddess!"

"What are you up to in here?"

"Just trying to figure what to paint. I usually go with the flow of the brush but nothing is clicking"

You titled your head and looked at the canvas with him, your lips puckering up while trying to come up with an idea. It kinda shocked you on how Taeyong was having a block because it didn't happen often, a few drawings scattered across the walls made you smile. He was such an amazing artist and was blown away from his talent, an imaginary light bulb appeared over your head as you rested your hands on his broad shoulders.

"Y'know, what if you painted something that wasn't a boring white canvas?"

"Goddess, I don't wanna paint on the walls, I'm running out of room before going up to the celing"

You rolled your eyes at his response as you slid your hand to the tie of your black robe.

"No silly, not the walls! I'm talking about my body"

The robe slid off your body in one fluid motion, Taeyong's face started to turn a bright shade of red as he stared at you. Your body was absolutely perfect in his eyes, your big tits all the way down to your round pear shaped ass that he loved worshipping, your body was something that he dreamed about everyday. You winked at him as you threw your hair up in a thick bun and lying your naked body back on the tarp covered floor.

"Let me be your canvas, little rose"

The boy gulped and grabbed several paint buckets of different colors, opening each can carefully. The various colors that caught your eye was orange, yellow, blue etc. His hand was shaking before lightly drizzling the dark orange paint along your body. The paint had a slight chill to it and it caused you to arch your back off the floor and moan, this caused Taeyong to choke on his spit as he poured more colors on you, circling around you as paint got all over feet. His favorite color, which was pink, trickled over your full breasts as he watched you giggle from how the drops felt.

"How do I look so far?"

"Absolutely beautiful"

Taeyong stared at you with awe as you massaged your entire body, causing the paint to mix together a little bit. Your legs opening a little bit to reveal your pussy to tease him before closing them back together, you lifted your foot that had a fresh red pedicure done and rubbed it against the growing bulge in his pants, the blush getting deeper as he kept his eyes on your foot, a wicked laugh left your lips as he moaned lightly while humping your foot a little.

"So desperate. Take those pants off"

He quickly unbuttoned his pants and let them fall into the paint covered the floor, his hands going behind his back as he kept his eyes glued to your foot. To his credit, Taeyong was blessed down there and you couldn't complain about it, You lifted yourself up and rubbed your hands over your paint covered tits as you pulled the boy over to you, you dragged your hands down his slim thighs which made him stiffen up.

"Since you've been such a good boy for me, I think you deserve a reward. I'll let you fuck my beautiful tits that you just can't stop staring at until you cum, okay honey?"

"Y..yes goddess!!!!"

You wrapped your tits around his sensitive cock, giving him the signal to start thrusting slowly in-between your tits. Your eyes looked deeply into his sweet chocolate ones, it was almost like you put a spell on him. The power that you had over this boy was mind boggling, it made you feel so good that you had your own personal toy to indulge in whenever you wanted, but it also awoke something else inside you.

"Tell me how amazing my tits are"

"O...ooh god! Goddess your tits are a..amazing, soft and so so pretty! Just like you"

"Why thank you! I can tell you're getting close, little rose."

Your hand tugged on his balls a little bit and that caused a little yelp to escape from that cute mouth.

"I..I'm gonna cum! P..please p..please let me paint your beautiful tits with cum please! I..I won't make a mess I swear!"

"Mmmmmm cum for me, sweetheart."

Very loud moans filled the room as Taeyong came all over tits, the load being quite large since you didn't let him cum for a few weeks. His little body lightly going limp from how hard the orgasm was, both of your hands wrapped around him again and pumped together slowly.

"G..goddess! N..no please!!! P..please! I'll cum again! I'm s..still sensitive! P..please please!"

Another wicked laugh left your lips.

"Mmmmm keep begging like that, it makes you sound so pathetic"

You ignored his please as more ropes of cum landed on your tits while you looked up to find tears sliding down his face from pleasure, you giggled and cooed at him as you let his paint covered cock go. His little body pressed against yours as you caught him in your arms, the both of you sat there cuddling in silence for a few minutes to let him rest.

"Thank you for my reward goddess. I really don't deserve your kindness. A..and um, thanks for letting me coat you in paint. You're a living work or art"

"Did that help clear the block in your brain?"

"I..it did!"

The both of you smiled at each other before he got up and tried to clean up some of the paint off of him before heading to the bathroom.

"I'm gonna start a bath for you, goddess! I'll add your favorite bubble bath and rose petals! Just the way you like it"

"Thank you honey, i"ll be there in a minute"

You watched Taeyong walk out of the room as your heart started feeling a bit funny, it started to feel warm and fuzzy and that was something you were not used it. You knew that you refused to fall in love since your breakup a few years ago, but your frozen heart started saying otherwise when you looked at the cancer boy who was living with you.

"What the hell is going on with me?"

End.

[katescribblesabit]

About Copper Doors

I feel like copper doors and trapdoors should be Redstone activated, no? A copper door fells like it should be heavier than a normal wood door. At least for me a metal door makes sense to be opened by more power.

and we only have one Redstone activated door which is the iron door, and the iron door is just a white blank slate and in some builds it just stands out like a sore thump.

However the copper blocks always come in four colors which would give us more options for the more secure door.

and we could even give it a fun twist like the copper bulb has! the more oxidized the door the more power it needs to be opened, for example.

i just feel like there is a bit more potential with them that isn't used. and i wanted to put my thoughts out into the void of the internet haha

[rogueshadow1124]

INTO THE SHADOWS

[SATORU GOJO X FEM¡READER]

{May or may not follow the actual plot, there will be a few changes- I dont own any original characters apart from Y/N Fushiguro.}

(Part one), (Part two)

Chapter One - I AM Y/N FUSHIGURO

...

The lights flickered erratically in the dark bathroom cubicle in one of the dorm rooms, a shadowed figure flashed in time with the lights before the bulb popped leaving the room to be a blank space in an abyss. The figure crossed an arm along their stomach, wincing in pain as a warm liquid hit their hands, the other hand roamed around and slid into one of the open pockets of the gowned jacket they wore, pulling out a phone which they immediately scrolled through the device to turn on the flash groaning when an orb reflected from the mirror before them and hit their eyes.

"Fuck-" a feminine voice echoed through the air, croaky and soft- also known as the voice of Y/N Fushiguro, she had been assigned a mission over three days ago and hadn't been able to make it back until today, evidently returning with more than just a minor injury.

Her face was pretty clean apart from the red irritated scratch that ran across her left cheek to the top of her lip, but what was more than worrying was the overly large gash that ran across the right hand side of her torso down to her hip where her hand was currently clutching to add pressure relieving some of the pain and the blood flow that was pooling through the gaps of her fingers.

Never had she ever been this injured when on a mission, she always came back with the odd cut and bruise but nothing too deep or crucial. The curse that she had just thought seemed to be stronger than most, its body was a light shy tone with a crumpled face as of where the mouth opened like a flower and it had three white eyes which suggested it was blind although it looked to be smarter than any other as it had been strong enough to out-smart the female fushiguro and render her weak.

The girl stumbled towards the wooden cabinet that stood in the back corner, thrusting open the middle sqaure cove harshly making the board slam against the wall beside it. She reached inside to grab a hold of the small translucent box, rushing back over to the counter by the sink and the mirror, eyes already being adjusted to the dark aura of the room.

After opening the box she instantly pulled out the gauze bandages, a thin sharp pointed needle, some rubbing alcohol and a think piece of dark thread that she pierced through the tip of the needle tying of the end so it was ready for her to use. She grasped a paper towel piece that was laying around, popping the lid from the bottle before pouring a generous amount of the liquid onto it, peeling her shirt off, only to quickly press the liquid soaked material into the wound making a hiss rumble in her throat.

She made sure the wound was cleansed before picking up the threaded needle between her thumb and forefinger, bringing the sharp edge down to the end of the large gash, pushing to allow it to pierce the skin there.

...

A loud banging sound brought Y/N out of her slumber, a sequence of knocks ranged on her door. She grumbled lowly, pushing herself up from the thin mattress that she layed on, a gasp passing her lips when a shock of pain ran up her right side, reminding her about the events from the nights prior.

"Y/N. Y/N. Y/NNNNNNN-" Satorus voice came from the other side of the door, a playful tone tugging at the depths of his voice. Once she reached the door, grasping at the brass handle, tugging it open roughly which nearly made the white haired, blindfolded male fall through.

"What do you wan-"

"What happened to you?!" His sudden alarmed voice cut her short when he some how sensed her injury, catching sight of the gauze on her right hip, making her aware that she was infact wearing no shirt now but was luckily still clad in a sports bra that still had some blood staining on the underside. And she had come to take notice that it wasnt only story that was present but alongside him stood a pink haired boy, who was looking rather sheepishly at her with an small awkward smile.

"Its nothing Gojo." She replied bluntly, looking at him with boredom lacing her eyed as usual before she peered back at the other boy raising an eyebrow. "Who's this-"

"Aha this is Yuji Itadori, sukunas new vessel." Gojo noticed how she had switched the subject quickly, but he wasnt at all surprised by her actions, infact he was kind of expecting that to happen, it was something Y/N Fushiguro always did to avoid attention and take a conversation elsewhere so it wasnt fully focused on her. He turned back to the young student, nodding his head towards the girl, "This is Y/N Fushiguro."

"S-so is she related to megumi?"

"Yeah hes my kid brother." She answered eventhough the question was directed towards Gojo to answer. Yuji could now see the resemblance between the two, the dark calculating eyes, structured facial features although still withholding a baby face that pieced together perfectly, not to forget about the black hair.

The sound of a door creaking open caught the trio's attention, each of their heads turning to face a disheveled megumi who looks to have just woken up, his hand rubbing at the back of his neck before coming to ruffle at his hair, his dark eyes locking onto the three who were stood a couple dorm doors away from him.

"Erk… You’re next door?" The ravenette scowled, his nose scrunching as his eyes focused on the pink haired boy in question.

"Oh, Fushiguro! You look like you’re doing well now!" Yuji exclaimed, a look of excitement flashing across his features when speaking to the boy.

"There were plenty of other empty rooms, weren’t there?" Megumi rose a brow, now switching to gaze to his teacher.

"But isn’t livelier better? I thought it’d be good for-"

"Classes and missions are enough. This was an unwelcome favor." Gojos words were cut off by the megumi's, his tone becoming annoyed as he grumbled lowly. He looked boredly at Yuji who he had been peering inside his room, a surprised look coming to his face.

"Wow, it’s so organized!"

"I just said you’re unwelcome!" His eyes then suddenly landed to his sister, trailing down to her torso where he spotted the bandage covering her hip, eyebrows furrowing as he also caught sight of the little blotches of blood that had been seeping through and were soaked into her sports bra, his eyes wandered back up to her face not failing to notice the lengthy scratch. "What happened to you?"

"Its nothing gumi, dont worry about it." She huffed, spinning on the ball of her foot to walking back inside her dorm only to be followed by the younger boy who sent one last look towards Gojo and Yuji, proceeding to shut the door behind him.

"It doesnt look like nothing." He walked across the room towards the small bathroom that was attached to the dorm, hovering in the door frame with his arms crossed and a stern look crossing his features.

"Its fine, I'm okay- nothing I cant handle, alright?" Y/N glanced back at him for a second, turning back to face the mirror as she peeled back the gauze, getting a closer look at the wound in the light that now filled the room as opposed to lastnight. It didnt at all seem to look 'fine' as she put it, in fact it was all ridged on the outline where the claws of the curse ragged through the skin and it had looked even worse with the job she had done on it last night after seeing it up, the outer corner looked to be an irritated red colour and little bit of purple crept at the surface. "Shit-"

"That doesnt look fine does it." Although it would normally be a question, megumi had said this in a more stated tone.

"S'just a scratch- a very big one." She hushed her voice towards the end but obviously not quiet enough as her brother clicked his tongue at her response, looking at her through he reflection of the mirror where their eyes had met. Y/N huffed, pushing the edges of the gauze back down over the wound, turning so she was now facing megumi, a look of guilt and sorrow forming in her eyes. "I-I'll be alright gumi, I promise. Everything will be alright."

Word count- [1441]

[didyoutrydynamite]

Sync

Jaune/Adam: *Sitting at a small table in their inn room*

Neo: *Seems especially groggy and sleepy today, having stayed in bed all morning*

Cinder: *Steps out the bathroom with a pained expression*

Jaune: Hey, Cinder. You all right?

Cinder: Just a head ache, I’ll be fine.

Jaune: Oh, I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do-

Cinder: *Snaps* I said I’ll be fine! *Tsks as she puts a hand to her temple*

Jaune/Adam: *Look surprised before both having an internal light bulb go off in their head*

Cinder: *Sighs* I’m sorry, Jaune. That wasn’t supposed to come out as aggressive-

Jaune/Adam: *Both stand up and speak in unison* I HAVE SOMETHING TO GO DO!

Cinder/Neo: *Look perplexed at them*

Jaune: I-I mean Adam and I have something we need to do in town!

Adam: *Already grabbing his truck keys* Yep. Errands. Will take a while.

Jaune: Yep! Errand run! Be safe while we’re gone! *Shuts room door behind them*

~O~O~O~O~O~

Jaune/Adam: *Sitting in Adam’s truck as they drive down the town streets*

Adam: *Driving* So. How did you know?

Jaune: *Passenger side.* Seven sisters. You?

Adam: *Points to his nose* Faunus senses.

Jaune: *Looks at Adam with revulsion* WHAT?! That’s disgusting!

Adam: *Scowl* Shut up. It’s a Faunus thing, we deal with this all the time like adults. Try being in a rebel cell with a dozen female members syncing. *Mumbles* Humans and their inferior noses.

Jaune: *Thinking about Blake* Oh that poor girl...

Adam: What girl?

Jaune: I-I meant those poor Faunus girls in the Fang!

Adam: *Shrugs* Not really, Faunus just pretty much ignore it or handle it with enough tact to prevent a fuss. Try to give them what privacy we can.

Jaune: Huh, learn something new everyday, I guess. Well, I think I saw a grocery store nearby we can stop at.

Adam: *Puzzled* What do you need to pick up?

Jaune: I was thinking dark chocolate and strawberry ice cream for the girls, some pain meds, and maybe a heated water bottle... Wait, where did you plan on going?

Adam: Drive around town until the bars open, have a few drinks, and then sleep in the truck tonight.

Jaune: *Looks at Adam with a blank expression* Is that how you “handle it like an adult” in the White Fang?

Adam: *Smirk* Gotta be an adult to drink beer, right?

[bkh-s-7449]

The buzzing is familiar.  Fluorescent lighting. Corpus standard bulbs, long and cylindrical, whining quietly as electricity courses through the vapors inside. A great heave of effort sees his eye crack open a sliver, rolling uneasily in the socket. It’s bright. That’s a good thing. Waking up somewhere clean and well-lit is a good thing. He tilts his head back a little, looking up at the ceiling. It is a sterile white. 

A voice addresses him, the way one might a child they’d given a heavy dosage of cold medicine. 

“Ah…? Are we awake for real, this time?” 

Florix blinks away some of the bleariness. His hand smooths over the surface at his side — he is sitting? Yes. It makes a faint, papery whisper. He turns his palm over. Still in his gloves. Still in uniform. He looks down. His fingers are brushing over the sanitary cover on an examination table, where he seems to have been perched like a little dove, his legs dangling over the edge. He winces, shutting his eye as his brow furrows in frustration. He does not remember. He cannot remember what he is doing here. 

Where?

“Wonderful! Here, look here. Open up. You can do it. That’s alright.”  

He looks again. A woman is sitting across from him. She wears the smart greys of any Corpus you could point your finger at, an aseptic laboratory coat buttoned all the way from her throat to her waist. She moves forward a little in her chair, leaning in closer to him, smiling placidly. Neat lines draw from her jaw to just beneath her lips. Her hands bear the markings of debts forgiven. “7449-0938,” she says, rousing his at-current very sparse attention span, “Florix-S, is it?” 

“Do you- do you know what-? What time it is?” 

She does not answer. 

“It’s good to have you back.” The tone is conversational. Her fingers tap quietly at an interface in her lap, filling up the emptiness over the hum of the lights. “I’m the head research assistant here, Doctor Alba Immox. I’ll be your physician during your stay.” She regards him for a moment, greeted by his blank stare, the corners of her mouth twitching. “You can just call me ‘Doctor,’ if it’s easier.” 

Where?

He knows this place. At least as much as he knows any Corpus pillar, standardized to the last measurement, the last finish on the metal, the last fixtures in the paneling. His gaze flickers over the medical charts plastered to the wall. Breathing exercises to practice during repossession and shelving appointments. He knows this place, but he does not belong here. He has not for years. Cast out and collateral. 

With a cursory once-over of a document in front of her, Doctor Alba Immox nods. “I’m sure you’re worried about your debts,” she begins, and Florix freezes up, a chill in his pulse. None of it makes much sense from where he’s sitting — his rank, how much he owes, what he is doing here at all — but it still brings him pause. She watches him, restrained, vaguely pleased. “But I wanted to tell you that bygones are bygones. There is a better way you can make good on your dues, and we want to help. You’re in a unique position, with a unique condition.”

That doesn’t make sense. Florix is submissive by nature, and the last thing he wants to do is disrespect Doctor Alba Immox, physician and researcher, but he’s positive even a physician and researcher doesn’t have that kind of authority. That doesn’t even touch upon what she seems to be trying to suggest to him — his “condition.” The incident with the mutalist strain had been a complete logistical nightmare for the Corpus, thousands of assets lost, a thousand more disease-ridden and malfunctioning. A red-faced embarrassment for the entire Board, when it was all said and done. Florix had learned that nearly as quickly as he’d been rescued. There isn’t a chance in any cold hell this is an approved venture. He shifts uncomfortably, moving to try and get off of the table, beginning to stammer something about “being late.” 

Doctor Immox leans in again, putting her hand on his leg to cut him off. He stills, tensed. 

“You have a real chance to do something great for the Corpus, 7449-0938. Your Corpus. You can honor them. You’re still here.” 

A shock of guilt paralyzes him. His body feels frayed in its wake, every nerve tingling with shame. She stands, putting aside her interface and favoring the needle and the scalpel. Tools of the trade. “Your make is completely standard for your series. We have every strand of DNA on file. We can understand better with your help.” She turns her back on him, curt and professional, measuring something out in a clear syringe. “You can make a difference for the future, Florix-S, if you’ll allow it.”

What is he supposed to say? 

“Just a few samples, for now. Blood and tissue. We’ll want to monitor things more properly…” 

They are not alone. The head research assistant has an assistant, too. He files in wordlessly, moving behind the table, faceless in a standard issue helm. Florix straightens out a touch, nervously folding his hands in his lap. If they just want to run a couple laboratory tests, he supposes it’s the least he can do, if she really means it. If he can be forgiven. A graceless, heavy hand moves his hair aside, and he flinches away, baffled by the gesture. Aren’t they going to sedate him? This is the sort of thing they sedate him for, in the Tenno infirmary. There’s a pop of the stitches at the back of his uniform, at the high collar. 

Florix shudders in revulsion. At the idea of being touched. At the idea of the body beneath, at being exposed in any measure. His throat constricts. There is a steadily rising tone in his ears. 

“I don’t think— I - I don’t think, I really— We don’t think this a good idea—“

A sharp, cold jab at the nape of his neck, where the infestation curls around it like strangulation bruises. 

The tone swells to a roar. 

Blackness, dark as pitch. 

— 

A gentle unfurling sees his optic flicker on. The petals of flesh that make up his face, opening as a sickly flower, the jumbled mechanisms underneath establishing a visual connection. He knows this place. It is home. The dormitory is softly lit. It smells like incense. 

Relief floods his nervous system. It was a bad dream. Here he is. 

He tries to move, and finds himself impossibly heavy. Limbs of lead. A head filled with disease. The body is unwilling. He tries to count his fingers, but he cannot feel them. He cannot feel much of anything, at least not anything he recognizes. There is something else, a shape bent and unnatural, something that does not feel like himself. His heart flutters, somewhere, in a chest that does not match. Fear. He doesn’t understand. 

A thousand hands.

They stretch their leg out, long and slender, flex plates underneath a flayed webbing of tissue and muscle. He tries to lift his hands, to cover their face, but she has none to speak of. The strange, nascent structures at her sides writhe uselessly. Their lengthy neck twists. They make a quiet gurgle, somewhere in the mass. 

For you, a thousand eyes.

Terror slices clean through the swarm, electrified. Through her auditory output he screams in her voice, the thick and bubbly vocalization of the infestation, her rewired sound chip. 

The hive fragments. 

—

His mouth tastes strange, when he wakes next. Viscous, coppery, heavy on the tongue. A secondary reflex bids he gag, retching, working his stiff jaw. It’s difficult. There is something on his face. He reaches to touch it, and finds he cannot. It is not because he is made wrong this time — he can feel it quite well. His hand, his curling fingers. The restraint on his wrist. Medical, padded. Had he done something wrong? 

A spit guard? 

Not right. It’s firmer than that. 

A muzzle. 

Like a filthy, sick animal. He wriggles, drooling and trying to put his hands over his mouth, humiliated. The room is colder than before. His uniform had been split at the seams at least to the waist, laid bare. He nearly throws up at the very realization of it, nausea bearing down on him, curling inward to hide the hideous deformation that made up his self. 

He’d done something wrong. He’d reacted poorly, and did something bad. He squeezes his eye shut. 

Come back to us. Try again. 

[alectoperdita]

25 for that situation prompt 👀👀

From Put That Guy in a Situation(TM) Ask Game

25. Showing up injured at their enemy’s house

content warnings: mild description of injury and blood, but not necessarily realistic

Read on AO3

---

Blood seeped through his shirt. It overflowed onto his pants, dying his entire left side crimson. Jounouchi winced, but he didn't dare to let up on the pressure. Each step—every breath he took was labored. His knees threatened to fold under him with each lurch forward.

The wound might be deeper than he originally thought.

A glow hovered in the distance, cutting through the fog. For a second, he wondered if that was the afterlife beckoning. A moth to the flame, he lumbered toward it.

If he was going to die, he wanted to be warm, at least.

The light came from a solitary bulb illuminating a heavy iron-wrought entrance gate. Up close, it shone blindingly bright. Damn LED bulb. Exhausted, he slumped against the wall under it. When his head rolled back, he caught sight of a sign beside him that hung at eye level. He squinted to make out the characters through the haze of pain.

It read "Kaiba."

A wet gurgle of a laugh bubbled out of Jounouchi.

Well, wasn't this perfect? Kaiba might toe his corpse in disgust, but it was better than expiring in the nearby woods like a wounded animal.

"Oi, Kaiba," he croaked. "You'll tell Yugi at least, won't you?"

"What the fuck are you rambling about, deadbeat?" Kaiba's angry voice rang in his ear. It was as if he was right there with him.

Great, he was hearing shit already. He clung to it shamelessly. God, he didn't want to die alone, even if it meant he was delusional. "Be a pal. When you find my corpse in the morning, give Yugi a call and let him know you found me?"

"It won't have to wait till morning if you don't get off my property this instant," Kaiba barked.

The voice came from around the corner, close to the gate itself. Peeling his heavy eyelids open, he gripped the wall and peered around, perhaps hoping to glimpse the other man even if he was a hallucination. Embedded within the white stucco wall was a dark electronic panel with a light that blazed an angry red over a speaker. There was also a video screen, but it was dark, staring back at him with a blank face.

"Kaiba?" he asked. Hope crowded into his throat, wet and fitful as tar. Or it was blood. "Is that really you?"

"You heard me, deadbeat." The tinny voice boomed out of the speakers. "Do you have any idea what time it is?"

"Late," laughed Jounouchi. His head spun. He caught himself against the wall again, this time huddling protectively around the panel. "You—" A rattling cough. "You should be in bed."

"I was. Until somebody set off the perimeter alarms."

Jounouchi was somebody! He was no longer just nobody in Kaiba's book.

"Me! It was me!"

"No shit."

He peered through the gaps in the gate, up the ridiculously long driveway to the mansion in the distance. He couldn't spot any pinpricks of light up ahead. They would've been clues as to where Kaiba was in that gigantic house of his. How strange it was Kaiba who spoke to him and not one of his many identical-looking suited goons. Was he all alone in that wretched place?

"Do I need to call the police?" asked Kaiba icily.

"Sure," he said. "You mind calling an ambulance while you're at it?"

"What?"

Jounouchi spun around and searched for more red blinking lights. He found one on the other side of the gate. He retracted the hand clutching his body and waved it at the security camera.

Oh god, his side gushed. It felt like his guts were falling out. Dizziness washed over him and dragged him under into a smothering darkness.

The last thing he heard was Kaiba calling his name.

***

Jounouchi's ears rang.

Too much quiet could be a bad thing—under-stimulating the auditory nerves triggered tinnitus as effectively as loud noises. It was a funny thing a doctor told him once. God, the human body was so stupid. If there was one upside to dying, it was not having to deal with that nonsense again.

He felt weightless. He was sure there was pain, but it didn't pierce the heavy veil draped around his brain. Numb, that was the word. He was numb down to his fingertips.

He wiggled them. They responded after a brief delay.

So not paralyzed.

"Tch, knew you were too stubborn to die," grunted a familiar voice from his bedside.

Oh what a soft bed it was, too. Fluffy pillows full of down and silky sheets. It was like he was lying on a cloud. He knew there was no way he was in heaven, though, not least because he didn't fucking believe in one. Neither he nor the surly bastard sitting in the chair were welcome there.

Unable to help him, a dopey grin spread across his lips as he turned his head toward the other person.

"Heya, Kaiba." Shit, he sounded high. His eyes traced the drip line from his wrist to the clear bag of fluids suspended on the IV stand. "Must be the good stuff," he remarked, mostly to himself.

Kaiba rolled his eyes, but he uncrossed his arms and legs. What a beanpole. If he wore anything besides black, he couldn't intimidate even a rabbit. And those little fuckers got heart attacks at the drop of a dime. Damn lanky bastard.

A lanky, flat-assed bastard.

Kaiba scrunched his nose. "Stop. I'll gut you myself if you say another word about my ass."

He had a stick up that ass to boot.

"Jounouchi," Kaiba growled in warning.

"What? Can't a guy die in peace?" he groused.

Suddenly, Kaiba was in his face, blue eyes blazing like hellfire. Up close, Jounouchi noticed the dark ring around his eyes and the heavy bags under them.

His words came out no less harsh, though. Sharper than the knife that sliced Jounouchi last night. "Next time, try dying somewhere far from my doorsteps."

Despite being stared down by the Devil himself, Jounouchi wasn't scared. Kaiba was the Devil he knew best, after all.

A wave of fatigue swept over him, weighing down his eyelids. "Yeah, I'll give that a try if I need it to take. Hasn't worked every other time you've been around."

He could count the number of times he'd been at Death's door in Kaiba's presence on one hand. Somehow, Jounouchi survived each time in spite of him. But in this case, it was probably because of him.

He chuckled. "Your glares scare off Death himself."

Kaiba's expression tightened, then blanked. He drew back and straightened. Swathed head to toe in inky darkness with pale skin that glowed in contrast, he'd pass for the Grim Reaper himself.

That explained it. Kaiba wasn't the Devil.

"Yeah, if you're Death, no wonder you don't wanna collect on me. I'm gonna live forever!" He laughed. His chest seized. He groaned. He wanted to curl into a ball, but his body refused to cooperate.

Kaiba squeezed the bridge of his nose, entirely ruining his Specter of Doom look. "Lovely. You're acting like an even bigger imbecile than usual."

Jounouchi peered up again, ready to sprout more "inanities" as Kaiba was sure to label them when he got his senses knocked out of him a second time. The sunlight imparted the illusion of color to Kaiba's cheeks, magnified the intensity of his azure eyes, and contoured his noble features. He fucking glowed, like the light bulb in the deepening night or a tempting flame. The whiplash stunned and nauseated Jounouchi.

What could he say to this angelic vision?

Kaiba's brows furrowed. He almost looked worried, and that was how Jounouchi knew he was hallucinating again.

Kaiba snapped his fingers centimeters away from Jounouchi's nose. It worked, snapping him out of his stupor.

"Your brain better not have melted. Whatever's left of it," drawled Kaiba.

There was nothing like that patented Kaiba humor(?) to sober him up. "I'm good. I'm good. Still in one piece."

Somehow. Against all odds.

Because Kaiba had helped him, instead of leaving him out in the cold, to bleed out.

Kaiba harrumphed. Without another word, he spun and marched toward the exit. The lack of a grandiose coat spoiled the effect. Jounouchi missed that coat. He'd probably miss Kaiba himself once he left the room.

Jounouchi would live, though, for now.

Kaiba paused by the door, his back was turned as he spoke, "I notified Yugi. He should be by to check on you later."

Jounouchi's face split into a grin. A pleasant warmth suffused his chest. It might be the drugs. Or it could be something else.

"Will you come back too?" he asked.

Kaiba nodded. Jounouchi sank into the plush mattress and allowed himself to drift off, safe and whole.

Read other prompt fill ficlets here

[harri-etvane]

Prompt fill for the poll winner -

"Then sleep. I'll stand guard."

Just short of 700 words; below the cut

“Please…”

Maksym glances up, drawn out of his own thoughts by Volodymyr’s thin, hoarse voice, the stretched out syllables scraping their way up his throat in a way that makes Maks wince in sympathy. Where this particular plea has come from, he is unsure, and for a moment or two, he watches the President. There are only two of them in this room with no windows, no idea of what lies beyond them now, the light confined to one single light-bulb that tries and fails to reach the darkest corners. Instead, there are more shadows than light, the gaping chasm of knowing that their country still stands, but not how much she has bled - right now, at this moment they will have to wait for news like everyone else.

“I’m so tired.”

He looks like a ghost - too close to fading out of sight, his voice barely a whisper this time. This quiet utterance is a hardly audible admission of something he has refused to show over the last week; the way his strength flickers in the depths of the night - his voice cracked and strained. The blank hollows of his face that were not there before are suddenly deep and endless.

I know. I know you're tired. Just a little longer.

Maksym clears his throat, offering up the most simple solution he can, reaching out to rest a hand on Vova's shoulder, his grip light. He feels the smaller man shiver under his grasp, and then a sudden misplaced urge to draw him closer, to eke some warmth into him, to take the burden of his country from him just for a second and let him exhale.

“Then sleep. I’ll stand guard.”

The two of them share a brief glance at the small, rickety cot in the corner of the room that has seen no occupant for the last five nights. Neither make any move and Vova's reluctance is evident in the way he shifts in his seat - as though were he to abandon his desk, his work, it would be tantamount to the unthinkable - to abandon his country. His reluctance in the end, manifests in a different, quiet way - his voice raw and faint.

“I thought you said–” Volodymyr breaks off into a coughing fit that sounds dry and uncomfortable, the recycled air in the bunker scratching sharply at his throat, his irritated lungs. He breathes slowly, dragging his exhales back into a steadier rhythm even as his lungs tighten.

“It was safe here?” His eventual question is pained, the edges rough. He rubs hard at his eyes and blinks at Maks, the whites of his eyes are bloodshot now in this grim, unhappy light, his irises impossibly dark and the thin skin of his eyelids is red and swollen. Maksym opens his mouth. He would never lie to the President, but just this once, he adjusts the truth because the enormity of - you might never truly be safe again - it's too much to bear, too much to think about in this windowless, concrete room.

“…not yet.”

“It is.” He pauses for a short moment, swallowing hard, feeling the weight of his gun, his bulletproof vest, the press of his uniform against his skin. “But you don’t feel safe, do you?”

There is silence for a long time, just the quiet wheeze of Vova's chest as he breathes softly, eventually making a quiet admission.

“Then I’ll stand guard, till you can.”

Another easy, simple little reply, as though it's the most natural thing in the world, and Volodymyr feels something go from him as he rises to his feet, swaying slightly. His shoulders sag and for a brief moment, he looks about to drop where he stands, blinking rapidly, reaching out for something to hold onto. Gently, and entirely without pity or argument, Maksym hooks an arm around the President and pulls him upward, half-carrying him the few steps towards the tiny bed. He places Vova down and then lifts his legs up onto the matress aware of the dull, leaden weight of exhaustion - how it makes one's very bones heavy. Maks pulls a blanket over him as Volodymyr sinks into the thin mattress, his eyes flickering shut, but not before he asks one last, weary question - his voice almost gone.

“Stay-?”

“I'll be here.”

I'll be here until the end, with you; whenever, wherever that may be.

[gothdoggygirl]

The Death of You

cw: Parental Abuse, Minor Body Horror, Memory Loss

Pain, before your eyes even open, pain wracks your body. Your neck felt freezing cold but warm and hot from the slick feeling of blood on your skin. Your fingers tingled like you’d spent the night sleeping on your arm, and your wrists felt as if every tendon had been stretched, cut, and glued back together like some child’s doll that’d been played with far too rough. As you cautiously opened your eyelids, afraid to find what lay behind the cold and safe curtain of the unknown. Bright fluorescent lighting blinded you; it was like staring into the sun. It felt as if your retinas were being burnt just from the slightest look at the chemical bulbs above you. Your ears rang so loud you were convinced someone must have fired a 50. caliber rifle directly next to your temple. It screeched and echoed through your skull, a choir of screaming angels trapped in a parking garage singing just for you. 

Your vision spun as you turned away from the lights to try to identify anything about your surroundings. Your throat burned as bile singed the back of your esophagus. Your spine spasmsed as you spat up a mixture of stomach acid and unidentifiable sludge. Aside from the puke now lying on the ground, the tile floor beneath you looked impeccably clean. As you lifted your head from the floor, your blurred vision could make out a distinct metal slab in the pure white walls of the room. Pain, pain meant that you needed help. You struggled to crawl out of the bed, falling onto the pile of puke beneath you, the sound of metal clanking clearing through the angels’ song. 

You turned your head down to look at the numb digits, and immediately, your mind cleared as panic set in. Why were your fingers shaped like that? In place of the previously round and soft fingers you knew you should have, you found sharp nails extended far beyond the typical length of a digit. You dragged your limp wrist up to your face to examine the things that had replaced your fingers, the metal claws scratching against the tile as they moved. An animal’s claw reached out towards your face. The cold knives gently brushed against your skin, cutting ever so slightly into your cheek. Your blood felt warm as it trickled down onto the floor, mixing with the puddle of bodily fluids growing beneath you. The claw moved from your cheek, trailing down your face and to your neck. Where your pain was the greatest, where your pain felt as if someone had cut your head off and stapled it back on, your claw felt cold, hard metal beneath your skin, and a small data port at the middle of your neck. 

Your vision began to spin again, reminding you of something as your face hit the smooth tile. What did it remind you of? When you were younger, there was a time your mother spun you around on the park's merry-go-round over and over till you collapsed on the mulch of the playground in the same way. Did you try to remember your mom’s face? Were you shocked to find a blank specter staring down at your sick body? Did you even recall your own name? The paperwork you signed giving away your right to call yourself a human? 

Why, despite all of that, did a smile grow across your lips as the world faded away? Why did you feel more joy than you ever had in your life, lying in a pile of your blood and puke? Did you think turning the monsters that hurt you into faceless ghosts would make you feel better? You still felt the same hole in your chest you always had. You knew the things that had happened to you; this didn’t liberate you from your trauma in some grandiose gesture. You were still broken; you had just forgotten who broke you. You had to kill yourself to finally forget the faces of the monsters who cut out everything inside of you—the monsters who left a void in the place of where your soul should be. 

The last thing you saw before the darkness took you was a tall woman opening the door and a team of doctors rushing toward your collapsed body.

--------------------

Bright fluorescent lights, the metallic smell of post-surgical wounds, all of it was an assault on my senses. I slowly opened my eyes, staring up at the blinding light above me, wondering if the halo I saw was the first sign I was finally free from this cycle of pain and hurt. The pain in the back of my neck made it clear that wasn’t the case. I sighed and slowly pushed myself up in the bed I found myself in, metal claws ripping the sheets with just the slightest amount of force. I raised my hand up, studying it, it felt like it always had, but I knew it had changed. My brain was a mess of memory, and time it was hard to ground myself in reality when I continually found myself lost in the endless dark hallways of flashbacks. I don’t know how or why I’ve found myself with you as my companion, but I wonder if you’ve felt something similar. My body felt the same as it always has alien, gross, filthy to inhabit. I couldn’t remember how long I’d felt this way, but I knew it was something familiar from the sickly warmth that bubbled in the back of my throat the longer I remained conscious. A knock at the door finally shook me from my paralysis; I’m sure you’ve felt the same before, frozen and trapped in a vicious cycle of thou-

“Snap out of it.”

The sharp command made my eyes finally focus on the world before me. A tall woman with long black hair, tank top, camo pants, and eyes missing that spark that everyone else had; the kind of look that made me know she carried the same weights I did just at a glance.

“Ahem,” she cleared her throat as she looked at the clipboard she carried. As per the contract you signed prior to your surgery, by becoming a pilot, you have forfeited your right to legal counsel, legal representation, civil rights, and so on and so forth—you get the idea.”

I tried to remember all the piles and piles of paperwork that had been shoved in front of me, but it all came up blank, just the vague ideas of what I’d done, nothing exact; how long ago was that exactly? Do you remember what it was like?

“You were given experimental implants to pilot a new mech line we intend on rolling out soon. Some of the effects you may be struggling with are lack of speech, violent impulses, depression, nausea, pain, vomiting, oral fixation, and whatever else you’re currently dealing with.” Her casual tone put me at ease despite the concerning words leaving her mouth.

“...”

Oh yeah, that’s right… I wonder if that goes away? Could I even speak before this? 

“I’m your handler, Nightshade. I’ll be handling all the thinking and acting for you from now on. We’ve found that given the side effects of the implants necessary for piloting mechs; it's best to let others do all the human things you’re no longer fit for. Putting it simply, for all intents and purposes, you’re no longer human, so don’t get concerned about remaining as such.”

I nodded my head as I tried to stand up and fell to the ground in front of her.

“Try sticking to all fours for now. Your brain will struggle to sort out the differences between you and your mech for a while. Don’t worry it’ll get worse once you interface with your new best friend.” She smiled down at me; it made me feel warm and safe. It felt like being home? Not really home exactly but what I always imagined home to be. That place I wanted to go to when I was lying in bed wishing I could go home. My head hurt.

“Your new designation is 538-Mutt, part of our newest experimental line of pilots for carrying out missions unfit for other pilots. Bottom of the barrel, huh? Rough draw for you.” She punctuated her sentence with a gentle kick against my legs I smiled up at her. That was all I needed to do: just listen and wait.

She sighed as she looked down at me a mixture of disdain and disgust at her new responsibility. “Okay then, let's get you to your mech. I need to see how well you’re going to do after having half your brain cut out. Always sad getting rid of the ones that don’t take to the surgery well.” She knelt down and attached a leash to the collar welded into my neck. Another familiar feeling came with a sharp stabbing pain in my chest. You get that, right? Repetition of those actions over and over always a new or different person, always that slight hint of pain to the joy you’re feeling.

 “Come on then.” She roughly yanked the leash, the collar cut into the fresh wounds around my neck, and made a small whimper escape my lips.

“Hush.” She quietly commanded, and I obeyed.

Hallways and hallways of identical white walls, a labyrinth filled with people staring and commenting about me. It reminded me so much of places I’d been, but I couldn’t place exactly where or when. More headaches thinking about it. Just gonna stop and stare at her until we get there. Tired of hurting. I’m sure you are, too.

“On your feet.” Another command, and I obeyed, at least I tried to. The minute I put weight on my legs, I fell forward, slamming my face into the metal door in front of us. Nightshade grabbed the back of my neck and pulled me away from the door, throwing me back down to the ground, a large dent in the shape of my head now in the metal. She looked down at me and laughed before opening the door and pulling me through. 

“Sit.”

I was happy to rest by her side, but I couldn’t tell how long or far we’d walked. Nightshade talked with some mechanics with oil-stained rags thrown over their shoulders about things I couldn’t understand. I was happy just to be needed. Another pull at my neck told me to follow her, and I did as she led me to a massive tower of metal, guns, and gears Staring up at it, in my heart for the second time since I woke up, I felt what I think people call love.

[dreamybasil]

Can you tell me the plot of the game of Omori?

Thanks!

lplot... omor.....

[huge HHUUUUGGGEEEEE essay below the "keep reading"] (i'll try keeping it short..........not) (i cant help myself)

Basically it starts off with WHITE SPACE, a blank world where a boy OMORI lives!! You have MEWO, a tissue box, a laptop and a sketchbook in there!! and wont forget the black bulb :D

There's also a door, that leads you into NEIGHBOURS ROOM where all your friends are! Not really all of them, but the ones that will follow right with you! Aubrey, Kel and Hero!!!

Aubrey is a really cheery girl who's pretty much inlove with Omori

Kel is an energetic baller who's athletic and silly and stupid /aff

Hero is Kel's older brother! Also the one who stops all the fights between Kel and Aubrey, because those two fight a LOT

When you get outside the room, you can go to the forest playground where you see a lot more of your friends, and especially MARI on her picnic blanket! Mari is Omori's older sister!!

She's loving and perfect, a pianist who takes care of the whole group and is like the glue that keeps them all together.

And lets not forget BASIL!!!! He's Omori's best friend!

He's really shy and caring but cherishes all his friends <3

There's a ton more places to go to in headspace, where you can all explore!! And each one in the order of the game...

Vast Forest, Train station (with additional bonus Orange Oasis and Rain Town), Otherworld, Junkyard, Pyrefly forest, Lost forest, Sprout mole village, Sweetheart's castle, Deep well, Last resort, Deeper well, Humphrey...

But the game also has psychological horror genre in it, and that concludes into even more places

specifically: BLACK SPACE. A total opposite to WHITE SPACE, and there's a bunch of doors, each one leading to one nightmare and a mess of a world.

But without a conclusion, all of those are just dreams, made by a teenage boy named SUNNY!

If taking plot by using the SUNNY ROUTE.... He can come out outside after KEL knocks on his door, and explore the outside!

A small city with just 15 houses and a church!

Faraway Town, Faraway Park, Faraway Plaza and a supermarket mall-like building OTHERMART, that also connects with HOBBEEZ, GINO's and FIX-IT!!

gah im yapping so much and getting into tons of little details..

If a little shorter, through the story you acknowledge that Mari is actually dead, and Basil helped Sunny with the murder, in a way.

There was an argument between Sunny and Mari, since they had a recital to attend at autumn and Sunny threw his violin down the stairs in their house, and Mari started yelling at him, and out of pure rage Sunny pushes Mari down, causing her death.

Sunny tried bringing her body upstairs and put her into her bed, thinking she just needed a rest, but then realizing she's dead.

Basil saw it all, and he tried to help out Sunny, by carrying her body into the yard and framing her death as if she hanged herself with a jumprope, but once they tried to go back inside, Sunny looked back at her and saw something horrifying, which traumatized him for the whole time until he finally came back outside to see his friends, who changed a lot, because it was 4 years since the accident happened

each one of them also show one stage of grief

kel shows acceptance, basil shows bargaining if i remember right aubrey - anger hero - depression and sunny is denial

in the end, taking the good "true" ending, Basil and Sunny had a fight during a sleepover at Basil's house, ending in both of them being in a hospital due to severe injuries and Basil stabbing Sunny's right eye out

and at the hospital, after Sunny wakes up and beats OMORI in a fight, he goes into Basil's room where everyone else were, and tells them the truth.

Once the truth is out, their immense guilt is not following them anymore, both of their SOMETHINGS (hallucinations, in a way) disappear!!

[blogofloathing]

Part 1 of 1, Edel E'Meyer And The Courts Favor

"I assure you I can handle this all by myself" Edel Erlenmeyer proliferated once more among them.

Even in their oft quietous, she could feel a hurtful doubt in the lot of them, really had she proved nothing to them, at the very least shown that her passion for the subject was greater than anyone's?

Standing behest an overwhelming numeration of blank faces, their cold indifference ran hot on her eyes, ironically beading up droplets of sweat

The room was lit up with harsh white bulbs, which served to shine disconcertingly on her pale skin, and similarly palid hair, allowing each flyaway strand to be disgustingly visible to all in the room,

In which she stood upright rather than sitting down, a stark contrast to the Faceless which had never been seen leaving their seats, she'd be wholly unfazed if they were bolted to the floor.

"concerning the.." a pause, "deaths of all pertinent" another pause, "personnel, we.." the group spoke not in unison, but finished one another's sentences as if having previously rehearsed the scene.

Each word chosen carefully, spoken with precise intonation, "find it.. unwise to continue.."

Seizing the silence that followed she extolled in a mock tone of remembrance "while yes the loss of both head scientists.." stopping for a beat as if to pay a momentary respects to the deceased.

"And in turn both subjects," murmuring ensued among them, each empty face conferring excitably, "however!" She cut in, to stifle the crowd.

"I believe I am perfectly able to continue their work, with the resources leftover" smacking the table she was standing at, it echoed iridly around the spacious hall, resembling a court room more than any proper meeting or office space.

As the quiet conference began again within the multitudes, "I'd like to draw your attention to the chalkboard, generously provided by the school"

Wheeling out a green board, covered in frantic nearly illegible scribbles, numbers and statistics, cartoonish drawings of strange creatures.

Every eye in the audience shifted dramatically to what was explained in white, "here we can see a catalogue of each specimen, while many were destroyed in the.. incident" she extended a pointer

"A good number also go unaccounted for," the discussion between peers seemed to be without end, and Edel didn't even bother attempting to hush their tones again, "while yes a good portion were reduced to unidentifiable puddles of mush"

Smiling under her breath, she had to smother the expressions of mirth as soon as it came, mustn't look too amused at the gorey prospect.

"Undoubtedly some escaped, where they are is a job for the jobbies," her use of such casual terms serving to bring harsh looks down on high.

Really what respect was deserved for those mooks, bumbling facsimiles, if she was successful in gaining her new position, they'd be the first to go..

Edel could sense a growing impatience, and so quickly moved on "but what specimens remain,"

Gesturing to a chart labeled 'contained' with 5 names listed underneath in neat lettering.

"Will be invaluable to my- our work here," alright Edel, give em the line now sink it.

"Imagine!" She shouted with a dramatic flourish, flipping the chalkboard to its back, showcasing a crude drawing of men holding guns "being able to create supersoldiers from nothing!"

Several raised eyebrows and jubilant looks sprang up within the audience at the idea.

Giving the board another spin, she brilliantly showed off a third side, depicting an equally amateur illustration of two men, labeled 'identical'

"replace people who know too much!" Different eyebrows raised, with different jubilant looks between the blanked faces abound.

Almost violently flipping to tbe next side of the board, wherein sat a shockingly detailed diagram of muscle groups and cutting techniques.

"And even fix the ongoing food crisi-" though she stopped herself as disgusted looks rained on her, running back to shelter, best not to overstep now.. clearly she'll have to bring it up another time

While her preamble experiments with cooking and consumption of cloned meat had proved promising, she wasn't surprised at their hesitance.

As far as she could tell, there were no adverse side effects to eating clones, even if it wasn't pretty. Something about wheezing flesh heaps didn't appeal to the general masses apparently.

By their standards at least, Edel herself couldn't imagine something more beautiful than the specimens, creating life and returning it to the earth through sacrifice, calories to calories.

Shaking her head like a dog to throw off these blissful fantasies, she continued with a cough.

"Ahem, anyway, I believe, with the information presented to you all today," looking at the space where an expression would be on anyone else.

It wasn't right to say they looked neutral, or uncaring, it was more like the canvas where a face should lay was replaced with a sharp nothingness.

One which she felt could cut her, while also phasing through, a haunting, confusing picture.

"You will find that it is not only worthwhile, but infact necessary! To continue this work, undoubtedly these prospects seem desirable do they not?" Her voice has somewhat of a sales mogle like quality to it, clearly pre rehearsed

There was a dead quiet, all seemed to be thinking

"Especially to you Bruise" Edel mused pointedly at the cluster she assumed belonged to him.

The concept of disposable machines of war had perked all their ears at attention, so easy to read.

In the way he couldn't quite separate each of them convincingly, where one picked up a pen, another held their hand uselessly in the air, and he couldn't quite get them to talk independently yet.

He thought it went unnoticed, but human behavior was her specialty, going hand in hand with cloning.

"We would rather you.. not refer to our-" the Bruise group began, followed by Terrence's.

"Sorry sorry," putting her hands up surrenderedly. "Really I don't see the point of using the Faceless"

Pointdexter's collection winged noticeably, it was evident they had been his idea,

Certainly she could see the appeal, puppets of flesh to project yourself through,

However this required careful removal of the afflicted's brain, and replacement of such with darkened imitations, a tedious process.

Which Edel presumed she could completely circumvent, creating life only to serve that purpose

While they wanted to alter a person to be serviant, she had the capabilities to engineer life,

tailor made to act in their interests, "in any case, I know you four can see the usefulness"

"And that's just the start of it" she decided to let the sentiment linger for a few moments

Before sealing the deal for good, "I could even take care of that.. pesky nephew issue"

She spoke in a tone almost as if it was an after thought, a footnote to her plans.

The middlemost gaggle of puppets plucked up almost comically, "as in.. Morris..?"

A cautious smile marking trails along their.. well,

Edel smirked deleteriously, teeth sharpened to points, they could almost draw blood speaking alone, with a silver tongue to lap it up.

"Our biggest problem indeed," grinning cheshire in the dim light, the effect compounded by the extra row of biters she had installed herself.

"With my technology, and your support" she had them all around her finger already,

"We can get everything we've ever wanted, with none to stand in the way" images of flesh, spires of bone and overwhelming heaps of organic matter, gorgeous monuments to rebirth, these tantalizing dreams filled her mind, drove her hand.

Living creatures of every kind, a world of life, of pulsing and moving, wriggling and changing.

Where everything would be the ideal, perfection, beings of mastered speciation, full adaptability.

Wherein extinction wasn't a possibility, wherein there was no such thing as death, only birth.

"And any who do, can be fixed, replaced, changed, I can even do the same for all of you, you don't have to rely on your meager components"

Her muscles contracted and hissed at the push of hydraulic systems within her very bones.

Spiders, she had learned it from, complex mechs. Much more efficient than human systems.

"Surely I live as evidence of my claims," she sang, swiveling around, her joints could go in all directions, backwards, forwards, upside down.

"No pain! Well," she snickered not unlike a clown, "at least not anymore, surgery makes one weary of course" rolling her shoulder exaggeratedly

The faceless shifted uncomfortably at her manic outburst, "I've already done so on myself, it's as easy as one simple procedure, I could do it right-"

"Stop, we've heard you out, and we will allow for Project Piebald to continue" a different voice spoke," rendering the center cluster hunched over at their desks as an unseen figure strode in.

Suited in black and with hair that seemed to cling to the air particles as they passed through.

"Ahh, little Margy" she grinned smugly, hands on her chin at the taller woman. Who did not reciprocate the flamboyant attitude presented.

"I've said not to call me that Auntie Edie" bristling at the nickname, her hair looked as though it corresponded to her mood. Growing sharp and pointed when angered, or annoyed by Edel.

"Aww but darling you'll always be my lil-" she cooed, a hand placed on Margaret's chin.

Tilted slightly upturned, she slapped her hand away, garnering surprised looks from the dark glassed men standing just behind her.

Who preformed a dramatically drawn out "oooo" at the apparently exciting drama unfolding.

"Are we all grade schoolers here?" She scolded harshly, eyes running jet black to mirror the gaze of her still animate compatriots in the stands.

"No ma'am-" "sorry-" "of cour-" "won't hap-" they all spoke over each other in a jumbled dog pile.

Literally stumbling in place, grabbing one another for balance and dragging the other down too.

Margaret sighed wearily, exasperated at the scene unfolding just behind her, "see what I mean?" Edel quirked with a hint of sarcasm, lending the darker haired woman to glower sharply at her again

"They're just lackies" yet apparently jobbies was too harsh? she grumbled the words just quiet enough they couldn't hear over their own kerfuffle

"But they get their work done" now Edel was starting to suspect she was lying on purpose.

In any case, sidestepping blatant flanderizing of these idiots, "hopefully mine can do it better"

They smiled at each other, something of their little rivalry amused and annoyed the pair in turn.

"Well I can expect to see you in my office," pausing for a moment to consider the now doubled over bodies juryside, "proper office" she finished.

Extending a hand towards her spunkier colleague, "this isn't final, but I agree to seeing some results"

She shook it confidently, as far as Edel was concerned she had won, set to do as she pleased

Margaret's handshake was firm, but not as strong as it could be, and she'd shaken a lot of hands.

"Happy to be working with you madam president" she replied in a mock tone of authority.

Giggling idly when her face fell at the impression, as Edel's internal systems catalogued and reproduced a model of Marg's fingerprint from the most momentary contact of a handshake

// well there you have it! Our first introduction to the beloved (to some) and the hated (to far more) Edel Erlenmeyer! I'm excited to write more about her and her strange motives, what could she be planning to do with the power she's asking for?

And to end things off we have a very very special happy birthday to send out for a "Gali's Girlfriend" hope you enjoyed this little birthday treat ^w^ !!