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writingsbychlo · 5 years

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feels like loneliness (02)

word count; 11,920

summary; after escaping from the maze, thomas goes back in for answers, and gets more then he bargains for when teh girl in his head returns.

notes; honestly, you’re not going to love me by teh end of this part, but just hold on.

warnings; reference to injury, character death.

“we can't get the timing”

The doors finally cracked open, the sounds of stone and metal grinding together was unmistakable, and finally the boys knew they could once again find themselves in the safety of the glade.

Hauling themselves to their feet, tired muscles were aching desperately in protest and Thomas had to suppress a groan of discomfort at the action. His exhausted gaze met Minho’s, and together, the two scooped to lift the third, still unconscious man up to his feet. This time, he let the pained sound slip from his lips freely, the strain almost too much.

With Alby’s arms secured, one over each of their shoulders, They began taking slow steps forward, the toes of boots dragging against the rock as they stumbled, footsteps out of sync and unbalanced, around the corner.

At the end of the tunnel, a sea of pale green and sunlight, as opposed to the grey walls and darkness Thomas had already found himself sick of seeing. Bodies, turning to all of them as muffled shouts reached his ears, his feet carrying him the last few paces. Soft dirt and grass was a soothing relief underfoot, and hands reached in, lifting the weight of the leader from his shoulders as he was laid carefully onto the ground.

Taking a knee, Thomas let his head bow, his fingers finding the ground as he barely managed to hold himself up on the shaky limbs, pain and exhaustion running across every fiber of his body.

“You saw a griever?” The question fell from Chuck, but the way everybody’s eyes were focused on him and the runner when he lifted his head were enough to confirm that they were all wondering the same thing.

“Yeah.. I saw one.” He was tired, his voice raw and scratchy from the night’s excursions, and though he could tell everyone was gasping to know more, he couldn’t bring himself to go into the stories right now.

“He didn’t just see it, he killed it.” The few mumbles throughout the group had been silenced as Minho added his say, and Thomas swallowed thickly, everyone’s undivided attention on him now, watching him carefully, though nobody dared to speak up about it. That silence and respect, however, lasted all of ten seconds, before the questions came pouring in at light speed, voices shouting over the top of one another to be heard, and Thomas let his eyes slip shut in an attempt to drown them out.

“Alright, alright. I’m sure they’ll answer all your questions later. Right now, some of you take Alby to see Clint and Jeff, and the rest of you back off, go do something useful.” Never had Thomas been so thankful to hear another person speak, as the group grumbled but did as they’d been told by Newt, Alby’s body being carried away by a few boys, the rest dispersing to do their jobs, but not without grumbling about it.

Newt stood above them, hand running over his jaw, gaze focused on the ground. Minho, stood to his full height beside the blonde, offering Thomas his hand and pulling him to his feet. “Gally was livid. He’ll be happy you’re back, but he’s going to call a meeting. I’ll hold him off for as long as I can, but I don’t think you’ll get much rest, he’ll be calling everyone together soon. Go and get some shut eye before you’re called ‘forth to face the consequences of your actions’.” Newt let his voice slip into a deep and mocking tone as he cracked a joke, a smile appearing on both the tired’ boys’ faces as they were dismissed, trudging across the open field to get some sleep.

He’d never been more thankful for the hammock made for him than in that moment. Frankly, he would’ve slept on the maze floor had it been safe. His eyes could barely hold open much longer, and despite the loud sounds of a working day around him, and the strong and blinding light of the sun overhead, he was asleep within seconds, his body screaming out in gratitude.

Raising your hand to his cheek, you lifted his gaze to yours, a smile on your lips as he watched you. “Why are you crying, Tommy?”

“What?”

Wiping at his cheek, you laughed lightly, clearing his face of the streams of water. “You’re crying, you doofus. What’s wrong? And where the hell are we?” You laughed, looking around the room you were in, and Thomas felt himself dry-heave at the thought, knowing exactly what was happening.

Two guards followed in, the metal wall across from you both opening to reveal a wired metal cage, already loaded with supplies and he watched as you looked at it curiously, nothing but wonder filling you now. Turning you around, he pulled you flush against him, his lips descending on yours desperately, your hands tight on his waist as you squeaked. It hurt him, every step he took hurt him as he backed you up, but he wanted to be the last to hold you, the last to touch you.

He didn’t want you thrown into the cage roughly, and so with every painful step stabbing at his heart, he walked you backwards, your lips moving against his softly, your fingers playing with his hair. When he finally detached from yours, he sucked in a breath, looking at you one last time as you stood in the darkness now, the brightly tiled white room behind you both as you stood within the trembling metal work. “I love you, I love you so much.”

“I-I.. um.. where are we?” You muttered, glancing around and his touch fell to your hand as you got lost in your thoughts for a second. His hand twitched to take yours again when you snatched it away, stepping back from him as fear and panic filled your system. “Who the hell are you?”

Stepping back, he lifted the edge of the cage quickly, sealing it shut tightly, before you could dart from the box and your fingers wrapped in the wire, shaking at it in fear as the gears kicked into work. He fell to his knees, body numb and mind blank as he watched you.

“Who the hell are you? Why am I here? Why.. what’s going on?” Your eyes met his, and for a moment he swore he saw you recognise him for a second, but he knew it was impossible. The door was lowering, causing you to fade into darkness as you sank to the ground, eyes still fixed on his. “Please! No! Please, get me out of here! What is going on, I-”

He jumped up, straight upright with a gasp and the boy whose hand had been on his shoulder to shake him awake jumped back, eyes wide. “Sorry, mate, just thought I’d come and get you, before Gally did it himself. He’s gathering everyone now, figured you might want to clean up first. You stink.”

Though Newt was still eyeing him warily, he didn’t say anything, even when Thomas reached up to wipe the tears that had subconsciously been flowing down his cheeks as he slept. Lifting an arm, he inhaled deeply, cringing back as the boy watching him simply laughed. “Told you, you smell. Wash your clothes first, and hang them out and sun’ll have ‘em dry before you’re done, I swear it.” Thomas simply nodded, watching as Newt limped away quickly towards where Minho was still fast asleep, likely to give him the same spiel.

His body was feeling refreshed, and he did have more energy, despite the yawn already trying to break it’s way free. Rubbing at his eyes with the heels of his hands, he swung his legs over the side of the hammock and stumbled his way towards the makeshift showers.

He did as Newt had advised, toeing off his boots and leaving them outside before closing himself within one of the small wooden cubicles and stripping his top off over his head. With the bar of soap he had, he plunged his top into the water, lathering it up slightly and washing the dirt off as best he could, before wringing it out tightly and slinging it over the warm wood under the beams of the sun. Repeating the action with the rest of his clothes, he finally scrubbed himself down, tipping bucket after bucket of cold water over his head.

The slime, dirt and sweat washed away from him, leaving him feeling far cleaner than he had before, fresher in every sense, the coldness of the water jumping him awake and clearing his thoughts a little.

Newt had been right, mostly. His clothes were still slightly damp but they smelled considerably better and were mostly dry as he pulled them back on, dull aches across his body making his eyebrows furrow in pain. With a sigh, he found himself pacing away across the glade towards the hut that bodies were beginning to pour into. All eyes were on him as he entered, and Newt glanced at him pitifully from where he stood as Gally’s raging glare found him.

He didn’t utter a word, not even a ‘glad you’re alive’ or a ‘thanks for saving Alby’, but he merely pointed to a box, and Thomas trudged over to it, collapsing onto it and facing everyone else as they filled into the dugout seats. Chuck, in all his innocence, sat at the front, red cheeks shining against his pale skin as he shot Thomas a smile, thumbs held up sneakily to try and raise his spirits.

Thomas wasn’t sure if it was the darkness of the room, his already fatigued body, or simply his mind running itself to the breaking point. Perhaps even all three, but his eyes were beginning to droop as his head began to pound, his vision blurring slightly. He vaguely caught sight of Minho making his way in, as voices began to hush one another and conversation took up, his focus fading out.

“You’re not going out there again, right? You have done this the last three nights, you’re going to get in trouble!” His voice was high, looking at his young friend as he pulled on his boots, the Brit focusing extra hard on making sure he was doing up his laces correctly.

“Shut it, Tommy, you tryna’ tell the whole compound?” He was hushed, and Thomas’ mouth clamped up, cheeks warming slightly and his friend sighed, glancing up at the top bunk as he peered down at him cautiously. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you. You’re still my best friend, right?”

“‘Course I’m still your best friend.” The brunette child grumbled, reaching his pinky finger over the railing to dangle before his friends face, a slightly toothless smile shining back at him as their pinkies linked together to be shook. “I’m just worried. You can’t sneak out every night!”

“I have to see my sister, Tommy. I miss her! This is the only time we get to hang out since we turned eight and they started training!” His lips were pouted as he stood, clambering onto the edge of his lower bunk mattress so he could balance his chin on the railing of the upper one to look at his friend better.

“But, it’s dangerous, Newt!”

“It’s not, I promise you! We’re really safe!” Quiet fell between the two boys as Newt glanced around, seeing no stirring in the dark, all the others sleeping soundly. “Come with me.”

“Wha-” a hand clamped over Thomas’ mouth as his eyes widened, before Newt pulled it back, raising a finger to his lips to tell Thomas to be quiet, and he nodded in acknowledgement. “What?! Are you crazy?”

“Come with me, just for this night, and you’ll see how safe it is! Please, Tommy?”

Considering it, he gave in with a sigh and pushed back the covers on his bed. “Fine, pass me my clothes.” With a grin, Newt hopped down, expertly pulling open one of the drawers silently and throwing some clothes to Thomas, who soon came down the metal steps as quietly as he could.

Pulling on his sneakers, he wrung his hands together nervously as his friend grinned at him, once again showing off the missing front tooth that had fallen out a few days prior. His friends fingers latched onto the edge of their dresser, pulling it forward just enough to revel the vent hidden behind it. The metal grate covering it had been long discarded, and Newt dropped to the floor, crawling awkwardly into the gap and disappearing into the dark hole, that one would only know was there if they knew to look.

Dropping to the floor, the cold concrete pressed to his chest as he followed the boy into the darkness, cool and smooth metal finding his fingers as he followed the barely audible sounds of his friend crawling ahead of him. His heart was practically pounding in his ears, never having been one to break the rules, and he was already beginning to regret his decision to follow him.

As they made it further, Newt seemed to know the route by heart, taking a few turns here and there, before they stopped abruptly, the crown of Thomas’ head coming into contact with his friends back, who was knelt up, ear pressed to the wall as he listened. When nothing but silence was heard, he pushed it open, faint light seeping into the crack in the vents.

They were up high, glancing out across a dark cafeteria, only the blue lights of the exit signs keepings it illuminated, but he could make out the shapes of everything, glad to finally be able to see again. Turning around, the blonde lowered himself down, dangling by his fingers before dropping to the ground, a dull thud sounding, before his name was being called out in a whisper.

Peering over the edge, Thomas could see his friend with his arms held out wide, motioning around to the empty room, the corridors through the windows completely dark, the whole compound asleep, except for the two of them. “Come on, Tommy, stop being so afraid! You have to break the rules every once in a while, or life isn’t worth living!”

With a huff, he turned himself around, dangling his feet over the edge and backing himself out until his legs were hanging from the vent, and he froze, sweaty hands slipping on the metal and he gasped, trying to pull himself back up. Small hands wrapped around his ankles, pulling him backwards as he yelped, but his feet landed on the floor safely and he was stood upright, but the scowl remained on his face nonetheless. “What’d you go and do that for?”

“You needed a little push! Or pull, I guess- OW!” Thomas smacked at his friend’s arm as he teased him about yanking him from the vent, but he was grateful he did, the exhilaration and joy of having some time to enjoy themselves was finally beginning to sink in, as the fear began to give way.

Before he had time to voice his thoughts, the vent on the other side of the room squeaked open, familiar set blonde coloured hair, but longer and braided poked out, a wide beam on her lips as she dropped to the ground. Unexpectedly, she turned back to the vent, calling out to someone; “You need a hand? It’s not that far of a drop, but-”

Before he knew it, another body dropped gracefully to the floor, hair bouncing around her shoulders as she spun, and Newt snickered while elbowing his friend. “She handled it better than you did, and she’s a girl!”

“Shut it. Sometimes girls are better at things.” He scoffed, Newt ignoring him as he dashed forward to embrace his sister, who laughed as her brother almost tackled her. His eyes drifted up to the girl Sonya had brought with her, who stood with a smile on her face watching the two siblings reunite. She must’ve felt his gaze, because her attention snapped to him, but he held himself steady and offered her a smile, walking towards her with a slight shake in his step, your eyes widening at his boldness.

He wiped his clammy hand on the side of his jeans, stopping before you and holding his hand out, a wide smile on his lips. “I’m Thomas.” You had glanced between his eyes and his hand for a second before your face broke out in a wide beam, your hand slipping into his, and the moment it did, he felt the last ounce of his fears dissipate, your smile keeping him grounded in the moment.

Thomas knew in that second, this was the first of many of these trips he’d be making with Newt, perhaps even on his own if he got to see you again. Shaking his hand firmly, you took a deep breath before speaking. “It’s nice to meet you Thomas, I’m-”

“I say we make him a runner.” Thomas snapped back as the words were spoken, his eyes opening, from when they’d closed at some point, and he used the sleeve of his top to wipe his nose, ignoring the trail of blood that followed as he sniffed harshly, pain radiating through his nostrils at the action but he ignored it, scrunching up his face slightly to stop the bleeding.

Chaos had arisen form that statement, shouts of varying opinions sounding as Gally fought to be heard above them all, Chuck chanting his name but fading out with dismay as no one joined him, ignoring him entirely.

“If you want to throw the newbie a parade, that’s fine.” Gally’s tone, however, indicated that it was not fine with him by any means, but he didn’t let that slip out. “But if there is one thing I know about the maze, it is that you do not-”

A loud blaring, an unsettlingly familiar blaring echoed across the glade, the sound perfectly clear in the stick hut as everyone once again fell into silence. Racing from the twig hut, everybody clambered behind him to get out as he followed Newt and Gally, running across the field to the centre, the box, as even those who hadn’t been there for his hearing had already dropped their work and begun to gather around it.

As he arrived behind them all, the doors had already opened, and Newt had already jumped in. The cage was empty, unlike the crowded collection of barrels and boxes he’d been shipped up here with, the only thing this time was a body sprawled out across the floor. Newt’s jaw hung slack as he looked back up to everyone, and it was almost comical to see the boy who always seemed to know what to do, looking completely lost.

“It’s a girl.” Pushing to the front of the group, Thomas’ heart all but leaped into his throat as he looked at her, her face having flashed before his eyes once before, a character in one of his dreams, about the girl he loved but whose name he couldn’t remember. “I think she’s dead.”

“What’s in her hand?”

Leaning down, cautiously and slowly, Newt dragged the object from her loose grasp with two fingers, pulling away from her carefully and unfolding the paper to reveal a note.

“She’s the last one, ever.” Silence rested thickly over them all, an ominous feeling settling in as every boy looked among one another, trying to get an understanding. “What the hell does that mean-”

With a laboured gasp, the girl shot up, and everyone jumped backwards at the sudden turn of events, her eyes rolling back as she uttered a single name before passing out again; “Thomas.”

Everybody dragged their gaze from her form to his, peering at him suspiciously, and his stomach dropped, the situation only getting worse and worse for him. Even Newt and Chuck were looking at him with narrowed eyes, analysing him and glancing between himself and her.

“Still think I’m overreacting?” The jab from Gally was painful, but expected, and Newt lifted her body from the bottom of the box, holding her for a second as he looked around at all the boys, before huffing and handing her up to Minho, Chuck, and Thomas, clearly judging them the most reasonable to hold a girl who was unconscious. The runner and the youngest quickly dashed her to the medjack hut, and Thomas lowered his hand to help pull Newt up from the box, boys lowering the top back down with a rattle, and once Newt was cleared, the concrete was soon moving to seal itself back over, a single blaring sounding in warning before it was closed again.

“Right! Nothing to see anymore, you’ve all got things to be doing, yeah? We’ve already lost enough time today. Go make yourselves busy, or whatever..” Newt’s accent was thick as he shouted, boys quickly scurrying away and Thomas spun on his heel, but Newt’s fingers wrapped around his wrist, stopping him in his tracks with a tut.

“Not you. You can come with me.” He trailed behind the second in command in silence, ducking his head as they entered the medjacks hut, one of the boys instantly coming into sight. “Why won’t she wake up?”

“Hey man, I got my job the same way you did.” He held his hands up, backing away to go and tend for Alby as he spun to face Thomas. “Do you recognise her?”

Pushing back his instincts to say he might, but he also might just be confusing her with a similar looking girl who showed up in one of his dreams, because how can he really be clear who this girl is when he didn’t remember his own name a day ago? “No.”

“Really? Because she seemed to recognise you.” He could tell Newt was biting his tongue from asking if he’d seen her in any of the dreams he’d confessed to having, knowing Newt could already tell he was lying about it but not saying anything with everyone else around, as he promised to do.

“What about the note?”

“We can worry about the note later.”

“I think you should worry about it now.” He’d successfully changed the subject, but it wasn’t any less stressful of a topic, the note sending a sinister chill over the population here at the prospect of not only receiving no new members, but never again receiving any supplies or assistance in survival.

“We’ve got enough to deal with at the mo-”

“No, he’s right Newt.” The gazes of both him and Newt as well as Minho fell to the boy on the other side of the bed. “The box isn’t coming back up, how long do you think we can last?”

“No one said that! Let’s not jump to any conclusions, we’ll just.. wait until she wakes up and then see what she knows.” Even as he spoke, the tremble in his voice betrayed him, giving away that he didn’t even believe his own words. “Somebody’s gotta’ have some answers around here.” As he said his final sentence, Thomas’ mind clicked, and he felt like a lightbulb went off above his head as he spun around, marching toward the doorway. “Where are you going.”

“Back into the maze.” The comment was thrown over his shoulder, and he could hear footsteps behind him as he left, recognising them as Minho’s from the long night he’d spent listening to them as they ran the stone corridors.

“Hey, Thomas, hey. Hey!” Rounding him, he placed a hand to Thomas’ chest to halt him. “What is this with you, huh? Death wish? You just got out, and now you want back in?”

“Newt said that no one has ever seen a Griever and lived to tell about it, right?” It seemed like an obvious answer to Thomas, Minho barely gave him a nod in acknowledgment of the statement, continuing to stare at him. “Minho, now we have one. You're telling me you're not even a little bit curious?”

“Not really. No” With that, Thomas wanted to roll his eyes, but instead took a step to resume his journey, path once again being blocked. “What the plan? You’re going to go in there and dissect that thing all by yourself?”

“If I have to, yeah. Have the other runners left yet?”

Glancing over his shoulder, Minho shifted so Thomas could see, the rest of the runners sitting with Gally, chatting and shaking his hand. “The other runners quit this morning. After Alby got stung, they’re not in any hurry to get back out there. Why are you?”

“I think it’s time we find out what we’re really up against.”

“Alright, but you’re not going back out there on your own. Meet me in the woods in half an hour.” With that, Minho took off, leaving Thomas to stand there with his eyebrows furrowed. How the fuck was he supposed to tell the time? The giant clock tower in the middle of the glade that they didn’t have? Shaking his head, he took off to find the runners hut he’d been told about, twigs crunching under his feet as he trekked towards the shack.

He wasn’t sure how long it had been, but it felt like a decent amount of time had passed, and Thomas was just giving up hope when he heard multiple sets of footsteps approaching, Minho rounding the stick-built building with three boys in tow.

“Will this be enough?” There was a slight sarcasm to the question, and Thomas would laugh if he wasn’t so impressed by what Minho had managed to covertly pull together in half an hour. The five of them set off, jogging through the glade as him and Minho took up residence at the front, no hesitation in their step as they passed the threshold from grass to stone.

They had to slow their pace, as the other three halted, only momentarily before passing over. Whether it was from fear or simply unwilling to break the rules they lived by, Thomas only respected them more when they passed over it, joining them on the run through the looming walls towering over them. That same chill swept across them, the rock not catching the heat of the sun like the glade did, instead remaining cool no matter the weather, and he heard the others mention it as they made the short run back to where they’d left the body.

He could smell it before he could see it, the foul stench filling the air and weighing heavily on his senses before they’d even turned the corner, slowing to a stop as they walked the final distance, stopping a few metres from it. Metal appendages poked from the walls, blood and guts pooling around it’s head in a thickening mixture that had leaked from it upon being crushed.

He blocked out the chatter of the others as he assessed it, before deciding on what to do first. Taking the metal claw in his hands, he lifted the heavy limb up. “Alright, let's try and pull this out.” Several pairs of hands joined in, and the leg held steady for a moment before cracking sickeningly and detaching from the body, sending the group flying backwards as a fresh set of innards spilled and sloshed onto the floor around them.

A faint beeping sounded from the organs, wires sticking out from a chunk of flesh and before he could narrow his eyes in on it, Minho had lifted it up by the exposed circuitry, other hand grasping onto the wet flesh and dragging it off to reveal a sleek metal casing. “What the hell is that?”

“Interesting.” Minho mumbled, flipping it over to reveal the number ‘7’ illuminated in red numbers.

“Whatever it is, can we take it back to the glade? I don’t want to meet this guys friends.” Glancing up from the device, Thomas realised just how much the shadows had fallen, the evening began to creep in as the tall walls began to darken the maze, Minho agreeing.

“He’s right, it’s getting late.” Tucking the device into his bag, they set off on the journey back.

“We found this. It was inside a Griever.” The group stood around, watching Newt as his own focus was on the device he’d been presented with when the group returned, using his thumb to smear some of the goop to reveal the lettering printed on it.

“These are the same letters we get on our supplies.”

“Yeah. Whoever put us here obviously made the Grievers. This is the first real clue, the first anything, you've found in over 3 years. Right, Minho?” He looked to the runner for support, finding it as the boy nodded.

“Right.”

“Newt, we gotta’ go back out there. Who knows where this might lead us.” Silence sat upon the leaders, and Newt glanced towards Gally, who had yet to speak up, silently asking for his opinion on the matter.

“You see what he's trying to do, right? First he breaks our rules.. and then he tries to convince us to abandon them totally. The rules are the only thing that has ever held us together. Why now are we questioning that?” He glanced over them all, confusion filling his tone as he asked the group why they had suddenly disregarded everything they stood for. “If Alby was here, you know he'd agree with me. This shank needs to be punished.”

“You're right.” Thomas glanced at the blonde incredulously, wondering where the admiration he’d held for their discovery only seconds ago had gone. “Thomas broke the rules. One night in the pit, and no food.”

“Come on, Newt!” Gally threw his hands up, anger replacing his confusion. “One night in the pit? Do you think that's gonna stop him from going into the maze?”

“No. And we can't just have non-runners running into the maze whenever they feel like it. So let's just make this official. Starting tomorrow, you're a runner.” Hope filled Thomas’ body, happiness lacing his mind for the first time since he had gotten here, and it was at the prospect of finally leaving.

“Wow.” Gally tuned his back to the situation, headed towards the door.

“Gally..”

“No, Fry.” Brushing his friend off, Gally left, and Thomas caught Newt’s eye, sending him a swift nod.

“Thanks, Newt.” He received no reply, but the look he was given told him everything that would’ve been said. Don’t mess this up, and don’t make me regret it.

He was soon tugged from the room by Minho, who hurriedly picked up a job and wordlessly motioned for Thomas to follow, heading for the tree lining of the woods. He was confused, barely receiving any answers each time he asked Minho where they were going, but soon the hut he knew of but was forbidden to enter came into sight.

This time, however, Minho pushed the door open, allowing him to enter the dusty room. Before him was a large table covered by a cloth, light shining through the slim cracks in the wood to illuminate it. Boards were scattered around the room, drawings with different number sequences and coding scribbled onto each one, clothes and gear hanging from loose branches and hooks.

Pulling the sheet away, rows and rows of tiny sticks were revealed, a pattern forming as he focused in on it. “It’s the maze. All of it.”

“What do you mean, all of it? I-I thought you were still mapping it.”

“There’s nothing left to map.” Thomas felt like he’d been winded, punched in the gut, and he looked back down to the wooden model. “I’ve run every inch of it myself. Every cycle. Every pattern. If there was a way out, we would’ve found it by now.”

“Why haven’t you told anyone about this?”

“It was Alby’s call. People needed to believe we had a chance at getting out.” The statement made sense, and despite the dire situation and rapidly draining hope in the room, Minho’s tone remained oddly enthusiastic. “But now, we have a real chance.” Standing by his side, he held the metal device out to him, and Thomas took it, looking down at it. “Check this out. About a year ago, we started exploring these outer sections” He motioned to the wider spread outer bits, the walls further apart and less twisty, far fewer corners and longer tunnels. “We found these numbers printed on the walls. Sections one through eight. See, the way it works, is every night, when the maze changes.. it opens up a new section. So today, Section six was open. Tomorrow, it will be four, then eight, then three. The pattern always stays the same.”

“What’s so special about seven?”

“I don’t know, but last night when you killed that griever, section seven was open. Tomorrow, you and I are going to take a closer look.” Before he could ask further or respond, two breathless messengers arrived at the door, informing them that the girl was awake, and active. Dashing across the fields, they soon found her at the top of the wooden structure he’d been invited up when he’d first arrived, throwing things from the top as the boys gathered around the bottom.

Despite it all, and much to Thomas’ surprise, Newt was practically holding back his laughter at the situation as he took cover under a board with Winston. They all continued to try shouting up to her, none getting far into a sentence before being cut off with more flying objects. He did the first thing he could think of, shouting his name and announcing his arrival, the assault immediately ceasing.

She peeped over the edge of the platform, agreeing to him coming up and only him. Stepping up, his hands found the first of the several ladders, hoisting his body up from ledge to ledge until he made it to the top one. Pushing open the trapdoor, the last thing he expected was to come face to face with the tip of a large sharp knife.

Questions began spewing from her lips rapidly, the same ones that had been spinning in his head when he had first arrived here too, and he hushed her quietly, trying to slowly edge his way up onto the platform without startling her. “We’ve all been through this, okay? Your name will come back to you in a couple of days. It’s the one thing that-”

“Teresa.”

“What did you say?”

“My name. It’s Teresa.” She was unwavering, holding the knife out in his direction as he nodded, swallowing and thinking over his next words.

“Teresa, I’m Thomas. But you already knew that, I guess, huh?” He tried to crack a joke, though she didn’t take it, avoiding his gaze altogether.

“They said I kept saying your name in my sleep. Who are you?”

“I don't know. I can't remember.” Making his way up, he let the wooden hatch drop shut, finally up onto the ledge fully as he crouched across from her. “None of us here can remember anything. We all woke up here just like you did. Hey, I promise..” Her grip on the knife faltered for a second and he took a chance, raising his hands to it slowly and taking it in his grasp. “I'm gonna take this.” As she released her hold on the knife, he nodded, letting a smile pull at his lips, progress finally being made. “Okay.”

“What's going on up there?”

“Is she coming down?” Voices shouted out to them from below, and he’d almost forgotten they were there, standing to lean over the edge and talk to them as she continued to hide from view.

“Um.. hey, listen, you guys just give us a second, okay?” The collection of watchers cleared away, and once they were all gone, Thomas sat down, his legs hanging over the edge as he looked out towards the walls, silently inviting her to come and join him.

Her questions picked right back up where she’d left off. Where was she? Why was she here? She was just as curious as he’d been, wanting to know everything, especially about the walls surrounding them, but she was more fearful, understandably, her confusion ebbing away as Thomas tried to talk her through it all.

"’She's the last one’. What does that mean?” Finally, she had circled around to the question he’d been anticipating, his shoulders sinking.

“I'm not sure. Ever since you came up, that box hasn't gone back down. I just think it's got everyone a little worried. Especially Gally.” They looked across, seeing the builder watching them with his arms crossed, staring back at them for a moment before turning away.

“He thinks it's my fault.”

“Are you sure you don't remember anything else?” He couldn’t help it, his own curiosity getting the better of him. The questions he’d been wanting to ask her since she mumbled his name when arriving were finally too much to contain. He needed to know if she remembered anything else, anything that could help him with the girl behind his eyes, plaguing his mind.

She paused, taking a minute to decide whether to say anything, before eventually voicing her thoughts to him. “I remember water.. feeling like I was drowning. These faces staring at me. And this woman's voice saying the same thing over and over.”

"WCKD is good." Her surprised stare was enough for him to know he needed her to continue. “There’s another one, though. A louder one. Someone younger like us.. I can see her face, hear her voice so clearly in my mind, I think she was my friend.”

“Saying that something is wrong, that we need to leave? That WCKD isn’t good?”

“How did you know that?” Teresa spoke in a hushed tone, almost a whisper, as though afraid someone might hear them talking.

“Ever since I got here, I’ve been having these dreams.. well, I thought they were dreams. She was there. She tells me that it’s wrong, that everything is changing.” He felt a weight lift off of his shoulders, to tell it to someone who understands, who could relate to his worries.

“What does it mean?”

“I don’t know, I only ever get pieces. They flash by, sometimes incomplete, and out of context.”

“And the others don’t remember anything?” She questioned, but he had no answer to give her, only more questions.

“Why are we different?”

“These were in my pocket when I came up.” She had no answers for him, either, instead fishing in her pocket to produce vials, handing them over to him. Thomas smoothed his finger over the letters carved into the metal, making the connection between them and the phrase in his mind. “What if we were sent here for a reason?”

“Alby!” He scrambled to his feet, Teresa confusedly following as he descended the ladder as fast as he could, jumping down the last few steps and waiting for her to follow before bolting it across the glade towards Newt, who was lighting torches as the night began setting in. Taking the boy’s hand, he breathlessly placed the vials into his palm, the blonde looking up at him with a puzzled expression, glancing between him and Teresa, who was just approaching the boys. Placing his hands on Newt’s shoulders, he nodded at the hut behind them, offering a single word as explanation; “Alby.”

Pacing into the hut, Newt and Teresa followed as Thomas leaned over him, checking him in his unconscious state. Black veins were now crawling along his flesh, his skin sweaty and he twitched and thrashed occasionally, his body losing the fight against the infection.

“We don't know who sent it. Or why it came up here with you. For all we know, this thing could kill him.” Newt argued, clutching the vails tightly.

“He’s already dying! Look at him! How could this possibly make it any worse?” Newt looked over his friend, who was groaning angrily, breathing laboured as he wheezed. “C’mon, it’s worth a try.”

“Alright.” He passed over one of the vials, Thomas leaning over Alby, trying to find a place to inject him. Before he could, the boy shot upright, hands clenching in Thomas’ shirt as he pulled him down. His eyes were bloodshot and crazy, unable to focus on anything around him as his teeth clenched in anger.

“You shouldn’t be here! You shouldn’t be here!” Panic set in, Newt trying to pull his friends grasp from Thomas, Teresa taking the syringe as the boys wrestled, trying to tear Thomas away. Plunging the needle into his side, the medicine immediately took affect, the raging boys body falling limp as his fingers loosened in Thomas’ top, allowing him to stumble backwards and away.

He felt the warm feeling of liquid on his upper lip, his tongue darting out as a coppery taste met his senses, and for a moment, he worried Alby had caught him across the face in the ruckus, but when an overly excessive pounding began to build, his ears ringing as the voices around him muffled and his vision blurring, he excused himself, wiping at his nose and trying to suppress the oncoming visions.

He knew where he was supposed to be, and this time, he was willingly putting himself in his cage, needing some kind of privacy as your face began to show up in his mind once again. The second he slipped into the dark pit, the bamboo door closing behind him, he let himself collapse back on the floor.

The scent of the regulatory shampoo you were all issued wafted into his nose as his cheek nuzzled against your hair, and somehow, it always smelled better on you, bringing him comfort. You held the tiny, dull torch up, just enough to illuminate the pages of the book as he read aloud to you, words hushed but enthusiastic as he brought each character to life.

You continued to wind the torch up, the whirring a dull hum to him as you snuggled back further into his chest, his arms tightening around you as you did so. His back to the wall, with you sitting between his legs, arms around you as he read, it was it favourite tradition. When you were younger, in the beginning of your relationship, the two of you had been able to get through a new book from this library every week, but as you grew older and gained more responsibility, and your visits decreased, you were still making your way through the same book you had been for a month and a half now.

The light in the torch began to flicker, and you wound at it slightly faster, his own voice stopping reading as he folded the corner of the page, a sad sigh leaving your lips as it faded into darkness, leaving the two of you in the pitch black. “I thought we’d have longer, the batteries must’ve already been partly used up.” You sighed, sticking the useless plastic device back into your pocket.

His fingers danced along the edge of the shelf you were hidden behind, tucking the book back into place before letting his hands drop to your hips, squeezing tightly before just letting them wrap around you fully, clasped and sitting on your stomach.

His face nuzzled into the exposed skin of your neck, placing light kisses as he worked his way up until he was nuzzling at your cheek, a small laugh leaving your lips at the action and you turned your head, one of your hands raising to weave into his messy hair as his nose bumped against yours.

Finally, you closed the gap, his lips moving softly but lovingly against yours, his hold on you tightening to hold you as close to him as he possibly could. Twisting in his arms, you shuffled blindly in the darkness, one of your legs taking place on either side of his thighs as you dropped into his lap, leaning over him.

His tongue traced your lower lip, and you granted him access, tilting your head to the side as he sighed happily into your mouth, his tongue tangling with yours in a lazy kiss, but it was all it needed to be at the time. Light caught your eye, and you pulled away, curses slipping from your lips as you rolled to the floor, both of you ducking down.

Still breathless and panting, your cheeks were flushed, and you could see his were too as he looked at you, the bright white light of the torches giving away enough light to see one another as it shone through the window. A guard was pacing the windows outside and you pressed yourself further into the ground.

“They don’t patrol this corridor on a Thursday!” You were angry and upset, and despite the situation, his fingers slid across the carpet to link with yours, bringing you some kind of comfort. “If they cover this hall on Thursday, we won't be able to come to the library anymore.”

“We can find another way, I promise.” He tried to keep his voice strong, but you both knew he was lying. This was the last day the pair of you had available to sneak out to see one another, but management had been becoming suspicious and threats had been increasing. Curfews had been moved to earlier, and security had been tripled. “We have to go, baby.”

“But, we didn’t finish the book. I don’t know how it ends.”

“You’ll find out one day, but this is our chance, and we have to go. Now.” The minute the guards light had moved on the lower section, you were on your feet, dashing towards the open vent in the roof and watching as Thomas jumped, fingers finding the edge as he pulled himself up.

Reaching back down, your fingers laced together as he pulled you upwards, but as your foot found the wall to push yourself up, a beeping sounded at the end of the room, the door hissing open.

Your eyes widened as his torch began moving towards you, too quickly to move away from, and in a split second decision, your other hand found his shoulder, pushing him backwards and out of sight as your hands detached. No longer holding onto you, you dropped back to the floor, a loud thud sounding and the light hit you.

Thomas wanted to crawl forward, to expose himself with you, but the grate over the vent fell shut, his hands just about catching it as not to make any noise and for a moment your eyes glanced up, a small smile on your lips in signal before you looked back to the guard making his way towards you.

You weren’t even questioned, a rough hand wrapping around your arm and tugging you along, dragging you further and further away from him as he panicked, unable to do anything about it. He realised as he watched you being dragged away for punishment, in that moment, that he loved you with everything he had.

You had risked yourself to stop him from being punished, and he knew if it was the other way around, he would’ve done the same for you.

“God, can’t one of these be fun?” He grumbled to himself, running a hand over his face.

“Why can’t what be fun?” The voice startled him, and he wasn't sure how he’d managed to miss the light of the fire approaching, but Chuck sat down before him, balancing a candle in a jar on the bars. Handing a bundle of cloth and a bottle through the bars, he smiled and nodded at them. “You’ll run better on a full stomach.”

The gesture warmed his heart, and he opened the bundle to find bread, tearing a piece off hungrily and digging in. “Thanks, Chuck.” The words were muffled around the food, and he ate quickly to try and keep it lowkey, fear of getting caught when he was supposed to be going without food, and Chuck taking the fall for it. “Hey, what have you got there?” He nodded to the wood clasped in the boys hand, and he leaned in, an excited smile on his lips as he showed Thomas the carving. “That came out pretty good, huh? What’s that for?”

“It's for my parents.”

“You remember your parents?”

“No. I mean, I know I must have them. And wherever they are, I'm sure they miss me, but I can't miss them because I don't remember them.” Thomas wanted to speak up, he could tell the boy was putting on a brave face, and he knew the pain. You could definitely miss someone you couldn’t remember. His entire body ached with how much he missed you, and he couldn’t even remember your name.

“Chuck, I promise you, what you’re feeling is real You can miss someone you don’t know. I know it’s true, I know that-”

“Chuck? What are you still doing up? It's too late.” Both himself and the curly haired boy in front of him jumped, Newt’s intrusion sudden and startling them both. Pushing the bottle and empty rag back through the bars, he mumbled a thank you to Chuck who scooped them up before dashing off into the darkness, leaving his candle behind. “I thought we talked about you not telling anyone about that?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You can’t tell Chuck about the girl in your head. It’ll confuse him, he’s too young to have his hope shattered like that. We don’t know if you’re going to find anything out there, Tommy..” Ducking his head, he knew he was right. Chuck was far too innocent to have been dragged into all this in the first place.

“It keeps happening, Newt. More, and more flashes of her. I thought they were dreams but they’re too real now.”

“So, your dream girl, isn’t just a dream girl anymore, eh?” There was a playful edge to his tone, and Thomas felt his cheeks heating up at the thought.

“She’s not just my dream girl.. she was everything. I don’t even know her now, but I know that she was.” He confided, leaning his forehead against the bars, a sigh leaving his lips as Newt thought over his statement.

“Right, well, get some sleep. You’ve got a big day tomorrow, try not to let your dream girl distract you too much.” He sent a cheeky laugh in Thomas’ direction when the boy raised his head to glare at the blonde. Taking the jar, he wobbled away with the candle, the light dimming, and as it faded, his true sleepiness crept in, taking him over.

Thomas had been awake since the moment the sun had begun to light up the Glade once again. He’d watched as the light slowly crept along the cold stone walls, before making its way towards him inch by inch across the grass. The rays had yet to meet the cages he was stuck in when the telltale footfall of another began to make their way towards him, his mood lighting up as he sprung to his feet to meet the bars.

Crouching before him was Minho, a smirk on his face as he looked at him. “Big day, greenie.” The nickname almost had him frowning, but Thomas couldn’t help the near-excited grin to pull at his lips. “You sure you don’t want to sit this one out?”

“C’mon man, get me out of here.” Fiddling with the ropes tying the door shut, they soon fell free, a hand reaching in to help him out of the pit once the door had been swung carelessly to the side. With one hand locked in Minho’s and the other scraping at the dirt, he let himself be tugged up from the shadows, standing tall and brushing himself down.

His muscles were shouting with joy at finally stretching out form the hunched over position he’d been in, and his joints were popping happily as he exercised them. Taking a deep breath, the air was forced from him as a bundle of unfamiliar objects was forced into his chest with a shove, a scowl on his features as he looked over at his smirking friend.

Glancing down to the items he was holding onto haphazardly, the largest of them stuck out to him, an unsettling nostalgia clawing at his throat as he looked upon the worn leather. He recognised it, the same pack he’d seen strapped to Ben’s chest the first day he’d been here. He was certain the battered water bottle he was holding belonged to him too.

“You’re gonna’ want to put those on, greenie, so we can get going.” He glanced up, finding Minho pulling on his own gear, tightening the straps and ensuring it wouldn’t loosen. Following suit, he pulled the garment over his head, slotting his bottle into the strap on the back and pulling it tight to his body.

The doors had yet to open and the rest had yet to stir, but a bread roll was pressed into his hands as Minho took off in a slow jog towards the doors they’d be leaving through, no words exchanged as he chewed on his breakfast, expecting Thomas to follow suit. The air was just beginning to warm up as the two reached the doors, the rock formations groaning heavily as metal squealed, beginning it’s separation once again.

They had yet to fully open, barely a crack big enough for them to get through before Minho took off, his body darting forwards into the shadows, his voice lost in the noise of the moving walls as he called out to Thomas. Taking off in a sprint behind him, his feet skidded on the slippery floor as he followed Minho in his first sharp turn.

It felt like hours had passed, Thomas’ lungs burning, his throat dry as he tried to make his water last, and his legs aching when Minho finally allowed them to slow from the consistent pace they’d kept it. It was undoubtedly still a run, but no longer a sprint, and his body was already thankful for it. As he looked ahead, he could see the passageways widening, enough for light to reach as far as the floor, moss no longer growing and the walls dry.

A number five was painted in red on one of the walls, the symbol chipping away as it weathered but was still clearly visible. Though it was clear where that section would continue on, he couldn’t see any possible way into it, the section sealed tightly shut. As was section six as they passed it by, the number on the closed stone gates faded but clear, and it wasn’t until the pair reached section seven that Thomas practically stopped in his tracks, his pace hit so slow.

It was nothing like the other sections, thought it was oddly familiar, an uneasy feeling twisting in his gut like he knew what to expect here but couldn't quite put his finger on it. Despite the light shining over it, the area felt dark to Thomas, a foreboding sense of danger hanging over him. It wasn’t until the talking of his companion reached his ears that he snapped out of his wonderment and daze, the boy having matched his pace as the two slowed to a walk. “It’s weird.”

“What?”

“Seven isn’t supposed to be open for another week.”

Clearing the passage into the section, he was met with a wide, open area, filled with tall and wide slabs of metal, reaching towards the sky. Almost all of them were facing the same direction, some stuck one way, some wedges mid-turn, but most in perfectly clean rows. “What the hell are these?”

“We call them ‘blades’.” It was a simple explanation, and it answered nothing, but Thomas had learned at this point not to push, and just take any information he could get.

The stench of rusting metal filled the air, the silver that the ‘blades’ had originally been was giving way, almost completely taken over by the brown and orange rust that was predominantly seeping through now. They’d scarcely made it clear of the tall monuments when dashes of red caught their eyes, becoming clearer as shredded rags of cloth the nearer they got. Blood and dirt stained the material, what little scraps there was of it, and there was no mistaking what it was and who it had belonged to.

Clicking filled the air, small whirring sounds and steady hums, dread from the mechanical haunting filling both the boys before they realised what it was. Spinning Minho around, Thomas plucked the device that they had pulled from a griever from his bag, a small flashing light that hadn’t presented itself until now was steadily flashing on and off in tune with the beeps.

They followed the crackling of the device, the beeping and flashing getting faster and faster the more they walked, until it was so fast it was almost a steady note, without interruptions. The light was once again blocked out by tall walls, coolness hanging in the air as the pair continued on, the pathway falling away at either side as it narrowed into a walkway, the stone cobbled and chipped as they continued on.

When the pathway finally picked up either side of what could only be described as a bridge, Minho pressed his hand to the rock, an angry sigh leaving his lips. “It’s just another dead en-”

The device silenced itself, a satisfying click leaving it as the red display and light switched to green, the well known sound of rock moving making the boys spin around. The rock wall before them lifted up, two more the same following behind it in a slightly delayed reaction. At the end, a circular door hissed open, the tunnel it held too dark to see in, blackness staring back at them.

Stepping forwards, water dripped down from above, moss filling the cracks in the rock, shadows falling and it was a stark contrast to the bleak and bright cleanliness of the section they’d been in only seconds prior, resembling the inner circle of the maze more than the outer.

As they approached the dark tunnel, it became no clearer what was inside, still a mystery to them both, but they could now see the streams of slick goop that coated the entrance, running in rivulets into pools on the floor. Though it was perfectly apparent what it was, Minho still let the word fall from his mouth; “Grievers.”

As if triggered by his voice, a thin red scan roamed over both of them, the boys flinching as it did, before it retreated into the tunnel, clicking off. The same blaring as the box made sounded loudly, only amplified as it was no longer muffled by grass but echoed from the hard surface of the maze walls, the metal clicking as the stone barriers began lowering once again, assuming the Griever had finally returned to where it belonged.

Chucking the device back to Minho, he fastened it into his bag, the two taking off in a run as the slabs of stone began to rapidly lower once again. The metal of the ‘blades’ was screeching torturously as they grated, slamming themselves closed as metal began to clang against metal, rows of them closing into narrow corridors.

Weaving through each one, Thomas tried to keep up with Minho, the blades closing faster than the boys could keep up, trapping Thomas on one side of them as they closed in order towards the stone. Pushing himself faster, he just ducked between two, his body crashing into that of his friends as they ran towards the exit.

His head was pounding, he was barely getting enough breath in as it was before his vision started blurring, a warm wetness trickling along his upper lip and under his jaw as he cursed under his breath. With every step he took he tried to push back, all his focus on following the ever blurring shape of Minho before him as he began to stumble, his legs weakening beneath him, body shaking as the earth around him trembled and shook.

Stone was rising from the ground as the same pillar descended steadily from above to match it, and he barely had the strength in his arms to pull himself up onto the moving slab. Crawling through, the boy before him becoming just a collection of shapes, the rock so close now he could practically feel it as his body flattened to slide the last few inches, before dropping to the ground, his vision fading and his body jerking in uncoordinated spasms.

His veins felt like ice as he bit at his hand, fingers curled into a fist, as the other lay at his side. His eyes were burning, forcing him to blink as he stared at the monitors before him, silence filling the room as everyone around him continued to watch, too.

He could practically hear his own heart racing in his chest, beating about as fast as yours must’ve been as he watched you run. He’d cursed it from the moment he’d woken up, watching you jog alone today between the walls of your challenge, your partner too sick to join you as you did your daily course.

He’d had a bad feeling from the start, and yet despite having had every part of you taken away from you the last time he’d held you, you had only rebuilt yourself as a stronger and more determined version of who you are over the last two years. As he watched, he soon came to realise that you were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time, though he had begun to feel like something in the room was off as the higher ups began to whisper among themselves, keyboards clicking as commands he couldn’t see were programmed.

His work had been long discarded as he stood behind the glass to watch, his eyebrows furrowed and his lips pulled into a frown. He wasn’t sure why they had spent the day monitoring you solely, normally the screens all showed different sections of your maze, and today, the rest had been discarded to follow you. Your day had passed by just fine, your run going smoothly as you ran the inner ring, before following and sweeping through the open section for your day, before making your journey back.

It wasn’t until he watched you round a corner, skidding to a halt metres away from one of the creatures they’d made that his heart stopped in his chest. Taking a step forward, his fist pounded against the glass, profanities and objections falling from his lips about how unfair it was, how it was the middle of the day and you had nowhere to go but deeper into the stone maze and further from safety.

All eyes were on him as he screamed behind the barrier, sound blocked as they watched him protest but it was far too late to do anything now. They’d already issued the death sentence, it was just waiting to be carried out. Janson practically had a smirk on his face, some watching with horror as his fist came down again and again on the glass, yet it didn’t even crack, his voice not carrying through into the restricted area. His eyes fleeting met those of Doctor Paige, and for a second he almost thought he saw sorrow, pity or remorse flick across her set features, but her expression didn’t change in the slightest as she turned back to watching the scene unfold before her.

Your feet were moving as fast as they could as the creature followed, gaining on you as it crawled and jumped between walls. Ducking around a corner, it reached for you, one sharp arm sinking into your flesh as it dragged along your arms, and he could hear the sounds of your piercing screams even from the other side of the glass.

Hot tears filled his eyes as he blinked them away. The maze was closing around you, shifting and changing as it forced you deeper in, navigating your path for you. In a last ditch attempt, you ran, sliding along the ground as a piece of stone lowered, narrowly missing you and trapping the creature on the other side. He barely had time to breathe, relax or calm himself as he watched you flinch, the beast letting out a scream as it's metal appendages dug into the stone, climbing up and over the barricade.

You took off, figuring out it’s move and dashing back towards the section you had just come from. His fists were in his hair, running through and tugging at the strands as the cement at you feet began to crack, your body lurching forwards as you stumbled.

The abomination was now on the ground, stalking towards you at high speeds as you ran, ground shaking as machinery he hadn’t even known had been there began raising up, the metal beams fastened to the wall loosening as they fell one by one. Each time they hit the ground, you were momentarily tossed a foot or so into the air from the impact, your ankles twisting each time you landed and your pace slowed as a result.

You were tired, you were injured, and you were trapped.

Thomas felt his head spinning and blood boil as he watched you slow to a stop, turning to face the creature that continued to bound it’s way towards you. The installations in the ground rose up around you, dust clouding you for only a second as the latches fastening the metal to the wall progressively clicked away. You didn’t move, merely glancing up at the beam before returning your gaze to the beast closing in on you.

Blood was dripping from the tips of your fingers and pooling on the ground around you, his throat raw and he sobbed and screamed, knuckles raw as he pounded at the glass and begged you to move, to run, to do something and not just wait for death. His pleas fell on deaf ears, he was the only one in the room, and you were miles away from him, away from his help.

The heavy bar began it’s rapid fall from above, barely a second would pass before it would crush you, and barely a second before the trap they’d created would reach you and tear you apart. He had no idea which would happen, but as both neared your form, your eyes opened to look at the creature, staring it directly in the eye, and for a second he felt like you were looking at him, staring straight at him with determination, as he’d seen you do many times before.

His own eyes squeezed shut, his gaze tearing from yours as the sounds of the creation screaming out and metal crunching and smashing against rock filled his ears, before the entire room went silent, minus for the one sound he hadn’t expected to hear. The heartbeat connected to you still echoed out in the room, still beating irrationally and frantically, but it was better than a dull tone to signify your death.

Cracking his eyes open, he wiped quickly at the tears that blurred them as his palms pressed flat to the glass, breath fogging it up as he leaned in as close as he could. Layers of dust were still settling, but a watery and relieved smile spread onto his lips as he began to make out your figure, lying on the ground, a hand over your eyes to shield them from the sun as you panted, trying to breathe.

The insides of the thing that had been chasing you were spilling out from beneath the metal, crushed as it lay silent and unmoving, and nothing but joy and an overwhelming sense of pride filled him as he watched his girl get up. It wasn’t without struggle, your arm entirely useless as you used your other hand to tug out the belt from around your waist, trying to tie it tightly to your bicep, and it pained him to see the tears streaming down your face, the way you screamed as you used it to pull your skin tight again and stop the bleeding.

You dragged your tired feet back, away from the creature as you glanced upwards to the sky, before looking back at your watch. Everything was still on the screens, and Thomas felt his heart slowing down as he watched you relax, before movement on the far right one caught his eye. The rock walls were beginning to slide back together, and that had seemingly been revealed to you too, as you began the fastest jog you could back towards your entrance.

Your arm was hanging limply by your side, your body exhausted as you ran, ankles twisting and slipping under you with each turn as you tried to run. The light was slipping from the walls as you traced back through the mossy tunnels, rock beginning to shift and grind as they changed, and his heart was picking up once again.

You were so close.

And yet, it wasn’t close enough. He’d watched as the doors of your maze closed, sealing off the faces of the girls that had gathered around to watch you, only minutes before you had rounded the corner yourself. His body was weak but he was all cried out, his throat raw as he watched with desperation when you fell to your knees before the closed stone gap, the palm of your uninjured hand pressed to the stone as you cried, hot tears finally spilling down your cheeks as they had for him.

You were bleeding out, you were trapped, and there was nowhere for you to go. You could barely stand anymore, never mind run. WCKD had killed you. They had changed the game to play with you, and your words rang clearly in his head, the last words you had said to him before losing yourself. You were right, something was wrong here, this wasn't right. What had happened wasn’t right, and he stalked from the room before any of the officials in the room had a chance to turn and gauge his reaction to your death.

Whatever it was that had been important enough for you to get yourself cast out, sent into the trials, killed for - he had to find it.

Waking up, he shot forwards, Minho jumping back with a yelp as Thomas coughed. Wiping at his nose, his fingers came up, shakily brushing at his ears as he pulled away, a small trickle of blood leaking from one. Wiping the liquid away onto the floor, he gazed up to find a horrified runner staring down at him, Thomas’ mind spinning as he tried to contemplate everything he had just seen.

“What the shuck was that?” He finally met his friends worried gaze when he spoke, his jaw dropping and closing several times as he tried to find the words to say, before eventually he swallowed thickly, blinking back the tears that were building behind his eyes.

“I think she just died.”

#thomas #thomas/reader #thomas x reader #thomas the maze runner #thomas tmr #thomas tst #thomas tdc #dylan o'brien #dylan obrien #dylan obrien thomas #dylan obrien the maze runner #dylan o'brien imagine #dylan obrien fic #dylan obrien imagine #feels like loneliness #fll #tommy month #tomuary #tom-uary

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griimreaping · 4 years

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@kaijvking ━━━━━ ╳ ( john )

ending word count: 4.3k ( posted on AO3 )

Autumn is in full swing over northern Montana. Trees bursting into vibrant flame as their leaves succumb to winter’s quickly approaching grasp. The Whitetail Mountains are a painter’s dream of colors, reds, oranges, and yellows that few are able to capture on the canvas. Yet, there is an ink smear across an otherwise picturesque afternoon—a fire burning within the compound of the Veteran’s center sullying the vista.

Jean’s nose wrinkles when the dusty white truck finally pulls up to the wrought iron gates encircling the perimeter. A stack of what looks to be tires, and the occasional corpse, is burning spectacularly in one of the few pits dug into what once was the front lawn of the Hope County’s Veteran Wellbeing Center. Speculations between the faithful of the mountains settled unanimously on the smell of those burning pits put the Whitetails’ soldier at ease. However, it did nothing to help the rib rattling cough that plagues him during wet weather.

“Out.” The driver nudges the blonde with the stock of his rifle. He’s easily twice her size, and the stained tan shirt he wears is stretched thin over the man’s barrel chest. Jean isn’t sure if the stains are blood or dirt. It’s been several months since the woman even approached the center, and now to suddenly be yanked back like an animal about to be punished made her throat feel like it’s wrapped in barbed wire. Eyes watching from every corner of the expansive yard has the woman being paraded toward the front door prickle uncomfortably. Jean’s skin felt too tight for her neck and face, a cold sweat sticking her shirt to her skin despite a breeze that rattles dead leaves up the front path. In an attempt to solidify her slipping resolve, the blonde meets each gaze wagering a silent challenge for them to try something.

All around them, Jacob’s well-oiled army machine performs just as intended. Men go through the motions of training with their rifles. Push-ups, jumping jacks, sit-ups, even a small pack of them were jogging the perimeter. Worn down paths all over the yard show routes of most traffic and directly disobey the Soldier’s first rule. Make yourself unpredictable. If Jean were a click away on a ridge, she’d be able to pick each of them off without even blinking. The thought alone makes the woman’s palms slick and itchy. That had been the first thing taken from her. Trailing behind, the stocky escort has his head on a swivel, the brown leather strap of Jean’s sniper rifle slung over a meaty shoulder. She wants to rip his throat out for even looking at the weapon, let alone taking it from her.

Once inside the musty interior, she suddenly wishes that they could have met at any other outpost that Jacob controls in the north. That thick sticky copper smell of blood and agony drips off the walls. Somewhere deeper in the building, a man is screaming, a broken keening sound that’s ripped from a raw throat. Past injuries flare across Jean’s body in a knee jerk defense mechanism to alert her that this place is dangerous. As if she isn’t already aware. Still, the hesitation stokes the short temper of the man that has escorted the woman this far. With a rough shove again from the weathered stock of his rifle, he growls a word Jean doesn’t catch over the ringing in her ears.

Frayed carpeting that once might have been red still covers the floor of the main foyer, though it looks like enough tracked mud and heavy boots have uncovered patches of linoleum beneath. Two men milling about in the reception area snap their heads toward Jean and her escort, the undiluted hostility immediate and breathtaking. Bristling, the woman kicks the urge down to bare her teeth at them. Jacob’s training may have turned them all into damn animals, but she’d keep herself leashed until it’s revealed why she’s even here. A few words pass between them that she doesn’t listen to, watching more people move like busy worker ants down the main hallway. Whoever had been screaming when they first entered took a new pitch, the sound rising to a fevered panic that even made the group of men stiffen. Glances are ferried between them as a second screamer joins the distant cacophony like a hellish siren’s call.

“He can’t keep that up for much longer.” a shorter man with matted brown hair slicked down close to his skull, cutting a glance at the man Jean had come in with. Her escort grunts softly in agreeance or dismissal. She isn’t sure. The third rolls his eyes with a groan, clearly irritated as his grip shifts on the exceptionally well-kept rifle slung across a bare chest. Whorls of holy ink are scrawled across suntanned skin along with a patchwork of scars only partially hidden with the crosses and words.

“Nobody would mind if someone just went up there and put a bullet in ‘em.” Finishing the statement just as those eyes fall on Jean, she’s stricken by how they look straight into her. That harsh hazel stare letting the woman know that she wouldn’t be leaving this building alive.

Giving a parting nod to the previous escort, the hazel-eyed man intercepts Jean and jostles her up the hallway. The deeper they go into the Veteran’s Center, the stronger that copper stench becomes until it’s almost unbearable. It’s then a pair of double doors pushing open to reveal what once had been a vast square cafeteria that is now brimming with human suffering. Blood running across the floor turns the grout black with dried gore. Rusted cages arranged in an undeniable maze that funneled all that proceeded through the room past each and every display of torment. Overhead buzzing fluorescent lights blink sporadically, briefly throwing shapes and color into sharp relief before disappearing back into obscuring darkness. Heavy curtains are slung over the windows on the western side of the room, disallowing any type of natural light into the prison. Thick like a wet wool blanket, the smell of carnage suffocates the room.

In here, the screamer hides somewhere amongst the iron and copper. Growling out a short order to move, the hazel-eyed man doesn’t shove her with his rifle as the last escort did, and with a shuffle, Jean tries to ignore how the soles of her boots stick to the floor. In the pockets of darkness that flicker with the lights overhead, Jean can make out corpses ripped open and threaded with barbed wire quick flashes of white bone dizzying. Hurried words scrawled across the white tile walls curse and plead for the end. Scriptures written in blood.

Trying to breathe shallowly through her mouth Jean’s eyes sting, tears welling up around the corners of her vision. Their trek through the prison is almost cruelly slow, hazel eyes drinking in the viscera around him with a near euphoric glint in his gaze. Dying down to a low keening wail by the time they reach his cage, the screamer is affixed to the front wall of his cell by both of his arms wrapped tightly in razor wire. Rivulets of red drip to the floor as he slowly tries not to sink to his knees. Jean can see the weeks of exhaustion pulling the man’s skeletal body downward, simultaneously ending his life while he struggles so vainly to hold on. Jacob’s second rule. Never greet death willingly. Fight until the last.

Others in the cages adjacent to the screamers simply watch, dead glassy eyes reflecting day after day of breaking in. Some weren’t compatible with the mental training the herald provided. Many broke, crushed messily in the teeth of this machine that churns out warriors soaked in blood and rage. Every violent urge and promise all ripped loose with a couple of bars of an otherwise innocuous song. One that her grandfather might have liked, Jean muses bitterly. Still feeling the kiss of flame on her skin as the farmhouse went up in a spectacular blaze.

Making it to the other end of the room felt like an accomplishment all in itself. If the woman isn’t sure that she has a one-way ticket toward a cell of her own, she’d almost be glad. Shouldering open the double doors on the south side of the cafeteria, Jean is momentarily dazzled by the sudden bright burst of sunlight from the windows that line the stairwell yawning before them. Looking up into the motes of dust that lazily swirl around them with the disturbance of air, Jean feels too aware of her breathing at that moment. Each exhale displacing the natural order of things. She didn’t belong here.

Ascending gritty concrete stairs to the top floor of this nightmare alcazar, that nervous bird fluttering behind the woman’s ribs works into a frenzy. Jean knows if she were to glance down at her chest, there would be a clear imprint of her heart trying to pound its way through her sternum. Hazel eyes aware of the woman’s growing anxiety, and sipping it like a fine wine. One of the many reasons he loves being this ferryman through the building is that he is allowed a front-row seat to the mental fraying right before Jacob deals the finishing stroke. Absent thoughts of what method the herald would use float through Hazel’s mind like balloons on a breeze. A distant double report of a pistol somewhere else in the compound doesn’t sour the fantasies that drip across his mind syrupy and vivid.

Sun riding the horizon casting the world in a painter’s pallet of colors, Jean savors the glimpses out of the fifth-floor windows that look out over the forest instead of the yard. Up here, she couldn’t quite make out the staccato beats of gunfire down on the front lawn, nor the screaming several floors below in the prison. It’s quiet. Quiet like the heartbeats before stepping up to the waiting noose on the gallows. Every fiber of Jean’s body vibrates with it, that palpable press of her death waiting somewhere behind one of the faded wooden doors that line the hall, interspersed with dazzling views of another life outside. Down in the prison, every other exhibit of suffering resolutely snuffed out her fears for those brief moments, however now, above everything else, it’s too much.

At the end of the corridor, a heavier wooden door stands slightly ajar. Next to the frame, there’s what’s left of a name placard that’s since been mauled. Deep knife gouges carving the name from the tarnished metal. Nauseating flashes of static throw weird shadows out into the hallway, and a growing hiss of white noise overpowers the ringing in Jean’s ears as they approach. Memories of weeks spent strapped into those chairs as flashes of dismemberment and teeth and pain cycle across the slide show elbow their way to the forefront of Jean’s mind. A sharp throbbing begins against the woman’s temples. Headaches became commonplace among those privy to the extended lessons that Jacob put his least favorite through. From the beginning, she’d been singled out. Too much history. Too involved with John. It made the Soldier edgy, but Joseph hadn’t allowed him to simply kill her to make a point. Jean remembers through the crimson fog of those fugue states the pinched rage Jacob wore when his younger brother made it clear there would be no killing of John’s favorite.

As if sensing their presence, the static abruptly chokes off, throwing the passage into the void of silence once more. Sunlight feeling cold and sterile on her skin as they pause outside the slightly open door, Jean feels her skin prickle hot like a windburn with anticipation. Jacob always had been the type to savor a death, to draw it out and let you feel every decaying agony of undoing. A bullet wouldn’t be appropriate for a person that he’d been aching to dispose of for months.

Hazel pushes her then, Jean’s stiffened body stumbling through the door in the same way a newborn animal scrambles for purchase as the knob is snatched back and slammed shut behind her. Straightening once more, the woman tries to breathe evenly, the crushing weight of how hopeless the situation is pummeling her full force in that moment of darkness. Eyes attempting to adjust to the dim room, shapes swim up out of the indigo murk. A desk, a broken chair near the corner, a squat table with the projector that had been broadcasting static a moment earlier, then the glinting knife of Jacob’s gaze pins Jean to the spot. Wolves indeed were the best animal to associate with the eldest Seed brother. Barrel chested and blanketed with scars he didn’t bother to hide the man looks at every person he meets with the same bored scrutiny, cutting through them with a glance.

“Sit.” He knows he doesn’t need to yell, voice alone a promise of brutality beyond imagination if there were any transgressions. Legs acting on their own accord, the woman’s lungs stutter for breath as she finds a worn stool situated in front of the desk he leans against. Jacob watches unmoving, but the cogs within his brain grind endlessly, processing all that can be done. Why stray from the tried and true methods? He’d let her roam the woods and meet her end as the mind melts away in layers, reliving each fear in scarlet clarity. Jacob’s mental discipline is the exact juxtapose to Faith’s bliss.

“Jean, Masters.“ Jacob stands properly, moving over to one of the curtained windows and pulling aside the fabric to allow streams of sunlight across the dusty room. Jean squints against the brightness for a moment before her eyes adjust, a dull burning only adding to the throb of the headache rioting against her skull. She blinks over at the inky silhouette of Jacob standing against the sunlight, his shadow seeming to drink up and extinguish the light that touches him.

“You know, your history reads like a horror story. Parents killed tragically in a double murder, though the headlines do leave out the fact that your father happened to be the one that instigated the gang violence. That little tidbit was a treat to find.” Stepping away from the window and toward the seated woman, Jacob crouches his six foot three frame down so he’s face to face with his captive. Those cold ice blue eyes picking Jean apart methodically as chapped lips curl into the barest of smirks.

“Poor mommy had no idea, did she? Probably not until the moment that knife bit into her. And you, you were only what, eight at the time? Is that where this little trophy comes from?” A hand appears at Jean’s throat, calloused thumb tracing along a faded scar just under the hinge of the woman’s jaw. Lungs revolting against the air, Jean feels like there’s a rock wedged up under her diaphragm, cutting open her insides. Memories shoving one another aside for dominance in the theater of her mind, there are flashes of men storming into the house they’d had on the upper west end. Then the screaming, the begging.

Her chest stutters.

“Then you thought that all that could just be swept under the rug if you moved. It worked for a few years until somebody dug up old skeletons and came looking for the last surviving Master’s heir to settle a decade-old debt. Shot you twice, didn’t they?” Inflection never changing and gaze never wavering as he expertly picks apart Jean’s entire existence. Jacob can’t help the cold, almost reptilian enjoyment that came from this—watching the consciousness crack under pressure and doubts a feast for him. Across Jean’s body, old wounds flare to life as if they’ve been freshly ripped open by the words battering her. That sharp tang of gunpowder is fresh in the woman’s nostrils just as the day she’d been shot going back to her dorm in law school. It had been the reason she’d changed schools. A singular moment setting into motions dominos that the woman wouldn’t even be aware of until decades down the line sitting in this chair, Jacob’s hand closing around her throat.

“Does your son know all this?” It’s like a slap to the face, Jean jerking involuntarily in the Soldier’s grasp. Fury, bright and consuming, rushes into the woman like a scalding breath, charring every nerve in its wake. Eyes narrowing down at Jacob, Jean hears her voice speak before the thoughts are done forming,

“Don’t you dare--”

“Or should I say, John’s son. He doesn’t even know about the kid, does he, Jean? You never bothered to tell either of them. All the kid knows is that daddy isn’t around, and John is blissfully unaware. You know I did always want to be an uncle. Would’ve taught the kid how to handle a gun. A good bonding moment. Elliott isn’t my first choice in name, but I’m sure we’ll get along just fine.” It’s instant. Boot connecting with Jacob’s chest Jean kicks him to the ground, snarling teeth bared as she lunges. Her own life is a joke, something easily thrown away to the wind without a second thought. Elliott, though, her son, Jean, will rip open hell itself if anybody so much as insinuated harm toward the boy. World hemming in red around her vision as hands scramble to latch onto Jacob’s throat, Jean’s ears rush with the sound of her pulse smashing against the cage of ribs.

Batting aside the grasping hands feeling as her nails rake across the flesh of his forearms, drawing up ruby wells of blood, Jacob grunts when his back hits the desk. A glass of water that had been on the surface rattles off and smashes on the dusty floor. In the bare light from the window, he catches glimpses of that raw fury on her face and smiles. That’s the nerve, an open wound he’d been searching for with all those other throw away facts to get down to the marrow. She’d waltzed so easily right into his waiting jaws. Now to break the bone. Flashing white of bared teeth and half snarled curses that pass her lips while attempting to find any kind of purchase on the man beneath her; Jean doesn’t expect his arms to encircle her, crushing the woman to the Soldier’s chest. Cheap soap and pine flood her nostrils as the fight rages inside. Feet scrabbling to catch on the dusty floor, hands are trapped between the woman’s heaving chest and Jacob’s smug calmness. One arm locking around Jean so tightly breathing is made difficult; Jacob’s beard scratches the side of her face as something slips out of his jacket pocket. Glacial realization douses the woman’s blaze bright anger galvanizing it into cold steel wedges up underneath her lungs.

“Wrong move, Masters. You made the cardinal mistake, never show your weaknesses to anyone. That deserves a conditioning lesson, don’t you think? All this freedom you’ve been given lately has done nothing but rot away every killer instinct I’ve tried to carve into that weak head of yours. Now. Let’s start.” Small and made smooth from years of being worried by Jacob’s calloused hands, the music box is no bigger than the Soldier’s palm. Golden key on the left side scuffed with age but still perfectly functioning. This tiny innocuous box is the kingpin of Jacob’s classical conditioning. It’s clicking tinny notes able to scramble someone’s thoughts like eggs. Ground so deep into the subconscious like a ticking time bomb merely waiting for the trigger.

Even as the first few notes dissolve into the blinding red of the fugue state, Jean’s mind rips at any possible chance to break through the tsunami of his brainwashing. All in vain as she opens her mouth to scream and feels the tidal wave rush down her throat, choking off the sound and blacking out the woman’s vision completely.

Only You.

It’s so loud Jean’s teeth ring with the volume, jaw aching. Everything is red. It’s cold here. She can’t think of anything but the violent storm inside every nerve of her body. Hands claw at her insides wanting out by any means necessary. Scenery passes in a monotone blur of crimson sickness, trees, rocks, a stream, passengers in a truck. Spreading numbness that should elicit some flicker of concern within the woman is only embraced as something that could perhaps stop the echo of that song trapped within the too small confines of Jean’s skull. More people, more trucks, more numbness. Though faces that get too close burst in sickening blooms of red. Flecks of something gummy decorate the woman’s face.

Semi-real swirls of a place she might have once remembered dance around the edges of her entrapped mind. Only you, Jean’s brain screeches until she can taste copper in the back of her throat. It’s cold. Why can’t she feel anything? A long stretch of cleared grass lays out in front of her, and with the lurching steps of a corpse, she jerks up the driveway. Eyes burning in their sockets, the woman blinks harshly, but it does little to alleviate the acid sting. Roughly scrubbing at the sockets, Jean feels something cold and sharp graze the numb skin of her collarbone, nothing more than ghostly pressure that gives her pause. Looking down into hands that don’t feel like part of her own body, the woman sees first the skin slicked in gore that turns her skin a shade of maroon. Then the knife winks at her in the waning sunlight. Slamming into place on the front of her disjointed thoughts, her purpose for walking until her legs burned reasserted itself.

Stairs. Cobblestones. Guards that scream and bleed when they approach. It’s all a smear across Jean’s eyes. None of it retaining anywhere important. Just like the numbness across every muscle, it’s forgotten as soon as it occurs. More stairs. Dripping blood across an expensive hall runner. The faraway smell of a familiar cologne. Shoving open a door that had impeded her purpose here in this vague silhouette of a house imprinted in memories that are currently locked away behind the veil of the fugue state. Another shocked face turns toward her with a snap. Garbled words wind like tangled yarn in Jean’s ears, she can’t understand them, and that singular fact irritates her to no end. Rising again like an inescapable wave, the song reaches a fever pitch within the woman’s bleeding ears.

Crossing the room to the frozen shocked face, Jean wants to shove them away. To wipe that look off their face. To make them stop talking. Shut up, shut up. Shut Up. Shut up! SHUT UP!

Heat rushes across the woman’s hand in a deluge. A spell broken in the same violent way a baseball smashes through a window. Blinking, startled and confused, Jean’s senses come back in pieces that don’t fit together. Hearing muffled as if she’s several feet underwater, the woman can hear an off gasping choking noise. Vision stuttering between a crimson veil and the bright colors of a sunset illuminated room, a face swims up into sharp focus. John. Expression twisting in agony, Jean stares back in abject horror. Slowly looking down between them, she sees the blood soaking black into his vest. Several ragged holes are punched into the fabric, frayed edges catching the froth of his blood as the herald wheezes for a proper breath.

“John?” Voice small in her mouth Jean realizes that her aching hands are still clasping the hunting knife buried to the hilt in the soft spot just under his sternum. Jerking away as if she’d touched a hot stove, John crumples to the floor like a puppet with his strings snipped. Panic squashes every other disorientating flurry of emotions flat as Jean can only stare at the man curling into himself on the expensive carpet. A sick, wheezing bubble of air escaping a punctured lung is the only sound for a few hammering heartbeats. Knees cracking against the floor, the gore-seeped woman crawls over to the only man that she truly ever loved. Gingerly turning him so that he’s gazing up at the vaulted ceiling, Jean’s voice fails as she’s momentarily struck mute by the sight of the knife -- her knife-- sticking up so crudely from his heaving chest.

“Oh god, I… “ Tears blur Jean’s vision, and she can’t see the expression he tries valiantly to tame his face into. His legs already were pins and needles, the pain ebbing away into a comforting cold that he’d played with before.

“Was it Jacob?” Speaking is pure agony. John’s words barely a whisper, but it’s all he needs to know, and for a second, he’s afraid she didn’t hear him until there’s a fraction of a nod. He’s always known that death wouldn’t be pretty for him. It would be a screaming bloody mess the entire ride down into that black void. Something about the dealer of his death being Jean strikes the herald as particularly funny, though the chuckle comes out as a wet cough, the rich taste of copper flooding his mouth. Looking up at the blonde’s face and not feeling as her tears splash against his cheeks, John isn’t sure if it’s the ringing in his ears or an approaching siren.

“I’ll see you soon.” He mouths as darkness begins to hem in his vision. Decades playing on the knife’s edge of this sensation, John welcomes it as an old friend. He’d envisioned death so much it felt like a memory to slip into its warm numbing embrace, the vision of Jean’s blood and tear-streaked face following him down into nothingness.

#‘ﾟanswered » JEAN MASTERS — ❝ here the light only dies to remember ! ❝#‘ﾟships » KAIJVKING — ❝ if you don’t love me now you’ll never love me again ! ❝#verse﹕FAR CRY 5 ► call of the ﾟ* WOLVES #oh boy oh boy #this one is a rough one

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szstrandingline18-blog · 4 years

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Fiber Optic Cables

Secondary coating line

Every fiber optic cable guide features a radius limiting part that prevents fiber optic cables from being bent over and above their least bend radii. The fiber optic cables have apparent advantages around the copper cables. You can find extra safety, as well as the fiber optic cables tend to be more dependable than any other wire accessible. The fiber optic cable is in the significant voltage environment. Dry-band voltage of your polluted sheath's surface of the all-dielectric self-supporting fiber optic cable is analyzed in this paper.

Secondary coating line

The fiber optic cable seven-hundred, shown in FIG. The FIMT core 702 features an interior tube 706 encompassing one particular or maybe more optical fibers 708. The fiber optic cable will be the principal decision for prime velocity Net connections along with the most important substance useful for region to place or continent to continent Online connections. By going the connection type from copper to fiber optics it can allow the DisplayPort to attain better bandwidths that happen to be vital for HDTV playback and when you think about there are lots of games that you just can engage in over the internet, streaming them through the DisplayPort directly to your Lcd Tv might be a person choice the sector will soak up the around upcoming. The fiber optic cable could be installed very easily from level to stage, passing right future to major sources of EMI without having result. Conversion from copper networks is a snap with media converters, gadgets that change most sorts of systems to fiber optics.

The fiber optic cable assembly involves a bundle of fiber optic fibers, a tube, a observe, a plurality of fasteners and securing implies. The tube has a front floor plus a rear surface area. The fiber optic cable transmits the photon to a next quantum dot that also transpires to become sitting down between two mirrors. In such cases, the mirrors "catch" the photon and bounce it from the quantum dot till it eventually absorbs it. The fiber optic cable has an stop that is definitely stripped. The stripped end contains a bare fiber that extends in the connector and through the ferrule.

The fiber optic cable carries a number of providers all over campus which includes: voice, online video, cable Tv set, and facts. Besides possessing the fiber cable in place, newer fiber cable Tv set distribution gear grew to become a lot more available in a reduced price. The fiber optic cable and lens makes it possible for the instrument electronics to become retained far from the concentrate on environment wherever it could be subjected to increased temperatures, smoke, dust, steam or impressive electromagnetic emissions these as generated by induction heating. Each the stainless steel lens and rugged cable assembly may be replaced during the subject with out returning the instrument for calibration (a singular attribute). The Fiber Optic Cable Blower is suitable for the installation of fiber optic cables with diameters from 0.23" (five.eight mm) to 1.13" (28.7 mm) into innerduct from 0.98" (25 mm) outer diameter to one.97" (50.0 mm) outer diameter. The right size cable seals, feed tube and venturi needs to be determined for the cable remaining mounted.

The fiber optic cable receives enter in the reflection off of your internal 3/4 inch diameter sphere surface. The IS1 is right for transportable coloration measurements and functions just like a cosine receptor for irradiance measurements. The fiber optic cable (20) includes a light-weight carrying center (28), a cladding (30) plus a buffer (32). The cladding displacement connector (ten) has surfaces (sixty,62) that may be useful for displacing the buffer (32) and cladding (thirty) to expose (34) the light carrying heart (28).

Fiber-optic wires carry info while in the form of light-weight . To help make a fiber-optic nanowire, engineers initial commence which has a common fiber-optic cable. Fiber-optic cable has become getting used to transport both equally video clip and audio signals for brief and lengthy distances. This can be produced doable by modulating a video/audio sign(s) on to a beam of coherent light-weight, that is produced by a solid-state laser.

Fiber-optic cables usually are not crimped, soldered, or twisted jointly when they are repaired. If the cable is broken, one more cable has to be slice to suit between the 2 connectors. Fiber-optic technological know-how is very well regarded in telecommunications, regional spot networks, the CCTV security marketplace and in numerous Clever Transportation Procedure (ITS) highway projects. Even CATV (cable) distribution to varied regional feed points in just a household local community has become plan for fiber.

Network operators wish to recoup the price of the fiber-optic cable as well as other infrastructure parts which make a high-speed Net probable. They argue which the updates are needed to provide these innovations as high-definition video-on-demand and high-quality teleconferencing. Our typical fiber-optic ribbon cables give exceptional tensile power and resistance to cut-through and abrasion although preserving flexibility. Cables can be found for aerospace along with other demanding purposes. The fiber-optic cable didn't allow that.

glass,eyeglasses

Fiber Optic cabling is designed with glass fibers. Supply quite small variation during the signal they have above lengthy distances. Optical engineers have found that including distinctive further substances to the fundamental silicon dioxide they might change the optical qualities in the glass. By adding about 4% germanium dioxide (GeO2), by way of example, they could produce a glass that has a lot less attenuation, and far 'flatter' attenuation across various frequencies of sunshine, than silicon dioxide by by itself. Despite the fact that fibers may be built away from either plastic or glass, the fibers applied in long-distance telecommunications purposes are always glass, thanks to the lessen optical absorption of glass. The sunshine transmitted via the fiber is confined thanks to whole interior reflection inside of the material.

FYI, fiber optic (the main of it, not shell to go over it) is designed of glass rather than plastic. The fiber optic strands of glass (optic fibers) within just fiber optic cables carry analog or electronic alerts during the method of gentle waves. Length and capabilities will boost even more when the glass results in being much more pure.

Remembering the headache and also the good white gentle from superior SiO2 glass, Richard knew the formula will be ultra pure SiO2. Richard also understood that Corning produced superior purity SiO2 powder, by oxidizing pure SiCl4 into SiO2. NEP Supershooters has adapters that do the job across the fiber by breaking out the glass, but this suggests the camera have to be run within the closest electrical outlet or generator. It can be only one more thing to go erroneous in the event the ability plug gets pulled or the generator quits. A fibre optic cable is made up of the glass silica core by way of which light-weight is guided. This is protected using a substance which has a refractive index of somewhat significantly less compared to core.

The core and also the cladding (that has a lower-refractive-index ) are usually built of high-quality silica glass, though they might both equally be produced of plastic too. Connecting two optical fibers is finished by fusion splicing or mechanical splicing and requires particular expertise and interconnection know-how thanks on the microscopic precision required to align the fiber cores. A type of cable that transmits details as light-weight by way of strands of glass in lieu of electrical power through copper . Fiber-optic cable is often a amazing point; it may possibly transmit nearly insane amounts of information for each 2nd , and it is actually completely impervious to surge s, magnetic fields , lightning , and all of the other EM nasties which can influence copper cable. Fiber optic information transmission works by using mild in glass fiber cable as a interaction medium. It can be excellent for spanning locations with significant interference, these as close to major electrical equipment, welding or radio transmissions.

Fiber optics are skinny filaments of glass by means of which gentle beams are transmitted. Advantages of fiber include high info carrying ability (bandwidth), really small error rates and insensitivity to electromagnetic interference. Then, the bare glass (one hundred twenty five mm) is cleaned and established set up less than a distinctive laser underneath a custom made photograph mask that is definitely established 50 mm above the cable. As soon as the laser performs its cycle, the assembly has become personalized. Abraham Van Heel covered a bare fiber or glass or plastic using a clear cladding of lower refractive index. This shielded the whole reflection surface area from contamination and greatly decreased cross communicate amongst fibers.

Fiber-optic cable consists of glass fibers, allowing for appreciably bigger transfer speeds as opposed to copper. Facts are transmitted inside the form of mild pulses injected by a laser or an LED. The cable utilizes glass fibers in place of copper wires to transmit discussion and facts. AT&T's old cables generally are shark- free because they don't emit a great deal magnetism. Glass cables need to get custom-cut so that they have a nice crisp edge that doesn't scatter the light, but their plastic cousins is often trimmed on the jobsite. Still, no ordinary wire cutter will do.

From a technical standpoint, fiber optic cable consists of the bundle of glass or plastic rods that will transmit information alerts. Fiber optic cable can send and receive in both analog and digital formats, and can have online video, voice, and internet packets. Some new cable designers will actually give built-in bend limits to protect the glass within.

Although copper wires is often spliced and mended as lots of times as needed, it really is considerably harder to fix glass fiber-optic cables. And this time it is not all dependent on just one market (though Liquid crystal display glass is huge). We have the Liquid crystal display glass, auto/diesel catalytic converter substrates, and fiber. Theoretical perform showing that gentle loss in glass fibers could be decreased dramatically spurred experimental efforts to produce these types of fibers. Researchers continued exploring techniques to decrease mild loss in optical fibers.

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bettsplendens · 6 years

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Vesalius, AKA Nati

(warnings: mentions of medical things, all consensual and distress-free)

At some point during the Golden Age, a professor at a college of medicine decided that they needed a better example for the medics-in-training to work on. Cybertronian medical schools have ‘models’, of course- cold-constructed frames, without real sparks, with only the equivalent of a brainstem for a processor. Their systems function more or less normally thanks to a simple power source in the spark chamber to keep energy circulating properly, but they are not, and never will be, living things. The only issue is, they aren’t alive. They very clearly aren’t alive. They don’t move much, even with provocation. They can’t tell you if they’re in pain, they don’t have EM fields, they don’t feel like living things to a Cybertronian past an initial glance. A good start, but no substitute for a living subject.

Fortunately, this professor had morals, and didn’t want said subject to suffer. He did, however, think that the only solution to this problem of the subjects not being alive is to get a live one. Given the specifications needed, an MTO.

Enter- well, their name isn’t really Vesalius. Andreas Vesalius was a 16th-century Flemish anatomist, often considered the father of the study of human anatomy. There’s a Cybertronian equivalent, whose name is unpronounceable by human tongues, and that’s actually Nati’s name. Everyone calls them... call it the equivalent of Nati. Sort of a mangling-slash-shortening of “anatomy”.

Nati is partially transparent. Their plating is a sort of metal-and-plastics alloy, shot through with thin metal wires for conductivity. It’s weaker than standard armor, but it works fine for Nati, and is almost perfectly transparent. The clarity varies depending on the angle and the lighting. About 90% of their plating is transparent, save some of the plating around their pelvis, so they aren’t constantly flashing everyone. Much of their protoform and muscle cable material is a slightly modified version of the standard- just as strong and flexible as it should be, but changed to have no pigment, and with its fibers aligned neatly for clarity.

Viewed from the front, their wiring and veins are normal, but they have a lot of redundancies in both systems. Mostly tucked away behind and around the sides of their organs, so that repairing them goes as normal. That keeps them safe and comfortable, keeps their organs functioning properly, even with lines cut through. That way, they can be injured for someone to practice, without risking damage to an organ. Many major lines are rigged in such a way that they can be easily replaced when they’ve been repaired too often.

Oh, and, for obvious reasons, they can’t feel pain. Or, it would be closer to the truth to say that they can’t feel hurt. Their nerves feel pain signals just fine, and they’re processed differently than regular touch signals, but their processor lacks the bit of a normal processor that interprets pain as hurting. They’re aware if something is painful, aware of what would be considered severe pain for others, but feel no distress from any level of pain. And, as an MTO, they were set up to be calm-natured.

The result? A bot who looks a lot like those clear-skinned anatomy models you see sometimes. Minimal bio-lighting, but they glow lightly due to the energon in their lines. In ambient lighting, things are a bit blurry, but it’s easier to see if they’re lying down with a bright light over them. Most of their major organs are fairly easily visible, even the outside of their spark chamber. The portions of their chamber that can be seen anywhere other than surgery are hidden by just about the only other non-transparent armor on their frame, aside from pelvic plating and some of their helm plating. Preserve their decency and avoid scandalizing others and whatnot. Everywhere else on their plating, muscle cables, and protoform, servo to pede to face, is see-through. Some of their helm plating can be lifted away with ease, revealing a clear casing over their processor, which is studded with tiny lights. The lights, when their helm plating is removed, flash to show patterns of processor activity.

They also have an emergency measure. The lessons never put them in any true danger, but they did occasionally get to a point of needing a sort of shelter. Namely, a set of wires and energon lines, connected to a small reservoir of energon. If their energon levels get too low, their systems shunt all remaining energon into a set of lines to keep their spark and processor fueled, and shut off everything else. It’s not the most comfortable thing for them, everything gets cold, then numb, then they can’t feel anything but their helm and chassis, but they’ll be fine. All someone has to do is fix them and add in an IV line.

Nati’s job is to be an anatomy example. Everything from a 3d model, to a demonstration of the workings of organs, to an introduction to repairing and otherwise practicing medicine on living bots. As horrifying as it is in concept to have someone who you keep around specifically to injure and then fix, they were kept completely safe, and their commissioner/technically-owner made sure they were comfortable with everything. Went over procedures with them first while they were still new, talked them through things, made sure they knew they were allowed to protest if something upset them. Nothing ever really did.

They were occasionally dimly aware that this job would upset a lot of other people, mostly while they were doing things like watching one professor or another lift an organ clear of their frame to show people what it looked like, still hooked up to them. But they never really found themselves being upset by anything. They liked teaching. At worst, it was dull, something they’d done enough times that they’d just zone out and watch students instead of paying attention to much of anything. They paid attention often enough to soak up a great deal of medical knowledge, though.

They mostly lived on the college campus. Since all the students were busy and the professors were older than them and also busy, most of their friends were the janitors. Those friendships tended to start as Nati was apologizing for having bled everywhere, tripping over things trying to help clean up, and explaining in the same breath that it was fine! It didn’t hurt! It was just a student who fumbled tying a knot. Still creepy, with them being transparent and covered in energon, but sort of endearing. They had a large bedroom of their own, and they did originally have a berth, but they asked to have it replaced. Specifically, with a heavily padded version of the shipping crates that their inanimate-model counterparts came shipped in. They saw a crate and wanted one, so they slept in a tank-bot-sized crate, with the lid shut and everything. They put off enough light to illuminate the space and not be in the dark.

Most of the students liked them. Unnerving as it was to have them casually attempting to make conversation while they were bleeding out and ought to be in severe pain, they were nice. Tried to help, too, even though they were supposed to be not talking aside from stating what hurt most. Oh, and the trauma training- they were supposed to act panicked. Couldn’t manage any successful cries of pain, but they did wriggle a lot. And they tended to hug people who were freaking out too much. To the point where how well someone did on a trauma exam could be fairly easily assessed by the amount and spatter of energon on them. Small amount? To be expected. Large amount? Not great. Massive spurts, probably your patient ‘died’. Large amount, and in a hug-shaped splotch pattern? Your patient ‘died’ AND you panicked enough that Nati hugged you.

When the war started to get bad, and the college was collateral damage, one of the emergency medics who turned up found Nati trying to help. They hadn’t been trained as a medic, and their servos weren’t medic-grade, but they knew how to stop bleeding in emergency situations- and they couldn’t just not try! They wound up being more or less adopted by the emergency medic, a bot who could produce minor force fields, and the combination of force field friend and all their redundancies kept them alive for the rest of things. That and luck, and the occasional bout of being mistaken for a ghost, zombie, and/or vampire. Dying mechs hyped up on adrenaline and terror will mistake a transparent bot for a lot of things! (and so will college students who haven’t slept lately and don’t realize that the medical area next door has a live anatomy example. They wound up as something of a campus cryptid.)

They also made an excellent storage for transplant organs. Take them out scavenging for fresh organs, and simply affix a connection point to the organs that’s compatible with the connections in Nati’s frame. Unplug a couple of their redundancies, plug those into the organ, wrap the organ in something and tuck it up to them with some bandages, and their systems will keep it energized, fresh, and clean until it’s ready to be transplanted. Which they’re happy to do! It saves lives! It does look kinda horrifying, though, someone reaching under Nati’s bandages to remove an organ that’s visibly plugged into them.

Basically, Nati is a walking example of what could be considered body horror, and surprisingly sweet despite it.

Below this, NSFW details!

Nati’s first physical sexual experience, beyond a bit of idle poking, was in someone’s reproductive anatomy class. Another professor asked to borrow them as an example, and they were 100% up for that as soon as someone explained what it would involve.

And they do make an excellent example, because their equipment is transparent, too. You can see all the circuitry connecting the node clusters in their spike and in their valve lips, and the mechanisms of how it all pressurizes. And if you arch their back right, you can see their internal calipers. Works best with something for those calipers to clamp against, though.

Which is why this particular class goes from “why is there a slightly nervous-looking and very transparent bot sitting on a table on the front of the class” to “ohh dear fuck” pretty fast. Because the answer to that question is “so we can put them in stirrups, rig a machine to thrust a dildo in and out of them without obstructing the view, aim a couple cameras at various parts of them including the brightly-lit pleasure center of their processor, and have the best anatomy example ever”. You can even see the energy flashing along the circuitry lines in their equipment if you look up close.

And that coincidentally gives them a pretty strong exhibitionism kink.

Their first non-masturbatory sexual encounter is probably a student who was in that class, equal parts fascinated and turned on, propositioning them at some point after.

They’re a sweet little thing in berth. A little awkward, they don’t get too many partners (they look too weird and being in the dark makes it worse), but sweet. And terribly sexy if you like this sort of thing. If someone puts Nati on their front, they can watch the shifting of muscle cables as they squirm, and see the flickering of lights in their processor casing as their pleasure center lights up. Put them on their back, and one can watch one’s own spike spreading their calipers apart. It’s absolutely delicious.

#OCs #my OCs #Nati #sweet anatomy friend

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dontshootmespence · 6 years

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Broken Homes Fix Broken Hearts

A/N: Will @veroinnumera and I ever stop being mean to our Juliet? Maybe soon.

Chapter 29

How long had it been since the door had slammed close on her relationship with her mother? For good. She wasn’t sure, but Derek’s arms felt heavy around her body. Their heartbeats and breathing were in sync, and she had no tears left to cry. They had dried in their rivers on her face. She still felt the same, but nothing else came.

For a moment, she just sat there - not crying, not talking, just breathing, staring off into the distance and hoping that if she closed her eyes to the world, when she opened them again this would’ve all been a dream.

Standing up felt like she had cement in her shoes.

“Juliet, I-” Derek started. He wanted to make this all disappear for her.

She spun around, ready to snap and then stopped herself. “I can’t, Derek. Just…”

When Derek decided to confront Alana, he assumed this is how it would end - with Juliet getting her heart broken. Alana’s facade was transparent as hell to everyone that wasn’t clouded by familial ties. He also wasn’t surprised that Juliet was now trying to keep him at arm’s length. Who wanted to have their heart shattered more after going through something like that?

But he wouldn’t hurt her. He wouldn’t do anything to harm a hair on her head. It didn’t matter though; he could see in her eyes she was still scared. “I’m here,” he said softly.

Turning her back toward the stairs, she slipped her hand lazily over the banister. “I know. I just...can’t talk right now. I can’t.”

-----

It’s not like she hadn’t felt like this before, but she hadn’t wanted to be here again, and yet here she was, walking through the motions and hoping that somehow, someway things might start to make sense again.

The last time she felt this way was after she tried to kill herself. It wasn’t the same situation, but somehow...it kind of was. A little piece of her had vanished. With her mother in and out of her life so frequently, there was a part of her heart that hoped that one day things would change - she would have that relationship with Alana.

For one brief month, she had it.

And then Alana ripped it away.

It was as if the last year and change had all been for nothing. She’d taken so many steps forward, and now it felt like she’d had all her pieces sent back to the start in a game of Sorry! And while Juliet knew that dealing with mental health issues wasn’t a linear process, having a set back like this felt so fucking terrible.

And of course, Derek had been a saint the entire time. And she hated him more for it.

Juliet barely spoke to him unless it was important and yet there he was every morning when she rolled over in bed, looking at her with those kind, dark eyes, telling her that he loved her. No matter how much she ignored him or lashed out, he stayed.

It just wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that he got to hurt her like this, by being the perfect boyfriend.

First he’d been right about her piece of trash mother and now he was walking around the house like some Mother-fucking-Teresa.

It should have made her feel good. But all it did was make Juliet feel worthless. He was so together and she didn’t even have a clue where to start piecing herself back together.

Besides Derek, the two people she knew that had stitched their lives back together over and over again were Spencer and Emily. Maybe she needed to talk to one of them. Juliet knew that feeling the way she was feeling about Derek - begrudging him for being so calm and collected in this shitstorm - it wasn’t right.

Objectively, Derek Morgan was the best thing that had ever happened to her, and she couldn’t lose him because her brain was twisting up the wires in an attempt to unravel them.

Spencer was wonderful, but somehow talking about her relationship with Derek seemed out of the question, but Emily would know what to do. At least she’d listen if nothing else.

J: Hey. Can we get together for coffee and talk? I need to vent.

E: Where and when?

-----

45 minutes later they were sitting in the corner at Java Jive.

“And it’s just so confusing, Em! I’m pissed off at him for not protecting me from my mother but then I also explicitly told him my relationship with her was none of his business so technically he did what I asked him to. But now I’m upset he listened to me. But I should want him to listen to me, right? And it’s good that he does, it’s healthy and shows he respects me as a person. But I also want him to just take care of me. And then when he tries to it frustrates me. What I’m trying to say is that I want what I want but I also don’t want what I want and I definitely don’t want what I don’t what, unless I do want it, you know?”

Emily just stared at Juliet in awe for a second. It felt like she had been talking for a solid two minutes - without breathing. It was fine. She was a fantastic listener. It was just physically astounding. “Are you done with your train of thought? I don’t want to interrupt if you need to get more out.”

“I think so. Honestly I started this train of thought the second my mother left and it hasn’t stopped. So you’d be doing me a favor by interrupting.” Juliet sighed rolling her eyes.

If anyone knew about not being able to identify their feelings after a tragedy, it was Emily Prentiss. “Well, I happen to be well-versed in dealing with fuckery. We need to get your true and honest feelings about everything so I propose a little game.” Juliet looked a bit apprehensive, but she nodded for her to continue. “I want you to clear your mind. Close your eyes. I mean right here. Close your eyes and focus on one sound.”

For about two minutes, Emily sat there waiting until it looked like Juliet might be receptive. “Answer without hesitation, okay?”

“Okay,” she muttered.

“Are you mad at Derek?”

“Yes, but I don’t like myself for it.”

“Are you mad at your mother?”

“Mad doesn’t cover it.”

“Good, good.” Progress. “Do you hate Derek?”

“No! God no.”

Also good. Derek was one of Emily’s best friends so that would kind of suck. “Do you hate your mother?”

“Big time.”

“Would you ever give your mother a chance at a relationship with you again?”

“When hell freezes over. And if that does happen, then still no.”

Ah, she knew the feeling well. “Do you still want to be with Derek?” She asked, her voice softening.

Juliet just nodded. “I love him, Em. I want him for as long as he’ll have me.”

“He’ll have you forever,” Emily replied. She could see without a shadow of a doubt that Morgan was in love. “I think you have your answer. You’re going to need to work through what happened with your mother, but you don’t have to do it alone. And it doesn’t seem like you want to.”

-----

“Somehow I get the feeling you aren’t as excited about dark matter as you sounded on the phone.” Spencer frowned, taking back a book from Derek who hadn’t gotten past the title page.

“I’m sorry kid. I just needed to get out of the house.” He sighed heavily.

Spencer’s eyebrows quirked. “You didn’t have to pretend to like dark matter to come over.”

“I know. I know. I’m an idiot.”

“You aren’t an idiot. You have a fairly high IQ. What makes you say you’re an idiot when it’s blatantly inaccurate?”

Derek couldn’t help but laugh into his hands. “Kid, I don’t mean it literally. I mean, I do, but not like that.”

“How then?”

Reid always took things painfully literally. “I mean when it comes to Juliet. Her mother broke her heart and of course she’s going to need time to heal from that. But I’m there, and I feel like I’m doing all the right things and she’s barely spoken to me. And then that makes me angry. But I shouldn’t feel angry! She’s the one who got her heart broken, not me. And then I feel guilty! What I mean to say is that for all the intelligence I do have, I have no idea how to handle my own girlfriend’s feelings.”

“I’m supposed to help, right? That wasn’t rhetorical?” Spencer clarified.

In spite of it all, Derek found himself laughing. “Yeah, Reid. If you can.”

“Oh. I definitely can’t.”

“Then how can you help?”

“I said I can’t. That doesn’t mean philosophy can’t.” His friend explained, straightening the collar of his sweater-vest.

Derek huffed, his lips turning upward into a smile. “You have some philosophical quote that can help me?”

“Possibly. I find them helpful. And at the very least if it doesn’t solve the problem, you’ve become better for it.”

“Anyone ever tell you you’re a little odd?”

“Yes, at least several hundred times,” Spencer nodded.

“Okay kid, lay the Socrates on me.” Derek chuckled.

“It’s the Dalai Lama actually. He said ‘love is the absence of judgement.’’

The kid looked pleased with himself.

“How is that supposed to help me?” Derek asked honestly.

Reid sat back against his chair and smiled. “It’s supposed to help because that doesn’t just mean not judging Juliet for her emotions after all this. It’s natural. But the thing is yours are too. You need to stop being so hard on yourself for the feelings this whole situation has brought up. They’re complicated, but they’re human. Do you love her?”

“With every fiber of my body, kid.”

“And do you think she still loves you? Despite the fact that you haven’t spoken for the past few days?”

Derek took a deep cleansing breath. “Yeah, I do.”

“Then that’s it,” Reid replied. “Next time you speak, tell her that you have a lot of feelings about this too. That you want to talk about them, but only when she’s ready. And that you’ll get through it together. If you love her and she loves you, then that’s where you need to start.”

“I’m gonna hug you now, okay?”

“Okay.”

-----

In trying to give the other time to get home, they managed to show up at the front door at the exact same moment.

“Hi.”

“Hey. Can we talk?”

She nodded, opening the door. “I’d like that. I’d really like that.”

@witchythorn @crimeshowtrash @literallyprentissstwin @jazz91121 @tommyhollandd @spencer-puppies-and-stuff @fl0werb0nes18 @stunudo @spencerthepipecleaner @theofficeofsupremegenius @ultrarebelheart @lookwhatyoumademequeue @lukeassmanalvez @mentallydatingspencerreid @nobravery @criminal-anatomy @matthew-gray-reidler @remember-me-forever-silent-angel @original-criminal-fanfics @lovelukealvez @stories-you-wont-hear @speedreiding @marvelfanlife @butsomeofusarelookingatthestars @wonderboygenius @naturallytom @imagines-for-criminal-minds @acespence @sweater-vest-reid @criminalmindskeepsmealive @spenncerreiid @sam-carter-in-training @parker-hopper @spencerwreid @ssahotchner @profiler-in-training @were-skye @trollitis @heyboywonder @ficrecswithcassie @janiedreams88@gingeraleandcontemplation @cynbx @fortheloveofspencerreid @tippy06 @cleocc @bestillmystuckyheart @ssaunitchief @xxm3xxj @xocriminal-minds-imaginesxo

#derek morgan #derek morgan x oc #derek morgan x juliet hunter lewis #derek morgan fanfiction #derek morgan fanfic #derek morgan fic #dontshootmespence #veroinnumera #broken homes fix broken hearts

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justegi · 2 years

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10 things i learned from my first car

1-thinking it was easy to work on when its old-it should be simple and easy but in reality every bolt is rusty and everything is hard to remove because of the age...this leads to some easy jobs which people do on newer cars for 1 to 3 hours sometimes in the case of old cars you gotta double that time or even triple it (if you dont have a garage and a lot of proper tools) in my case i did not have 2-since its old and cheap its a good idea to repair it on my own with aftermarket parts-reality is 80% of aftermarket parts which are cheaper than the original parts do tend to be worse and worse and actually not improve the car rather it makes it worse sometimes (in my case aftermarket parts for my cooling system) in general i think aftermarket parts are 100% FINE no matter who makes them and its okay to use them if they are not part of the cars performance handling etc. (like visual things) just styling parts etc aftermarket are 100% FINE i wish i knew this before i bought cheap ass stuff when i was 19 3-since its old it will break down constantly-this and that and there will always be something not right-and when a car is old FINDING PARTS IS HARD AS HELL

and sometimes the second hand used car parts DONT match your car because the dude who sells them aint got no clue what he selling and since i was young and like i believed what people said and i ended up buying stuff which dont fit my car (like this one time i bought a cable wire for my trunk realease and it turned out the mount was totally different than on my car so i ended up returning it back to the guy who sold it to me and he was kind enough to give me back my money) WHICH I GOT LUCKY ! 5-you realise owning and old car not to trust it and always carry some tools in the back just in case that TPS or MAF sensor goes out you can clock it or like if one of your windows stops working to cut off the power from the EV motor and lift it up so the car dont get stolen...you know just normal stuff for an old car -buying a car which burns oil or its rusty LOOK if you got a project car you gotta find one with one of these problems you either find a really nice car which has been looked after well in terms of performance mods and tuning but the person was like i dont care about rust i just cared about my brakes and engine because i like to drive this car not show off with it OR you buy a car which GOT ZERO I MEAN LIKE NO RUST AT ALL But the car got a broken ass engine and cant even run LIKE TRUST ME YOU GOTTA GO WITH ONE OF THESE IF A CAR GOT BOTH OF THESE UNLESS THE DUDE IS SELLING IT FOR SCRAP MONEY DONT BUY IT BRO just dont buy it SAVE up some CASH get a good one which runs... its not worth THIS headache... just some cars cannot be saved its the sad truth... once the damage has been done-fuck there are even cars which u cant save from rust be careful what you look for and yea thats it---the hard lessons my project car tought me that rust is a big problem if you want a project car to work on being old is a challenge for parts so be careful what you plan to do because even a small fender bender can cost you maybe 4 times more than crashing some newer but more mainstream car which is around . and engine problems as simple as engines seem to be once you dig deep into the aftermarket parts you see that you cannot cheap out on engine parts and sometimes fixing an engine is kinda 50% of what you pay for the car-but in reality you will never get that money back...so yea everything else is fine-car got no interior no problem bucket seats are cheap in the car world car got diff or trans problems fkc it rebuild em not that expensive (depends if its RWD AWD or FWD but still ) if its a project car its worth it just not AUTO transmission those are expensive to repair car got no bumpers fuck em bumpers man make some outta fiber glass or stich one up from the junk yard and spray paint it who the F cares if its a drift or drivers build car-car got no AC or this gauge dont work that is this and got this and that for problems fkc them small things look at the bigger picture all those fancy shiny cars on magazines-bro those cars dont drive they just posers...trust me you will find the coolest people with the coolest cars which are all rugged busted and DIY built. and you need those people-cause a guy with like a car which looks like a barbie is the same as a girl which uses alotta make up and uses instagram to boost her ego and self esteem. yea thats it i just wish i knew theese things when i was 19

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ultracare-pro · 3 years

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Best Muscle Stimulator Machine in India 2022

What is Muscle Stimulator Machine?

Best Muscle Stimulator machines also go by the name of EMS (Electrical Muscle Stimulator), it is basically an electronic machine that has the ability to contract your muscles via an electrical current passed through muscles.

These electric currents may assist in pain relief but do not entirely relieve the pain. So this process acts as an alternative for healing muscle pain.

You can get pain relief, muscle reeducation, decreasing Inflammation and swelling, facilitation of tissue healing, and increasing local blood flow by electrical muscle stimulator machine.

A stimulator machine works when you attach the stick-on pieces of the equipment to the skin and use the control unit to transmit currents to the targeted muscle groups. Other devices like sensory knobs and the timer are located at the control unit to produce the electric current.

There are tools like lead wires and Neuro stimulator electrodes that are attached to the skin to transmit the current. The muscle stimulation machine may cause some unique sensations while turned on and applied to an affected area.

When applied to the affected areas you might feel your muscle twitching, or feel the sensations of pins and needles or a dull tingling. These sensations only last during the process of treatment but there can be times where patients might feel them up to 30 minutes even after the therapy sessions.

Why is it important?

When people are sick, in pain, or injured, they usually seek relief in possibly the easiest and quickest ways. Technology is constantly working towards making it possible for people to relieve and cure their chronic or acute pains and lead a healthier lifestyle.

Since people are often too sick or in severe pain to move thus they prefer rehabilitation programs at the comfort of their home. Physiotherapists help and keep people healthy by providing these treatments under proper guidance. The stimulator machines usually come in three forms.

IFT – Interferential Therapy

IFT physiotherapy produces deeper stimulation which is extremely effective for chronic pain relief. It also escalates the self-healing process in the body and improves blood flow as well.

EMS – Electrical Muscle Stimulation

EMS is known to generate electrical pulses that help stimulate the motor neurons of the body. This process strengthens the weak or inactive muscles and restores muscle tone.

TENS – Transcutaneous Electrical Nerve Stimulation

The release of endorphins in the mind directly works like pain killers for the body. TENS Machine helps stimulate the nerve fibers and releases endorphins to heal the pain.

At UltraCare Pro we provide you with a single unit for these multiple therapies called combo3 plus. UltraCare Pro provides this unique device that serves multiple therapies.

It is a portable and compact device that you can even carry around with you. Combo3 plus has three most popular and highly beneficial electro therapies; IFT (Interferential Therapy), EMS (Electrical Muscle Stimulation), TENS machine

This product is ideal for people who are in professions that constantly require their physical strength and are prone to get injured quite often.

Best Muscle stimulator machine for your pain

Combo3 plus is one of the top-rated stimulator machines in the market currently. It is an easily portable device that comes with three electrotherapies in a single unit. It comes with two additional treatment programs for pelvic and facial stimulation.

The product guarantees a satisfactory and permanent relief. However, it is always recommended to consult your doctor before using it periodically for your pain relief.

Benefits of Combo3 plus

The muscle stimulator machine has numerous health benefits. Although it is an effective and easily available solution to your permanent pain relief it does require a consultation in severe cases. This product is ideal for the people involved in physical professions like sports, Women’s Health, Orthopedics, Oncology, Neurology

This multi-function stimulator is a pulse generator device that can be easily adjusted with provided mode shifts.

The device comes with adjustable modes and has 42 preset programs that make it pretty easy to operate even for a layman. Thus, any individual can use it without needing any guidance from a medical professional.

The Combo3 plus produces deeper stimulation than other modalities which is highly effective for chronic pain relief. It even stimulates the self-healing process in the body and improves blood circulation in the body as well.

Combo3 plus is a clinically proven device that has a combination of muscle strengthening and pain reliving treatment modalities.

It is clinically proven to relieve conditions like various types of body pain, the pain of injuries, post-operative pains, carpal tunnel syndrome, sciatica, inflammation, overactive bladder, and facial palsy or bell’s palsy.

How does Combo3 Plus work?

Combo3 plus gives you the benefit of three different electrotherapies that work towards the betterment of the body’s pain. These three modalities are TENS, EMS, and IFT physiotherapy machine. TENS therapy focuses on the stimulation of the nerve fibers and the release of endorphins. Endorphins work as the body’s natural pain killers and help in healing the body’s pain and injuries quickly.

EMS works on generating the electrical pulses which get the motor neurons going. Motor neurons cause exercise to strengthen weak and inactive muscles in the body, re-educates the paralyzed muscles, and restore muscle tone.

Another major aspect of this product, Pelvic stimulation works on the inactive bladder and the Facial stimulation treats facial or Bell’s palsy.

How to use Combo3 plus?

These steps will help you understand how should you use the product:

· Insert the battery in the unit or connect it to the AC adapter on the bottom.

· Locate the electrodes on the painful area that you want to treat.

· Select the modes as per your requirement.

· Press ‘SET’ button if you want to change the parameters of adjustable modes.

· Click on the ‘+’ & ‘-’ button if you want to adjust preset programs.

· Press CH1 or CH2 controls to adjust the intensity of your treatment.

· Press the ‘LOCK’ button on the side of the device in order to avoid accidental changes.

#muscle stimulator machine #physiotherapy machine #tens machine #ift machine

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activatingaggro · 6 years

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INKTOBER - 18 - EXPOSED

CALICO KUANFU | 9.23 SWEEPS / 20 YEARS OLD

RICKSHAW CC-R, EAST ALTERNIAN SEA | 2,937 WORDS

CW: body horror, helms

If you're perfectly honest, you put up a good face of things, but you don't actually care that much about the other Rickshaws.

You love your community. There's nothing that you wouldn't do for II-J, and you know every face on it, even if you don't know their names. They're your people, and you're their leader. It's a role that you were hatched for, one that you were made for, and you could never be anything less than in love with the position, because it's carved into your very skin.

But the other Rickshaws are not yours. This has always been your greatest flaw, and your guiltiest secret, but that's just the fact of the matter. All you can do is try to work around it.. and when you get an opportunity, try to do your best despite it.

Case in point: you're on CC-R tonight, here to figure out why their engines keep sputtering, and, in the name of honesty, you kind of want to burn the entire place to the ground.

Everyone here speaks - well, literally every fucking language, pretty much. There were teals chattering away in Eastern at the bistro. There's been hands flashing in seadweller sign everywhere, constant little flits of movements to compound each spoken word. There's people speaking the imperial mainlander's tripe everywhere you turn, others slinging around some northern coastal variant, and constantly, constantly, there's fucking Standard clattering against your ears like rocks, nasal and harsh over the din of the rest of the Rickshaw.

You had to take out your worm five minutes ago, just to keep from going insane. Noise's never bothered you, but CC-R is one of the oldest Rickshaws, and it's over three times the size of II-J. This city's fallen into the waves more times than you can count, and it's come back larger each time, with the remnants forming the bobbing islands you can see off in the distance. "Those work off of solar power," Afzudi tells you. He's one of the only trolls on here who actually speaks Seacant, and part of you is desperately, soppily grateful to him for it. "You don't need to worry about those."

"Right, 'course."

Afzudi is the ceruleanblood who manages CC-R. He's shorter than you, like pretty much everyone on here, and bone-thin, also like everyone here. It's weird. There's a lot of things weird about this place, like the fucking language, but the starvation factor?

You've got the blubber stores to rival a goddamn seal, and half of your Rickshaw's passed seal and gone straight into walrus. That's part of the way II-J works! It's part of why you work so hard to make sure it keeps working. No one's ever so much as missed as a meal since you became Calico, one way or another, and no one's ever looked like Afzudi in front of you, so skinny that you can count each knob in his spine. It's weird. You hate it. But you hate a lot of things about other Rickshaws, from the language to the architecture to the starvation and disease that permeate them.

That's fine. That's why you're out here helping. Some folks compare trolls to crabs. They say if one pops up, the rest'll drag it back down into the basket, just to make sure none of 'em get free. You've never believed that! You've improved your Rickshaw.

You're going to improve the rest, too, one city at a goddamn time.

"So! How many helms do you have working in the main generator?" It's strange to walk through a Rickshaw where every building hasn't been reinforced and rebuilt. You've had your residents working for sweeps to redevelop the city, in a mixture of solid carbon-fiber struts and flexible panels that'll absorb the blows of the water, or the rain, or the rare bouts of gunfire. It's never looked pretty, but it looks better than this. The buildings in CC-J are just.. shanties, aluminum siding and wood that's been bleached bone-white over centuries of saltwater and air, and they sway in the wind above you as you walk. The only thing holding them up is the webbing stretched thick between all of them, shining like sails in the moonlight, and spotted with white bodies.

"Four? Five?" you hazard.

"Eight," he says, leading you past the buildings, and straight down an alley where there's pupas playing ulama. CC-R's got more sparkplugs than you've ever expected. They scatter into the air like kinglets when you approach, the rubber ball clattering to the ground in the aftermath.

You snatch it up and spin it on a finger as you walk. "Eight? Seriously? Like, not harshin' on you, dude, but - why? I know it's big, but --"

He shrugs. "Our infrastructure's just old, and it's easier this way." He looks back at you. The light here's weak. Shadow curves across the sharp planes of his face, deepens the hollows of his cheeks. But when he smiles, it softens him. "I was hoping you could help," he says.

Your stomach does a strange flop. "Right," you say, and you don't let your gaze linger on the way his mouth quirks, or the sudden surge of warmth in your voice. "That's what I'm here for!"

CC-R's engine room is buried deep within the rickshaw. He leads you from a shady plaza into a side room, and then down a winding set of stairs, where the chatter of the populace is finally fading, and the drone of engines is gradually replacing it. The original architects of the Rickshaws tried to make every surface sloped to force the seawater to run off, rather than collect. But the concrete here's straight. The engine's have to stay steady.

And biowire's a delicate construct. "Careful," Afzudi warns you as you walk. He's flipped on a light attached to his forehead, and the bug's glow casts an uneven glow: in the darkness, you can faintly see the outline of biowire pulsing on the ground, shadowy impressions that stretch as far as the eye can see. "We had to move all of them further downstairs, after the fifth century raid. It's not ideal, but it keeps people from getting at the engine. Hey, babe -"

A spider is slinking out of the darkness, its eyes focused on you as it steps over him. It's only the size of a dog, high enough to hit his ribcage, but there's venom spooling on the end of its mandibles, and you hesitate until Afzudi waves you forward. "She doesn't bite," he tells you. "You're with me, don't worry. Mum just keeps some of the extra bodies down here to guard them."

"Haha, no problem, dude. She's great! I love her, like.." Afzudi raises his eyebrows at you, like he's encouraging you to continue. So you gesture towards her, rolling your shoulders. "The whole smooth, shiny, bloodless carapace look? Really hot," you declare, then pause, because he's looking at you. The spider is looking at you. You're pretty sure, if you paid attention, even the biowire would be looking at you.

"Uh, not in a weird way, though. Like, I am absolutely not a spider-fucker, although I know that sentence kind of implied it, but no?" It's fine! You can save it, because Afzudi's smile has turned into a proper grin, like he's two moments from laughing. So you grin back at him, careful to show off your teeth, and step in close. "I absolutely person I am a person fucker," you say, earnest, holding out a hand, palm up. Then you curl the rest of your fingers in, until only your smallest one is out. "Pinkie promise, dude."

"You've talked about fucking my mum too much for me to shake hands," he says. "Sorry about that."

But he's still grinning as he starts walking, and when you laugh, he joins right in.

The underbelly of CC-R's much like the rest of it: wet, damp, and, as it turns out, totally moldy. There's webs everywhere as you walk, coating the biowire and the ceiling. ("It's to waterproof it," Afzudi says, and you're so glad you don't mind bugs.) But at least the mold's glowing, adding an uneven sort of light to things, just enough to make the shadows longer and deeper, and catch on all sixteen of eyes of the spiders that keep passing you by.

And eventually, shortly after the pressure shifts and your ears pop, you get to the core.

The helms, as it turns out, aren't any healthier than anyone else on this Rickshaw. It's the opposite! It’s.. honestly one of the most appalling things you’ve ever seen. Back on II-J, you keep your engines healthy, with columns that you replace annually, trolls trained up each cohort cycle specifically to work on them, and wire that’s custom bred to work with their systems. The whole system is hale enough that you don’t even have to run diagnostics: the engines’ll run their own diagnostics and e-mail them to you each week, keeping an eye on each one’s levels and needs, because it knows that each one will get a response.

The helms here don’t look like they could send messages, even if they wanted to. Each engine barely looks like it’s even alive. They’re hanging from the wires like skeletons, their arms bone-thin, the bodies bloodless and stark under the gray-white skin. There’s ash forming on them, like no one bothers to take care of them. There’s mats in the hair, like no one’s ever even thought to shave it.

"Holy shit," you breathe, and Afzudi starts to laugh, say something - then he catches sight of your face.

"Ah -"

You don't wait to hear what he's trying to say. You're striding forward, taking the first helm firmly by the chin and pulling its head down. It's so limp that there's no reaction when you pull an eyelid back. There's streaks all the way through it, black creeping like rot through the yellow of its sclera. When you release the lid, it takes a full five seconds for the skin to fall back down, and when you pinch the skin of its cheek, it doesn't even react.

It's so blanched, you're not even sure what blood colour it is. There's only the fuchsia of where the biowires cut into the skin, and the liquid flooding the veins pink.

The next one isn't any better.

You're not sure, at first, what you're feeling. There's just a certain cold numbness as you step from one column to the next, moving carefully to avoid the wires strewn across the floor. Because that's the only word for them. There's shards of scaffolding on the ceiling, jagged strips of metal where it once must've been, but it's long since folded under the weight of the wires. And the wires are everywhere. They're tangled in masses connecting the columns. They're stretching heavy across the walls, thick enough to pass as wallpaper, and oozing a viscuous pink slime that sticks to your boots as you walk.

It's hard to see where the floor end and the wires begin. Tripping down here's inevitable, really, and that's why, on your way to the seventh helm, your boot finally catches under one, and you fall directly into it.

The worst part of it all is that the helm doesn't react. It's a twiggy little thing, and you fall full-force into it, your hand scrambling at the jumpsuit just to keep yourself up. Your claws hook in, tearing into the fabric, and it's only last minute horror that makes you jerk your chin up, angling your horns back and away from them. It just means your face hits it instead, landing right in its ribcage.

It should've made it howl. When you scramble to your feet and back, there's heat blossoming across your face, and there's brown blossoming on their newly exposed skin. But all they manage is a languid blink, like someone stirring from sleep.

And the chill forming in your chest finally solidifies when they fall still.

"Are you okay?" Afzudi calls. He's still lingering by the door, watching you. From this distance, his face's a blur of darkness.

"Yeah." You're walking over, more careful this time, but Afzudi doesn't know you well enough to recognise the flat edge to your voice. He's only met you a handful of times. The other Rickshaws change leaders too often for them to really know each other: you're one of the only ones that's actually stayed the same, the past four sweeps. "I'm fine. You're going to need serious work down here. The biowire needs seriously cut back - that'll take about eight perigees to avoid shock, and then you'll need to start training it to stay in the scaffolds again. New scaffolds, obviously. Like, your helms need a full treatment, for the veins and the overall."

"The columns need rebuilt. I can do all of this, obviously, but - what brand is all of this, redHotx20? I'm not even going to bother running a diagnoistic, you've got voidrot trying to spread all the way through the lines. You plug in any bugs to this, or a technomancer, and all you're going to do is infect your tech. And -"

Afzudi reaches out, takes you by your shoulder. He's got long, calloused fingers, with gently tapered edges. They match the rest of him, rail thin and delicate in the same way. "You're sure about all of that?"

"Absolutely," you tell him. It's a shame. You'd liked him. "I'm thinking three hundred thousand, max, but at least one hundred and fifty, for all the work I'm going to have to do. And that's just supplies. I'll thread in some of our cultivar, but the medical work your engines are going to need alone is insane. And it's all going to have to be manual."

".. we don't have the money for that." He blinks at you, owlish. You'd thought he was handsome a few minutes ago, with his cheekbones and his frailty, but there's something repugnant about that weakness now. "We'll just get new helms," he says. "We have plenty of psionics on the rickshaw. It's their duty."

"Uh, no. You're not going to go and kill your people to play engine parts, when we've got the mainland right there, and reputable engine sellers, like, literally everywhere. Like, how do you not have the money, dude? CC-R's the biggest Rickshaw in the ocean. You have markets every perigee. Are you saying you can't pull together a few hundred thousand to keep your city from sinking?"

He can't even stop his people from starving. Of course he can't.

"II-J doesn't sell. You don't understand how it works," he says smoothly, like you're a pupa, and when your eyebrows shoot up, he shrugs. "It's not an insult. It's just a fact."

"I don't need to sell to manage a fucking budget. Show me your books, and I'll figure out how you can get the money together." He's already shaking his head before you finish. "Let me help you," you say, frustrated. "That's what you brought me here for. I don't know what you're doing wrong, but, like - your people are starving, dude. And your Rickshaw is dying, all the way down to your goddamn helms. Like, what the fuck?"

"I think," he says, "you need to leave. I appreciate your help, but -"

It's a shame, because you really, really liked him.

You don't like bullying smaller trolls. But he makes it easy. When he pulls his hand back, you snatch him by the collar and you slam him into the wall, one swift move that pins him right against his mother's webbing. She hisses next to you, surging forward, but you tut at her, pressing your hand harder against his collar.

He squeaks. She backs up, her two front legs rising in obvious distress.

"I'm sorry," you tell him, "that I'm having to shame you in front of your mom like this, dude. And I'm sorry that you thought this was a conversation. But it's not. Either you're going to listen to me, or else your entire Rickshaw is going to sink. Or else I'm going to spare your people, and sink it for you. Because this -"

You jerk a hand towards the helms. Everything on this Rickshaw is dying, from the buildings to the residents to the engines themselves, and -

You absolutely want to burn this entire place to the ground. But it turns out you do care about the other Rickshaws, more than you'd ever thought you could.

"- this is not acceptable. And you should know that. You're supposed to be the leader of this place. You chose to take on these responsibilities. You made this fucking choice!" You take a step forward. Your voice's dropping. It's not that you're unaware of his lusus right next to you, or the building tension in her body. But you know how lusii work. How many times have you used their desire to protect their charges against them?

And right now, you've got him pinned like a fly against her own webbing.

Afzudi looks at you. "You're supposed to protect them," you tell him, gazing into his eyes. "So, like, let me help you, and do your fucking job, man."

Then he holds up a hand. His lusus quiets, flattening herself to the ground in a clatter of keratin. "Fine," he says. "What do we have to do?"

#[prose]#calico kuanfu #[drabbles]#inktober #cw body horror

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castlehead · 3 years

Text

: LITTLE MILE,

PART ONE : : [live for the weekend and buy grams of blow with your paycheck.

see section A. feel good about going for walks. work thru a long distance relationship and get through the suicidal shit okay. then

break promises but also keep a few, not to keep up appearances but you wish rather to keep the purity of your word, which is hard fucking work. wait till she comes for a visit after super long time

apart and spread some roses on the bed because she likes that sort of thing. leave oreos on the pillow as oreos are delicious. ride her later in the night about that time you smoked six cigarettes in five

minutes as she was blowing xanax to prove a point. go to sleep crying but remember a few special moments as well and base your memories around that. see GOD for awhile but then decide it was

bullshit and perhaps just your conscience given a literal voice. see section A. hear nobody text you for days and understand some weird nonsensical ehrebung at really enjoying a smoke for the first

time in the morning as you look out the window. it is brisk and sunny and the bricks of the buildings look beautiful. think what a day what a day etc. then actually try to accomplish something with friends in

PARK SLOPE. understand finally that the general agreement is you whack as shit. then find a letter from your girlfriend from awhile ago and feel uplifted all over again for some reason but as for positivity

you do not discriminate. drink horn of sun to fierce last dregs. think about whether you are actually thin or just think you get thinner when you are really just used to how fat you are. talk to your girlfriend at

a certain point mentioned in section A. while on break for way too long.

sweat out a cluttered subway ride every morning forever. decide to jump off the BROOKLYN BRIDGE then decide not to. look meaningfully at a

church because you are reading twilight of the idols. repeat a lot of different stuff at irregular intervals. repeat stuff at regular intervals. learn that those statements are an acceptable example of an irregular repetition: or is

irregular as regards time only, not difference: an irregular life has less to do with fiber than we think. an irregular life can be as varied as disposition to pate : : as feeling to brokenness, as alteration altered to fear of change

might comfort one back into the nest of ignorance : it doesn't have to mean as regards, well, anything : it itself can be fiber, a fibrous fiber: so: we scrounge for something burred underneath the soft netting: crack up: put way too much

weight in your presence at social events : leave social events early or go to sleep in front of everybody pretending to be passed out : see social events as a total stressor : don't kno what to do : never know what to do ever: social

events. assume yourself a negative, discomfited person thereby. lose all friends because you dig deep into stupidity to find a reason for it, think about it until you go blind, rectify and rectify till all's a mess: is that what you want: yes:

friends are lost based upon too many simpering blasted apologies. really wish that you will leave a good looking corpse and do leave a good looking corpse. wonder why you don’t think about childhood very often, as in the concept.

see section A. come to the conclusion that fuck yes it is too late to have a happy one but really come to understand that that doesn’t matter as all things are for a time anyway but then get pissed off about this because you then realize as well

that you are mere mortal and still fields of open grass and oak away from describing something beautiful or whatever but then also wonder that you are infinite wherein the moment is concerned: and then think about your ex

for some crazy reason because all that matters is the past as regards what you’d want to retain in some eternal rolodex of spite or some shit, or maybe it’s just you but you can’t reimburse your mom because of all the infinite

you’re feeling and tell her you can’t and she says that is okay but doesn’t mention that it is ok because the advent of your twenties was mainly depressing, and you there, in room, gnawing at psyche like some useless ape as usual say, WELL

OUT WITH IT, and there she goes finagling a fart out of her ass your mom we are speaking of your mom and her aggravation and her remnant pain from a lost job years ago because oh certainly to fail once is to fail forever

and then you as you are young realize the moment is forever and you can make it a failure and you can make it a wonderful revealing of some big thickened BLEAR asking for property, asking for sense to be given it but you

can’t you can’t justify the dread nay [beckett] nor the odd ghosts in your bathroom that time you spoke to yourself for days and and and so then so then the weekend promises at least an end to this damned ineradicable

gloom and empty state as in empty and taxing but no state of emptiness no state of gloom yet here is gloom here is the reflections of a man refusing too long to look in the damn mirror and see himself is it you or is it i or is it all

the damn farts from the woman who birthed you wanting to be the final whiffing sound as to all of your gutsy failures and drudges through fields of stone and grass and oak you paint out of a backpack and some green

carpet in your room that one time you tripped balls on a tuesday on mushrooms and the razor talked to you and proved by its unassuming nature a very grill to the face that damned long face of a son too burnt

into his own damned house and wired by the damned eternity that sounds like some resilient, grand tocsin, some priketh ye some don’t but ya know it’s all just plain forgotten and happy at that, I’d live in codes wordless

more than explain this meaninglessness and/or stain on the life of time, that is humanity: that is growth: that is the paradigm of something written, written, scratched along the judgments of your mom’s farting fucking

asshole, your grown ass self, so proud to put on pants, so good at that one joke made riskily at a party and relished ever afterwards, so good at failure, happy failure, happy, happy to enter that small crack in the sadness too, happy

to bloom out of dismissal, shunning, happy to mature past the point of needing a single reason for a fart, an end, or a waste of mind. turn 30.

repeat. [etc] see section A.] ?? . . . .

RAGE on rage on, collapse into morning day like something of a storm, at least Frightful mist, some thunder bloom / glass incipient of the troubling harrowing: Some awful precondition. Out its frightful bells: wetly dew paints grass lucent-

-And I rise away from all that in my small cave in my state an eye half open, My knuckles are red from cracking them on my own jaw very a lot that night And some banging head i.e. sleep deprivation considered itself and made it

Worse. I thwarted myself continually mind whanging useless and thickly, like Sometimes i feel like that hamster I had when I was in middle school, wasn't, That i never named - - - uh, worth, it, wasn't worth it . S'ok it's ok for things

To no be worth it. Don't cry well then here's a fucking cookie Tard. I literally Just spat up phlegm right on my computer / no joke / I am freakish, & loud Also re hamster-mortality: I kno it is tragic, my girlfriend lost HAMSTERR

Named peanut. An entire quadrant of space specking thru eyes of that thing All day . Dont think ive evr done this much speed in one night (lol) i dont think i should be able to backtalk : this quick speed = religious,

[chalk dust molars fanatical facial people crunch 'em with 'em to dust. be sure to drudge up spume in the foggy brume some master floater or for sake of interracial justice an inanimate image of justice untarnished by opinion

or blaspheme. vulgar just for sake of cashing in on the weird honey : dip in there : of big politics etc anticipatory raging, prolepsis, summoner say : ARiSE ! ! !! : my girlfriend: she is sleeping right next to the and oh like a lamb she is, right

next to the voodoo-man, shepherd, making us all fly thru the honey right into some strict objective eye, truly naked vision, making commune with image and self. - - ] She goes on dozing into me and snoring soft like a, like subtle universal truth, or

Somethin. My snot is stuck in the bakc of my skull, i feel, i feel like waking up my Girlfriend with my hands all over like tidal waves : : i know hamstermortality, to let The reader kno : it is the wave of arcanum 17 : it is, it is waft of hope, like random

Prescience. Iit is the great like space etc of all, or some completely lazy encompassing. Kewl things only exist cuz hm i guess they exist for — — time, like hamsterts, Hamsters = meaning of universe, it’s like classical semantics or fuzzy logic:

Supervaluationists predicting borderline cases!!! How many hairs must i lose before You can call me bald : for the hairs will exist alway / they will, they will scream out : They will be a thing that is they are the very fuxxx god calls logic

Slash these words apart, greet blame and slash that, grab the bags: Run from the rage then, drum up some possibility for fuel, beat legs For leagues. ‘Message’ after ye with a bat, won’t get a thing so. But

Kicked up dust he’ll cough on, sweat drooling, finally fatigued: marigolds Fooling in the wind around him, agh, long day: we run into the ‘Pome’ Later: find it sucking on a sugar lump in some coffeeshop, well, money:

Who knew, who but the pivot finally: as drain groans a fable like a job to Do. Shit twists with flood and the seagulls berating lend belief at it all with Solid statement, caw, caw, wishing, duh, To Be Done With Message

Of course, especially one that some brine of heart sloshed up: some Reticular wisdom like as hair, hateful : some weird gloss over shadow Dims the bald head, the bald ‘Message’ - the crested ol’ bigot furious

Yawp yapping damnable in that there roast for the father: big squeeze, Squeeze of animus. Finally, down the block of stillness, down dug into The brig, obstructed color, rigid air, manic doors, kids laughing at him:

Little Mile : : feel it all over again : what answers can we get to as regards You fully: an elliptical, maybe? Or trash, or earthy disarrangement, dirt, Particles resulting in flipflop, wages made but unfulfilled for good? Or

Maybe marigolds !! Breezes coming out of their loops into wiggling weight Themselves, hulking as cathedral tunes, heavy with ambiguous threadiness, And that holy torment of an ever-figuring progenitor, professor of the

'Message'—black & bleak—against the righteous curiosity, ol' puff-head, ol' Apoplectic, Sorry For The State Of - - and dese homeless parties of the Sad. The sad chase, the chase as I must do is still solo. But grand, the

Hemophilic fire, the rusty brigade o’ pleaches o’ daffy hair, dummy cunt To stake on cosmic sex, just a blowoff: still. Then. Little dragoons whiffed It up anyways and blessed the fakery past mythos into real, made a great,

Big sepulcher for all 'em fathers: all the risks at tacky jive: lagoon: great, Great swoon of fibrous living out the ducky’s little murmuring in the mud, Tump-a-tump with buckles o’ swash : #dgaf : yet is we da pirate , as in ,

We is , we ah make anything magnificent and say it is that and leave it So. We. Croon and wait for that swell damned music’s dish to punch big and soft into the pillow : we: meet poetry POETRY POETRY POUR IT ALL

And soft into th. pillow. We. Down a side-street : have a baffled-eye ‘a sec: Din in the den gets closed the sisters ears : think some nature-shit: stfu: Bucolic site there wispy girl : pencil neck : root , , , for Image-Pleasant:

For you that is : root for the Panjundrum not, in his anger-yells all daffy, Deadening reasons for the noise, amplified like a big [bracket] to the side Of something, past declaration, past the final honesty and towards some

New squeamish chuck of ew-grease out of my bad throat : 'Message' Attempts to toughen with - providence, it feels, it knows - of mere scraps Of itself, and then I emit new strings for my shoes, frayed knot, couple

Stoners ranting in a parking lot when one sees a human innim and flees, From eye of him : one states the [bracket] as annotation even though it Supplies nothing : mere notation is as much enclitic for an infidel sense

As rhyming to behead borders of rhythm with timing , adding meaning Like chaff at the end while a sprocket ebbs out then 'splodes at once, a Gathering of mite and fingernail and bedding shod in the cracks under

The bland couch then sets aflame, burning down the garbage, which is Everywhere : police police : fuck da : : whelp : lost musings only whelm As much as one is willing to go rapidly , that is, will be as quality as the

Quicken, enacting some different statement thru defensive natures of style Like Declension : Logoaedic : parse the thought, then let it run before the Jello melts, food gets cold: picnic raped by ants. Premise of the rule. So the:

Uh: bracketed, shuffling fragged things dole more out for the warmness, As in, have something mean what it means, leave it at notation , make the Final well and, "End like a spear, not like a broom" - - Well, who knows

About honor: maybe just to prove myself I will right something really for Awhile too messed for the husbandman to mould with his ass: drop the Incisive manacles, they get my wrist bit with copper: write to right a thing

You never mention: madden out copper tongues: make demands about Stuff you have no idea you are actually talking about: but that's not going To mention itself either and is perhaps what is missing for the right reasons:

So why yell out proper tongues if that is all tongues want is their own voice To hock a spray of legit logey sniffed up the nasal psg. and out into the World. Well. Garbage burns itself to slew. But you like that. You enjoy

The mesmerized epiphanic trumpeting, priketh, prike prike : nasty uncle, He was , and a bald head a sunshine away from DEATH-LAZER. Stun, But be stupid as brick. As was said, I speak to reflect mirrors in darkness.

Should be obvious. Maybe this inkling of finding a new way to speak'll Dart straight for the first reason to pant and wave commodities at the sullen Sucker-tourist upon losing his next day's provender at the hands of silly kids.

DeMand: Wring rungs out proper tongues, lick pompous, drone on in thatt Stat o’ thing: status of thing: state of things: rut t tt t t t tt t tt t t tttt tt t t t t tttt Guts me : feeling in’t I feel nothing but in hole: & & & & & & & & & & & & &

Still the great compilers edge more into the fantastic, learn to eat it along with The tragic as one happy meal. Eventual blossom, hoping Mary and Ed ride fine Off into the sunset, cans tied to the bumper clicking like cliché: Jesus is sick :

He tells me so much is at risk here : then again, who could harbor such a feel But Big J or Yeezy : : well he’s a prick : that’s why you shouldn't music so much: I don’t listen to music nomores: even you’re tarnished bc of all this harlot noise

Attempting heaven, & whatnot : WHAT? WHO THN ?? WHAT THEN ?? So Fortunately, I’m Done. Getting into ye head. I’m already there. Felt random & Also, tortuous pressure spread keen thru label after label, waiting for sustenance,

It was given, as if words could ugh the body with ugh : feed me with 'don't' is What the character 'Message' means. This sentence means it is myself declaring A sentence. That is what it means, and the Myself in it shines out of that part of

It like some beautiful renegade oxygen, a distillation more perverse, a naked way, A death of all that damnable stuff we got our heads warped around in like some Exquisite Fucking Turban [tho false] tho, maybe drunk off picked points smacking

Of defeat, well : : : such's to give up meaning at all - - MESSAGE _a t_ _a l l_ [?] As if words could damage the body : does language uh have one string it can plukk To stop the heart?[.] Or does it all. Well. Uh, lose weight: is it a fascinating receptacle,

Or mere extensiveeverything: ” Do You Believe In God.” – – – – – – I wouldn't be Able to give you anything for jesus, much less Jews. HAve little idea what I believe. Belief is odd. I think I believe in, just, being chased, you know, for thievery. It's a

Saturated L.A. sun like in this song by [The National] it is called "Pink Rabbits." it Is really damn good I remember feeling like the string to my heart almost cut that one Time. But I couldn't tell you anything a medium in some spooky curtained shop

Wouldn't be able to perform with a bit more erggh 'flair' well damn I despise flair write To construct a core or write to DeMand to write or write to right something wrong w. Your sister's [hairdo] or write about strings. Write about all the strings. What all of

Them would do if connected THE WORLD IS POME across the globe. Don't think There'd be much room else for people. Well no worries then, you’ll steal hunches till you Can’t even breathe a thinnest wisp of sister-air. Enjoy never figuring out anything. I

Like to tip-toe but that's no way to run , I gotta say the world is fucked w/o a point , , , The drain is really sick [!] w. all this flood it might as well be the guts of garbage And the rightness of wrong , of the failed and of lineage thru language do we bring

Our own booze do we sing some amped version of the obvious soullessness everybody Gets to grate all over everybody else like some annoying sadness too small for this World, too inscrutable to be anything bt what it is, what it is not anything, as POME

Is words, not ideas, get subjugated by need to buddy up with certainty by corroborating This or that line with another, breaking another, letting pennies go slipshod thru da Grate, while all the while mighty confusion rends a new surprise in plain polished sight,

But o the bees in my gut wig out more folly but as plain to live and hope by their ruin To bring the ties untangled, yes, state the statement-as-goal, martyr a few mirrors thru Indelible mistake, ending Kierkegaard at Democritus' river etc. NO WE NEVER

STEP THRU THE SAME RIVER TWICE NO NOR PERHAPS ONCE, anyways, The bees escape nathless from a pirson-prison. In spite of all this floppy flotsam, Like some weird torture. The stingings bless, the robust yellow flow mitred across

De backs uf'm. And I still considerable, a regular pill for the unagog men still seeing Me unsightly, some lack, some twit, some spook : er something as like, as what god Makes of his leftovers in the afternoon between jobs: but me young boss: HOSS:

What?, zooks, gain, what gain 'questionmark' nothing an adorable steeple could not Bring together as all us wonderful people together rise them, these middle fingers- -Pointing up UP UP, run with lacking, then, fuck, huh?, shut up, suited only to

Sslipped phrase, the bank account gets canceled & yr out on the streets with only Luck and Fucks to feed you. Wiring runoff, shattered, wrecked, fetid, but all of it So Human that nobody seems to mind: neither of those three words can understand

My theosophy, nor gainsay, I'm too cryptic: : fault fault, fault fault, thwartedness- -But still continuance, shorn but not straight dead. Lucky but suffering. What a bore, To get brought in by force, to the party, snatch a few lichen, press against petri dish

To make dialogue unheard of or no at the party what this is about, this sleight of hand, This emotional screening we seize up and clench our asshole to forget about, rot in it I Say, row those sewage tentacles, mandibles, new legs from the mess, new smack to

The veins, new shot, lessening as day and eyesight, NARCAMNARCAM. Ruin stake [valuesystem] bless me achoo gradient risen sceptic collide me w truth,

Ruin stake dress me up in my garters and delirious falbalas at table, valuesystem,

Run to the ruin: make stand up puppetry the rotary: vast tracts of time enable the- -Child to believe he is infinite. Child god goes wishing-wishing at peak, wishing To see: you flee from definition like that stoner guy from earlier all the time, you

You let the questions mysteries bleed out thru yr fanciful cufflinks: drat: quaint: Wanna bleed staid blood. Want to create the hurt that must hurt, that must come: Just to have some control, as elusive blood, got to pour lopsided from a precious

Wound : : we gaze into ourselves and do not speak, wondering what batty thing Happened back there: we go wishing to dash away performance with a little more Laze: 5-year-old Genius. But yea. But, with you I shuffle into someone free. You

You see the curtain and you know the pianist is behind it nodding off into overdose: You are knowing what curtains mean and that curtains rarely help to cover meanings: You realize there is nothing to peek at nothing to see so you shrug and go home to

Your death, ever-approaching some more-appropriate redness , , , but the redness in The West , tho. What's with that haze that looks like the hoarsest GLARE of all: It is the shot in the arm taken too breezy, brought you to the finale, the glimpse then

Recession into embedding blank blankets of so-and-so upon your life, weighty big Deaths greeting you with comfort, delicious sating of the lorn, and raggedy willful Bravery so long perceived like an animal, that is, now seen so much to salute. So I

Have access now into your maze : it is dangerous here : bees go grinding against the Gut. Entrails that trail haphazard underneath everything forever : the flighty frolic Of your hair, sister : good on you for nvr doing hoarse/horse. Your hair that speaks

In looks looks like the bigger maze, the bigger harder hug to give one day when just , When things get better: just so one don't get bitter, what from examining all sides of The same pipe dream. DeMand, and makes thus bigger dissonance w. me. Say me,

Of your aspect, at base, nothing less, your talent is my name and sister-curse, my uh My name is one to have in spades, you gotta have it so it radically disappears under A veil mentioned elsewhere in full wherein the chase is always and never the point

As your legs, extremities exist by the disappearance of a prior location, or some Name, some name called death we get into other ideas 'bout. But it is a lost name. Bu I cannot bless more than I bleed. Whatever that means. Perhaps I tell

This to others, they do not offer but stares and blinking : oh alienation : what an Easily dismissible thing : REAL PROBLEMS hah : in that case, those girls Kidnapped in Nigeria're having real problems : suffering is subjective & hell

We, as In I, Race Towards It as anything the wiser, wise as answer, jus cast answer, Jus cast ANSWER:- whatever happen to be, jus quake out a few inappropriate Inabilities in front of anyway, including meshing: hear aspersions there, here

And there: I say, if one feels pathos then uh you know the whitest lash fuck express it, fuck!, don’t you painful on your brow loose the snow came, bother with a perfect shape as the clad in crammed houses families shape you have is naturally a very frown at homies, themselves children, improvisation, imperfect as a sky made random and the same as all storm, asleep flakes or something, like, one sky, just made like me to feel like an actor one. i guess, uh. that is what i make like to me guess. that nothing happens if we within the thin walls, while bruised dads glimpse the hood are indifferent or something. give in rochester, barely guap to eat, to obsession, passion etc. then uh my father runs into a grand jizz what follows’s a thing the greater on the way back captures it and puts it in a safe . for therapy. write on for therapy? his father was a vato, well fuck yes. do it and do it and gift-wrapping raining down do it. i like channeling whitman , , on christmas, wanting to capture fame and getting the pink slip . cuz it’a means wealth, like, iduno it was majestic, slowly he i guess like, [vulgate,vulgate] it drowned in throat cancer, later. my dads hates is freewheeling all over the place christmas, but at least he caught a good fuck in childhood and without regards -blank- see yu kno, i cant write on tumblr atm bc something is wrong with my uhhhhhh

keyboard. it doesn’t allow me to , , delete the space between one anddd another line. so i am writing this

to you. it’s probably not really i guess to interesting just see that infinitesimal cube understood so , ,

uh, distantly, as me here, in this room, hanging out with whitman! as in i see ‘im, right here. he is in

the corner smiling to himself bout some private meditation, mostttttt likely. have you figured out this

is a msg in enjambments yet?, you are really cool and ring out , , , , , , despite, right?, whether or not or

maybe regardless. PART II : : : : ERHEM: fast sadness folds in a toilet like down it you know like those soothing squares, gulls take to the particles after response to command goes lagging, and the aqueduct explodes filter to filter after longing for more than garbage could recall, prideful trash–

garbage i done made myself blind blabhah i done made a bad hither, done dash right into the fount of degrading. i feel very such things as i feel and call them detritus still. i am monstrous i am - big eye, i can fuck myself without any charity-help from anybody.

i am to call myself things like topaz once the giddy girth sloshes within a pictureframe's modest dimensions, and the sharks while snapping snapped alive by the implied sort of movement given only to starkly imperishable images that lighten you up at the art

show. well its time t-to start from the start and start a movement founded on a ginger ignorance of other movements. is i-t: is time to start from the beginning of focus way past bemused glance, ripe glare, teeth beside themselves w cavities of roe and garlic:

it’s time to inaccurately anticipate something, like we knew it was coming and wanted our surprise to look nice. anticipate the perfect slur, find a wide audience for that: it is, uh, time to enact maelstrom considerably, like, lofted above the saddest cloud's

drenching of itself: clouds they are clowns : be sure to recognize the hidden voice, what rattles us is not the mystery of how and logical wherefore but in transmuting some odd warfare of a distant crud's finding, that is - - - it is not what links but what is explained,

which for me is the distance crud, or clod, i call planet : am i a part of it or do i depart from its frequent accusings, importances, rudeness, and flat commodity, material, or just shattered booms hailing the demise of precept got so infrequent that one, less

righteous, is more thru the confessional of the lessness, a lesson : us, , rule, , : the sea like an antelope’s stride is, that is, like the picture purely between man, shark, and sea, of slopping sides over the frames of the picture: something by movement not volume,

by not expanse but a few flits of eye - big eye, - regardless of bigness it is, is and will be there for when the ranting stays, crucial delectable bizarre 'mischance of machinery' while the self goes further out, taken by the turning tides, and then yet this is a bit more

than mangling the heart by placing it on sleeve; this will always be here, distant, or like, remote!, yeh, better word!, you will disassociate whatever

from whatever, [edittttttttttt ttt ] from your blinding clarity [edit] : : you will take an eye out for the bossman cannot : since

wills black as char make the crud, clod, dusty clod, a piece of crud: "shouldn't be so hard to have a nice day." Mutter and grimace. wake up to totally remove yourself in the only way possible, that is, from the world of dreamstate: and piss dole me a new

self of yuck and maelstrom. PART III : : drying the die out of to play craps . or somethings like pinochle of life itself, shouted madman. made anterior who wants the soul who wants it made outside of use I see. something— / something digs for a very hinting it goes like something as must to stop,

as much to save the world as self by saving declamatoriations [!!!!!] declarations yeas, declaiming . / well go ahead and rue the ensuing bratty corps of lifer’s whom stake much on image / nada -rtiet- [edit] editwrite made something is^^^ within that words

them words something letters inverted salamander-language seen spanking new by breaking every rule, ruling over breaks like you had more time. / discovering the body, etc. and it all makes you want to imprint on the wise world some attmept, to do more

by removal of sense if sense is not snuffed out already by now in this senseless world, just going on and on!!!! to the creakiest hints shuffling under floorboards like captives from the bad!! quite the soul search. make more inklings, don't harry yourself, I say,

to discover a bunch of cool shit, also, uh, master it. master thinking in language. maybe i always never did nitpick and nitpick only yeup that is me I knit together the nits the nits are scratchiness, a scratchiness. then I think about how nice honesty is as re the slow

deliverance or rather sparing of us all by the most high / as by and by,, we grope for some bigger socket to launch a sensitivity of me I we errybody into, and me and ha and ha. ALERT. cannot diverge ALERT ALERT ALERT!!! Whoop show./Whopp whoop

whoop, can’t but take it down I wsiwiwsh i wish i was blind, i wish the rails weren’t so sharky : : so bloome [!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!] 5$%uh September 13, 2014. Leave a comment Edit POME34 there is language to report, a monster essence. hammer away

and believe till the growth gets funnier and then throw it away handsomely / feel it run like sand thurr rthru your thru thru you[edit]hrought your fineger.s ample tome, im ean time, to write, requite certain disposable nothings like a big random power/ mind goes

and glowers at itself again. ah you kno. broken triangle. anything broken becomes an angle or many. a ziggidy line or somesuch. / so break a whole, rift it to life as some ziggidy line. some sorta line that breathes with uncaring for anything like information

but retaineing formless form as if your occupation was with something else/ let relax the

strands in you ankel, let the angel fall my dear / dont deny it / yur a good person, dammit. all the se facile blunders. all this. these stupid years of making. in the making,

or just making, about too. etc. greqat. great magnificent quiet [edit] is that which i search for and make and build into the most complex geometric shape for good / only to rift it and - - make what people would holy-fy even more bettr than the more better it was /

bby oh how you go on concealing pleanty of plaintiveness. am i nice ?? so what if you are. youre a stara special star . . . yr starved, strande line you ssay you are a bulk of issues you say you dance like a man made

of things .. light as wing . dwindle. wind. light as wind. so much so much to destroy sitll. my eyes need more blurs t[edit] to in order make everything wrong rightwise. foreget aspbergers. or any label / speak pretty

mane’s ruffling sinousity in wind. / a bloke with flow / gnarly [edit] speak charlie stude the sirfur, charlie stud is he who rides the wave, rides wthe wave in /by just meeting

wit ha hello and a hahaha at ripe ombustive ripe combustiveness at / a large offense

#writing #poetry

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