#get deemed too smart and then testing well is all you are taught and forget being taught how to be a person

[eruditegeek]

I don't think I've ever lived up to a single expectation. The bar was always just too high.

[sweetestlamb]

Try A Little Tenderness

Summary: Han Seo gets treated with kindness and affection and he doesn’t know how to process these foreign feelings. Also he gets a first eye contact of the mafia couple. 

Author's note: A few of you said you would like to read this so I popped it out real quick in between real life and all that mess, I did something like this for IOTNBO and really enjoyed that sometimes it’s fun to see a relationship from an outsider’s pov. I also saw a few people say that they ship our puppy with a certain someone so I threw in some crumbs because the visuals would be very pretty and good for my health. It has talks of past abuse (see psychopath brother) but I don’t think it’s any darker than the regular show. Happy reading! 

He keeps waiting for the other shoe to drop, for them to realize that he's nowhere near good or smart enough to keep alive such less work so closely to them and listen to their plans. They trust him, he can tell by the way that conversations don't taper off if he comes into the room with another question about how to use the copy machine- there are so many buttons and it's confusing figuring it out by myself.

This first time he sheepishly asks for help after reading articles online and coming no closer to understanding the massive machine, he expects more fanfare; a slap on the cheek, a rap on the forehead or just a simple sigh and "idiot" that he would smile in the face of but the word would stick to his heart for days on end. His eyes were glued to the ground after his inquiry so he missed whatever look they originally gave him but surprisingly enough Ms. Hong stepped forward, he almost flinched as the hand approached his view but instead of pain he just felt warmth on his shoulder.

Guiding him with the hand on his shoulder, she led him back over to the machine and patiently explained all the buttons to him, even smiling gently when he pulled out a little notepad to write down the many directions.

"You really only need these three buttons this is the power button, but this thing is ancient so sometimes it may need a good kick." He jumped marginally at the loud bang of her foot against the side, quickly writing that down as well.

Really old. Needs kick.

"Then you press this button to choose the amount of copies, choose double or single sided and choose with staple and that's it." His eyes darted rapidly trying to keep up with her directions while taking his notes. It sounded simple enough but his brother had taught him that if there was a way to fuck something up, he would find it, naturally. So his nerves skyrocketed when she turned to him with a grin and said, "Are you ready for another test? Make 20 copies of these." She handed him a small stack of papers. 

His heart jerked in his chest and suddenly he was fifteen years old again staring at a test sheet and knowing none of the answers. It was hard to study with the fear of Han Seok barging into his room at any moment to do another sick experiment on him, once he had sliced his finger just to watch it bleed. He'd told his father that he accidentally cut himself while cooking and let the shame wash over him as he got a look that screamed that he was incompetent and pathetic.

"Han Seo? Are you okay? You seem like you're a million miles away." The pretty lawyer's concerned voice brought him back to reality and he could feel the stares of the other men in the room on his skin, Vincenzo being the heaviest. He really didn't want to look stupid on front of the man for some unexplored reason. He swallowed hard before facing the machine, feeling like he was going off to war.

He pressed the big power button, shaken when nothing happened but suddenly remembered his notes and with an almost unnoticeable glance he found his answer, swiftly kicking the beast of a copier he watched it roar to life and almost on autopilot he mimicked the motions that Ms. Hong had just demonstrated and watched in terror as the paper was swallowed and the copies were spit out from the compartment in the bottom.

I did it.

Everything seemed to be in order and the machine hadn't exploded. Yet. 

"Oh."

The triumphant smile that had graced his face slide off like rain on a windowpane.

"I messed up. I'm sorry. Please let me try-"

He was bowing before he could stop himself, shame a familiar friend at this point in his life. There were very little moments that he didn't feel a tsunami of shame crashing over him in a thick heavy sheet.

"You just forget to select stapled. But that's minor, we can just staple them by hand." She responded nonchalantly picking up the copies and bringing them over to the table, "Good job though. Next time you'll probably get it perfect right?"

It was pathetic. He was pathetic. There was no reason for pride to grow in his chest like a mustard seed, he had only completed a basic task. Something that even a monkey could, actually monkeys could do even more complicated tasks.  It was nothing to be proud of. He shouldn't have been smiling as largely as he was, they would think he was insane and kick him out.

But.

She'd said he did a good job. That wasn't a phrase he was used to hearing, he wasn't someone who did anything worth praising. He shuffled away back to the shelves that needed to be organized in alphabetical order, moving a large file to the front of the row unaware that there was an equally huge smile on his face. It stayed there for the rest of the day.

Working there was different from working with his brother. Astronomically. Nobody hit him there, even when he made mistakes. Instead he just got three heads over his shoulder helping him fix said mistake or Mr. Nam pushing his chair out of the way and taking over with only a gentle chide of, "Be careful next time." And it's clear that they all care for and respect each other. It's evident in the way that there's no clear hierarchy at the law firm, when they have meetings they alternate on who makes the coffee for the team, take turns buying meals and they are all allowed to speak and share their ideas without waiting for approval. It's nothing like he's used to and it makes him wonder if this is normal and what he's used to is...not.

It's enough to overwhelm him.

Then something catches his attention in the peripheral of his eye, Ms. Hong impatiently goes to take a sip of her coffee ignoring Vincenzo's firm warning against doing so and she flinches at the heat of the beverage, sticking out her tongue instantly after the first sip, blowing and huffing theatrically- something he's grown used to seeing from her. This isn't what shocks him though, it's Vincenzo's reaction. Immediately he walks over to the water cooler, filling a little paper cup before bringing it back over to her and thrusting the cool liquid into her outstretched hands.

"I told you to be careful." He says voices filled with exasperation as she gulps down the water, shooting him puppy dog eyes.

"I thouf it mould be cool enouf." She replies around her extended tongue and he watches the interaction with wide eyes, that only grow larger when the murderous Mafia member picks up the lawyers mug of steaming liquid and starts to blow on her coffee, his lips puckered into a perfect o. Ms. Hong watches absently as if this is expected behavior and after a few minutes, Vincenzo takes a sip of her coffee deeming it cool enough before handing it back to her. She takes a sip dangerously close to the spot his mouth had just occupied and hums at the temperature, shooting him a brilliant smile. To his utter surprise the usually stoic Mafia member smiles back fondly, before walking off to make a call. Ms. Hong watches him walk away before realizing that he's watching their interaction and a delicate blush blossoms in her cheeks before she stutters walking off to her table.

He glances between the two with his head tilted. Feeling curious.

Once he starts looking it's almost indecent how often the two touch each other, Vincenzo's hand never too far from Ms. Hong's back or arm and she never reacts to the sudden touches, no flinching or tensing up when a foreign hand is suddenly on her person. That's a new concept for him, he doesn't like surprise touches.

Then there's the fact that Mr. Cassano never allows Ms. Hong to hold anything, when she comes bustling through the doors with bags in her hand the smell of pasta permeating the room the older man is already making his way across the room tugging the bags from her hands wordlessly. He places them carefully on the table before smoothly dragging out her chair and guiding her into it with a hand on her waist.

"I brought your favorite. Authentic Italian food." She smirks up at him, opening the containers and he feels his mouth water at the tantalizing aroma that fills the room even more than before.

"It smells amazing! Where did you find authentic Italian food?" He asks inserting himself into their conversation and for a minute, he second guesses himself gearing up for a blow. But it never comes and Ms. Hong waves him closer, pushing a container of thick noodles in his direction.

"Are you hungry? Here have some!" She shoves chopsticks into his hand and watches him eagerly and he can do nothing but follow her orders, stuffing the tomato sauce drenched noodles into his mouth. When he looks up he sees that they are both watched him avidly, awaiting his review and he smiles around his bulging cheeks putting up two thumbs.

"It's delicious! Best Italian food I've ever had!" He stares excitedly and he's unprepared for Vincenzo's sudden glare, it's the first time the man has thrown such a look his way he gulps nervously at the unnerving sight.

"What- did I say something wrong?" He warily asks watching the Italian man angrily stomp off whilst muttering something indecipherable to him but that makes Ms. Hong smile mischievously, grabbing the container and chasing after the fleeing man.

"Stop being a snob! Have some, say ahhhh!" He can't comprehend the sight that he's watching, dumbfounded as the petite lawyer hangs on Mr. Cassano's arm and tries to feed him the Italian food.

"No! I don't want it, stop! Why do you keep bringing that here?" The Italian Mafia boss whines pushing her away but he notes that he never pushes her too hard, his shoves are very soft barely rocking her slight body. When she starts to chase him around the room, Han Seo can only watch in shock the behavior too childish for him to reconcile that these are the same people who have been thwarting all his brother's plans. Not even Mr. Nam entering the office is enough to stop their shenanigans and in the end it's Vincenzo who admits defeat, backed into a wall. Han Seo waits for her to give him the food and for this moment to come to an end. But neither one of them make a move, frozen against the wall staring at each other looking a million miles away.

It's then that it clicks for him.

They are more than just partners. 

When one of the various plaza tenants burst through the doors only then is the tense moment severed, Ms. Hong jumps back flustered thrusting her hand at his face and Mr. Cassano has to open his mouth lest he get smashed in the jaw. He watches amused as a grimace crosses the older man's face as he swallows the food as if it's poison.

Ms. Hong flies across to help the cute pianist that he's seen around a plaza a few times. He stares at her from under his bangs, looking away when she catches his eyes. Coughing loudly he walks away to do something important that doesn't involve losing his wits because of a pretty girl. Maybe he can talk to Mr. Cassano later just to ask about her, there's nothing wrong with being curious about your neighbors after all.

He doesn't know where else to go so he comes to Jipuragi, letting out a sigh of relief when he sees all the lights off. He pulls the key that Mr. Nam gave him from his pocket, still in disbelief that they trusted him enough to give him a key to the establishment. He had blinked away tears when the older man pushed the small metal object into his hands, it felt like a huge responsibility. Almost like he was being accepted into their makeshift family. It was far more than he deserved. 

Sitting down on his chair, he lets the agony wash over him. His cheek is throbbing, sore and swollen from the open handed slaps against the skin. Their stocks had dropped again from all the accusations and bad publicity, and his brother had once again taken it out on him berating him like a dog before kicking me out. It's nothing new, nothing he's never experienced before but it feels worst. Now that he's been around people who don't treat him like he's dirt, it hurts even more to go back to the old ways. He's so lost in thought he doesn't notice the door opening or the person creeping inside.

"What are you doing here?"

He jumps at the unexpected voice, twisting in his seat panicked. His heart rate settles once he sees the cool eyes of the man he's grown to respect. Vincenzo Cassano. He slumps in his seat, no excuses coming to mind and then it's too late and the other man is crossing the room and taking a seat across from him.

Those cold eyes narrow as they search his face, "What happened to your face?"

Images of his brother looming over him and slapping him on the ground flood his mind, along with his screams of pain as he pleads for him to stop. Then visions of a much smaller version of himself pleading similarly as his brother pulled his hair and laughed at his cries. He's crying before he ever realizes that the tear has condensed. 

Vincenzo tenses across the table, looking lost and uncomfortable.

It only makes him cry harder. It's so much better than getting hit.

Without a word the Mafia boss stands up pushing his chair away, stomping powerfully to the door. He watches alarmed before finding his voice and calling out, "Where are you going?"

The man looks at him darkly answering, "To kill your brother."

He gapes at the statement said so matter of fact and a bubble of laughter rises to the surface, making him chuckle through his tears. He rears back further at the other man's blatant confusion following his outburst, feeling freer than he's ever felt because this is the first time someone has tried to defend him.

It feels nice. Better than nice, unbelievable.

His heart thumps as he looks at the other man that he has every reason to be scared of but instead he feels safer than ever in his presence, it almost feels like what a brother should. A real brother not the one that he has who would kill him tomorrow without batting an eyelash.

"He's not done suffering yet. But thank you." Vincenzo shifts awkwardly at his show of gratitude never accepting of thanks something he has noticed while observing the enigmatic man, he vaguely wonders what this man has been through to make the complicated person he sees in front of him. Maybe one day he'll ask.

"Well if you're going to stay here, there's a bed up there."

Impulsively he replies, "Have you ever used it before? Is it really okay for me to use?"

He's met with a puzzled look, which he returns with a calculating one and then he spares a quick glance over to Ms. Hong's table and the gears click and Vincenzo is tomato faced and yelling, "Watch your mouth you brat! Do you want a beating?"

It shouldn't be funny with his face still throbbing from a beating just hours earlier, but he laughs so much his stomach hurts and that pain dulls the ache in his face.

"Oh my goodness what happened to your face?" He's barely able to get out an answer before Ms. Hong is jogging across the room, ever so gently catching his face in her small warm hands. Immediately he's reminded of his mother and he has to look away before he embarrasses himself.

He mumbles a lie about tripping but she's already sending a ferocious knowing look over to her partner and he watches their silent conversation with large eyes, until her voice breaks the pregnant pause.

"I can't wait until we kill that punk. How dare he put a hand on you? I'll go get some medicine, you-" she points to Vincenzo, "get him some ice before it starts to swell." The man automatically follows her instructions, looking like a dutiful husband.

And that's how Mr. Nam finds them, Vincenzo pressing ice wrapped in towels against his cheek as Ms. Hong squeezes creamy ointment onto her finger and smears it across his cheek. He blames his glossy eyes on the pain in his cheek and not the one in his chest.

It's his first time walking around the plaza and he tries to ignore the suspicious eyes that trail him, he knows that they know him as their enemy's brother and underling so he doesn't blame them for not trusting him, he would do the same. The clang of piano keys catches his attention and leads him to the source of the noise like a siren luring lost men, he watches transfixed through the glass as delicate fingers fly across the keys in a frenzy. It’s mesmerizing. 

He was forced to get piano lessons when he was younger, he was surprisingly good at it even better than Han Seok thus his brother became enraged and smashed his fingers putting a permanent end to his lessons.

The music lulls him into a sense of comfort so much so he doesn't realize when it ends and the small pianist notices that she has an audience.

When he finally looks up and catches her eye, he freaks out expecting her to look at him like all the others have today so he's unprepared for the door to slide open and for her to beckon him in with a crooked finger. He walks in almost as if in a trance, she's so pretty it's almost unnatural a supernatural glow surrounding her in her white flowing dress.

"How does it feel working at Jipuragi?" She asks suddenly catching him off guard, he sputters before taking a deep breath and looking away before replying, "I feel useful. It's....new."

That's all he can disclose and honestly it's more than he intended on saying but a knowing smile stretches across her pale face.

"Vincenzo, he's someone special who can make others feel special too." He smarts at the clear adoration in her voice, of course. She liked Vincenzo too. Every woman at this plaza probably did, the Italian was much more appealing than he would ever be- naturally charismatic and handsome, every woman's dream.

He smiles defeated stepping further into the space, running his fingers longingly across the piano keys. Something else that just wasn't meant for him.

"You like him too. It makes sense, he's really cool." He whispers, self deprecation swaddling him like a blanket. 

It's obvious who else he's referring to only Vincenzo and Ms. Hong seem to be in denial at this point everyone else assuming that they're already dating.

She doesn't deny his accusation. It's his own fault for having hope but that knowledge does nothing to tamper the hurt that rumbles in his chest. 

She hums before walking closer to him, fingers trailing across the black and white keys.

"I did. But they're good together."

He stills in shock, lightly pressing down on the key beneath his finger the sound vibrating through his skin. Then she presses another key that rings harmoniously with his and he can't not look over at her and he jolts breath stuck in his throat when he finds her already staring at him with a serene smile, "There are a lot of interesting people here though, someone else has caught my eye."

He plays the final note to fulfil the chord they started and their eyes never leave the other, music floating on the air between them.

Full. He’s never known what that felt like before but now he feels full of everything and he can't go back, can't ever go back to the way things once were.

There’s no looking back, only forward. 

[theolddarkmachine]

Gilded

“Dance with me.” It isn’t a question, or even a request. It’s a command. One that Keith doesn’t want to follow, but he knows he will because it wraps deliciously around his throat.

For just a moment, he gets lost in the way the twisting lights catch in Shirogane’s white hair.

“I was taught to never dance with strangers,” Keith manages, trying to ignore the way his thumb brushes across his cheek. He means it as a challenge. A gamble to see just who his target will introduce himself as.

Not that it truly matters.

Either way, by the end of the night, his heart won’t be beating.

Shirogane’s smile only widens, touching his eyes as it pulls at their corners.

“Takashi.” He says the name easily as he pulls his hand away, instead taking Keith’s empty flute from his hand and dropping both their glasses on a passing tray.

“What?” In a moment of breathlessness, he forgets to add strength behind the word and he’s certain Shirogane’s missed it.

“My name is Takashi.” Takashi Shirogane. The name makes his veins sizzle as it spins around his mind, until he is almost dizzy with it. Lost to the repeating track, Keith almost misses the expectant look leveled on him.

“Keith,” he finally manages as he swallows down the bright taste tickling the back of his tongue. Shirogane’s smile only brightens.

“Now we aren’t strangers,” he replies, offering his hand. “Dance with me.”

One Shot (6k)

Tags: Hitman!Keith, Mafia Boss!Shiro, brief mentions of knives and guns and blood but it’s all in good fun, NSFW so do not read if you are 1) at work or 2) under the age of 18

AO3

A/N: While I’m working on things I started and never finished, here’s a fucky one shot 

*****************************

“It would be the usual deal,” Kolivan’s voice is hard, authoritative as he drops a manila folder onto the table between them. Keith watches as it slides across the metallic surface, stopping just in front of him, its top left open and waiting for him to take it.

The usual deal meant that for just one night, Keith could pad his bank account for the next six months and focus on other things that he liked to do.

Like work on that vintage Harley he’d bought with his last hit’s price tag.

Don’t get him wrong, he didn’t not like his job, there were just other things he’d rather do with his time than commit systematic assassinations on people that the Altean government found to be too much of a headache to deal with by the book.

As an idealistic youth, he would have been appalled by how things were really handled by their city’s government.

Of course, that had been before he realized how lucrative a business it was to take out whoever they deemed bad guys.

Before he’d realized just how good he was at it.

Maybe this time, he could buy himself that vintage BMW R 69.

“Who’s the target this time?” He asks, voice like smoke as he grabs the envelope and pulls the photos from inside. There’s only three, and they’re hardly better than supposed cryptid shots. Even through the graininess, he can make out enough of the man in the photos to know that he won’t be an easy target.

Good, he thinks ruefully as he thumbs through them, dusting his gaze over each one in an attempt to pull further information from them.

He had always liked a challenge.

“Shirogane is the name,” Kolivan says brusquely. “Head of Atlas.”

Keith does his best to swallow the sound of his surprise as he hears the name, his thumb pressing into the corner of one picture in particular as he focuses on the sting of its edge.

In it, Shirogane is looking up at something. There’s no way for him to know what it is, the shot cutting off before it could reveal anything else, but he can’t help but think he looks pleasant. As if he’s looking up at the sky.

“The trade company?” He asks, filling his voice with a practiced casualness as if he doesn’t know the truth. There isn’t a person in the darkened corners of the city that didn’t know the name Shirogane.

That didn’t fear it.

Didn’t respect it.

For some reason, Keith had always thought he’d be older.

Even with the bright white that streaks the front of his hair, Keith can tell he’s not much older than himself. Just barely thirty, at most.

“A ruse,” Kolivan says smoothly, not trying to mask the way he rolls his eyes. They both know Keith is well aware of what Atlas is, but he plays along if only because he needs something.

“He’s the most powerful boss of the syndicates, and he’s been a real thorn in our side with how many of the politicians he has under his thumb.”

He knows that much as well. Hell, Keith can think of five just off the top of his head that he knew were under Shirogane’s influence. The syndicate boss supplied the drugs and fun times, and they provided all the legal necessities that kept him from being crushed beneath the thumb of those that opposed him and the way he’s turned their city into something dirty.

Or rather, something dirtier.

Altea wasn’t as pristine as they liked to pretend, and Shirogane had just taken advantage of that fact. As far as Keith saw it, they had no one to blame but themselves.

But who was he to turn down a paying job.

After all, even hitmen still had bills.

“And you’re finally tired of dealing with him?” Keith asks, laying the photos out beside his dagger. It’s dark metal glints like something sinister in the light.

“There’s an election coming up.” The way Kolivan says it sounds like it should be the only answer Keith needs. He’s smart enough to put together the importance of having Shirogane removed from the equation, and the quickly approaching election date. Removing his influence would almost guarantee the head seat for whoever Kolivan was throwing his support behind.

Keith regards the politician closely as he stares over him, waiting for an answer.

With the way he’s holding himself, he briefly wonders if maybe it’s Kolivan himself looking toward that seat.

Dropping his chin on an open palm, Keith tilts his head. If he was being honest, he does like the man. There’s something about him that he’s always respected, even when he’s stooping to levels as low as himself to get what he wanted.

In fact, he thinks he respects him more for making decisions others would be too scared to make.

All was fair in love, war, and politics after all.

“I want double,” he says finally, watching the way Kolivan's shoulders seize at the request. It’s a test more than a genuine request. Keith is more than fine with their usual deal, but he wants to see just how serious they are this time.

A muscle jumps angrily in his jaw.

“Fine,” he growls, thrusting the palms of his hands down on the table as he stares harshly at him. Deep in his dark eyes, Keith swears he can see the gleam of a raging fire.

Very serious, then.

“So do we have a deal?”

Dragging his stare back down to the photos, Keith traces over them one more time. They may be grainy, but there’s something about them that stands out.

Shirogane’s eyes.

They’re haunting. A grey caught between shining silver and a roiling tempest. It makes him look otherworldly.

Beautiful, even.

Keith brushes a finger across the scar that runs over the bridge of Shirogane’s nose. He’s a fighter, it says. That very thought makes Keith’s mouth pool as he grabs his dagger, flipping it around his fingers with a flourish before thrusting it into the holster strapped to his thigh.

“Alright,” he says around a pointed smile as he stands, the screech of the metal chair legs against tile making him shiver. “I’m in.”

***

The cool air is biting, nipping at the exposed skin of Keith’s face and hands as he settles himself at the edge of the grand patio with his sights set on the blaze of the city lights below. Bass thumps loudly at his back, trying to escape the glass of the mansion that stands proudly behind him like some modern emulation of the Grecian style.

Sleek, and crafted of crisp white stone and shimmering crystal, it’s ostentatious, even for the head of a crime syndicate and his black market puppets.

Looming amongst the hills outside the city, it’s like a vengeful god watching over the very people that everyone inside viewed as nothing more than systematic pawns in their own sick games.

Greed, hunger, and violence made a home within the mansion’s walls, twisting and moving in its malevolence to the beat of the loud music emanating from the great hall.

The weight of it had been stifling, pushing Keith from the decadent interior and grinding, drunk bodies and instead towards the outdoors in a vain attempt to escape the crush of it against his shoulders.

Almost an hour in, and he still hadn’t so much as caught a glimpse of the night’s main attraction.

Shaking his head slightly, he ducks his scowl behind the rim of his glass. The sharp bite of his champagne coats his tongue and washes away his disappointed thoughts as he silently wonders if Shirogane was even there.

It would almost be fitting if he wasn’t. The man was practically mythic, darkening the streets of the city that burned so brightly below him now, and doing so without ever revealing his own hand.

Shirogane, in his own right, was nothing more than an untouchable shadow.

Lowering his glass, Keith presses the base of his forearms against the crystal barrier that separates him from a deadly fall as he took it all in.

Even with her dirty secrets revealed to him, he still finds the city beautiful.

Alluring, even, as her lights flicker like stars that had fallen from the heavens.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” A voice rumbles beside him, mired in a strength that Keith can hear, even over the thump of the bass against its confining walls. Its sudden appearance makes him jump slightly, his senses racing to catch up as he snaps his attention to the newcomer. His arrival had been silent, void of any presence at all. There’s a danger in it. The kind that blankets his skin with the uncomfortable tickle of dread and raises the hair along the back of his neck.

There’s a moment, suspended on his bated breath as he openly stares at the man beside him. Dressed in a dark suit, accented by even darker floral embroidery and velvet lapels, he is a paragon of authority. It rolls from him in waves as his silver eyes flay Keith’s skin right there on the sprawling patio.

He knows he should feel something like fear.

Or failure.

Being seen by the mark is something to be avoided. The best never let themselves be seen at all.

That much Keith knows.

But this is a first, and he can’t help but track the bright white of a scar peeking up from the open neck of Shirogane’s unbuttoned dress shirt.

The pictures Kolivan had hadn’t done him any justice at all.

Sipping the warming champagne in his hand, Keith counts to five in a vain attempt to clear the sudden fog clouding his thoughts.

“If overly done showcases of excess turn you on,” he says with a shrug, balancing his words on nonchalance as he emerges from his glass. The bite of it is meant to deter, only it seems to have the opposite effect on the mafia boss. Lips quirking at their edges, he languidly draws his stare down Keith’s frame. It lingers in the most damnable of places, the headiness of it going straight to his head more so than any of the champagne has before his gaze continues its trek.

An appreciative hum burns through the night air as Shirogane takes a sip of his own drink.

Bourbon, Keith thinks as light catches the amber liquid.

“I haven’t seen you around here before,” Shirogane volleys, arching a brow in silent question and something that feels a lot like a warning as he leans a hip against the same crystal holding him up. Keith’s heart responds with a sharp kick at the top of his ribcage, filling him with a nerve he’s never felt before. It’s raw as it works against him in crashing waves timed with the thumping bass of the music inside.

“Maybe you just aren’t observant,” he says, swallowing around the beating lump that’s stuck in his throat, offering what he hopes is a reassuring smile. Shirogane, to his credit, takes another sip as he languidly pulls another all consuming stare over him.

It feels as if he truly sees him. It’s one thing he shouldn’t want, yet he can’t help the small curl of warmth that burrows deep in his chest that makes him think that maybe he enjoys how it feels to be seen.

Making a sound in the back of his throat in disagreement, Shirogane shakes his head.

“I’m always observant when it comes to pretty things.”

A retort sticks to the inside of his throat as his mouth goes dry, eyes widening as he openly stares now.

“Do you know who I am?” Shirogane continues and it sounds like a test. It’s Keith’s turn to shake his head as he tries to quiet the pulse rivaling the sound of music in his ears.

“No,” he says as he tips his chin up in an act of defiance. The man’s smirk goes sharp with dark humor as he keeps his eyes on him, reaching forward with his metallic hand that glints ominously with the light. There are numerous stories about that arm, and most, Keith knows, are just rumors. But there’s one story in particular about how that arm had gotten him to the head of Atlas in the first place, that seems mired in truth.

It’s a weapon of the highest caliber. One with a death list a mile long, but resting against his cheek, it feels soft and oddly warm.

“Dance with me.” It isn’t a question, or even a request. It’s a command. One that Keith doesn’t want to follow, but he knows he will because it wraps deliciously around his throat.

For just a moment, he gets lost in the way the twisting lights catch in Shirogane’s white hair.

“I was taught to never dance with strangers,” Keith manages, trying to ignore the way his thumb brushes across his cheek. He means it as a challenge. A gamble to see just who his target will introduce himself as.

Not that it truly matters.

Either way, by the end of the night, his heart won’t be beating.

Shirogane’s smile only widens, touching his eyes as it pulls at their corners.

“Takashi.” He says the name easily as he pulls his hand away, instead taking Keith’s empty flute from his hand and dropping both their glasses on a passing tray.

“What?” In a moment of breathlessness, he forgets to add strength behind the word and he’s certain Shirogane’s missed it.

“My name is Takashi.” Takashi Shirogane. The name makes his veins sizzle as it spins around his mind, until he is almost dizzy with it. Lost to the repeating track, Keith almost misses the expectant look leveled on him.

“Keith,” he finally manages as he swallows down the bright taste tickling the back of his tongue. Shirogane’s smile only brightens.

“Now we aren’t strangers,” he replies, offering his hand. “Dance with me.”

Flicking his gaze between the Atlas leader and his outstretched hand, Keith mentally admonishes himself for even entertaining the idea. He really shouldn’t.

This is a dangerous game with high stakes, and Keith is one of the best players if only because he doesn’t make mistakes, and this is the biggest of them all.

Yet, trapped beneath the weight of Shirogane’s sharpened smile, an electric pulse across his chest tells him he’s going to make it anyway.

After what feels like an isolated eternity, Keith reaches out and takes his hand.

***

It’s decidedly warmer inside the mansion as Keith follows behind his mark, dragged forward through the flush of dancing bodies by the strong hold of his metallic hand. He feels the warm wetness of sweat as it gathers at his collar.

Letting his eyes wander across the crowd, he can’t help but feel underdressed in his oxblood dress shirt and tight fitted black pants amongst the sea of couture velvet and leather.

The only part of his ensemble that truly fit in with the theme, had been the leather garter belt that cinched his waist and ran straps down his hips and towards the garters at his thighs. Accented with shining metal buckles and rings, it was the perfect accessory to fulfill his stolen invites dress code, while simultaneously offering the perfect camouflage for the thin knife that weighed heavy against the front of his hip where it was hidden in the leather.

Shirogane’s hand grips tighter in his, pulling him back from the sharp blade of his thoughts and passed a group that had gathered right there on the dance floor.

Bodies turned golden by paint and metallic latex sway through the dense crowd, their skin catching light like the precious metal it’s meant to personify.

They’re meant as party favors. An offering to Shirogane’s guests, there are very few in the crowd that don’t show telltale signs of attention.

With gold peeking above collars and smeared across mouths, it’s obvious the type of favor that they’re meant to provide.

A golden woman eyes him with a hazy stare as she peels herself away from the throng of sweaty bodies, reaching toward him with a molten smile filled with intent. Sidestepping easily, Keith barely spares a glance back to see her hands land instead on the man who had been behind him.

Attention is not something he wishes to seek here.

At least, not her attention. The dangerous thought runs electric through him as he turns his own focus back to the broad figure pushing through the crowd before him.

It hadn’t escaped his notice that Shirogane was also missing the glittering touch of any gold.

Shirogane’s hold tightens briefly as he tugs him sharply towards him, twisting him so that Keith’s back hits his chest. A shiver traps itself between them as he looks out over the secluded corner that the mafia head had brought them to. There are few bodies here, and fewer wandering gazes as they melt into the shadows just barely touched by the swirling lights above.

“Not a fan of my gifts?” He growls close to Keith’s ear, the heat of his breath making the onyx waves around it dance as he closes his hands on either side of his hips.

A sharp spark rocks through his veins and makes his pulse leap as Keith realizes that they’re so large, they almost encircle his waist entirely.

Pressing back into his touch, he brushes his fingertips of the backs of Shirogane’s hands, humming over the dual sensation of burning skin and cool metal before he runs his touch up the length of the other man’s arms, following the path over his shoulders, and then behind his neck. With a gentle tug, Keith leads his face closer as he lets his head fall back until his lips brush against the skin just below Shirogane’s ear.

“I always preferred silver,” he says brusquely. Shirogane’s hips grind against his own, the harsh line of his length catching against his ass as he rumbles a pleased sound that vibrates through Keith’s back.

The mafia leader’s nose drags a staticky line down along his bared throat, the tickling rasp of stubble pushing a secretive smile across his lips. Keith runs hot as he feels lips press a soft kiss to his thrumming pulse followed by the sharp pinch of teeth.

“Good,” Shirogane says possessively, voice going dark as he presses the single word into his skin like a brand.

Rolling his hips back, Keith sucks his bottom lip between his teeth as he feels Shirogane’s hands trace along the top of his harness. They linger at the buckle just above his belly button before they start their slow decent down the leather straps. Fire, bright and impossibly hot, lays in the wake of his touch as his palms as they pause at Keith’s hips, holding him close as he languidly rolls against him again.

A quiet moan escapes his lips before Shirogane’s hands continue their curious trail down toward the garter around his thighs. It isn’t until his fingers skim mere centimeters from the hidden hilt of his knife that Keith feels his heart jump with the intoxicating thrill of danger.

Quick as an adder, Keith’s hands catch Shirogane’s, pulling them away roughly as he spins to face the man. Fixing him with a look of clear intent, he places places his hands low on his own back before he pushes up to catch Shirogane’s mouth in a bruising kiss.

It’s almost terrifying, the way the electricity that shocks between them heightens into a full blown storm as Shirogane returns the kiss in kind, pressing his tongue to the seam of Keith’s lips without looking for invitation. He is a man used to taking, and Keith is all too willing to give as he lets him in.

Swallowing down the deep growl that Shirogane pushes into his mouth, Keith rolls his hips in primal search of friction. The fires of Shirogane’s touch blister down his back as he lets his hands wander lower, stopping only as they grab tightly at Keith’s ass.

“Takashi,” Keith hears himself moan, the breathiness of his voice turning it into something sinful.

Pulling back quickly at the sound of his name, Shirogane stares down at Keith with a stare mired in danger. Pinned beneath it, Keith understands how he had found his way to the top of a mile high pile of death, and he wonders distantly if he might be in over his head.

He thinks he might be since his nerves light with the need to run, but his veins fill with a desperate need to get lost to the depths of the darkness in those eyes.

Keith knows which wins out when Shirogane swipes his metal thumb across his bottom lip, collecting the wetness there before his lips quirk in a triumphant smirk. Wordlessly, he clutches at Keith’s arm, pulling him once more through the crowd and toward the staircase situated toward the back of the room.

Taking the stairs quickly, Shirogane gives a deft nod toward the two guards that step easily aside for him at the top.

“Keep an eye on things,” he orders harshly, voice promising a violent retribution should they do otherwise before he falls back into determined silence as he leads them down a long hall toward a set of heavy looking doors.

Keith only gets a moment to admire the dark wood before he finds himself pushed through them, his back slamming back against it before the door even finishes closing.

Lips press harshly against his own, continuing where they left off as Shirogane licks the back of his teeth. Hands return to his hips, tightening enough to bruise before he drags them down towards the back of Keith’s thighs. With a sharp tug, he’s pulling him up, crushing him between the door and his taller frame as Keith folds his legs around his hips.

The new position offers more friction as he rolls against Shirogane and scratches at the back of his nape. It’s intoxicating, and Keith thinks he could lose himself to this. Could let himself pretend this was just a hookup and that he wasn’t an assassin and Shirogane wasn’t a murderer.

If only he could just let himself.

Oh, if only, if only.

Slowly dragging a hand down from the back of his neck, Keith follows down the track of Shirogane’s shoulders and down his arm, coming to a rest at his own thigh. Keith’s fingers close around the metal ring there, slowly pulling the hidden knife free of its concealed sheath as he sucked Shirogane’s tongue further into his mouth. Blindly positioning it at his ribs, he lets a slow exhale through his nose.

Then he feels the cold press of a muzzle beneath his chin.

“I see you brought a knife to a gun fight,” Shirogane says, voice roughened by fire and slick delight. His eyes dance with the same fiery excitement as he stares down at his would be killer.

“Don’t underestimate what I could do to you with this knife before you can even think to pull that trigger,” Keith hisses, pressing the tip of his knife into Shirogane’s skin just hard enough to know he’ll feel the sting.

Instead of abating the bright look in his eyes, it earns him a low growling moan that’s almost animalistic as Shirogane rolls up against him.

“Oh, baby, you do know how to talk dirty.”

The flames deep in Keith’s gut flare, threatening to consume him as he feels himself grind down, meeting Shirogane’s thrusts mindlessly.

“Tell me one reason I shouldn’t finish my job right now, Shirogane,” he tries to snarl, not believing his own threat but praying nonetheless that the man before him does. If only to save a bit of face.

Never has he failed to complete a job.

But never has a job looked quite as good as Takashi Shirogane.

Keith sees the moment he picks up on his bluff. It’s not subtle at all as Shirogane’s eyes brighten in challenge. Pushing upward with the gun’s muzzle, he tilts Keith’s head back just enough to give himself better access to his throat. He tries— and fails— to swallow down the keening sound that escapes his chest as Shirogane laves a wet kiss just beneath his ear.

“Because I,” he starts, only pausing to place another open mouthed kiss just inches lower. His lips hover just above his quickened pulse for a moment, his breaths cooling the slick from his mouth before continuing.

“Can make you feel,” he pauses again to bite at the juncture of his neck and shoulder. It’s a dull pinch that is soothed slightly when Shirogane sucks gently at the skin.

“So good,” he finishes before licking a line back up the sinful path he’d trekked. Pausing to huff a small laugh that stirs the hair by Keith’s ear, he pulls back to level him with his stare. It shines like the polished metal forcing his chin upward, and it feels twice as dangerous.

“And, I so would hate to ruin such a beautiful face.”

The sharp clatter of metal on the marble floor pierces through the quiet din of the room as Keith drops his knife, instead grasping at his nape to pull him close for another heady and angry kiss. He swallows Shirogane’s triumphant sound, barely registering the heavier sound of his gun joining the dagger on the floor.

“I’ll still kill you,” Keith growls into his mouth, hips coming down against Shirogane’s as he walks them toward the bed at the back of the room. The world tilts as he lowers them both, pushing Keith back into the plush pillows at the headboard. Shirogane’s weight is all encompassing, and he covers  Keith wholly with his body, trapping him amongst the satin covered bedding before he finally decides to pull away.

“I look forward to it, Keith Kogane,” he rumbles wickedly.

Keith’s name on his tongue should scare him, he knows that. It means his cover was blown before he had even arrived, and yet he can’t quite bring himself to care as he arches up into Shirogane’s touch as he grasps him through his pants.

Mouth cracking wide around a gasp, Keith rocks up into his grasp, distantly aware of his other hand as it makes quick work of the buckles of his harness.

“Tonight, though, I want to make you scream,” Shirogane says, pushing the harness away from his waist and legs, tugging at them sharply and freeing them from his body. Quickly discarding them off the side of the bed, he loosens his hold on Keith’s length, instead dragging that hand slowly up toward his stomach.

“Does that sound okay with you, baby?” He asks, not waiting for an answer before he grabs at Keith’s shirt and rips it open, exposing his heaving chest to the air of the room. Keith doesn’t miss the way Shirogane’s eyes trail across the goosebumps that race along his skin.

“Yes,” he croaks, fisting his own hand into the lapel of Shirogane’s jacket and pulling at him.

“Good,” he laughs darkly before he lets himself be pulled back to Keith’s mouth. Licking into the warm wet heat, he lets his hands wander until they find the buttons of Shirogane’s jacket. Clumsily tugging them from their holes, Keith gives a small hum of pleasure as he finally pushes the jacket back from his shoulders.

Without pulling away from his kiss, Shirogane pulls the jacket the rest of the way off before dropping it on the ground beside the harness. The sound of ripping fabric plays in harmony with their gasping breaths as Keith rips his shirt in kind, letting his hands find the hard lines of Shirogane’s toned stomach as the ruined shirt joins their other clothing on the floor.

Feeling the muscles flutter at his touch, Keith smiles into the kiss as he lets his hands roam across the newly exposed expanse.

Keith hands run up the length of his flank, the tickling brush of his palm earning a full bodied shudder as Shirogane quickly undoes the buttons of his pants. It’s then that he finally pulls away to violently tug the confining pants from Keith’s frame.

The assassin admires the way Shirogane’s chest heaves with his breath as he towers over him, and the way sweat has gathered along his collar. In the light, it’s almost as if his skin is gilded just like his so called party favors on the dance floor, and the very thought makes Keith ache as he reaches back out toward him.

Leaning back into Keith’s arms easily, Shirogane rolls against him as his mouth finds his pulse once more. Sucking dark marks into his throat, Keith finds himself burning with the knowledge that he’ll wear Shirogane’s marks for days.

A contented sigh parts his lips as he rakes his nails down the meat of Shirogane’s shoulder blades, relishing in the way it makes the man move against him. The power that radiates through Shirogane is a near palpable thing, one that lights him with awe and the potent thrum of a want so strong that he can’t breathe around it.

Pressing his face upward into his shoulder, Keith tries to force the air in and out of his lungs as Shiro continues decorate his skin with a glorious collection of purples and blacks. A particularly wet suckle pushes what little air had still been left in his lungs through his mouth.

Chasing after it, Keith presses his teeth to Shirogane’s shoulder and bites down hard, mouth filling with the salty, metallic tang of blood.

A grunted sound of delight and pain vibrates through him as Shirogane’s hand fists tightly in his hair, and then he finds himself flipped with half his face shoved into the mattress.

“Baby,” Shirogane hushes, and Keith can’t tell if it’s meant to be a praise or an admonishment as the hold in his hair still dances along the line of pleasure and pain. His other hand caresses his hip before gently pulling it upward so that his ass is tilted upward. There’s the soft sound of leather pulling from metal as Shirogane undoes his belt, followed by the quiet rustle of fabric before he feels the hot drag of his length between his cheeks.

The sound Keith makes is high and reedy as he feels the head drag over his aching, wanting entrance.

“You’re going to be so good for me,” Shirogane growls as he leans over his back to place the words right at his ear, grip tightening on his hair.

“Only if you’re good for me,” Keith grits, bucking back into him. His eyelashes flutter at the soft brush of Shirogane’s groan at his ear.

“Yes,” he says, sounding almost as needy as Keith feels.

The heat along his back disappears as Shirogane pulls away. It feels like Keith is caught in a void in time as the only touch that remains is Shirogane’s grasp on his hair, before he feels the slick glide of a finger over his rim.

Bracing his arms outward, Keith clutches at the satin beneath him as he the sure press and gentle give as Shirogane presses his finger inward.

“Takashi,” Keith exhales as he pushes back against Shirogane’s hand. It’s the only invitation he seems to need as he starts to work him open with deft fingers. Soon after the first, he adds a second, and not too long after that, a third. His grip on the sheets only tightens at the rushed speed of Shirogane’s work, but still delighting in the sting of his intrusion. Each and every brush of his fingers moving inside him fans the flames in his gut until he’s certain his skin won’t be able to contain the fire.

He’s going to burn, and he’s going to take this whole damn mansion down with him.

Keith presses his smile into the mattress at the thought.

“Are you ready, baby?” Shirogane asks as he pulls his fingers away. The blunt tip of his dick nudges at his entrance before his hand finds itself on his hip. With the breadth of them both, his fingers nearly touch at his navel, just above where Keith’s dick stand hard against his stomach.

“Please, Takashi, please,” he hears himself almost sob before he pushes back against Shirogane, teeth gritting as the thick head pushes into him. Their moans are twinned as he starts to push further into him, inch by grueling inch, until he bottoms out.

Keith thinks he might just split apart with how full he is as Shirogane pauses in his movement, allowing them both a moment to just breathe.

Each of their gasps come in sync as Keith tries to find a way to ground himself. It’s all too much and yet not enough and he desperately needs. He aches with it, and he thinks he says as much because then Shirogane is moving in earnest.

He sets a brutal pace as he jackhammers into him, each staccato snap pressing Keith’s further into the mattress. There’s a brief moment of bitter clarity when he registers that the high pitched keens that match the tempo of Shirogane’s thrusts are pulling from his own mouth.

Keith’s knuckles protest as his grip tightens further in the sheets and he turns his face down into the mattress to muffle his sounds.

A palm traces down the line of his spine, traveling between his shoulder blades and finally wrapping around his throat before it wrenches him upward and back into Shirogane’s lap. The sudden change in position pushes him further into Keith, rubbing just right inside him and exploding stars in his vision.

Shirogane’s hold on his throat squeezes lightly as his other hand brushes across the expanse of his hip and finds his painfully hard length. Another high pitched gasp rocks through Keith at the contact, his hips pushing up into Shirogane’s fist and then coming back down on his cock before repeating the motion at a frenzied pace.

His vision starts to blur at its edges as Keith turns his head over his shoulder, blindly searching for Shirogane’s mouth. Appeasing him, he leans in close, pressing their open mouths together and swallowing each and every one of Keith’s punched out sounds.

The fire in his belly reaches an unimaginable pitch as it spreads through him. It races along the lines of his veins as he pushes his hands back to clutch at Shirogane’s shoulders, and as his toes begin to curl. Biting down around the aching burn, his teeth catch sharply on Shirogane’s lip, causing him to tighten his hold on Keith’s length.

White light, bright and inescapable, blots out his sight as he comes with the taste of Shirogane’s blood and violence on his tongue. His fist continues to pump over him, smearing his softening cock with his own cum as he chases his own pleasure and follows shortly after with a shout.

Keith’s hold on his shoulders tightens for just a moment as he tries to catch his breath, timing each inhale and exhale with the loud sound of his heartbeat crashing in his ears. The edges of his vision continues to blur as the soft, hazy brush of his pleasure feathers out through him, replacing the roiling heat of the now sated fires.

He thinks he hears a soft question at his ear, followed by the hush of a laugh on his cheek, but its all lost to him as he starts to settle into the warm depths of the after glow.

Lids growing heavy, he faintly registers the slow slide of Shirogane as he pulls out of him and sets him gently on the bed. Somewhere, just on the edges of his mind, he thinks he feels the gentle drag of something warm along his skin.

Keith thinks maybe, he feels the soft touch of a kiss at his temple, but by then, he’s already out.

***

Keith’s eyes protest against the bright sunlight as he slowly blinks them open. The room isn’t one he recognizes, and neither is the bed, at least, not until the night comes crashing back into his memory like a freight train.

Sitting up quickly, ignoring the drag of the satin as it pools around his waist, a rush of adrenaline cascades through his veins as he runs an alert glare across the room.

There isn’t sign of anyone else there, or even of the night’s activities. The only proof of what happened sits at the foot of his bed in the form of his folded clothes, and something about that makes him ache.

Swallowing down the lump in his throat, he pushes himself further back into the pillows so he’s sitting fully upright when a glint at the corner of his eye catches his attention.

Turning to the nightstand beside him, he can’t help the slow, hungry grin that turns his lips upward.

A note lays atop the mahogany with his knife stabbed through it.

Catch me if you can, it says, and beneath it is a smear of gold.

*********************

[hellofriend]

THE HISTORY OF RABBIT #19/EMIKO KOBAYASHI 小林 恵美子

(Yes long overdue but just roll with it)

February 25th 2004

Emiko gets found in the wreckage of a plane crash

Is found under the body of a well known CEO of Tatsumi Company & Co.

Possibly was being protected by him

Deemed as the only survivor of the plane crash

Doesn't remember who her birth parents are and her previous life before the crash

She doesn't even remember her name

Gets named by the rescuers Emiko (恵美子) because she must have been blessed to have survived the crash

No one comes to claim Emiko for months and is deemed an orphan

She spends almost year after that crash in an orphanage

Adoption

Gets adopted on Christmas week by the widower of the late CEO and receives the last name Kobayashi (小林)

Becomes the older sister of the late CEO's daughter Shiki who is at the time just almost a year old baby

Honestly just adopted to help her mom cope with her late husband's death by protecting the thing he gave his life to protect- this small 4 year old girl

Immediately gets bathed and fed as soon as she steps into her new home

For that week she gets pampered by nannies and opens a ton of presents on Christmas day

The New Years Eve party is when she first gets introduced to the world as part of the Kobayashi family

Then things go downhill

Childhood

Doesn't get that much attention from her mom anymore after that

Is put into learning stuff kids her age wouldn't be learning and then at the end of the week getting tested on that

Is also never let out unless it's to show the public how "nice" her family is and to strengthen her mom's relations with other companies

As Shiki gets older she joins her in that routine

Both of them get close to one another as time goes on and both want their mom's attention

Emiko gets it by being more studious

Shiki by being more troublesome and involving her sister in most of her schemes

Shiki and Emiko wish to go out on their own but mom is too protective and just makes them so attached to her for safety Emiko forms separation anxiety from her

Mom tries to combat the anxiety by bringing her and her sister to more events with her to making her socialize and making her learn talents she can show at events but it just makes it worse

Eventually just teaches Emiko to mask her Anxiety with a serious no nonsense attitude persona

Their mom grants Shiki to go to boarding school alone and outside the country in 5th grade as long as her grades are decent

Emiko is not for this reason

"Your younger sister is to be the future owner of this company and has no choice but to be seen, you on the other hand don't. This is to protect you, not to trap you."

Honestly fucks her up a little but hey guess their mom's way of showing that she cares so

Honestly gets kind of lonely without Shiki there but hey she comes back on holiday breaks so they usually spend all their time together

Eventually Shiki teaches Emiko of gambling and she becomes way good at that

Honestly gets taught a lot of cool things from her sister on holiday breaks

She kind of wishes she could get out too but is too scared after being so attached to her mom after so long

Leaving home

Eventually gets the courage to ask her mom to let her go to college in America after Shiki has a talk with her on how she can't just stay with her mom forever

After lots of arguing and a little help from Shiki her mom lets her finally be free and study in the States

Emiko leaves Japan to study at a university in the US

B.P.T. = Before Phoenix Trials

FREEDOM FUCK YEAH NO MORE PRESSURE FROM MOM

Apartment may be a little small and cheap... And no air conditioning... BUT IT'S A START

Honestly the adrenaline of being free is everything

But then there's going to classes and not being able to drive

And then there's just having no friends due to her being so quiet and shy

I mean there is that one weird guy that's into the occult and really smart at math but...

And yeah she gets allowance from her mom every month to pay for groceries and rent but...

....

Yeah she needs more independence

Is trying to get a job and applying to lots of places

Tries to be more social but fails due to anxiety and scaring people away

Eventually all hope is lost in trying to get new friends

Then boom youtube video promoting something like idk a fun little puzzle hunt with codes and stuff

And theres a form!

Wow turns out there's this chat thing you'll have to be in too! Yay a way to get friends!

I mean, never worked with codes and stuff before but it seems cool!

Signs the fuck up and is just yay friends!

Oh sweet baby angel no

TRIAL TIME~

Yay she's in! She's happy she can't wait to get to see some people and stuff

OH COOL THE FUCKING CHATS ARE OPEN

Wait what the fuck

WHAT DO YOU MEAN I CAN DIE?!?

Honestly panics a lot after this and doesn't know what to do now

Really scared but eventually is like

NO I'M NOT DYING I'M SURVIVING THIS NO MATTER WHAT FORGET THIS

Immediately searches up stuff on habbit and stuff

Spends so much time on trials to be certain she's not eliminated

Gets really attached to people in her warren Gets really attached to people in her warren???

Welp oops

Hey she wanted to have friends and she got some

But hey she gets way close to this 1 person

Ooo and they live close

And I flirted with them oh shit

DAMMIT I FUCKING LIKE THEM AND ARE DATING THEM HOW AM I GONNA TELL THIS TO MOM

Eventually is just disappointed at herself for getting close cause dude most of these people are dying fuck

Then a fucking surprise visit from mom and Shiki

Force her to move somewhere else

It's way more fancier and has air conditioning but she really liked her old apartment T~T

FINALLY GETS A JOB BECAUSE MOM PULLED SOME STRINGS WOO

BUT TRIALS

THERE'S ANOTHER RICH PERSON HERE?!?

YAY RICH BUDS

Wow this hiatus on the trials is really long... getting kind of scary

20 NO

Omg this is the worst thing ever

Silence forever in the chat but hey she gets to meet 18 and some of the other rabbits and everything is fine now so we're safe!

YAY!!!

THE END

[maggotmouth]

         hello, its nora again ( she/her, gmt ) n this is the ethereal but spoiled alma olive putnam (she goes by all 3 names cos she’s pretentious as fuck).  ive never used anya taylor joy as her fc before but anya has a smile that looks like she knows something u dont and thats completely alma’s vibe so we’re gonna try it out. she was raised in a farmhouse in vermont, big horse girl energy. very hungry for everything life has to offer. wakes up and smells the success in her blood. luvs the smell of libraries and listening to french music from a tinny record player in knee socks. here is pinterest. bio is below the cut, like this post to be bombarded with plotting messages but i might forget or get shy tho so pls message me x

application template.

ANYA TAYLOR - JOY   ,   CIS-FEMALE   ,   SHE/HER         →         according   to   the   school   records   ,   ALMA OLIVE PUTNAM   has   been   attending   sacred   heart   for   the   past   three   years   .   i   last   saw   them   hanging   around  the  sacred   heart   cathedral   ;   i   think   they   were   studying   the   stations   of   the   cross   with   a   smile   like   a   well - kept   secret.   at   twenty   -   one   years   old   ,   alma   has   been   studying   classics   and   get   this   ,   i   heard   that   she   has   made   a   fortune   on   the   black   market   by   forging   renaissance   art   to   sell   to   collectors   —   figure   it’s   true   ?   everyone   around   here   always   associates   them   with    neck   scarves   tied   around   your   throat   the   way   they   do   in   french   new   wave   films , running   barefoot   through   the   woods   drunk   on  red  wine   and  untapped   power , a  smile  like  a   locked   door   that   speaks   only  in   riddles  .   in   the   time   since   these   strange   happenings   ,   they   have   have   encountered   any   unexplained   occurrences   . ��       (   written   by   nora   ,   24   ,   she/her   ,   gmt   )

aesthetics.

a red beret nestled on top of bright platimum locks, neck scarves tied around your throat the way they do it in french new wave films, running barefoot through the woods in feckless hedonism, china dolls with porcelain faces lined against the walls of your room, the mona lisa smile, knee-socks tugged over the hockey grazes on your knees, a forged botticelli drying on your easel, ophelia floating in the middle of a lake.

proceed w caution, tw for death, drugs, alcohol, violence

the short form. (still long af tbh)

— studying classics cos she thinks it makes her sound smart, but actually hates fuckin latin and just loves learning about feckless hedonism and the festivals of bacchus and writing about how all women in myth are literally forgotten. was expelled from princeton in her first year so her parents basically paid her way into sacred heart and the board really liked her in her interview. i think the governors kind of expect to see her in the supreme court one day or st

—  born in vermont in a big old farmhouse. her great-great-grandfather moved to america as an immigrant and worked on a plantation, made his way up cos he could speak a lot of languages and therefore win more people over. for the last two generations, putnam men have owned the farm and do little of the dirty work. big in the meat industry.

— both her parents had large personalities, so alma’s never really been shy around adults, even as a kid she’d speak to them in a forthright, confident manner, and because she was always surrounded by adults, she’s always seemed a bit wise beyond her years.

— very much a consolidation of every character in the secret history. has a morbid longing for the picturesque at all costs. obsessed with w.h. auden and the beat poets. — ”aestheticism is the only thing worth pursuing and even that is pointless” — is majoring in classical civilisation. can read ancient greek and latin. also speaks french.

— studies hard and plays hard. she gets top marks but it’s because academia is literally her life, she loves the smell of libraries, the ancient smoke of learning, of feeling like old wine in a new bottle reincarnated from the bones of some old, dead witchy woman who invented a cure for cowpox or somethin.

— isn’t a foward-planner, however. alma prefers to leave her options open, play the field, live in a spontaneous manner so her study style is mostly cramming a few days before a test, or staying up all night writing an essay on a massive adrenaline boost powered by red bull or probably adderall, scribbling (or typing) furiously into the night.

— pretentious motherfucker. loves poetry, especially the romantics, loves morbid ones too, edgar allen poe, sylvia plath, allen ginsberg, she just loves them all. can’t get enough. her favourite films are like…. wanky artfilm independent european cinema. especially french new wave. “what do you think of goddard’s work??” while snorting a line off someone’s sink at 5am on a school night, but you can bet she’ll make it to that 9am class. — very intelligent and beautiful and knows both of those facts. plays devil’s advocate. humanitarian, vegan. — judgemental but takes great care not to appear so. petty and vindictive

— obsessively devours mystery and thriller novels. she herself is a gillian flynn book waiting to happen. — tries to be an enigma. wants to be mysterious and unreadable because that’s what books have taught her makes women desirable and interesting and cool. very amy dunne in the way she expertly reinvents herself to suit her audience, when she wants to impress

—  an incredibly talented dancer. she was accepted to juliard to study ballet, but after an injury to her foot she had to refuse her place, something that she’s incredibly bitter about. she went to princeton instead to study classics for a semester, before being expelled. 

— alma comes from a family of high-end art dealers. while her parents paid her way into the school, that was mostly due to previous expulsions, not low intelligence. she’s incredibly intelligent but will only put in effort when she deems the cause worthy. she’s frustrating to teach, because she requires evidence, truth, in order to accept something as worthwhile. she plays devil’s advocate, but academically she’s brilliant. 

—  she can recognise any renaissance artist just by their brush strokes. her aunt and uncle deal antiques and art, and from an internship with them after her expulsion from princeton, she learned how to market and sell art, how to recognise originals in contrast to fakes. from this, alma began to produce counterfeit art and sell it off as the original work to the contacts she had made in her internship. it’s disloyal, but it’s powerful.

— act like the flower but be the serpent under it. is a user. manipulative. leads people on. will throw another student under the bus to demonstrate her own intelligence and integrity — heavily involved in the theatre society. loves attention. — has an addictive personality. seems unable to do anything in a small dose, she has to let it utterly consume her. with sports, she’s fiercely competitive, runs track, played lacrosse at school, now is a cheerleader probably. with alcohol, it’s never a shot, it’s a whole bottle – wine or whiskey – she’ll be table dancing before the night’s up and making out with someone she’ll regret in the morning.

— her clothing style is like…. vintage thrift store but make it preppy. berets and cute hats, neck scarves, large fluffy cardigans or like those leathery jackets with big suede fringes on them, mini skirts (very 70s), and knee-high socks or boots. quite often she’ll be in sports kit, maybe a cute tennis skirt, n when she’s feeling casual she’ll wear like, a talking heads tshirt with a pair of mom jeans and converse, but otherwise, the library is her catwalk. — relates to ophelia from hamlet and sibyl vane in dorian gray. weirdly obsessed with women who commit suicide. loves jackson pollock paintings and abstract art. – likes old things. old books, old music, old houses, it reminds her of happier times like when she wasn’t alive. buys all her music on vinyl and has a gramophone because “the sound quality is better” kfdsjj.

plots.

here are some generic wanted plots but by all means message me so we can flesh them out more if any strike ur interest:

study buddies !! someone who is equally unprepared and so spends all night in the library with alma before a big deadline, maybe they even met in the library

if they’re from new england or vermont, then cousins . second cousins / extended family / family friends –  probably spat volavons on your character once as children, omg childhood friends !

honestly someone who is fully in love with her or crushing on her that she can just break would be sweet :/ or on the other hand someone she unexpectedly gets feelings for and actually wants to guage her own  eyeballs out bc of it

frinds !! unlikely friends !! toxic friends !! former best friends separated by sporting or academic rivalries !

hockey / cheer friends who are on other teams but who she absolutely loves playin against!!!

fellow academics who like meeting up to discuss latin and greek ! gimme a secret society bonding by their love of ancient learning

i reckon she’s in a lot of societies, definitely the film club, maybe works as a projectionist at the uni cinema if they have one so give me ppl affiliated with that, give me fellow wanky pretentious art-lovers and poets and historians who will go to museums and galleries with her and listen to the velvet underground on vinyl

people she gets mortally fucked off her tits with at parties

people who think she is throwing her academic potential away by caving to hedonistic impulse

a secret society !!! honestly i would die for a slug club esque thing in which the children of notable families are invited to dinners or alma’s also an art forger, so maybe like a club of students set up to basically forge paintings and documents from the university special collections

people she has drunkenly made out with, hooked up with, or regularly sleeps with casually, maybe even a friend w benefits she is repressing feelings for, i love angst,

people she used to date or unrequitedly likes, but to them it’s just a physical thing, give me all the thirsty angst plots, and maybe some softness too, i need some religion in this girls life, she is a roman catholic after all

full biography.

alma olive putnam.

intro.

        the girl is a knife. razor-sharp, double-edged, the bright shine of a two-faced, lovely thing. silver like the secrets you magpie thief from other heads. you’re a scavenger of knowledge, of tidbits, of gossip to lock away for later use and late-night re-inspection. a mind is like a clock if you get to learn the pieces. bit by bit, you dismantle the inner workings of the brains that tick around you – how easy it is to change it’s path, how words and their meanings can make a person laugh or cry in an instant. to have the power to control that is to be a god. it’s the power trip you crave wielding pom-poms in your hands; a possessive need for control that a younger you, small and weak, never had as a child. small lips, smaller smile, a doll clutched in your too-hungry fingers, hard enough to shatter the bones of a real infant. you cut your hair with your mother’s kitchen scissors before the autumn falls, rendering you out of season, unfit for the cold weather that beats against the nape of your neck, where a stick-and-poke marks the star you were born under ; the bull. “mama, when will i be a queen?” as soon as they find a crown small enough not to slip from your head.

biography.

        if you get hungry enough, they say, you start eating your own heart. hands red, stained by pomegranate seeds, the empty pulp of its shell splattered on your thighs you find yourself wondering – what would it be like to want? in the beginning, you never knew hunger. twins, born under the same star, you first, him second – a nuclear family. never a sister to compete with, you were always the cherry pie of your parents’ hearts. white-haired, blue-eyed, beautiful baby of mine. the townhouse in vermont and the summer house in lyon, you wanted for nought, showered with attention, saddled with gifts - hardly a wonder you came to rely on such affection as a confirmation of your own worth.

        at eight years old you first met death, blood on a gingham-print dress, a smear of it over your cheekbone and the pulp of a mangled animal at your feet murdered by the hands of a stable boy. “alma, my precious baby, you get away from that filth,” your mama would cry from the upstairs balcony – cigar in one hand and a bloody mary in the other – though whether the filth she referred to was the dead pig or the boy with a kernel of corn in his mouth, you never did find out.

        your family earned their keeps in farming, great-grandfather wolfgang hildegarde a german immigrant, great-grandmother maura lisbon a prairie girl. they fell hopelessly in love between troughs and pig-shit, working for three dollars a day at a farm their descendants would later own, trade deals with the indians, vacations to calcutta, your father todd putnam in the kind of sheepskin coat his father’s father could only dream of owning. he worked hard so that you’d never have to. your mama once asked – you heard it through the window, rounding cartwheels across the picket-fenced lawn – could he not find a respectable career rather than selling shrink-wrapped pork for a dime a dozen? that blood money had no business raising a child. you look far back enough, edie, your father had said in his low, strong voice that could bring a civil war to silence, and i think you’ll find that all money is blood money.

        language was never fickle on your tongue, french dinner time talk by the time you were out of your hush puppy shoes, your mama fixing the au pair a smile as she fixed herself another martini. you learned the clarinet at four and how to dance with the grace of a swansong at six, ethereal under a spotlight, an audience captive in the palm of your hand. by eight you knew that you’d always been destined to be loved. loved so hard they would want to taste you, bite into the soft plump of your cheek and eat you alive. that was how magnetic you wanted to feel. but mother hamsters eat their own young when penned in together too long, and soon you became too wild, too restless, another package on your father’s delivery invoice, box-shipped out to english boarding school.

        fitting in had never been something you had to concern yourself with. you were always the shiny new toy the other girls wanted to play with, bright like a dropped coin from a magpie’s beak. wherever you went, you seemed to leave a trail of awe, pig-tailed harriet’s adoring you, imitating you, teachers forgiving your class-time chatter for the sake of your wild heart and the restless spirit you possessed. tell us what it’s like in the states, alma. they’d coo, enamoured by your hollywood drawl. does your father own a gun? you hardly knew. barely even knew the colour of his hair, for the scarce amount of times he’d stoop to kiss your cheek, though you’d tell silver-tongued tales if it’d guaranteed you an audience. when you learned how to smile at the right times, and that flattery would get you everywhere, it soon became apparent that charm would pave the yellow brick road to success even when your lack of drive couldn’t.

        the road you followed – gum-snapping, roller-blading, friendship bands all up your arm – eventually led you to sacred heart. bright-eyed and gingham skirted, you’d always known you were more. there was a hunger in you to be something extraordinary, a want so adamant to be imagined and desired that it was almost savage. in leather-bound volumes and a circle of stones, you were helen of troy, the girl for whom they’d launch a thousand ships. but there’s so much rage within you, collecting like sawdust in cavernous parts. hockey helped. there was something grounding about the feeling of a stick clasped in your hands. sweat. stiff knuckles. feet pounding the earth. the smash of wood against flesh in the scram of a game, passed off as mere enthusiasm. “slipped, sorry.” hockey is the one thing you had that was yours alone – a feral instinct that motivates you to play; something primitive within you that sparks an energy like no other. on the pitch, you feel alive. you feel like a god.

[amintyworld]

Delta - Avian Fantasy AU - Sander Sides (Part 2)

A/N: Hey guys, Minty here! First off I just wanted to take a moment to thank each and every one of you who liked and reblogged the first part. I never thought so many people would read my stuff, let alone like it. So thank you. Second, as always, this AU is made by @zhe-lazy-fox! Give them some love for letting me use it and making it! Also, if you need a refresher on the AUs plot, check it out on their blog! Third, I'll be making more fics on my blog about Sander Sides and other fandoms I love. Please let me know if you want to be tagged! Love you all! -Minty

Summary: Delta awakes.

TW: Death threats, emotionally distraught character, Mistreatment of Children mention, Sympathetic Deceit, Pain, Scars, Flashback. (Let me know if I missed any, though I think I got them all)

Delta heard faint murmurs as pain jolted through his body. He groaned, and suddenly, the voices quieted quickly. Where...was he? He was trying to get a message to the fleet, then the...the storm…

His face felt sore and burning, he guessed most of his flesh was charred from the flash, but if that were the case, he should be dead.

Why wasn't he dead?

He opened his eyes slowly, his pupils adjusting to the bright light. He saw a man with glasses standing over him. As he was taught in training, he needed to use any nearby object as a weapon. He could be in a torture chamber for all he knew. Be quickly stood up on the bed, pointing his pillow like a sword at the man.

"W-who are you?!" Delta yelled as the man slowly put his hands up in surrender.

"Please stop being irrational." The man sighed. He didn't seem scared at all, at most even annoyed. "I was simply trying to help your injuries, and furthermore-"

"ANSWER ME NOW, OR PREPARE TO DIE!" Delta interrupted, pointing the pillow at the man's chest.

"You're planning to kill me...with a...pillow?" The man said. "That is utterly ridiculous."

"I know 32 ways to kill you with JUST this pillow, don't test me." Delta said. "You should be scared, very scared that you tried to capture one of the Dragon Witch's-"

"Delta…?" A soft voice interrupted. Delta turned to...his friend. Alpha. Why was he…? His wings were light purple, not the black as they were supposed to be. He held his hand out, slowly walking toward him. "Delta, put the pillow down. Please…"

"What happened…? Why...why are you here? They said you...you died…" He said, getting choked up with every word.

"I know, Dee. I know. But I'm right here, okay? I'm right here and I won't leave you again."

"Are...are you...WITH THEM?!" He said, tears starting to flow down his face as he pointed his pillow swiftly at Virgil as he inched closer. Virgil quickly put his hands up in surrender. 

"Delta...they...they...saved me." Virgil looked up to Delta. His family. His brother. "You don't need to kill or steal to be happy. Not here."

Delta hesitated. This sounded...fake. It's not true. They...they've brainwashed him. They...they must've.

"No more trying to impress Mom. No more competition, no more...feeling like you're not enough." Virgil said. Delta looked at him timidly.

"No more...p-punishment?" He stuttered. Virgil smiled sadly.

"No more." Virgil said. "We'll be a part of a family...a real one. What...what do you say?" He held out his hand.

Tears flew down Delta's face. He broke down as he took Virgil's hand, and Virgil wrapped his arms around him, rubbing his back and hugging him tight. "I...was...so s-scared…" Delta sobbed.

"I know, Delta. I know."

Virgil never left Delta's side as much as he could as he recovered, he barely trusted anyone else. At least, at first.

A few days later, Logan had helped him take his bandages off his face. He gave him a small mirror he had for him to see his work. "I'm sorry I couldn't do more, but I salvaged what I could. Unfortunately, half your face will always be...scarred. I am truly-"

"It's PERFECT." Delta smiled, admiring his face.

"W-what…?" Logan said.

"I love it. Every warrior needs battle scars." Delta said.

"Speaking of," Virgil said. "You might want a name change. People around here don't like the Dragon Witch very much."

"I'll...think about it." Delta said.

"Well, I'll be out for a bit with errands. You okay?" Virgil said.

"Yeah, I'll be fine. Patton said I can help with dinner!" He said proudly, almost like a child. He'd been spending time with the others, and Virgil noticed how easily Delta was fitting into their family. He seemed happier, less tense and shielded. Patton just had a way with people.

Delta thought his new family was...perfect. He walked over to the kitchen as he became almost lost in thought. Patton was very happy, and very...what's the word? Loving…? Yes, loving. He vividly remembered how much he loved to hug, and giggled at the thought.

Logan was very smart, and well, a bit of a nerd when it came to books. Delta had asked about Harry Potter novels he could borrow, and didn't expect to be in a two-hour-long conversation about it. Boy, Logan knew his stuff when it came to Harry Potter.

Roman...well, Roman was a dreamer, there was no doubt about that. He'd been dreaming of becoming one of the town's guards, but was deemed too unfocused for the work, and instead was assigned a job building houses, and Delta was excited to help. They never built houses in the forest. They always lived in the trees, usually on a platform or two. 

Virgil was always a helping hand - doing this, making that. Delta wondered how he changed his wings, and why he was so overprotective. Mom wouldn't get them here. She...couldn't.

They had nothing to worry about, right?

"Oh, Delta, glad you're here. Could you grab some salt and pepper for me? This soup needs some flavor." Patton called, and Delta shook the thought out of his mind. It was ridiculous, anyway.

After dinner, Virgil had called Delta to wash his wings. He sat in the river as he washed them, the thought earlier not going away. "You see, when I first got here, I had washed my wings as to not rouse suspicions. I thought if I washed them enough, I could change them. Maybe remove the color completely. But, instead I found a whole new color underneath." Virgil said. "Mom...she never told us."

"Oh." Delta said. A moment of silence fell between both of them.

"But things are different now. Safe. We're leaving all of that behind, okay?"

"I guess, Alpha."

"Virgil. My name is Virgil."

"Oh...right…"

Another silent moment.

"I think I've decided on my name."

"Really? What?"

"Deceit." He said. He thought long and hard about it, and he loved that one the most.

Love...Virgil...Mom…

Deceit's head whirred. He felt like he was forgetting something. Something important.

Mom…

His head hurt, and he fell forward quickly as the pain hit his head like a stack of bricks.

"Delta, tell the fleet to be prepared. I'm preparing an ambush on Baranan. Alpha was too stupid as to not cover his tracks, and I won't stop - kill whoever, steal whatever- to bring him home. Understand, you useless, brainless nitwit?!"

"Woah, oh my god… Deceit! Are you alright? What the heck just happened?!" Deceit grabbed his arm. "Buddy…?"

"Mom…" He stammered. 

"What? Mom can't find us, remember?"

"She..she's found your trail. She sent me to tell the fleet about her plan, I-" Deceit stammered out. "We're in danger. She's going to attack this town, kill and steal anything, EVERYTHING-" 

Deceit gripped Virgil tighter as he looked into his eyes."...just… to find...you…"

[nai-matsugen]

Prompt #15: Family/Free Write

Character: Ietasu Takemori  ♦  Region: Doma  ♦  Time: Progressive (follow-up and precursor to “Scour”)

hosted by: @sea-wolf-coast-to-coast  / challenge information

warnings: mild implications to child molestation/rape, prostitution, and detailed gore/murder

From a young age, Ietasu wondered why he didn’t fit in with his surroundings. The people around him all looked so different compared to him—he was of a dark complexion, and with horns and tail. On the other hand, his father and the tutors he had hired to teach him his courses had smooth skin and weird ears. Once, he thought to ask his father why that was, and was shut down instantly. Rather, he should be concerning himself with more advanced questions, and seek the tutelage of his mentors instead of bothering his hardworking father with a topic so pointless. He told him that they were family, and to leave it at that.

Of course, he knew better than to test the man any further, so he dropped the subject completely going forward. At dinners, banter was kept at a minimum, and the most they discussed was how his studies were faring. Only when he excelled in his courses did that man show any sign of emotion; praising his young son for doing so well, and encouraging him to keep pushing himself. As the years ticked on, Ietasu saw less and less of his father. That was until it was suddenly announced that they were moving to Doma for a research assignment of his. It would take several summers to complete, and he thought it would be a perfect time to take his prodigy along and teach him his trade.

Their new estate was fairly smaller in size, yet had a sustainable library and enough rooms to rest. Before they made the journey, they had heard nothing but amazing tales of Doma’s rich culture and thriving land. Not even a few moons into their stay however, word began to spread about an Imperial invasion. Their research had barely just begun, and he could hear his father making plans to hasten their voyage back to Hingashi. It wasn’t so easy finding a ship to take them back on short notice, what with the rumours afloat, and the lords of notable wealth already procuring the remaining vessels. It would take too long waiting for them to return, and so his father made a hasty decision whilst there was still time. There was yet a single boat left in the port, but the fisherman who owned it would only sell it off to a man with enough coin to give himself and his family a long, happy life. On the day he left to make the transaction, Ietasu stayed behind and made to pack their bags.

As night began to fall, Ietasu maintained his position by the door—certain that his father would return soon and they’d be off without delay.

When morning came, and there was still no sign of him, Ietasu still did not move from his spot. He knew how angry his father would be if he disobeyed a direct order from him, but… there was only so much a child of his age could bear without sleep. Chancing it, Ietasu rested his head against the wall and closed his eyes. Intent only to sleep for a short time before checking again for his father.

When he reopened his eyes the next time, it was almost nightfall. And still no sign of his father. If he came back and found him sleeping, would he had truly left him and made the journey home alone? No... he couldn’t have come back, because the bags containing their research papers were still here. He’d never have left without them, even in their incomplete state.

Daring finally to stand up, he peered out through the window by the door and saw nothing. No sign of his father—just flickering lights from his neighbours houses. All he could do was wait, but it was only a matter of time until he ran out of food. Fortunately his father left a bag of coins in his safe here if the situation became dire enough, which he prayed it did not.

Another week went by with Ietasu keeping to himself until someone came to the door. Without delay, he rushed to open it, believing it to be his father—however, as soon as he slide the door open, he saw a strange face greet him.

“Oh..?” The stranger hummed curiously, causing Ietasu to back away in caution. “My brother never mentioned bringing you along with him. Have you been staying here this whole time? Do you know what happened?”

“No.” He answered in a quiet, and resolute tone. This was his uncle, apparently. He should at least make the effort to show him good manners, but something about his voice put him off.

“Your father’s dead, my boy. Now, I’m merely here to collect what he’s left to me.” Extending out his hand as if asking for something, he grinned. “The keys.”

Put off by what he heard, Ietasu stared at the man in confusion. “He left me the house, boy. And I won’t have no ratty child living here in it.” Tilting his head in intrigue, he then added: “You’re close enough to where you were born—maybe you could scurry your way back to that field and find the whore mother who abandoned you there.” At that, Ietasu’s eyes widened and his throat went dry. Shaking his head, he silently attempted to communicate to his uncle his answer. That he wasn’t going to leave. He worked too hard for it to all be for nothing. That this was his home, and his father would want him to stay.

“Didn’t you hear me? Begone.”

The way he walked towards him put his nerves on high alert. Goosebumps shot up his arms the moment he felt his uncle place a large hand on his shoulder. “You understand, don’t you? This house doesn’t belong to you anymore.” He whispered cruelly to him. “But then again, you’re also smart enough to know that there’s no life for you out there on those streets. You’ll starve, and you’ll die if you’re not willing to resort to crime. Kindness is a luxury you’ll never be afforded again once you step out of those doors, but you see… we’re family, so if you put on a good face for me and do as you’re told, I might pay you for your time.” Those words confused him immensely, but he could at least comprehend part of it. Feeling bile rise in his stomach, Ietasu bit back his tongue and gave his best impression of a welcoming smile. “There, that’s the spirit!” Patting him on the head, his uncle’s grip tightened on the boy even more. “You keep that up, and I’m sure we’ll get along nicely.”

What happened after that, he’d never be able to forget for as long as he lived. The things he was made to do… he could feel his very soul become tainted with something so impure it’d be hopeless to dream of a soap strong enough to wash it out completely.

That night, his uncle’s words were burned into his mind. Constantly reminding him of what had happened, and would happen again if the circumstances were urgent enough. Words that brought him down low to the brinks of depravity until ultimately, they’d sink in so deep they’d stain his heart black. And rob him of all reason to live.

-          -

Living out in those harsh conditions taught him a thing or two about people, and Ietasu had begun to adapt. Slowly but surely. There had been others like him, out here on their own. But they weren’t so educated to figure out the ways of survival without being tossed in a gaol or beaten within an inch of their life. He’d been close a couple times himself, if he was being honest. Of course, there was only so much honesty could get someone in his shoes. Being able to lie well was the first step to making it in this life.

That was why… when he saw another boy around his age stare at the market stall with such… uninhibited and blunt fury in his eyes, his first thought was that he was gonna ruin the operation he’d been maintaining so carefully all this time. That he’d hurt someone so bad they’d be forced to hire on a guard from now on. Luckily, he spotted a path he could take to reach him without alerting any of the vendors. While it wasn’t like him to deal with the unruly sort, he couldn’t risk upsetting the natural balance of things here. So when he was close enough to call out from behind the Raen boy, he did so in a chastising voice—attempting to lure him away. “Hey, idiot! This way!”

When the other child broke out into a full sprint at him, Ietasu was caught completely off guard that he almost took the brunt of his charge. If he hadn’t dipped to the side, he would’ve surely been made into mincemeat by the force of the Raen’s pointed horns and sharp rage. Thinking on his toes whilst still on the ground, he quickly pulled out from his back a slice of bread. “Wait a second! This is what you want, isn’t it?” His stomach would regret it later, but he really was out of options here.

Inelegantly, the dirty child grabbed at the slice and ripped into it. Completely devouring half of it in one fell swoop. “Not even a thanks?” Shrugging it off as the Raen calmed down some, he made to get a better look at the boy. He had a weird blanket wrapped around himself, and wore clothing that was far too big for his small size. If he didn’t have it pinned up, he have thought he was wearing a dress. “What’s that you got on your back?”

“Nn…” The Raen grunted crudely—the bread caught in his throat.

“Next time don’t eat so fast, idiot.”

Looking around at their surroundings, he deemed that they weren’t in eyesight of anyone else. It was probably safe enough here to sit back for a while. “None of your damn business.” He stated boldly once he managed to clear his throat.

“Doesn’t matter. Fact is you nearly did something stupid and ruined our chances of ever eating again. I had to stop you before that happened. I’m not gonna be handing out any more freebies, so you better straighten yourself up and learn how to play nice.” As he made to sit up, he heard something make an odd noise from behind the Raen’s back. “Did you hear that?” Suddenly, Ietasu didn’t matter in this boy’s eyes. It was as if the world vanished into obscurity when that squeak was made. Unstrapping the blanket from his waist, he carefully turned the lump on his back over to his front. It was a baby… “What do you think..”

The first thought to come to his mind when he saw the blue shimmering eyes of that newborn child was that it looked off. That something wasn’t just quiet right with it. That his eyes only appeared bright because of the sun shining down at them from above. He quickly dismissed that assumption the moment the Raen tried to put the other half of the bread into the baby’s mouth. “Come on, eat up… you can do it…”

But the baby’s lips just weren’t moving. “Hey… he’s not going to be able to eat that. He needs milk.” He found himself saying aloud—instantly drawing the Raen’s attention back to him with a fierce glare. “I-I mean… he’s too little to eat like we can.” His intense glare showed no sign of diminishing. “There’s… a lady out there, with a baby around his size. If you’re polite she might help you out, I don’t know.” But his red-hot gaze wavered not one bit. “Seriously! Stop looking at me like that, I already told you what you need to do. So do it, already!” Finally, the boy began to settle down. Taking the baby along with him as he proceeded back out into the stalls. Curious, Ietasu watched as he tried to chat up the lady. Focusing in on their conversation as best as he could.

From what he could make out, she’d be able to give them a spare bottle of milk, but that was all. They’d have to find their own way to refill it once emptied. It was something at least. More than anyone could hope to ask for. Breathing out a sigh of relief, Ietasu figured it was time for him to bail. It wasn’t his job to help them out any more than he already did. As he made to leave, he felt a hand touch his shoulder. This time however, it didn’t scare him. He knew it had to be that Raen boy’s hand. “How do you do this…?”He asked in a frustrated voice, as if he hadn’t any clue how to work a baby bottle.

But just as he was about to retort back that it was none of his business, he had a change of heart. Just an inkling telling him to do them one more favour. “Fine, give him here.”

Sitting himself back down, he gestured for the boy to give him the baby. He was reluctant at first, which was to be expected, but it pissed him off especially after the fact he was just asked to help. “Do you want my help or not?” Once he had the tiny thing in his arms, he propped up his head and went about carefully urging his mouth to suck on the bottle. Holding this mini life close to him like this… and seeing him start to wiggle with what appeared to be joy, he felt something calm inside himself. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

After that, he found himself involuntarily staying with the siblings. Doing things for them he’d never thought he’d do again… merely for the purpose of seeing that baby grow up. He was becoming responsible for him now. And he was willing to do whatever it took to keep him alive.

-          -

Pulling his thin yukata back over his shoulder, the maturing Xaela mulled over how loose it had become. It irritated him when he felt a cold breeze billow over his exposed skin—or when he felt his uncut hair tickle at it. Of course, he was able to contain his expressions well so no one could pick up on his discomfort. Not even Nozaki, his blood-sworn brother, was able to tell.

Seeing Nozaki off when it came time for their shift change, Ietasu made to sit near the back of their narrow hovel. Barely able to stretch his exhausted legs out now that he was getting taller. Nobushige was seated even further back however—his lengthy hair covering most of his face as he propped a book up on his knees. He didn’t even try to get his attention this time. Their lessons could wait for now. He needed to shut his eyes for a bit.

Strangely, when he reopened his eyes, he didn’t feel that uncomfortable air run through his open garb. In fact, his robe felt like it actually had enough support to keep over his shoulder without a constant guide. Nobushige was still in his corner, reading away at the last book Ietasu gave him… but curious, he tugged at his wrap some. As he suspected, it had been sewn up while he was sleeping. Observant kid…

“Nobushige, how many times have you read that book by now?” He asked in an empty tone. Not even looking towards him.

“Twenty five.” The child stated with an equally as dull voice.

“…Here. I brought you another one. It’s not in Doman, but the dialect is similar enough. I’ll teach you how to read it.” The younger Raen had come a long way already in many regards. Save for the fact he wasn’t as emotional as Nozaki was. He was too calm, rather. But it wasn’t that he was severely underdeveloped in that department. No, he was able to conjure up a smile bright enough to pierce your heart when the timing was right. If anything, he’d say that the kid was picking up his bad personality traits. He was simply too good at faking it. Maybe it was time to stop bringing him dictionaries and bring him back something with character. Finding someone willing to provide such novels was another problem entirely.

“Thank you.” Nobushige worded easily—making to sit next to the otherwise unapproachable Xaela. For some reason, the kid never once attempted to call him by his name. After all this time, not once.

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t relieved by that.

-          -

“No, Nozaki. You’re not doing that. We will find someone else.”

“Really? Someone who deserves it more than he does? Admit it, you want to kill him, don’t you?!” Nozaki aggressively slammed his fist into the wall; upset that Ietasu was disagreeing with him on this. “After all he’s done to you, you’re really gonna let him get away with it?!”

For the first time in their relationship, Ietasu showed a trace sign of weakness. Turning his head to the side and letting his shoulders fall. “You’ve never killed before. Why should he be your first?”

“It’s what they want, don’t they? They’re giving us the choice here, and I say we should take it. Every moment that he breathes makes my blood boil with rage.” Gripping firmly to Ietasu’s shoulders, the brutish Raen easily pulled him back to reality. “You know how strong I’ve gotten. I can do this. I know I can. For you, and for him. Let me prove it.”

Watching Nozaki try to convince him to do something to he knew would mark his soul with a heavy burden forever made him want to call him out for being such a dumbass. But he didn’t. “Fine. Do it.”

He waited out back while the Raen charged in recklessly. He told him the layout of the house and where he’d find his uncle’s bedchambers. Closing his eyes, he saw nothing but darkness before him. This wouldn’t change anything. His death wouldn’t bring back his soul. Wouldn’t make those words go away. There was nothing to gain from it. Only lose. He had been watching Nozaki. Knew what a softie he was beyond all that demonic rage of his. Committing murder, regardless of whatever man they had been in life… he knew it’d scar him for the rest of his days. But it was his choice, ultimately. He couldn’t interfere anymore that he already had.

Listening closely, he could hear the sound of a body hitting the ground with a tremendous thud. He’d hear that sound repeatedly. Over and over and over again. Beyond what he thought was reasonable. He was surely dead by now, but that sound just kept continuing without end. Unable to stay behind any longer, Ietasu hurried inside to where the sound was coming from. The sight that awaited him was more grotesque than any sane person could’ve imagined. Mentally calming himself down as to not stir the beast more, Ietasu called out for Nozaki to stop. “That’s enough!”

His uncle’s brain was scattered around the room in messy chunks, and bits of cracked skull were laying on the ground—pieces of which that found a new home in Nozaki’s clenched fists. His brother was covered head to toe in that vile man’s blood, and it was only when he heard Ietasu’s firm shout that he came back to his senses. Not for long however, as when he opened his eyes and saw what he had done, he froze in place. Sitting over his uncle’s corpse with a face that couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “Y-you… didn’t hear what he said about you. I couldn’t…”

Letting out a soft sigh, Ietasu left Nozaki to his mind. It wasn’t on him to repair what he willing broke himself. Instead, he made his way over to the safe he knew his father left behind. If his uncle left any money inside, it’d be wise to take it with them just in case things didn’t go as planned. He had memorized the code all this time in the event he got the chance to claim its riches, but once the door popped open, he realized it was for naught. Not a single coin was left. Just a stack of papers… his father’s will. He doubted it’d have any value to him now, but he stashed it anyways. Eyeing Nozaki one last time before leaving him to clean up his own messes.

-          -

There was one particular article in the will that had been addressed to Ietasu alone. The main estate in Hingashi and all remaining assets once he came of age. In passing, there wasn’t much he could do about it anymore. Even with will in hand, it would take a fortune to secure passage across the ruby sea. Of course, it just might be possible now that they secured a spot for themselves with that family. If they carefully saved their coin and kept their intentions well hidden, perhaps they’d have a real chance. He wasn’t about to get his hopes up however… his heart didn’t even perk in the slightest as he read through the will. All he could realistically aim for was to get that boy out of this land whilst he was still innocent, and of a soul. That was the only goal driving him forward.

[diveronarpg]

In fair Verona, our tale begins with CASSIAN BHATT, who is THIRTY years old. He is often called CASSIUS by the CAPULETS and works as their SOLDIER. He uses HE/HIM pronouns.

He never loved his father, not even as a child. Perhaps it was their differences, a long list he’s kept since the moment he could write. Maybe it was the way Cassian had always detested what other little boys his age lived for—playing catch, riding their bikes, skinning their knees with kids in the neighborhood—and instead found comfort in the logic and reason between book pages far more interesting. One would think an avid reader would have adored a son who took to written word just as he, but the division always came down to one thing. Preference. His was non-fiction. REALITY. Looking to the clouds, Cassian never saw some great, profound potential, nor fluffy animals and fun shapes like other children; what he saw was weather patterns. Mother Nature rearing its ugly head on those too stupid to know they’re hurting her. He saw a world wrought with misconception, filled with beasts and famine. Misrepresentation of the plague an entire people had reaped by being WEAK. He had no time for their dreams, for their wild imaginations, or their incessant need to color outside the lines—just like his father. A renowned professor who always asked the two simple questions, what if? and why? He sought out the answers of the universe, pondered the wonders of man’s most celebrated philosophers as he spoke at colleges and universities throughout Cassian’s youth. And while his father loved language, too, written word to eat up with his hands like a barbarian, he also favored the unthinkable: man is good, man is worthy, man is trying. His son knew better. And he preferred a fork and knife when he consumed his DOCTRINES.

It was only fitting his mother was a POLITICIAN, another lover of words, but spoken to the masses with the conviction only a snake could possess, spinning lies into truths with such flawless execution. Part of him was proud, as he aged and watched her take over the whole city, secretly wanting to do exactly the same thing. Afforded the best possible education, Cassian spent his teenage years not with his nose exactly in a book, but at dinner parties where the guests were the best names in Science. The most progressive thinkers on cancer research were regulars of his parent’s Saturday night euchre party and the highest ranking government officials spent two weeks in the summer at their villa in Naples. And that’s not to say he spent these nights hidden in a corner, keeping to himself so as to not disturb theSHARPEST minds in the world—no. Cassian offered the quickest of wit, the most illustrious of answers to their questions, a rigorous debate over gender politics once ensuing one Sunday during brunch. He’d said something scandalous like society is the only reason we conform so strictly to such labels, nearly causing the bulging blood vessel in the poor, old cazzo’s forehead pop. He met the man with bared teeth, smug grin plastered along his reckless features. Without abandon, that’s how he always spoke, but only when it counted. Only when he knew his breath wasn’t going to be WASTED.

He dealt in cruelty the more he aged, grinding it out of the bones he deemed less than, those not worthy of his time then suffering the worst FATE of all: his attention. It was rare that one could easily draw his gaze; Cassian is not readily amused, if ever. He deals in facts, in history and how it so clearly repeats, saving little time and even less energy for brevity, for romance or comedy. But when you dare to look a monster in the eye, when you issue that kind of challenge, when you provoke a man who takes pride in evisceration, one gets exactly what they bargain for: DESTRUCTION. He harnessed this power by way of making the rules bend to his will, not a creator of such a power, but someone strong enough to wield—to tame such a brutal thing. Law school was met with eager ears and a hollow hunger in his chest, a craving for knowledge making a home in his throat, never to leave again. But he put it to use when he ran his mother’s second campaign and managed a full schedule with the ease and grace only a man meant to rule the world could possibly possess. And it was a dangerous thing at that, the poise with which Cassian carried himself, with such avarice for not money butINTELLIGENCE. The smartest man in the room, that was what he truly wished to be, and it wasn’t too hard assert such dominance with the title of dottore of the Law now fashioned securely on his shelf.

It didn’t take long for him to have to put his newfound degree to the test, in fact it came the moment his mother’s name was SLANDERED in the press. Dragged through the mud so clearly by the opposition that he couldn’t not defend her, if for no other reason than not a soul speaks ill of the Bhatt name whilst he still has air in his lungs. His father may have soiled it with his prophesying and idealizing, but Cassian and his mother—though she loved the man for some reason; he can’t imagine why—still had something left of their lives to need Bhatt free and clear of any skeletons in its closet. Suing for libel, he won the case in record time, his words more convincing than that of the piss poor District Attorney who dared to try and poke holes in the confidence of a man with EVERYTHING to lose. So he took the sad sack’s job instead, convincing his boss to offer it up in under ten minutes flat. I just beat him, he’d said with a smug smile. And? he’d asked, brows raised at the sheer audacity of this sore winner. I can do the same for you. And with that, he had him. The position was his and he’d stood in the hallway of the courthouse, arms crossed as he leaned against the wall, watching as the fool lost everything. True power doesn’t come from giving orders, nor does it come from brandishing fine weapons or throwing mean fists; it comes from being the best, and Cassian Bhatt is just that. PERFECT in every way imaginable. Just ask him yourself.

LILLIAN WEN: Fiancée. A trophy, something to show off, to place upon his mantle with pride and evidence of his of true ambition. She is that and not much more, but what a pretty face indeed. Glistening like a diamond, he’ll wear her around town if for no other reason than how good she looks with his Versace loafers. Lillian is a prize he thinks he’s won, but he’s yet to cross the finish line. Don’t bite the hand that feeds, and silly boy, does she ever feed yours. Gloat all he wants, parade her around like a doll and forget all she’s giving him, but if Cassian isn’t careful his intricate little plan will foil right before his eyes as she walks out the door. There’s only so far to push someone standing on the edge of integrity. Best he start appreciating the good deed that’s come his way before it blows up in his lap. He can’t survive another tarnish on his good name, not after how hard he’s worked to clear it. Cherish her, Mr. Bhatt, lest you lose the one thing to make you look halfway decent: a good woman to love you.

MONA CHEN & TIBERIUS CAPULET: Extortionist & Captain. She has pictures, hundreds of them, and despite his best efforts to seize them time and time again—even going so far as to hire the best thief money can possibly buy—they remain in her possession. Kept taught between her palms, held tightly against her chest, used to pull the strings of a man not used to answering to God or anyone, let alone a Madame. But she’s smart, he’ll give Mona that, always protecting her Sparrows first even if it means ruining a good man’s reputation in the process. He has no other choice than to obey, no other option than to come to heel and kneel before her and her boss. Though it’s his captain he’s more worried about. Cosimo’s nephew isn’t a man he wants to find the bad side of, but he’s well on his way if he doesn’t do his part. If he doesn’t do exactly as she says, execute every single order perfectly, it’ll be his ass that’ll need saving. Not hers from whatever sort of wrath he thinks he can come up with to outsmart the most clever woman in Verona. Nor Tiberius’ from whatever power play the lawyer thinks the heir won’t see coming. Checkmate, Cassian.

CRISTIAN DE LUCA: Interest. He’s never been one to lust after kingdoms, preferring to stick to the shadows as a powerful entity of demise with the flick of his wrist not a booming voice. Cassian wishes to be flocked to, praised for his deeds not his ability to bring people to their needs but his knack for dissecting the brain, its desires and every machination. He sees something quite similar in Cristian, and it’s so very enticing, so exhilarating to spot a creature just like himself out here in the wild. He wants to know more, see more, hear more from the man who has done nothing but kick up dust in the subtlest of ways since his feet landed on Italian soil. Pulling at the strings of chaos is his specialty, but to watch a man so apt at his favorite wicked game is exciting to say the least. He knows the man’s allegiance, on which side of the bridge his loyalties lie, but when have rules ever stopped Cassian from getting what he wants? And what he wants is a look inside that beautiful Montague mind.

TAMURA CHIKO: War dog. Be careful with that one, they bite. Of this Cassian is positive, what with how many times he’s been on the receiving end of such sharp teeth. But there’s something lurking behind those eyes, he’s sure of it, if only he could just—no. They don’t let him. With an arm outstretched, Chiko keeps him at a distance, and with good reason. He’s every bit as dangerous as he looks, a serpent slithering beneath the shade of the brush, waiting for the perfect moment to pounce; and sink his fangs into their neck he will. Dio does he want to, oh, so very much. There’s something so fascinating about their restraint, their constant will to never break composure. They are a puzzle Cassian is desperate to find all the pieces to, if only to marvel at his handiwork for having put it together. Paying no mind to the wreckage looking at such a visceral image could cause. They are everything his opposite, all violent combat and trigger fingers. He wonders what it would be like to hunt a creature like that. Satisfying, he muses.

Cassian is portrayed by RANVEER SINGH and was written by SIDNEY. He is DECEASED.

[peter-parker-disaster-bi-blog]

The intern and the first prodigy

Characters: Peter Parker, Harley keener, Tony Stark, Ned, Mj,

Ship: spiderlad/kennker/parley/peterharley

Word count:1298

Chapter 2:

"Are you gonna go back?" Ned asked as him and peter were walking down the hall to the lunch room.

"I have to. Tony's my one way ticket into MIT. Sure I have my second job but I wanna get a degree you know." He says and rubbed his forehead grabbing a tray as they got in line.

"Well I mean yes but it is really worth going through this?"

"What are we talking about today nerds?" Mj asked as she came up behind them. Peter sighed and explained what happened. "Damn, Peter 2.0?"

"Yeah basically."

"No we are not calling Harley, peter 2.0." Peter says as he grabbed a few things he deemed suitable for lunch. Michelle watched and sighed putting extra things on her tray. Knowing he was gonna complain about being more hungry after he finished his food.

“Whatever you say the original.” She teased. They paid for their food and went to their table. As they sat mostly discussing study materials for an upcoming tests. They decided to go to peters after school to study. Although they all know study will turn into them on their respective laptops playing online uno.

As the bell ran they got up. Peter having eaten everything plus the stuff Michelle got for him. “See you guys later.” Ned waved going to math class.

Peter and mj went to English. Sitting next to each other and mocking Macbeth as they were doing assignments on it. Peter couldn’t lie when it came to how he felt about mj. He still loved her, that’s why he opened up about his sexuality and being scared. He was blessed that she understood and still wanted to have him in her life. No matter how much of a hero he was he didn’t deserve mj’s kindness. He made sure to let her know what she was having bad days or mood drops. He always made sure she knew how highly he thinks of her.

~

Peter was laying on the couch with his head on mjs lap while she played with his hair. It was late. They gave up studying a long time ago and ended up watching a movie instead. Ned was on the floor sitting in-front of peter in arms reach so he could show him memes and other things he found on his phone. The three were taken out of their peaceful trance when peters phone started ringing. He sat up to answer it. The other two looking at him.

“Hey kid, it’s tony.”

“Oh hey mr.stark did you need something?” Peter asked as he looked down. He hasn’t called him since he met Harley. Nearly 6 days ago at this point.

“Yeah, me and Harley wanna get a second opinion on some things to do with his suit. Could you come in tomorrow?”

“I have school.” Peter responded quickly. Lying it was a day off. Teacher work shops.

“No you don’t, come in around 10 you can bring along your friends if you really want.” He says and hung up. Peter sighed and rubbed his face.

“What?” Michelle asked going to rubbing his upper back. The way she did when he had panic attacks around her.

“Do you guys wanna go to the stark tower tomorrow ?”

~

The three were standing in the elevator. The only friends who knew about him being Spider-Man. Mj and Ned chatted. No doubt tony would give them stuff to be entertained last time pepper just taught them how to make cupcakes. They were excited to hang out with iron mans wife also the richest woman in the USA.

“Hello peter, Michelle and Ned. Peter shall I inform Mr. stark you’ve arrived.”

“Yes please Friday.” He answered back. And stepped out of the elevator.

“That’s so cool.” Ned says and looked around as if this is his first time in the stark tower.

“You can talk to Friday.” Peter tells them. “She’s like Siri but more sarcastic.” He smiled as Ned started asked Friday questions. He went off to the lab while the other two were off to the kitchen where pepper was gonna teach them how to make pizza.

“Oh perfect right on time.” Tony says as he was wearing a dark t shirt and jeans but he had oil and grease stains all over him. Peter couldn’t see Harley and he felt kinda bad for being happy about it.

Peter went over to tony. “What did you need my opinion on?”

“Right here, we were playing around with new energy sources and as much Harley thinks my nano tech is cool, he seems to think that it’s taking up too much the power source. Which can only be recharged so many time before we have to discard it and get new ones.” He went more in-depth in explaining. Telling him about all the tests they’ve run. When he got to the end he finished up with just. “And his left booster in his foot will only stay powered up for so long.” He took a breath and peter stared at the suit and also looking at the blue prints tapping his chin as he went to get a sheet of paper and started working.

Tony let him work in peace knowing what peter got into this trance it was better to leave him to it that interrupt. Over an hour passed before peter spoke up.

“Reroute 40% of the power-“ he started and went over to the suit and just started doing that he was talking about rather then keep explaining. Tony watched peter and handed him tools every now and hen when he asked for it. Peter was just wearing jeans and a t shirt not wearing anything nice. Knowing it would get ruined. “There.” Peter says stepping back. “Just some design flaws. As much as Harley wanted it to looks cool it was getting in the way of some critical wiring and needs.”

Tony ruffled peters hair. “That’s my boy.” He says smiling at the youngling. “Sometimes i forget how smart you are kid.” He says.

“If I didn’t know better i would think you were bashing my design.” Harley says as he stepped into the lab. Changed and showered looking rested. Clearly having worked for hours straight.

Peter shrugged a bit smugly. “Too bulky. If you wanted to use less power you’d keep it as sleek as possible to avoid over heating.”

“Yeah yeah, pretty boy I can see why tony made you his intern now.” Harley crosses his arm as he looked at the suit more closely. Peter blushed bright red at the nickname. “Oh what’s wrong? Not used to be complimented?”

“What no no.” Peter says shaking his head. “Mj calls me pretty all the time.” He says.

“Girlfriend?”

“Ex.” Peter responded. “Kinda. It’s complicated.” He crossed his arms turning back into the shy and nervous boy.

“Funny wouldn’t have pegged you for a “it’s complicated.” Looking like you do, I figured people would be scooping you up left and right.”

“I uh um.” Peter looking down stumbling over his words.

“I guess I must be wrong.” He says “but a darling boy like you might just be oblivious to people around him unless they make them self known.”

“Well I dunno. I mean-.”

“Did she ask you out or did you ask her out?”

“It was mutual.”

“Ah so She asked you?” Harley smirked. “Shy scared and probably a bottom.”

Peter was bright red and turned his back to Harley. “I’m gonna go check on Ned and Mj.” He announced and left the lab quickly.

“You had to go right to call him a bottom really?” Tony asked and slapped Harley upside the head not hard. Just enough to get across how stupid Harley was being

[almasidaliano]

Plot Twist: IT IS A RACE THING

let's rip the bandaid off. it's a race thing. "oh no racism isn't an issue" shut the fuck up. seriously, im disappointed in my people so i'm going to address yall first. my melanated Kings and Queens; darlings what are yall doing? Why are we still taking this? Why are we subjecting ourselves to this kind of disrespect?

are we really just going to sit here and let history repeat itself? going to watch them shackle and kill us all again? what are you afraid of? our ancestors were scared. they were strong in their own way, we are stronger. they kept our culture alive, our roots. they sacrifice their freedom for ours, and look at this. look at us. playing into their game, letting them run the show. have we forgotten about the 1960s? when the civil rights movements picked up? yall forget Martin, Malcolm, Rosa?

if you are African American, meaning black (yes you mixed mfs are black, you can try to tread on the fence but im sorry to tell you, the day will come when you have to pick a side and what's worse is no matter what you pick the world already decided for you.) and born in america; your ancestors are slaves. you can't tell me, your blood, your heritage, your lineage doesn't deserve defending, protection.

we have a constitution. this doctrine is the "LAW OF THE LAND" (still we have individual state laws, hmm). in this document, the rights of people of color, and women were added into the admendments. people of color had to take citizenship tests, though they were never taught to read, and english wasn't even their first language. then there was the segregation. if you skin is pigmented, you are treated differently.

low income areas, "ghettos/hood" areas were designed for the communities to run like crabs in a bucket. they require dependency or rebellion. they isolated and rationed resources, discriminated and interfered with job security, then blamed the citizens of the community for their failures. provided the bare minimum (a bar they set) and do you know why the hate continued? because still we rose.

understand this : WE; ALL PEOPLE, ALL HUMAN BEINGS ARE EQUAL, HOWEVER WE ARE NOT THE SAME.

this is why the problem started. human were created in "Gods image" (any god you believe in we will indulge the religious conversation later.) layman's terms? we are all gods.

we are not the same kind of gods though. like ying and yang right? so there is light and dark. society told us we should be afraid of the dark, that bad things happen in the dark, that monsters hide there. what's funny is that life teaches us the opposite; teaches us that monsters can dress nice and wear smiles too. there's the story of Lucifer right? Lucifer is not the Devil. the Devil in my opinion is the "God" of evil. like there is good energy and there is bad energy. the universe is made up of both. so boom right? Lucifer was right hand to God and got big headed wanted to be him couldn't boom gets casted out takes a third of angels and boom hell and allat right? so let's just break it down for a second.

alright so first, B I B L E: basic instructions before leaving earth. the Bible is written in code, one, and two it is allegorical. (all melanated people truly do need to crack open a book and get to reading.) Jesus (Yahshua) is melanated, wooly hair bronze skin? come on now. so the idea they are selling is this all power white man is saving us all. truthfully, who cares what he look like if he's here to save our souls? you would think that would be the thought process, however; for some people the truth does not get them what they want so they opt against it. Good and light became associated with white. "wear all white when you feeling godly" its supposed to holy and clean right? pale faces became the face of faith. hasn't anyone realized how blinding light is? the closer you look the less you see. they guide your focus. the stars light the night sky yet we have all of this light pollution, it is simply a means of distraction. the wind talks, did you know that? the trees whisper. nature is beautiful and most of the world will never know.

they divided us by color. our skin isn't even black, however because they are pale, pasty, white; they made us their opposite. even in their classification of us they revealed the truth. you see, white is the absence of all color. it is empty. whereas, black is compromised of every color.

did you know there are two types of humans? yes seriously. homo sapiens and neanderthals. fun fact: neanderthals are structured more chimp like. homo sapiens were living in Africa albinism was prominent so there were a lot of melanated people without melanin, getting skin cancer and dying. neanderthals came about when homo sapiens migrated to Europe and Eurasia. they mated and began creating all the many races and ethnicities we have today.

melanated people are built structurally different than white people. we are naturally stronger, faster, thicker, humane, etc than they are. this is where the hate comes from.

"jealousy is just love and hate at the same time. - aubrey" pride and envy are dangerous things. when trying to compete, they were met with failure and it manifested hate instead of motivation. look at america. it is built entirely on the ideas of others, the hardwork and manual labor of others. those leading our country have done nothing for us. they simply continue taking all the credit.

white people left Britain, and called it "fleeing from religious persecution". the truth is they were fleeing from classism. they were in their element and they were minnows and not sharks. they decided to find a new pond to swim in. they did just that. the Natives were abused, and disregarded. they pretended to be civil and took damn near everything from them, all of their legacies and memories, their safety.

white people are lazy and greedy. this is why there are so many dividing markers in our life, labels, roles. there is a grave lack of family values for them. there is this morphed idea that the world is here for them, like we are all here to aid them. they reek of entitlement. like success, joy, love and prosperity are guaranteed to them just because. it is not on them all. just like melanated people can't help their environment, neither can they. the rude awakening always comes once you become unsheltered from actuality.

the cards are stacked against us from the jump. due to our enivornments, children grow up in broken homes, homeless, or jumping from home to home. single parents run themselves ragged, over stressed. children end up in the streets trying to take some of the weight off of their parents. the world just see thugs and gangsters though. menaces to society. when the real menace is society.

still we rise. still we smile. still we laugh and we love. and its so disheartening, that those are the things festering their hatred for us. no one is perfect. no one is the worst thing they have ever done either. growth is constant.

all we have to do is decide to be ourselves. decide to impact the world the best way YOU know how. white people have talents, a multitude of gifts. instead of trying to get rid of everyone else's imagination, what about losing the fear and choosing to dream yourself? and maybe asking for help, should you need it.

who you are, is who you've always been. i mean, the you, you were before the world told you who you had to be. who you are, has and will never be dependent on anything out of your control. people use the wrong things to assess the quality of a person. things like religious views, political views, music preference, sexuality. things that do not have shit to do with you. its all more division markers.

trust yourself. fuck what society says. what does society actually know? only what they are told. think about this: pyschological control is basically brainwashing. so boom. then you got your mind, your heart and your gut. that would be logic, emotion, and intuition. your emotion and your intuition are in the same section of your body. your brain however, is all isolated while being the storage container for everything you see experience etc in life. your brain is what gets conditioned. all the preconceived notions you have about things came from somewhere. where? we know what we know because they told us. how do we know its true? the thing about logic is, it makes sense. so when your mind isn't making sense yet your heart and gut in agreement, listen to yourself. they tell you think before you speak because their conditioned processor is in your head. always follow your heart.

people on both sides still to this day suggest segregation. like folks really do not believe we can cohabitate in a productive civil mutually benefical and prosperous way and that without segregation, civil war and/or genocide is in the future. here's the thing.  they had every opportunity, to ship folks back, or even kick us out. now folks could just start up and leaving, yet we don't. we tuck our tails and put up with it. why? i think its due to fear of being a foreigner in your true motherland. fear of not being accepted there either. i also think it's due to the way our ancestors were treated; how they allowed themselves to be treated.

so look: i'm a mutt. both sides of the feud, so i can formulate a well rounded argument; however i am black. when the world sees me and when i see me too. i am black and proud, in a world hell bent on making me believe my genes deem me inferior or unworthy to anyone. i say that to say, nothing will change until we stop fighting each other and start fighting for one another. they misused and abused us. chained and locked us away like animals. beat us like animals. and before they started more actively and carelessly attacking us out loud again, they got smart. gave us rights, gave us "homes" "communities" we were grateful. for this illusion of freedom. we must get uncomfortable with this false freedom. they treated us like animals, then tried to make us the villians, fearful we would retaliate, when all we ever wanted to do was live, joyously in harmony.

they cannot stop hating us, because we will never hate them. its a losing battle for them. still, if we don't stand up and fight we will lose in the end. fear and trauma also sparks compliance in them. bears are not violent creatures. but you don't poke a bear you know? melanated people are bears. currently acting like bears at the zoo. how long are we going to let them poke the bear?

melanated people need to unite. Dr. King tried peace and it worked for a little bit. it was a bandaid fix. now it's time to try Malcolm's approach.

Thanks for listening. -Almasi.

[thecrapshoot]

THE GLASS FLOWERS AT HARVARD

So, there I was in Boston again this past February.  I was there just for a night in order to catch my flight to Madrid the following day. The first time I was ever in Boston was to watch a Harvard versus Boston College hockey game and to look at the campus.  I was only 12 or 13 at the time.  I remember sitting in an arena and taking in a hockey game.  I was in the Big Sibling program in my hometown and my “Big Brother” invited me to his hometown in Connecticut and we did a number of things during that visit.  This hockey game was one of them.  His big brother was a graduate student at Harvard then, so I also got a chance to look around the Harvard campus just to see what it was like there.  Part of my childhood was spent secretly emulating what Harvard was and had to offer.

When I was growing up, there was always that elite Harvard that I knew and heard about.  Harvard had the greatest of all the intellectual reputations associated with college life that I had known.  I was a couple of years from high school then and my childhood was what it was, in turn making me what I was then.  I didn’t grow up in my dad’s household so I was always looking for ways to find my security in things I was good at, and this trip was full of firsts for me.  It involved my first trip in an airplane and the first time I was away from my mother for more than a week without it being with my father at his house. This was Harvard so I quickly latched on to the idea that I maybe would be attending college there one day in the future, when the time was right.

The only people who got into Harvard were kids with straight A’s or who scored more than 1500 on the SAT. I knew Harvard was in Boston, but I rarely thought about the word or state of Massachusetts when I thought about Harvard.  I only thought Boston or Harvard.  I also reckoned that Cambridge had something to do with Harvard, as well, but I never could have articulated it then, and I never thought of the two as contemporaries in any sense.  People in my family rarely went to college.  My father never went to college, nor did his father ever go.  I knew that there was an aura of intellectual prestige, to which I more than likely would not be invited, associated with both Harvard and Cambridge and I sensed a division between them.  I had heard, too, that Ivy League schools were legacy schools, meaning that it was a plus if your father, mother, or your grandfather or uncle went to an Ivy League school.  Because they went, the chances were greater that you would be accepted, as opposed to applicants who had no legacy there.

I suppose another division was the fact that Cambridge was named for the University of Cambridge in England and C.S. Lewis taught at the University of Cambridge in England.  I was a fan of The Chronicles of Narnia by C.S. Lewis when I was growing up and C.S.  Lewis is also a noted theologian and Christian apologist with a number of books written for adults.  I am a Christian and it is very rare these days to find universities that openly and assertively identify with being Christian for fear they will offend Muslims or some other group. 

The minds that attended Harvard were the gears inside multi-million dollar companies and bestsellers.  I was pretty clever for my age, but despite my being there that one time so long ago, I never really felt anyone in the admissions office would ever trust me enough to invite me.  I was no valedictorian but I was learning where I came from had a lot to do with where I would supposedly, as in statistically, end up in terms of my adult life.  Everything told me that the odds were stacked against me, but the steps that I taken in and outside of school up until then were significantly increasing my chances of achieving that role of being a productive member in society.   Boston represents a critical religious versus civic divide for me and visiting it again, even for just a day, was something that brought back some critical memories. My faith has been tested in so many different ways and it has taken some time to realize that people have different gifts for different things in life.  What you want is not always what you get because the world is so diverse, but there are more than enough ways to use the talents you have.

I had some sense of Harvard’s magnitude in the global world then, but there was always a faint sense of discouragement that my brain ultimately deemed insurmountable, and I always just accepted that I was pretty smart, but not that smart, if you know what I mean.  I admired it from afar.  The world seemed so satisfactory to me then, and the same world seemed satisfied with letting me bask in higher education being the challenge of achievement. So much time was spent on emphasizing that education was the way to avoid the excessive demands of hard, physical labor reserved for those in society who were not “gifted” or who showed more of an aptitude for, or taking to, the vocational side of life.  The classes I took in school were preparing me for some door to written scholarship and not the vocational side of life that included factory work, cafeteria work, or labor with other agricultural or textile machinery.  

That was a big trip for me then, and being around that history of intellectual achievement and, just as valuable, intellectual curiosity was something that I could actually see and hear somewhere else other than my hometown and what I knew as normal or standard.  It still was a pretty profound trip for someone like me at that time in my life and I won’t ever forget it.  At around 12 or 13 years old, after my visit there, Harvard took a backseat in my psyche, it hopped into my head and has been riding around ever since.  It is twice symbolic to me about being exceptional as a student, and being lucky enough to warrant consideration and/or entrance, from a human perspective.

I wanted more to do with Harvard than what actually ever materialized between us.  Years after that first trip, I read one of Henry Louis Gates’ admission essays to Harvard where he basically called out “whitey”.  I laughed at how he bold he was, and that odds were that there would never be anything so pleasantly cynical ever written like it again.  He actually got into Harvard by calling out “whitey”.  It was somewhat of a remote possibility for me to get accepted, but I figured it would never happen.  But, this was before I was ever mature enough to actively engineer the “happening”.  My elementary critical thinking skills were so black and boring then, and I really saw nothing upwardly mobile about my perspective or experience in life.  Back then, my anointing was not to call out “whitey”.  I had plenty of white friends and as far as I was concerned, I was as smart as them, if not smarter.  I did not grow up during the Civil Rights Movement so there was no writing on the wall for me, nothing kept telling me that I was not worthy or deserving.  

I did not grow up with my dad, so my sense of pride in myself was rather warped, but not completely irreparable.  I was just along for society’s ride and I was in some advanced classes and noteworthy extracurricular activities back then, but not enough.  I did, however, often wonder about what it was that kept me from being in all the advanced classes and even more extracurricular activities. I was a “good boy” in school but I neither really figured myself out in time nor figured myself distinguished enough to ever be accepted.  I was a withdrawn student from a pretty meager socioeconomic situation, but I did identify with that “one-in-a-million” or “once-in-a-blue-moon” success story that I always heard could happen if I worked hard enough.  I had already learned that I was actually part of a dying breed just for being a little clever and from a one-parent household.  Visiting Harvard and Boston again brought back the old Field of Dreams motif and Archie “Moonlight” Graham getting his chance to play in a real baseball game with all of the brash, savvy professionals.

Harvard was the best school in the country and everyone knew that.  When a person got into Harvard, it was a special thing that would have a profoundly positive impact on the rest of that person’s life.  If you didn’t get into Harvard, don’t worry because it was Harvard and not everyone got in.  About as quietly and delicately as those replicas in the Glass Museum, I never applied to Harvard because I didn’t think my grades were good enough and I did not understand then that I might have just been worth it.  Nothing ventured, nothing gained.    

One of the dudes at the desk recommended that I check out a rack filled with published info about what there was to do in Boston that was along the wall of the hostel that I stayed at for the night.  I was looking for things to do for the evening like find a bar or a club to go to. I immediately saw a section about Harvard and I got all extra nostalgic and decided to ditch the bar/club plan and to go and walk around the campus again for old time’s sake.  It had been about 25 years since I last strolled around the place.  25 years of achievements and disappointments, 25 years filled with so many ups and downs.

Even though it was a cold and slushy day in Boston, I figured I could still make a decent afternoon out of things now that I was settled in at the hostel.  My bus had arrived there that morning so it did not make sense to sleep very long, so I just went upstairs after check-in, dropped my things off and sat for a minute to get my head together, and I headed out.  I can’t ever really sleep on buses, but I knew I would be able to get a good night’s sleep later on.  If you can, always get a good night’s sleep before a long flight. It sucks when you don’t or can’t.

I walked in and felt right at home in the delicateness and the detail of all the glass flowers. Everything was so very dainty and precise.  All of the collection took about fifty years to complete.  It was done by a father and son from Dresden, Germany.  The room was very quiet and dim as I made my entrance into the collection and I was amazed by how precise and exact all of the anatomy was on each and every plant species that was represented.  Looking closely at all of the detail, there were corresponding captions on each piece of the exhibit.  Meanwhile outside in the city, the New England Patriots were celebrating their dramatic comeback victory in the Superbowl with a loud and huge parade processional that contrasted the quiet solace of the exhibit in the Peabody Museum.  

I remember my first visit to Boston and Harvard having a “stone that the builder refused” theme as I was a young person and historic inequalities and racial division synonymous with the South did not seem to follow me north.  That week I felt free from the burden.  This exhibit in the Peabody Museum demands a special sort of reverence when perusing its contents.  I kept quiet the whole time and struck up no conversation with anyone, nor did anyone attempt any communication with me while I was there.

It was nice to be there with my memories of Boston and my previous visit to Harvard so long ago under such different circumstances.  It makes me feel like I have survived since then.  I am certainly not perfect but I am certainly not delicate either.  I am not as outwardly sensitive as I once was, but I am happy with what I notice about the world and about how I was raised having prepared me for it.  People and places take time to mature and refine.   I feel like I have a relevant and developing perspective that is maturing with age and time. This is exhibit was here during my first visit to Boston and who knows how long it would have taken for me to learn about it and find it had I not started traveling back and forth to Europe?  In life, always remember to always stop and smell the flowers. This exhibit is pretty amazing, and when I factor in the heat involved with blowing glass, it must have been a pretty tedious undertaking.  Go and visit it if you are ever in Boston.