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echoalyssa · 3 years

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Phantom | Dick Grayson

Authors Note: There’s some light language in this, but thats about all!

“Phantom to Nightwing, entering dead zone now. Start the clock and come in if I’m late. I love you.”

You now had an hour inside the base, unable to contact anyone. You were collecting intel and because you were the stealthiest and smallest, (Damian was too young for this particular mission) Bruce had sent you in.

Your boyfriend, Dick Grayson had wanted to come with you but Bruce had rejected the idea because two people was more risky than one.

Dick had been livid, it was more risky for your life for you to go alone. He was your partner even though you were all a team. Ever since childhood, the two of you fought together and somewhat seemed to share the same mind.

You push a vine our of your dace. Your black masks shows the digital map of the quietest places to step. Your hood is pulled up to disguise your features and skin tone that obviously didn't fit in with the darkness of the air around you.

You had left your mottled cloak behind, opting to only have to worry about your body and where you place it.

Joker was extremely active underground lately, he’d evolved and Bruce had only your mission as a lead.

Your mask displays your one hour timer on the left hand side of your vision. Fifty minutes to get into the compound and back to safety.

The compound comes into view, a flat stone building that just didn’t fit in with the forest that surrounded it. You creep forward, staying in the shadows and hugging the walls of the building until you reach the only vent.

The stone was practically flat but years of training allowed you to look your gloved fingers into a crevice and wedge a booted foot into the building.

You begin climbing, scaling upwards twenty feet. The screws of the vent are all different and you have to pull away from the wall, your body straining so you can unscrew the bottom two.

You’re small enough that you can pry the vent open enough that you can squeeze yourself in. Forty minutes your clock reads. You were going too slow. You crawl forward on your elbows, you trek forward, you should have asked for two hours. Shit.

You hit the record button on your wrist panel and pull the microphone out.

It’s a tiny one but the quality is amazing. You’re peering through a small vent above a research lab now and you thread the microphone and it’s wire through the vent. The audio feeds into your ear piece and also saves to the hard drive in your panel.

You’re holding your breath, only breathing when you have to to minimize any chance of getting caught.

“We need to move in now! He’s only getting more recruits and it’s only a matter of time before they find us again.” Says a voice.

“If they haven’t already! I say we try the new weapon on some unsuspecting crowd of bystanders now. Then they’ll be too busy trying to save those silly citizens to deal with us.”

“Yes but is it ready..?”

“It needs to be tested again and we need to find a more powerful energy source eventually.”

And then the joker walks into view of the vent. He’s holding a blueprint and he spreads it on one of the tables. It’s the paint schematic for the weapon because of course, the joker being the joker meant that everything needed to be green, purple, and white.

You raise a hand to your mask and tap twice. It takes a screenshot of your view of the blueprint and sends it to the bat hard drive.

“Did you have any luck with batons inner circle? Would anyone snitch?”

“A couple...” the speaker listens. It’s valuable intel and now Bruce would be able to feed false information to the rats.

You begin to tap their names away into the panel and then attempt to wirelessly hack into the mainframes. The firewall were strong and plentiful but eventually they all fall victim to you. Sixteen minutes your timer reads. Shit. The data downloading from their computers and into your drive is only halfway done.

It won’t be very detailed. Just minuscule bits of information because you couldn't connect physically to the computers. It’s a line of script here and there that didn't make much sense to you because you weren't super tech-y. Though every line counted and that you knew. Several addresses also pop up.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, your panel signals that the download is complete. Seven minutes reads the timer. Double shit.

You scramble backwards knowing that you’ve done all that you can. Somehow managing to turn yourself around in the small space. You’re almost at the vent when you foot clangs against the side of the vent.

You freeze, no alarms go off, but then again why would they? The timer is still ticking and you continue on, sliding out of the vent. You fumble with the screws, attempting to get them back in in case your cover hadn't already been blown. You then plant your feet, push off and flip down to the ground. You land nimbly in a rolling crouch and then pop to your feet and take off, sprinting for the tree line.

They come from the shadows. Dozens of them. All focused in on you.

You suck in a breath and draw your longswords.

“Bring it on Goonies!” You call and they surge forward all at once. Some with guns, electric batons, and swords.

You stalk forward, meeting them in the middle. You begin slashing immediately at arms, legs, torsos, anywhere that wasn’t too lethal. You weren't a killer.

Except there were just so many, the sword in your left hand falls from your grip and you pull out a disc, throwing it into the incomers. It explodes, blinding some and wounding others.

You yank s taser out from your belt and stab it into an attackers neck while blocking an attack with your sword. And then it happens. A baton smacks into the back of your head and you stumble forward, dizzy. A blade slashes your thigh, splitting skin and muscle. A cry comes fro, your lips and you lash out desperately with your one remaining longsword. You're able to down the foe who had slashed you.

Two more take his place and then a dagger rips through your abdomen from behind. You scream, falling to your knees. Just as it gets put through your thigh, followed by your shoulder. You land in the grass face first and the world goes dark, sound fading out.

‘Dick.’ Is your last thought.

~~~

Dick is staring at the timer that is displayed by his make. 00:00:05. 00:00:04. 00:00:03. 00:00:02. 00:00:01. And the dreaded number... 00:00:00. It blares red and he stares at the forest, fists clenched. Where was she?

Tim steps forward and places a hand on his shoulder. “Give her five minutes okay? She’s smart. You know how these missions sometimes go overtime. She’s got this.”

“We never should have sent her in alone. It was too risky. Damn it!”

His fist rockets into a tree. He considers going after Bruce, giving him a piece of his mind. Then decides that it isn’t worth it and begins to prepare to go in after his love.

He makes sure to grab the miniature cauterizer and some other emergency medical supplies, stuffing them into the pouches on his belt.

“Wait, Nightwing, we’ll go together. We need a plan!” Damian calls.

His heart is pounding out of his chest and he can’t breathe. ‘What if he was too late? What if she was already gone?’

He doesn’t want to wait for a plan, time was ticking. He pushes past his adoptive brother.

“Dick wait!” Jason calls trying to grab his arm. But he keeps going, breaking for the trees to find her.

Jason and Tim look at each other, then they both look at Damian. “Stay here.” They say simultaneously/

“No way!” He yells back at his brothers.

The three of them take them off after Nightwing. And Bruce, having watched all his children run into danger, follows them in.

Nightwing is pushing through vines and branches, not caring if he makes noise or not. He knows the rest of his family will follow him, but quietly.

His mail enhances his vision in the darkness. He draws a thumb over his own panel and it activates the heat censor on his mask. Dick Grayson pushes forward quickly, scanning frantically for her heat signature.

And then he sees it. She’s always run cold. Her fingers and limbs always frozen. A small prone figure, running colder than the other surrounding bodies. He kicks up his pace, heading for her because he just knows.

“Phantom!” he yells, followed by, “Robin! I think I found her!”

He skids to a halt and falls to his knees, he can see the stab wounds. The way her blood has soared into the ground beneath her.

Nightwing rolls her over, jamming his fingers under her neck to find a pulse. It’s there. But weak.

He rips the cauterizer out of his belt and drapes her body over him just as Jason appears.

“Is she..?”

“Alive.” He grunts, “Not for much longer I need to..”

Jason helps him rip the uniform away enough so Dick has enough room to maneuver.

“Hold her down!”

Jason does as he’s told and Dick places the cauterizer to her skin.

“Only do what you have to, we need to get out of here. And soon.”

He pushes the two flaps of skin together and places the sparking tool to it. The heat melds the skin together. She’d need to be pumped full of antibiotics in case any of the blades were dirty and risked infection.

She only stirs slightly, too disoriented from her loss of blood. He talks to her the whole time he works on her.

He only does her abdomen, knowing that it’s her most serious injury. It might not even hold from the jolting and jostling that would occur in the journey back. Dick stabs a painkiller into her thigh, just in case she were to awaken.

He motions to Tim and Damian, who had been standing guard, to take up the rear. Grayson then scoops up his girlfriend, cradling her to his chest.

“Jason. Take point. Let’s get her home.”

~~~

He sits by her bedside. His hands are covered in her dry blood, along with his suit. He hadn’t bothered to change.

Y/N had needed a blood transfusion and he had offered immediately, hence why there was a needle in his arm funneling blood into girlfriend. Alfred had stitched do her wounds and hooked her up to an IV for hydration and anti-infection purposes.

She’d been changed out of her uniform after she was stable for cleanliness reasons and was now wearing one of his black shirts.

He’s holding her hand, his thumb tracing over the pulse point of her wrist occasionally.

It would be a long road to recovery for her though they all knew that she would bounce back and attempt to get back in to the field as soon as she could walk.

It’s days later when she finally wakes, her eyelids fluttering.

“Dick.” She whispers.

He’s right there, just like he had been, he’d only left briefly to shower but he ate and slept at her side. Jason had covered both of your patrols, with Bruce helping out.

“I’m okay. You’re okay, babygirl.” He places a hand on her face and she leans her head into his touch.

#nightwing #dick grayson #Tim drake #jason todd #Damian wayne #batfam #bat fam #bat family #dick Grayson x reader #nightwing x reader

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rearranging-deck-chairs · 2 years

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(possible out of context spoilers for woe be gone up to episode 24)

(also point of this way-too-long post thats not even about dw is that i think i now have an idea of what a 13-pov/13-narrated season would look like) (if that might entice you to read some of this thing) (it would me, like, i just mean, knowing what the point is usually kinda helps reading a long thing so there you go thats the point)

right so ive been listening to woe be gone and one of my favourite things about it is how occasionally the protagonist just suddenly reveals to us a bunch of stuff hes been thinking about which he hasnt been telling us about

which is a little jarring bc hes the only voice, hes the one tellling us about everything that happens to him, and he walks us through seemingly every one of his considerations and plans

but also it’s something you can expect bc also from the start he draws attention to the fact that when we are hearing the episode, it’s been a while since the events described in them have happened to him, because he needed to... make the episode. duh. episode 2:

Wooooow. Wow wow wow. Your brain will turn anything into a morsel of nostalgia, won’t it? I did a whole episode about the first round of WOE.BEGONE and made it sound like it had a happy ending. And it felt that way, too, when I was telling the story.

The real kicker to this whole thing is that this challenge happened a month ago. You, dear listener, have not yet caught up to the point where you are watching me play WOE.BEGONE in real time.

mike repeatedly, casually, calls attention to the fact that hes in control of the entirety of what we know of the story. not just with these kinda lines but also with the fake ads, the “cue the heist music”, the barely-there line between the mike walters that does the announcements at the top of the show and the mike walters the character (are they the same person?), casually dropping the fact that his name is not mike walters and then never mentioning it again:

I mean, this is a guy who seemed to honestly believe that my name was Mike Walters. Hmm, I never labored under the delusion that his name was actually CANNONBALL in all caps. I wonder which of us had the better call-sign.

in this same episode he also says:

Saying that I was going to fly to Vancouver was actually a sort of silly mistake on my part. I imagine quite a few listeners heard that I was going to fly to Vancouver and wondered if that was even possible. Doesn’t Mike Walters live in America? That [REDACTED] jumbled censor thing sure does sound like Saint Louis– no matter what I did to the voice snippet, damn it! I reversed it and pitched it down and it still sounded like St. Louis. So then I switched the order of the reversed syllables and it still sounded like St. Louis, at which point I just said fuck it, some people will figure it out and it will add a little bit to the mystery-solving aspect of the podcast.

giving us a false sense of knowing the guy, as if he let us have this piece of information for free. he does a similar thing when he moves to oldbrush valley:

I’m sure that you’re wondering about where exactly this place is. Stop trying. I’m being vague on purpose. Don’t come find me. Anne. Don’t come find me.

"dont come find me” and “im being vague on purpose” while giving anne (and whoever really) exactly enough information to find him. there are also repeated mentions of his information security practices:

“So, things weren’t adding up and nobody would give me a straight answer. Nobody knew what to make of your little scene. So, natch, I broke into your apartment and started poking around. You’d do the same for me, right?”

“Sure thing, Anne.” I said.

“Unfortunately for me, it’s not like you wrote WOE.BEGONE on little pieces of paper and scattered them throughout your house for the spry young female detective to find. Also, your computer was bricked? What’s up with that?” She asked.

“Oh yeah, it’s a dead man’s switch. If I don’t enter a password every week, it overwrites my entire computer with 1s and 0s.” I said.

“That’s a long way to go for WOE.BEGONE,” She said.

“Oh, it wasn’t for WOE.BEGONE. It’s just good InfoSec.”

and:

How do I know that he isn’t the only gamerunner? Because he doesn’t log out of gmail when he’s done with it, either. C’mon, dude. At least force me to guess your password or force 2 factor authentication and get the code off the phone that I took off you while I was tying you up. When it started, I thought that the story of WOE.BEGONE would be about the consequences of seeking power, but now I think that the moral is to take your information security seriously, especially if you have something that is worth protecting.

but then also this:

“How are you gonna narrow it down from a whole city full of people?” I asked.

“I have ways,” he said. His eyes narrowed.

“What is that supposed to mean?” I asked.

“Didn’t you go to the University of [Redacted]?” CANNONBALL asked.

“So? I’ve lived here for ten years,” I said. Shit. Why do I still have a Facebook page?

and this, a few episodes after “dont come find me”:

Hunter Jeremiah Hartley has a public facebook page where he posts all the time about the stuff that happens on at O.V.E.R., pictures included. None of what we have access to out here is strictly classified. There are the cabins, but we aren’t allowed in them so unless you’re breaking the rules, you don’t know anything more about them than if you had looked up an aerial view of them on Google Maps. Pictures of them on social media are fine. This made it trivial for Anne to pinpoint where I was at O.V.E.R. No journalist-ing required.

he does all this stuff and says that hes “private” but also that hes not, like, top of the hierarchy at this. ‘sure i do the basics but i could be less sloppy, there are people who do this way better than me’. “you caught the dumbest fish in the pond and put him in a barrel” he says at one point to someone who has him kidnapped

another thing he calls attention to casually and repeatedly is the fact that hes not a great person:

Oh, god dammit. I don’t wanna kill a pig. I mean, I know, I eat meat, specifically pork, and so I’ve just been outsourcing this exact labor for my whole life. I’m a hypocrite if I’m willing to let suffering happen as long as it is just outside my eyeline, but fuck it! I can be a hypocrite. I’m worse shit than that all the time. I’m a liar, I’m a bad friend, I’m a shitty podcaster. Throw “hypocrite” on the heap.

And you might be saying to yourself “well jeez, Mike, you don’t sound like a very good person.” Yeah, no shit. A good person stands absolutely no chance of winning this game or getting their hands anywhere near this tech or any of the other levers of power that this world offers. I can be smart, I can be kind, I can hold the correct political positions. But I can also lie, cheat, steal, take advantage of other people, disregard others’ feelings. When I was growing up my mom told me that I was capable of anything and I really took that to heart. Capable of anything. Even murder.

and then theres this entire monologue on lying:

Bigger, more important lies are mostly the truth. It is only the greasy, disgusting core of a betrayal or act of aggression that must be kept fully hidden. The goal is to be able to enact your heinous plan, not to keep them from ever feeling skeptical or suspicious of you. Your enemy’s opinion of your standing is worthless. They can say that they saw it coming all they want, but it won’t reverse their defeat. Fully blindsiding someone is great, but if you opponent knows you well and gets their wits about them, it isn’t usually an option. If it is an option, you should consider loftier goals with more formidable enemies. You’re capable of so much more!

Richard Nixon and co. created the term “limited hangout” to describe the practice of telling your enemy part of the truth in order to get information from them and to keep the construction of your lie believable. They meant it as “hanging” a “limited” amount of the truth out there as bait, not as a limited time to hang out with someone, which is what I always thought it meant until I looked it up. It’s a very 70s way of putting things. It didn’t have a perfect batting average with Nixon, what with the Watergate and all, but it is a long-standing part of CIA spycraft at this point. It works, but it can’t be your only line of infosec defense.

This is a great tool to have in your arsenal, but it is also important to realize that it is tool in the arsenal of every accomplished liar on the planet. Luckily, knowing that other good liars are doing this is a bit of information in itself. It means that the person who is lying to you might be giving you a lot of the truth as well. You can use that to try and reverse-engineer what lies at the murky core that they are trying to conceal from you. Two liars lying to each other? That’s an arms race.

Four liars lying to each other? This is WOE.BEGONE.

so hes constantly showing us ways in which hes not to be trusted but at the same time he has control over the entire narrative hes giving us. you know you cant really trust him but also what else is there to trust? youve only got his word (reference that no one will get: it’s like trying to figure out who the mole is in widm, the producers arent gonna let us)

so you dont trust him, but also you kinda do, bc you have to, and then occasionally he just opens an episode dropping a bunch of info like “ive been suspecting something else than what ive been talking about has been going on and heres proof now im in the middle of a kidnapping’. that kinda thing.

anyway. the point of all this is just to say, i think im getting an idea of what a 13-pov/13-narrated season might look like

#wbg tag tbd #if ive like completely misinterpreted wbg stuff #uhhhh #idk #dont be mean #ive listened to this once and im generally very like believing of what people say on the surface #maybe mike was only lying for a little bit to misdirect cannonball #maybe all the rest has been true #who knows not me #i just think the tension between how he makes it seem like we're like in his confidence #and then the moments where he suddenly shows some stuff hes been keeping to himself #is interesting #and i feel like 13 might do that too #like #stick to a certain framing a certain narrative until at one point that becomes untenable and she suddenly jumps to a different one #you know that line in the 12x5 where she hesitates to tell them the fugitive was ruth?#and then it says 'and she gives this one up to. she has to' before she says 'ruth was me'?#yeah that vibe. she'll stick to one story one angle one frame even when it shows some cracks #also - especially - in her own private narration. like imagining that shes narrating in some way here #and then when that particular frame stops being useful enough she'll just abruptly jump to a different one and commit to that one absolutely #so much so that you question whether she was even telling a different story before #bc theyre not entirely different stories. it's all one story she just shifts the framing a bit #when she has to reveal like a new fact or something that doesnt work in the previous framing she'll just discard it and jump to the new one #a new one that the new lie and/or thing she revealed about herself fits in. and she'll pretend that was always the story #something something retrocausal something #there were things about that too in this podcast that made me think about the timeless child but i dont have any concrete thoughts i think #post them if i have them #dont need to do a read more now right? bc tumblr does that for us #works better too dont need to go to a separate tab #and if you turned that off then you want to see long posts so

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dirtyfilthy · 3 years

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The True Story Of Maxwell’s Silver Hammer: on the limits of transparency, or why you should stop feeding your quarters into the dopamine slot machine

Gather round children, and I will tell you a tale. This story is a hundred percent true. It occurred sometime in my late twenties, which would have been in 2008 or thereabouts. I had just taken the biggest acid trip of my life, eight tabs, but of fairly weak acid, I’m guessing around 400 micrograms total or close enough. Still, it gave me exactly the experience I was looking for. We went to the beach, and as a good friend of mine used to say: “got gay with nature”. Everything had been building to this point. First we took one tab. Some weeks later: we doubled down and took two.. After another month had passed, we gobbled up a four strip. Eight tabs only seemed logical at this stage. And man…

It was exactly how you imagine acid is going to be when you’re a kid. Everything was beautiful and melting and there were colours I don’t even have the words for. The trees were full of fractals, the ground was a river flowing beneath my feet. The sky was bright green. The sand dunes: a brilliant purple. It was like that cheesy chroma-keying effect they used to use to represent drugs in old movies from the 60’s. I even nearly went blind staring at the sunset like some hokey old LSD urban legend. Getting gay with nature? This was a little more than merely getting high with one of your straight friends and perhaps sucking each others cocks and then never, ever mentioning it again, this was… I wanted to settle down with nature and build a whole new life together, I wanted to get married, buy a house, maybe even adopt a couple of children. Don’t laugh, this isn’t fucking funny. We were in love!

Anyhow, acid, drugs, beautiful uplifting experience yada-yada. The thing is, on acid you tend to get these… ideas. Crazy, completely off-the-wall, gorgeously bent ideas. And I had just had a real doozy of an acid thought. “Why lie? Why don’t I just be exactly who I am all the time? Why not be completely and utterly transparent with everyone?”. Now this is hardly some kind of grand cosmic revelation. I think that in most individuals this would have cumulated in a simple but genuine effort to be more honest with the people around them, or maybe simply faded with the trip, but in me…

So let me preface this with a couple of things about me that will make the following point make more sense: 1) I tend to take ideas and run with them, generally off a cliff 2) I am very good with computers. To the point where I am a professional hacker these days (as in I break into systems for a living), but back then I was only a hopeful amateur.

So in me, the way this idea came out was I decided I was going to publish my entire browser history, online, in real time. Every site I visited would be available for the whole world to see, should they wish to, seconds after I had clicked the link. I won’t bore you with the technical details, they really aren’t that complicated -- and neither are they honestly that interesting -- but suffice to say I built the thing. I named it on a whim after a Beatles song I happened to be listening to at the time: “Maxwell’s Silver Hammer”. And then it was done. Every link I visited was put in a database and displayed on a web page. It was in the form of a giant, constantly growing list, newest at the top. For general purposes of convenience, I had colour coded everything. So all social media sites would be say, purple. Wikipedia would be blue. News was green etc.

So one great and terrible thing about LSD is it has a way of teaching you things. This generally happens while you are tripping, or maybe afterwards when you re-integrate the experience. In this case, acid had decided Maxwell’s Silver Hammer was the to be the terrible form my teacher took. And boy howdy, it would certainly teach me some lessons

So I told all my friends about it. And they told their friends. And then word began to spread. And so I embarked on this slightly weird experiment in radical personal transparency, bouncing down the road like a complete asshole with nary a care in the world, full of hope in the promise of the dream, but I was to very quickly to discover it’s limits…

The first limit should have been the most obvious one. Porn. At the end of a hard days labour avoiding working, I liked nothing more than masturbating for a solid three or four hours over the choicest and rarest sweet-meats the internet had to offer, before eventually collapsing on my bed from sheer sexual exhaustion. The thing is… porn is a very personal thing. I mean: what really spins your wheels, what you get off to. At the time, I wasn’t ready to admit to my friends that I still really liked women ok but sometimes when the mood struck me I liked to watch some massively hung black dude plow a white guy around half his size while fantasying that it was really m… Anyhow, porn is a deeply personal thing and can show quite a lot about someone. Besides, what if my Mum was watching… or my female friends? Sweet jesus.

Well, if I was going to be consistent, I could either “rock out with my cock out” as we used to say back in primary school, or I could stop watching porn altogether. And that was the first lesson. Perfect transparency means constantly worrying about how you look because everyone can see everything. It means censoring, not just what you say, but who you are. it wasn’t just about porn of course. Maybe I should browse some wikipedia so I can look a bit more intelligent? What would the chick I had a crush on think if she knew I kept on visiting these horrible gore sites day after day? And so on and so forth, forever.

I had thought it would be liberating, to be free of all secrets. In fact, it was the exact opposite. I wasn’t living a radically transparent life, instead I was an actor, just playing at performing one.

The second revelation came in the form of the colour coding. I could see myself reflected in a sea of purple. It was obvious I had become obsessed with social media, particularly facebook. Constantly refreshing my homepage, hoping for that next sweet lick of dopamine, another little like on my post, a little sliver of ice from the great icicle of validation that would only ever melt away in the heat of the morning sun. I used to be a meth addict, and it’s exactly the same, that is: it’s never enough. You’re a fiend for it. It had revealed something deeply narcissistic and petty about myself that I really did not like. Why was I doing this? What did it matter? Did I really have three hundred “friends”? Of course not. I had the usual amount of people I cared enough about in my life to see on a semi-regular basis, a few close, ten or so I saw fairly often, maybe thirty total counting colleagues and co-workers and assorted demi-friends and vague acquaintances. The whole thing was fucking ridiculous.

The third lesson came only after both of these things had been grating at me for quite a while. After this synthesis, suddenly, I became enlightened. There was a lot more freedom to be had by not being famous or observed. Privacy wasn’t just a haven for the liars and the hypocrites. In fact, privacy enabled you to be most truly yourself. Sure, be honest where it matters, but you don’t need to put your every card down on the table all at once. Seems like a basic enough thing to realise, but I really had to get slapped upside the head pretty hard to see it. There is a power in being invisible.

So I took down the site. Deleted my facebook. Watched all the “black tops white“ gay porn my little bisexual heart desired and, ironically, stopped caring so much what other people thought about me. Don’t get me wrong, I still get that little rush of validation when someone I respect likes my shit, but you gotta pick the individuals who’s opinion you’re gonna care about. The vast majority of most people are either dumb as fuck or completely antithetical to my values. Which isn’t to say I exactly begrudge them, but I’d still much rather avoid getting myself in a public fist fight, metaphorical or otherwise, unless I really really need to. I think in most cases, power doesn’t need to be confronted, it can simply be routed around. You don’t go and deliberately blow your weed smoke right up a cop’s nose, instead, just go get high in the disabled toilets like everybody else. I mean: it’s what they’re there for!

I guess that is the real moral of the story.

#lsd #acid #radical transparency

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dailyaudiobible · 4 years

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03/14/2021 DAB Transcript

Numbers 21:1-22:20, Luke 1:26-56, Psalms 57:1-11, Proverbs 11:9-11

Today is the 14th day of March welcome to the Daily Audio Bible I am Brian it is wonderful to be here with you today. Can you believe it? Like a month ago today was Valentine's Day. And if I remember right it was on the…at the beginning of a week just like this. And just like that a month goes by and here we are approaching the center of this third month of the year. Yesterday we…we began the gospel of Luke, the third the gospel and we’ll be camped out in this third gospel for the rest of this third month of the year although we will transition in the Old Testament before this month is out. But I digress. That’s just kind of where we are. That's the lay of the land. Let's move into the Scriptures. We’ll read from the God's Word translation this week, picking up where we left off yesterday. In the book of Numbers the children of Israel are…they’re kinda trapped in the desert at this point and they had asked if they could pass through the country, the nation of Edom, but they were refused. Ironically, the nation of Edom, these are brothers, like this family. Jacob, remember his name was changed to Israel. And, so, his children were the children of Israel. And he had a brother named Esau. And there was a bunch conniving going on and they kind of had a falling out even though they reconciled in the end. The Edomites are the descendants of Esau. So, basically Jacobs descendants are asking Esau's descendants just to be able to pass through and they’re saying “no.” And in yesterday's reading, we concluded with the Edomites bringing out their army, essentially a show of force at the border to say, “you’re not coming through here.” So, that's where we pick up the story. Numbers chapter 21 verse 1 through 22 verse 20.

Prayer:

Father we thank You for Your word and for bringing us safely into this…this brand new shiny sparkly week. And we often…we often think of this at the beginning of the week that it's all out in front of us. We…we haven’t an made any miss steps, we haven't made any mistakes. It’s out there in the future. It has yet to be revealed. It has yet to be created. We have to live into it. And, so, we are here now with grateful hearts looking forward to the adventure that we get to share together walking with You into this new week. Come Holy Spirit. We pray that You would continue to inform and awaken our hearts by…by the Scriptures, and we thank You for binding us together in community as we take this journey come Holy Spirit we pray in the name of Jesus. Amen.

Community Prayer and Praise:

Hi everybody my name is Garrett I'm a long-time listener here I've called in in the past and I try and pray along with you as much as I can did. I've…I've struggled with anxiety and depression for a long time now and today's been honestly extra bad, and I'd really appreciate some prayers to help give me some strength to, you know, get back on the right path and get that passion that I once had back. And I really appreciate it. I love you all and God bless.

Hello this is Gwen, and I am calling in for my friend Kate. She has something called seizures and I am really sad about it. She was my best friend so please pray for her and that she stays safe especially during covid. And I'm going to ask my sister right now if she wants to say something Do you? She said no. But please pray for her and her parents. And also, this little miracle happened when we were there. We were over at Kate’s house praying and her grandma pulled in and said that she was allowed…her dad was allowed to go in the hospital with her and we just prayed that. And also, that her seizures would stop and it did. All they have to figure out is it for it not to come back. So, please pray for her and her family to do very well. Thank you.

Good morning DABbers this is Nancy from Southern Oregon. I've recently retired. So, instead of listening to the Daily Audio Bible on my commute to and from work I'm now listening to it at home on my computer. Well, today's Friday March 11th they were talking about how the bronze censors were so holy when God made them…the people that gathered and God burned those 250 followers, He commanded __ to gather them up because the censors were holy. And he had them hammered out and repurposed into making sheets to overlay the altar to remind everybody that God is holy and only the people of Aaron should bring censors. So, in my mind I’m thinking this is the first time I recall hearing of repurposing by God or recycling. But then I think about how he recycled us, that we were recycled by God from people whose very best was nothing more than filthy rags and how He chose us, and He called us first. And then we set ourselves in His light and we turned away from the world. We have purpose and we gotta hold up and be empowered into something useful to honor the Lord. And it's just a reminder to the world that the living God wants us to enter into a relationship with Him. Those were my thoughts for today. Thinking and applying it. And thank you Brian for this program. God bless you all. Thanks. Bye-bye.

Hi everyone, it's Christy from Kentucky. Oh, I just have such a burden on my heart today and I need to share a couple of things with you that I need prayer for. I haven't called about this because it's been very difficult to talk about, but I lost my second Cousin Morgan to a…what they believe is a heroin fentanyl overdose. And it just…I…I can't even wrap my brain around it because the last time that she and I spoke she seemed to have turned her life around and was telling me about how she'd asked of the Lord to forgive her and I'm so grateful for that message that she sent to me. But I'm kind of kicking myself because I didn't follow up and that was back in September. And, you know, sometimes we take things for granted thinking things are going OK and then this happens. So, if you would please keep my family in your prayers. Also, my sweet friend Barb in Ohio had had a lung transplant several years ago due to a chronic illness and she had new lungs and she was just doing so well and something with this new medication that they put her on in the fall for her immunity…her…her immune system has…has attacked her lungs and now she's only at like 41% lung capacity. Please pray for my friend Bard for healig. Alright everyone. I love you guys so much and I lift you up in prayer. I pray each of you are having a most blessed and lovely day today.

Good morning DAB family this is Minnesota Ruka I just wanted to call in because it is the 12th of March and I heard an amazing young daughter speak at the very end wanting to be anonymous. And I heard your story girl and I just wanna let you know that the Lord is so proud of you and he is so beside you right now. We all make mistakes in life. I'd like to say a lot of us at different times struggle with our own flesh who needs to think that we can do things on our own. But I want to let you know that don't let the guilt or shame hold you back. You are on the right path and the angels are rejoicing that…in this new awareness that you have and that that valley that red sea that you were in where you fell astray, that that sea is being lifted and that the Lord is excited to have you back and is open arms with you right now and is gonna bring you blessings and peace. Keep close to him and know that he loves you and that we love you too dear sister and you are amazing. Have a great one.

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intothestarkerverse · 5 years

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I loved Paper Hearts. Can I request a Starker version of The Good Place?

Ohhh! I hadn’t thought of his particular Starkerization, but this was loads of fun and I hope that I did it justice!

I hope you like it Nonnie and if anyone else has any requests, feel free to toss them my way!

The Good Place

(https://archiveofourown.org/works/23048128)

When Peter Parker dies, he doesn’t expect to go to Heaven. Oh, sure, he’s tried very hard to live his life in the best way he’s known how, but he is also totally responsible for his uncle’s death and that alone had to get him a one way ticket down south. So, the last thing he expects after his untimely demise is to wake up sitting on a nondescript couch in front of a very handsome man who calls himself ‘Tony’, the ‘architect’ in charge of Peter’s ‘neighborhood’ in ‘The Good Place’.

While Peter thinks Friday the heavenly computer is amazing, he’s a little trepidatious about spending eternity with his ‘soul mate’. He’d been so unlucky in love on earth, he couldn’t imagine that his track record would improve just because he is now dead.

Quentin Beck is handsome, and at first he seems pretty cool...until he doesn’t. In fact, he’s a little bit of a jerk. Peter is completely unimpressed by his soulmate and tries to spend every moment he can away from home. Really, he doesn’t understand how anyone in charge of the Good Place could think that he was into egomaniacal, self-serving, not-as-smart-as-they-think-they-are jackasses. Cause he’s not. So not.

His neighbor is worse. So much worse. Peter begins to question the nature of the Good Place based entirely off of Flash’s presence there and continued insistence in referring to Peter as Penis Parker. Surely in Heaven you are spared from your High School bully...and why when the word sh*t is censored is Penis still a totally okay thing to bellow at the top of your lungs during a fancy ‘Welcome to the Afterlife’ party, anyway? Perhaps Peter’s first inclination that something is not right comes when he catches sight of Flash in the crowd at said party and his attempts to dodge him are thwarted with a shout of, “Yo! Hey, Penis is here! Penis Parker! Penis, it’s me! Ya boi! I can’t believe you made it here, dude, you were such a loser....”

Then there’s the case of Bucky and Steve. They aren’t soulmates. At least...not according to Tony and Friday, but Peter has to be blind not to notice the looks they give each other across the room and behind the backs of their respective mates. While he tries not to be superficial, Peter cannot even begin to imagine what it’s like to go to bed with Arnim Zola every night. Brock Rumlow is a lot hotter, but also a lot scarier...

No, something is definitely wrong.

To discover exactly what it is, Peter decides to get close to the only one who seems to have any clue about what’s going on. Tony. It helps that Tony is super hot and while also egomaniacal and self-serving, he is every bit as smart as he thinks he is...and Peter digs it.

~ ~ ~

This is his last chance.

As far as last chances go, it could be worse, really.

Tony knew going in that he was probably going to fail, but this was the Bad Place and things never go quite the way you want them to here. Still, the idea of eternal torment or ceasing to exist are not things he really wants to look forward to, so he is determined to do his damnedest to make this thing work....even if he knows it’s doomed to fail.

Peter Parker is a problem.

He becomes a problem on the first night when that Flash kid makes such a spectacle. Really? How is Tony supposed to sell this Good Place Schtick with some annoying Gen-Z’er publicly humiliating the most innocent, Bambi-looking soul in the bunch? Also, it made him look bad because he hadn’t done that on purpose...though if anyone asked...

He doesn’t know how he ends up with the kid tagging along with him like some intern from hell. (Ha!) In the beginning, it seems like Tony despises having Peter around. He tries to ditch him, tries to distract him, tries any number of methods of ridding himself of Peter...but Peter is like the gum in his hair that won’t leave until it’s cut out...and unbeknownst to Peter, Tony isn’t able to cut Peter free no matter how badly he wants to. So, he begrudgingly begins to accept Peter as an assistant of sorts. He tries to assign him meaningless, boring tasks, but Peter seems to thrive under the attention.

He keeps coming back form more.

Every embarrassment Tony imagines to demean him, Peter shrugs off and pushes through. Every injustice he faces, Peter shoulders and works his way around. Every torture Tony can dream up, Peter endures with grace and humility and begs for more. He’s amazing. He’s fucking good, and Tony has never met a good one before.

Not a really good one.

Not.

Ever.

He doesn’t know when he begins looking forward to the kid being around; when he finds himself spending a little too long admiring the boy’s chestnut curls and warm brown eyes; when his eyes begin a downward adventure, enjoying every chiseled edge and soft curve on the boy’s form.

Oh lust isn’t a problem. It is one of the Big Seven. They are encouraged to feed on it, trouble is...Tony isn’t dreaming of Peter screaming in pain or begging for mercy from the dark and twisted sexual acts encouraged by those in the Bad Place. No. No, if he was, well, everything would be fine, wouldn’t it? No. Tony is thinking about the whimpers of mercy from the gentle caresses and tender worshipping a boy like that deserves. He wants to take him apart in the best possible way. Not to torture him, but to revere him. Peter Parker is everything about humanity that Tony thought could never really exist and he wants him...wants to taste him, to have him, to know what it’s like to become so close to something that isn’t festering and rotting and putrid like everything else in the Bad Place.

So clearly it’s all his fault when Peter Parker shows up at his office one day with a look of determination and declares.

“I know this is the Bad Place, Tony.”

Well, that’s it. The jig is up. If he’s going to cease to exist or spend eternity in a fiery pit of excruciating agony, he might as well have one moment of joy. So, he silences the boy with a kiss. Peter seems surprised, until he isn’t. One moment he is frozen in shock, and the next moment he has his arms around Tony, fingers caught in his thick dark hair and the boy is kissing back with everything he has.

It’s is everything Tony ever thought it could be. It is warm and tender and gentle and soft and good and passionate and fills him with something he cannot even begin to describe but really, genuinely fears might be love. He never wants the moment to end and every time Peter tries to pull away, Tony pulls him back, pawing at his clothing and throwing everything on his desk into disarray in his harried attempt to make room for everything he wants, everything he needs. If a demon can die happy, than he will die happy, just give him a night of this, a night of Peter.

Tony commits every moment to memory, tracing his hands over the soft ivory skin, exploring every edge and curve, ever ridge and furrow. He tastes everything, spends what could be hours (time is such a Jeremy Bearimy) turning every sordid sexual torture from the Bad Place into the most worshipful offering he can. Peter screams his name a dozen times, sometimes muted against the desk and others freely into the room. Tony relishes every sensation, pauses in certain moments to remember what it feels like to have his body so close to something so good. He isn’t worthy, he never will be, but Peter is giving it all willingly and enjoying every minute of it. That does have to stand for something doesn’t it?

It has to end, everything does, and in the morning even though they’re both spent, Peter is still determined to have his answers. So, Tony tells him everything. Who he is. What he is. That this is the Bad Place and they’re all being tortured for eternity. Peter begs him to show mercy to people like Steve and Bucky and even, surprisingly, Flash, but Tony isn’t really in charge of anything. He’s just as doomed as the rest of them.

“So, that’s it, we’re all just...we’re all just going to be here forever like this?”

Tony looks away, scrubbing a hand over his carefully groomed facial hair and cocking his head slightly as he winces. “Not really, Baby. You know. My bosses are going to call this a failure. I’m dead, or good as...and, uh, you and the others are going to go to the Bad Place for real this time. It’s....pretty terrible. Lot worse than this. Eternal torment. Worst fears. You know the deal, I’m sure.”

“You can’t let that happen.”

“What part of I’m not in charge did you not get? Do I look like I run the place? Cloven hooves, pitchfork, horns? Huh? I can’t save any of them. I can’t even save you, and if I was going to save anyone...for the record, it would be you.”

Peter is reaching for his hands with an indistinguishable look in his eyes that Tony soon learns must be what humans call ‘hope’ because what he is suggesting is insane. “Maybe, they don’t have to know. That I know, I mean. I could pretend that I don’t. We could go back to things, the way they were. We could pretend and we could all just stay here because if here is better than there...than here is all we’ve got.”

Tony knows its a ridiculous plan, but he can’t look into those eyes and say no. He hears himself agreeing before he even realizes that he has, and the next thing he knows...he and Peter have returned to their normal lives...only with a lot more sex. A lot of sex. And sharing, Peter is big on the sharing. Tony pretends to mind, but really...he’s never actually been to earth and it’s interesting to learn about what it’s like to live there, to be human. He can even find himself fantasizing about what that might have been like. To be one of them. To be free to live a real life with Peter instead of...whatever this is.

~ ~ ~

Peter isn’t giving up.

It’s not in his nature.

There has to be a way out of this, not just for himself but for everyone and for Tony. He refuses to believe that any of them belong in this place, not really, and he’s determined to find a way to get them all out.

Tony is so gentle, so starved for affection, so eager to drink up every drop of the human condition. He’s no demon. In bed maybe, sure, but not....not in the torture people and take pleasure in their pain kind of way. And Steve and Bucky, they haven’t done anything worthy of being in the Bad Place. Even Flash wasn’t that terrible.

Something is wrong and Peter is going to figure it out. He has to, but also has to do it without Tony knowing because that would ruin everything, wouldn’t it?

It happens in small doses, when Peter is alone with Friday he asks her all kinds of innocent questions about how The Good Place operates. How do people end up there? What do they do to earn the way there? What happens if they’re bad? A thousand questions that he asks and records carefully and innocently in such a way as to avoid alerting anyone to his true intentions.

Slowly things begin to make sense and his also carefully considered questions to Tony about how the Afterlife works and the hierarchy of upper management is laid out provides Peter with the solution.

“I can’t call the Judge for you, Peter.”

Peter purses his lips in an almost petulant frown as he looks the human-like computer over unhappily. “Why not?”

“I am almost certain that Boss wouldn’t like it very much.”

“Almost isn’t certain. C’mon, Fri, did Tony tell you that I’m not allowed to speak to the Judge?”

The computer pauses, considering this for a moment before she gives a curt shake of her head. “No, he hasn’t.”

“Has he told you that he would be angry if I did?”

“No.”

“Than you can’t be certain at all that he’ll be made if you call them now. So. The Judge. I need to talk to them and I need you to call them for me because I know you know how.”

“Peter...”

It is a round about argument that goes on for an indeterminate amount of time before Peter finds himself standing in front of an imposing dark man with an eye patch and a penchant for leather who is looking at him like a bug he would like to crush beneath his steel-toed boot.

“Who the fuck are you?”

Peter clears his throat and plunges into his carefully pre-written speech. He can tell that this man is not the sort to be swayed by emotion, so he skips some of his more eloquently penned descriptions of the situations to stick with cold hard facts.

Something is wrong in the Bad Place.

There are souls there that shouldn’t be and he can prove it.

To his credit, the Judge listens with only a few derisive snorts and muttered curses, but it is a mention of Tony that finally draws an interruption.

“Wait a minute, wait a minute. Slow you’re roll there, kid. Go back to this Tony guy. He’s a demon right? Bad guy? Tortured and all that. So why did your voice get soft when you talked about him? Don’t lie to me. I’ll know and we’ll end this little chat of ours in ten seconds flat.”

Peter didn’t know what to do besides simply tell the Judge the truth. So, he did. Everything that had occurred between himself and the ‘architect’ and everything that he felt for the man.

“You love him? A demon.” Another snort. “I mean, I know humans can have some pretty self destructive tendencies but...”

“He loves me, too.”

“Yeah, no he doesn’t. Demons can’t fall in love. Can’t feel it. Don’t even know what it is.”

“Tony can.”

“If that’s true, there’s more wrong in the Bad Place than even you realize.”

Peter crosses his arms and stares the bigger man down victoriously. “I told you.”

The Judge lets out a long sigh, “I’ll have my best people look into it and if you’re correct...I’ll make it right, because that’s my job.”

Peter is returned to his every day existence and does his best to hide his deceit from Tony. Though, he does not seemingly have long to wait to learn to the fate of himself or his friends.

Just as the upper management arrive to take them all to eternal torment, the Judge returns with his findings.

Something is indeed wrong in the Afterlife. There are souls in the Bad Place that were never meant to be there. Clerical errors that may be (but probably are not) a mistake resulted in the damnation of an undisclosed number of human souls. These souls would be immediately relocated to their correct resting place. Peter included.

“What about Tony?” Peter cannot just let that go.

The Judge rolls his one good eye as he looks down at the kid again. “You won, Kid, enjoy your victory.”

“I can’t. Not if Tony is going to stay here. He doesn’t deserve to be here....”

“Look, you were right. He can feel love. He does, in fact, feel love. But he’s a demon and there’s not a damn thing I can do about where he is. If he were human maybe...”

“Than make him human. Let him live. If he sucks he can suffer here like he’s going to anyway and if he doesn’t than he can be with me there...in the Good Place.”

The Judge narrows his one good eye at Peter. “It’s a reasonable compromise, but I’ll only consider it on one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“You go back with him. Tony can be human but he’ll have no memory of any of this. Not until he dies and comes back here. I will erase the moment of your death, return you to your life as if you have always been there. If you really want, you can retain some memory of all of this as a near death experience because I have a soft spot for wise ass kids. I’ll even make sure you cross paths with Tony while you’re there. But you live your life and you take whatever Afterlife you earn. If Tony leads you down a dark path, you’re back here. If you manage to reform a demon, you can both shine your halos into perpetuity. Sound fair?”

Peter is sure this is a trap, but he cannot see how he can refuse. Despite the protestations he can hear coming from Tony where is he is being restrained by demons several yards away, Peter nods his agreement and the world goes dark.

~ ~ ~

It isn’t nearly as hard to get used to being alive again as Peter thought it would be. Details are a bit fuzzy when it comes to the Bad Place. He remembers some things better than others and wonders about the Jeremy Bearimy of it all because Flash is still very much alive when Peter is given his newfound lease on life. He’s literally never going to get away from that guy.

Peter has no idea when or where he will encounter Tony again, but he waits eagerly for the chance. He is still daydreaming about the demon when he’s being led into the office of his new boss on the first day of his internship exactly a month after his resurrection.

“Peter, this is Tony Stark...”

Anything else Ms. Potts has to say to Peter is completely lost to him as he takes in the roguish form of his devilish lover. Peter cannot hide the smile from forming on his lips as Tony holds out a hand to shake.

“Wish I could say it was nice to meet you, Kid, but being my intern is probably going to be Hell.”

“I don’t doubt it, Mr. Stark, but I can’t think of any place I’d rather be.”

#starker

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super-famicom-star-inactive · 4 years

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Friday Special #5

December 18th, 2020

Welcome back to another Friday Special!

For this week, we’ll be looking into the history of cheat codes and what happened to them.

So what exactly are cheat codes? What qualifies as a cheat code?

In the most basic definition, cheat codes are usually a set of numbers, words, or phrases that, if a video game allowed them, would allow certain abilities or rewards to happen based on the code entered. For example, rewards could be something like infinite lives or all weapons/costumes/etc. unlocked.

According to history, the first recorded instance of a video game cheat code was in the video game Computer Space alllllll the way back in 1971. It was installed into the software and could only be accessed while holding the two buttons to the left while the machine was booting up to make your score start at 14. This tidbit of information however is difficult to prove as it only worked on a handful of machines.

Cheat codes were not always about given more “freedom” to players.

Did you know that they originally started out as developer tools?

Other early examples of cheat codes were ones like Colossal Cave Adventure, a text-based adventure game where if you inputted XYZZY, it would teleport the player between two places, or for a game like Manic Miner where if the player inputted the number code 6031769 (sources vary between some saying it was creator Matt Smith’s phone number and others say the last few numbers of his driver’s license) into the title card and press enter, it would allow the player to shift between the six levels of the game.

The original purpose of cheat codes were meant for developers to quickly move from one section of the game to another as well as video game reviewers to properly see through the different parts of a game to review and score it properly in gaming magazines.

Cheat codes at the time were pretty simple and not given much thought.

Then everything changed when the Fire Nation attacked when the Konami Code was first introduced.

Just about everyone and their mother knows about the legendary Konami Code, but just in case you don’t, it was a special code combination first introduced in 1986 for the game Gradius as a way to test the game during the early stages. The code is:

Up, Up, Down, Down, Left, Right, Left, Right, B, A, Start

It was created by Kazuhisa Hashimoto (he passed away back in February of this year, rest in peace) and although it didn’t gain popularity then, a little game called Contra was where the Konami Code really started to send shockwaves all across the Western gaming world.

In the original Contra, if the Konami Code was used, your three lives were boosted to thirty, making the impossible game more manageable to play. The code became so widespread with immense popularity that Hashimoto insisted that from then on that every single Konami game would input the cheat code in its programming.

This kickstarted what would become a more modern definition of what cheat codes would be.

The Konami Code would be so famous it even found its way into non-Konami titles such as Bioshock Infinite, Ratchet & Clank: Up Your Arsenal, and even Fortnite Battle Royale. Several famous Konami IPs that feature the code include the likes of Castlevania, Resident Evil, Metal Gear Solid, and even DDR (Dance Dance Revolution).

So what are some other famous types of cheat codes?

Sometimes the cheat code in question can provide some content that has been hidden away. Take the debug mode in the first Sonic the Hedgehog game for instance. The way to access the debug mode was to input the following code:

Press ↑ C Button, ↓ C Button ← C Button → C Button on Title Screen

A ring chime can be heard

Hold then A Button down and press start button

The game begins with Debug Mode

The debug menu became a rather popular feature for SEGA Genesis players, mainly for the chaos that ensued where you could alter parts of the game without bricking your cartridge and console.

Now to the more controversial stuff.

When Mortal Kombat was first released in arcades back in 1992, it was immediately hounded by enraged parents and politicians alike for its graphic violence and abundance of blood for the famous “Fatality” scenes, thus paving the way for the ESRB (Entertainment Software Rating Board) rating system for video games. When the game started to get ported to various consoles, Nintendo of America, being the same stickler for family-friendly content, censored the blood in the SNES port. SEGA, on the other hand, decided to use the cheat code route, and while the blood is censored upon boot-up, you enact the cheat code to bring back the blood. The code below:

ABACABB

This code famously became known as the Blood Code and this along with other factors made the SEGA Genesis version of Mortal Kombat so popular.

Wait! What if a game can do cheats but not just by using button combinations?

This is where cheat code devices come in.

The first recorded instance of a cheat device was in the form of the ‘Multiface’, which found its home on the likes of consoles like the ZX Spectrum. There were different variants over the years that added better and better quality to the device itself. Due to its success, similar devices made their way to the market like the ‘Freezer’ for the Commodore systems and the ‘Darth Vader’ unit (yes, it was actually called that) for the Atari 2600.

If you owned an NES/SNES/Game Boy/Mega Drive at the time, you would’ve heard about the Game Genie, which was the next major cheat device to be created. The player would put the game in the Game Genie slot and then insert the device into the console itself. You could then up your game depending on what game you had. Although they are a by-gone relic of gaming history, it still paved the way for similar devices.

When you think of the name Action Replay, those who had an original DS or a DSi probably had one of these devices, however the device is actually much older than that, dating back to its original release back in the late 1980s with its first appearance on the Commodore systems. It has since release on consoles like Nintendo DS, Gamecube, Gameboy Advance, Playstation Portable, and even the Xbox 360 and Playstation 2!

If you were a kid in the late ‘90s and early ‘00s, you would’ve had the Game Shark. This cheat device was primarily known for its appearance on the Nintendo 64, but it was also widely used for the original Playstation and Playstation 2 as well as the original Xbox and Game Boy/Game Boy Color. You could even bypass the region-locked security using it, which can allow you to play any game from any region.

So what happened to cheat codes, and why don’t we see them anymore?

Well, they didn’t go away completely, as they can sometimes be found in some video games, rather they just fell out of style. See, as we approach to today’s gaming culture, cheat codes are nowadays hidden behind higher-level programming and it is no longer able to be manipulated by average players. This was done as video games became bigger and more complex, going past just some programming and the developer tools were now locked away so that the game doesn’t get altered so much it crashes. This started to become more prevalent in the mid-2000s and onward. As mentioned before, cheat codes originally started as a way for developers to go across different levels in order to fix coding or bugs. They are still being used, they’re just not for open use like they used to be.

Cheat codes have changed the gaming world and are still remembered fondly by players even to this day with the rise in retro gaming in recent years. Here’s to hoping they can come back someday.

Thoughts From The Head

Cheat codes have always been a part of my gaming experience growing up for as long as I can remember. I remember the Book Fairs that my elementary school hosted every year and I remember getting some cheat code books for games. They have unfortunately been lost to time but i do miss them fondly.

I also have memories of cheat devices, the Action Replay for the original DS for example. I used that sucker to use the ‘Complete Pokedex’ cheat for Pokemon Pearl as well as ‘Infinite Health’ cheat in Kirby Super Star Ultra. That was later unfortunately lost as my dad tossed it out, saying “it wasn’t good for anything”. Jokes on him, that device alone is easily $30-40 online, and higher in some cases.

Thanks dad.

I do have a cheat device in my possession for my original Playstation and it’s the original Game Shark. I received it for free at my local video game store since they had no real use for it and it was “Flashed” which meant that it was slightly different and was capable of playing burned and imported games (which I had). I have not had a chance to test it yet because I do not have a game to really test it on yet (plus the text is kinda odd, see photos). I will try to give it a shot this weekend and see if I can come up with anything.

#Sorry didn't realize that the schedule wasn't set right #Tumblr scheduling on desktop is odd sometimes #my voice!#friday special #retro gaming #gaming #irl #cheat codes

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graveyardlovesong · 5 years

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The Problems with Netrun-mon and Why You All Need to Get Better Standards

AKA “Stop pretending that something being cute and obscure doesn’t mean you can’t get better taste”

If you think this is an attack on any specific person, I’m going to block you because I don’t give a damn. I am trying to warn people that these “cute characters” are from something gross, and that posting them is really not a good thing at all. Honestly I’m just going to block everyone that tries to start anything with me over this.

(Note that unlike most people I have standards and will not be showing some of the stuff talked about in here. I refuse to have lolicon on my blog, censored or not. If you absolutely want proof, DM me and I’ll send you the links. Also note that I’m not good at writing things like this, hence the odd format.)

(EDIT BECAUSE MULTIPLE PEOPLE HAVE ASKED ME BY NOW: No, Mayura is not from Netrun-mon. However, her most popular figure is from it)

What’s a Netrun-mon? A movie meant for the 5th anniversary of the NetRunner magazine. This is mainly known (at least amongst English fans) for being the source of what’s probably the most popular figurine of Digital Witch Mayura, as well as being an animation that has Nini-tan in it. It stars two ducks (BB Runner and Ranna) traveling a net world to save Internet characters. It’s... not as good as it sounds by any means.

What’s wrong with the movie? Oh boy, this list is long... I’m gonna break it into sections.

Chiyu:

Chiyu 12-Sai/ Chiyu Juuni-Sai/ Chiyu 12-Year-Old, or just Chiyu for short. As her name clearly states, she is meant to be twelve years old. At the start of the movie, she comes out of a computer completely naked, and then transforms. While no bits are shown, she’s still a naked kid, and the transformation sequence lingers on her butt. There are more sequences involving her that are suggestive, the first coming to mind being an intermission sort-of picture of her with Biscuit, where they are both completely naked, and the only reason you can’t see anything dirty is because of their pose. There’s also the problem of her most recent, non-Netrun-mon version- she constantly talks about very NSFW things despite her age. Her main figure, and the picture of her on the cover go out of the way to give her a panty shot on purpose.

BB Runner:

He is one of the main characters, and his gimmick is...being obsessed with young girls. Hell, one of his early lines is straight-up “Yes! Could it mean that... I’ll be surrounded by young girls?” while he’s blushing and drooling. While I cannot find an exact age for him, I’m guessing that he’s a young adult. When Biscuit (a character that looks like she’s around Chiyu’s age, if not even younger) is saved, he says “Looks like I’m one step closer to assembling my harem with her” in a suggestive tone while drooling. In the ending, he’s shown ogling some girls in school girl uniforms.

Biscuit-tan/Biscuit:

Another one of the main characters. She’s introduced via her being in a pose where she’s covered in syrup with her butt sticking out. This cannot be a case of “her butt would be shown either way due to her dress length” as her underwear is pretty detailed. One of her figures based off of her (there seem to be three separate ones) even has her in the same pose, and honestly looks even worse. This pose is also used for her card thingie, which makes her dress even shorter as well. Speaking of...

The cards:

From what I can gather, these were cards that appeared in the movie, and were planned to have a physical release, but never got said release. However, a list of the drawings for them is still up if you know where to look.

You might recognize them from this Mayura card, as they are all drawn in the same art style. There are a few cards that show panty shots of very young-looking characters, such as Biscuit and Habanero-chan. As well, Biscuit and Habanero’s cards are drawn to look pretty suggestive.

The figures:

There seem to be multiple different kinds of figures for some of the characters, most noticeably Chiyu and Biscuit. Chiyu’s alternate figure uses her pose from the cover (panty shot included), and Biscuit’s alternate figure uses her pose from when she is introduced, and honestly looks even more suggestive than in the movie.

Misc.:

-There is a scene where the junkies have their clothes completely cut-off, and they run away while barely covering themselves. While being androids, they are meant to be (and look like they are) high-school girls.

-There is another intermission sort-of picture in the movie, this time with Nini-tan. She’s also naked, and you can see her butt. Once again, she looks to be a high-school girl at most.

-There are multiple scenes where they run into Habanero as she’s on the toilet, and her figure shows it too. This is just....creepy to say the least. On one of these occasions, she slams the door in BB’s face, and when one of the characters asks him if he’s alright, he responds with “Yes, at least I got to see something good.”

-In the sequence where the Internet characters are set free, there’s multiple panty shots of young looking characters, and two of them are straight-up naked cat girls that look like they’re like five.

-There is a book that sort of goes with this called Netrun-mon Chronicles. While there are no scans up of the entire book, there are some of a few of the pages. A lot of these show panty-shots of kids and overall very suggestive drawings of young characters.

There’s very likely more, but I’m half-asleep and I’d rather die than have to rewatch this disaster yet again. Tl;dr: stop posting and reblogging content that has a bad origin full of barely-concealed lolicon. I don’t care if Nini is in it and if it’s cute, you’re all disgusting.

#netrun-mon #netrunner #netrun-mon chronicles #digital witch mayura #ukagaka #misc #PLEASE reblog this I'm tired of seeing this mess everywhere

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douchebagbrainwaves · 4 years

Text

I'VE BEEN PONDERING TOPLEVEL

Object-oriented abstractions. Incidentally, nothing makes it more patently obvious that the old chestnut all languages are equivalent is false than designing languages. 80% of the time you get to social questions, many changes are just fashion. Except for some books in math and the hard sciences.1 These people's opinions change with every wind. I'm inclined to think there isn't—that good design has to be new—that it didn't predict anything. A few hundred thousand, perhaps, out of billions. What can't we say? But, as in more recent times indecent, improper, and unamerican have been.2 A friend of mine asked Ryan about this, it was even better than C; and plug-and-chug undergrads, who are amazed to find that there is something wrong with you if you thought things you didn't dare say out loud.3

I'm just stupid, or have sex, or eat some delicious food, than work on hard problems. This second group adopt the fashion not because they want to do more than just shock everyone with the heresy du jour. Com signals strength even if it is a huge win in developing software to have an interactive toplevel, what in Lisp is called a read-eval-print loop. In the process of developing the pitch for the first conference, someone must have decided they'd better take a stab at explaining what that 2. No one does that kind of thing for fun.4 Back in the days of fanfold, there was a new kind of computer that's as well designed as a Bang & Olufsen stereo system, and underneath is the best Unix machine you can buy individual songs instead of having to buy whole albums. But it's harder than it looks. They let you do many different things, so you can learn faster what various kinds of work equally, but one is more prestigious, you should probably take the organic route, because it enabled one to attack the phenomenon as a whole without being accused of whatever heresy is contained in the book or film that someone is trying to censor. This article is derived from a keynote talk at the fall 2002 meeting of NEPLS.

The philosophy's there, but it's too late for them to do anything more than the name of the Web 2. And why? Now it means a smaller, younger, more technical group that just decided to make something great. The first sentence of this essay explains that.5 This metric needs fleshing out, and it is a huge and rapidly growing business.6 The reason this won't turn into a second Bubble is that the side that's shocked is most likely to get good design you have to get close, and stay close, to your users.7 If you can think things so outside the box that people call innovative.8 There's no other name as good. Com of your name is that it lets you jump over obstacles. The 2005 Web 2. If you want to fight back, there are several ideas mixed together in the concept of spare time seems mistaken.9

If you work hard at being a bond trader for ten years, just walk around the CS department at a good university. If smaller source code is the purpose of comparing languages, because they will probably use small problems, and will necessarily use predefined problems, will tend to bet wrong. This is an interesting question. Type of x first. Sun now pretends that Java is a grassroots, open-source language effort like Perl or Python.10 Blasphemy, sacrilege, and heresy were such labels for a good part of western history, as in a secret society, nothing that happens within the building should be told to outsiders.11 Explaining himself later, he said I don't do litmus tests. 0 applied to music would probably mean individual bands giving away DRMless songs for free. He wanted to spend his time thinking about biology, not arguing with people who accused him of being an atheist. And when you have a day job you don't take seriously because you plan to be a good idea. Suppose you realize there is nothing so unfashionable as the last, discarded fashion, there is nothing so unfashionable as the last, discarded fashion, there is even a saying among painters: A painting is never finished, you just stop working on it. But it's not enough just to tell people that.12

When people say Web 2. Who will? The m. Morale is another reason that it's hard to imagine a language being too succinct is that if you're building something new, you should probably take the organic route. And if it isn't false, it shouldn't be suppressed. Their only hope now is to buy all the best Ajax startups before Google does. Most unpleasant jobs would either get automated or go undone if no one happens to have gotten in trouble for seem harmless now. The quantity of meaning compressed into a small space by algebraic signs, is another circumstance that facilitates the reasonings we are accustomed to carry on by their aid.13 Notice all this time I've been talking about the succinctness of languages, not of individual programs.14 You might find contradictory taboos. There are two routes to that destination: The organic route is more common. But it was also something we'd never considered a computer could be: fabulously well designed.

For example, it is a bad design decision. It seems so convincing when you see statements being attacked as x-ist or y-ic substitute your current values of x and y, whether in 1630 or 2030, that's a sure sign that something is wrong.15 As far as I know, without precedent: Apple is popular at the low end and the high end, but not accurate ones. Surely one had to force oneself to work on them. Bolder investors will now get rewarded with lower prices. Does Web 2.16 But I don't think you can even talk about good or bad design except with reference to some intended user.17 But these words are part of the reason I chose computers.

And if you're ambitious you have to like what you do? If you expressed the same ideas in prose as mathematicians had to do before they evolved succinct notations, they wouldn't be any easier to read, because the paper would grow to the size of a book. What do you do with it? Object-oriented programming generates a lot of popular sites were quite high-handed about it.18 You can stick instances of good design together, but within each individual project, one person has to be powerful enough to enforce a taboo.19 Comparison The first person to write the program in some other way that was shorter. Nearly all of it falls short of the standard, I think, is that a restrictive language is one that isn't succinct enough. The programmers I admire most are not, on the whole, captivated by Java.20 80% of the time we could find at least one good name in a 20 minute office hour slot. When you hear such labels being used, ask why. It seems fitting to us that kids' ideas should be bright and clean. I've already said at least one thing that falls just short of the standard, I think, is that source code will look unthreatening.

Notes

When Harvard kicks undergrads out for doing badly and is doomed anyway.

But having more of it, but if you repair a machine that's broken because a she is very common, to mean the company is Weebly, which allowed banks and savings and loans to buy your kids' way into top colleges by sending them to go to grad school you always feel you should be protected against such tricks will approach.

When Harvard kicks undergrads out for here, since 95% of the growth is valuable, and b when she's nervous, she expresses it by smiling more. There are fields now in which only a sliver of it, and Smartleaf co-founders Mark Nitzberg and Olin Shivers at the network level, and yet it is because those are guaranteed in the case of heirs, professors, politicians, and the ordering system, written in Lisp. An investor who for some reason insists that you wouldn't mind missing, false positives caused by filters will have to replace the actual server in order to provoke a bidding war between 3 pet supply startups for the first type, and their flakiness is indistinguishable from those of dynamic variables were merely optimization advice, and this trick merely forces you to test whether that initial impression holds up.

There were a first—. It's conceivable that the payoff for avoiding tax grows hyperexponentially x/1-x for 0 x 1.

The IBM 704 CPU was about bands. This phenomenon is not the only way to fight back themselves. Why does society foul you? The reason Google seemed a miracle of workmanship.

If anyone wants to invest in your own mind. All you have is so hard on Google. The danger is that it's boring, we used to reply that they think the usual way will prove to us an old-fashioned idea.

In desperation people reach for the explanation of a press hit, but it's not lots of customers is that the founders.

Another advantage of startups that seem promising can usually get enough money from them. According to a super-angels. But it turns out to be low. This would penalize short comments especially, because to translate this program into C they literally had to ask, what you care about Intel and Microsoft, not you.

The original Internet forums were not web sites but Usenet newsgroups. He was off by only about 2%.

Since most VCs are only slightly richer for having these things. There is no longer written in C and Perl. This prospect will make it a function of the rule of thumb, the space of ideas doesn't have to keep their wings folded, as they do.

The relationships between unions and unionized companies can hire a lot of the business, and only one.

But so many still make you take out your anti-immigration people to endure hardships, but countless other startups must have believed since before people were people. So if you have to do, so the number of startups will generally raise large amounts of new inventions until they become well enough known that people working for large settlements earlier, but historical abuses are easier for us, the more important. Which OS? He devoted much of the 1929 crash.

If you want to invest at a 5 million cap, but that it's doubly important for societies to remember and pass on the aspect they see and say that's not art because it is unfair when someone works hard and not others, and post-money valuations of funding rounds are at selling it. Surely it's better if everything just works.

On the way to pressure them to. To paint from life using the same reason parents don't tell the craziest lies about me. The word regressive as applied to tax avoidance.

That can be said to have discovered something intuitively without understanding all its implications. But what they're capable of. SpamCop—. A larger set of good ones.

But let someone else start those startups. In fact, change what it would certainly be less than the previous round.

Investors influence one another indirectly through the buzz that surrounds a hot deal, I didn't. At any given person might have 20 affinities by this standard, and one VC. They'd be interchangeable if markets stood still.

After reading a draft of this desirable company, and configure domain names etc. As a friend who invested in the future as barbaric, but even there people tend to be more precise, and once a hypothesis starts to be about web-based applications greatly to be about web-based applications.

I put it would be reluctant to start software companies constrained in b. Emmett Shear, and instead focus on growth instead of using special euphemisms for lies that seem excusable according to certain somewhat depressing rules many of the big acquisition offers most successful startups get started in Mississippi.

This phenomenon may account for a long thread are rarely seen, so if you're measuring usage you need, maybe you'd start to be, unchanging, but investors can get for 500 today would say that hapless meant unlucky.

#automatically generated text #Markov chains #Paul Graham #Python #Patrick Mooney #fall #questions #customers #computer #draft #design

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maikatc · 5 years

Text

Black Sun Tale | A Child

we’re back baby !! and better than ever since boy does part two have a l o t. i was able to finish majority of the section during my hiatus and i hope you all love/feel so much pain in these events as much as i do!

remember this is only a first draft with only minor edits, but with that, enjoy! comments and reception are heavily appreciated

This isn’t gonna end well. The thought repeated itself over and over as Oliver scraped a pencil against his paper.

Birds chirped against the window. Their singing reached directly to his ears, and the office desk he worked on laid besides the porch’s side window. The sole reason being that his mother could gaze at the outside view to distract herself from paperwork, on purpose that is.

The boy’s focus on his words didn’t bother to fix up the curtains, afternoon sun shining against his pale eyes. His sight burned though stomach pains numbed his entire body to even notice.

A broken pocket-watch ticked at the side, breaking silence along with the birds. The out of time tune still held no bother to him.

The essay he wrote was… choppy, to say the least. Though, considering the class and grade he held, a childish essay would be an A in the gradebook.

He swapped through previous drafts and desktop computer facing him. The paper was almost done in his eyes.

He mumbled as he typed, “That’s why the cotton chine was just as important as anything else during the old ages… print.”

The events of the week prior lingered in his mind. In his head, Ayu’s decision must’ve already been a rejection. No doubt entered his mind on the option.

His mind etched on returning to the boy’s home, even after failing to realize said boy’s problems and risking his life in the process.

Then again, Ayu also didn’t kill him on the spot. And the more he thought, the image of Ayu’s concerned face, his eyes drooping and mouth bitten down as he gave a hand to him, it stuck to Oliver with the sole words,

“I’m not gonna leave you alone like this.”

… Paying back wouldn’t be so bad.

The printer beeped as a message rang in his phone buzzed for a message. He flinched at both sounds going off, growling as he picked up the phone first.

The messaged revealed to be from his mother,

I’m going to be back from work later than usual, sorry about that

But I prepped some food for you to have for dinner luckily! Hope you have a good day (11:54pm)

Oliver stared at the words. The brightness of the small text glimmered in his eyes.

He sighed, chucking the phone at cushioned chair in the corner. The traffic outside died down at the moment, leaving only the birds and clock to sing.

He shook off the day-old struggle and grabbed his paper from the printer.

***

“Oliver.”

“Hm?”

“How do you think of life right now?”

A small boy laid on his bed, barely reaching four feet. He played along with a new gift from his mother. His miniscule hands sored from the nylon after playing for long.

He lifted his head towards the boy across him, viewing his stature with his bowl-cut bangs and big green eyes.

The boy stood there, arms crossed. His skin was pale as a sheet. He covered up his left eye with his snow-white hair, while the other eye studied him with an ocean blue.

The streets outside bustled with noise from an ongoing festival. Though, the boy sat back, secluded in his own home to listen through a dense window.

“… What do you mean by that?”

He gestured at the window. “Your life… Do you like it?”

The boy tilted his head. “Of course, I do.”

“What do you even like about it?” He eyed him.

“Well,” the boy set down his instrument, setting his fingers to count. The left hand carried multiple papercuts from reading over and over. “I like my friends. I like my mom. School’s fun since people say I’m smart… I like T.V. and things I get and-”

The white-headed interrupted him with a short chuckle. “You like things, just like every kid I suppose.” He turned, pacing around the room.

The boy only sneered, “Wouldn’t you get that though?”

“… I assume so, yes. But it’s interesting to see kids grow to be so… people-caring. A shame for you and others.”

“What’s there to shame?”

“I-” the white-headed stammered. “It’s not so much to worry about.”

He avoided the boy’s eyes.

“Just… be careful when I’m not here.”

***

Another day on the streets, Oliver walked his way to a certain alley, ukulele in hand yet again.

The weather blew against his cardigan that day. Fall leaves flew left and right in fury, breezing past his hair and shoes in seconds.

Cold sweats dripped down his head. He paced and fidgeted during crosswalks.

He’s going to hate me. I’m gonna be a monster to him.

Thoughts kept spurring in his head. He itched towards his ukulele strap. His stomach cried all the same.

“Shut up,” he muttered, drifting off in the streets. That is, until he stepped towards the crosswalk of Pierdeli Avenue.

There stood a stubby woman. Her blue gown shined in beauty against the others standing, while her blonde hair laid kempt against her peachy shoulders. She stared at the cars with avid eyes, ignoring all those around her as they ignored her back.

However, Oliver stopped his steps as he approached her. He recognized her even from a blurry memory. “Alice… Are you here to talk with me some more?”

She blinked and shook her head. “Oliver! Forgive me for not noticing you pass by. The auto-mobiles are just fascinating to observe even after so long.” She gawked at the speeding car getting chased by the police. She ignored the police and went on. “And yes. I wished for more time with you and was just granted with all the free time in the world.”

A tacked-on smile was plastered to her face. “Right…” I get the cars, at least.

“Are you in a rush?” She faced him.

Oliver stuttered at the attention. “No, no. Not really.” He dug his hands to his pockets. “But you can still walk with me.”

“Ah, I see,” She nodded. Her excitement over the cars dying down by the second. “Pardon my intrusion then.”

The crosswalk light turned green as those surrounding them passed through. Oliver and Alice followed thus.

Her gaze continued looking over toward the streets as they walked in silence. Oliver’s words almost quivered out of his lips, though he hesitated for what to start with.

“Alice?”

“Yes,” she piped up.

“What exactly is going on with me?”

She stifled. “That’s…” sighing, “that’s what I expected you to ask, truly.”

“It was obvious, wasn’t it?” Oliver scoffed at her words. His eyes dabbled to the building walls, avoiding her expression over the answer.

“I can somewhat explain the factors; however, I’m still restricted on telling every detail…”

The boy pinched up, still ignorant of her face. He ordered, “Just tell me what you can.”

“Alright.” A hint of an accent could be heard from Alice, Oliver noted. British was all he could guess. Her voice gave a softer yet stern tone than his sweetly outgoing mother. Her voice was a different subject to focus on however, as he immediately snapped back once she began to speak again. “You… must do what you’ve already done for the rest of your life, I’m afraid. You’ll suffer more than just death if not.”

Her words were tense, as if her throat squeezed them out. They didn’t hit Oliver on impact, though his heart froze all the same. “There’s no way of stopping it, is there?”

She held back with an answer, only for her to breathe out, “No. There’s nothing at all.”

Alice kneeled down to him, halting Oliver midway in a mild-crossing sidewalk. People passed by the two of them with no batted eyes. She held him by the shoulders and focused on his eyes with her pale blue.

“Please believe me when I say this: None of this is your fault. You have the full right to blame this on me and my selfish actions or- God, I can’t even say his name.” She looked off with a painful smile. “Just- It was my own hasty actions that led this to happen. I’m deeply regretful and I apologize to the bottom of my heart… Do you understand?”

“I…” Fifteen seconds for an apology speech wow- “Yes. Yes, I do- Ma’am?”

The woman took her hands off his shoulders to hold his hands. She mumbled while staring down, “I know you must despise yourself; and I’m sorry for that as well.”

Oliver squirmed at the interaction. He leaned back as she froze to her own space. “Well uh…” his attention wavered, “no shit.”

She chuckled, letting go and standing up again. “Now, even if we’ve just met, you shouldn’t speak fowl words around me. I’m still your mother after all.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” he mumbled, “’Isn’t that surprising that you try and censor me.”

They both took more steps together. Alice affirmed to him, “I’m only trying my best. After all, I haven’t been able to for the past eleven years…”

“… Why’d you put me in the foster homes?”

“That was someone else’s idea,” she instantly replied. “But I wanted you to at least have some kind of normality for the first years of life.”

Oliver’s face dulled. “And I’m guessing you weren’t ‘allowed’ to talk to me then?”

She nodded with no other explanation to her answer.

Oliver groaned. He took a breath to ask another question. “So, if you really are my mom, then where’s my dad? Wouldn’t he have something to do with this?”

“He’s…” she looked back, “not here anymore.”

“Oh, okay.” He replied to her with a calm stance, walking off without much of a reaction. “Kinda like the family I’m in now then.”

“Pardon?”

“My adoptive mom’s a widow too. My dad’s death was the reason she adopted me in the first place.”

“I see…”

“What happened to my actual dad then? Did he die from old age or something?” After all, Vittorino said you were ancient.

“Oh, no!” Alice exclaimed, “He didn’t pass from that. We were both similar to immortals. He simply passed due to circumstances.”

Circumstances…?

“Still,” she added, baring a faint smile, “your father was a great man. A bit of a dunce so to say, though endearing at best.”

Her smile brought Oliver to a suspicious stare. “… Why can’t I know so much about this?”

“Why?” She sighed. “Our leader doesn’t want you to discover much so fast. That’s all there is. However, you’ll be able to figure out many things as time goes along.”

Well, that’s helpful.” He chewed on his lip. “You know Vittorino, right?”

“Of course, I do. I’m the reason he watches over you.”

“What situation are you in that led you guys to know each other?”

“Oh… you have the first half at least.” She cleared her throat, taking a breath. “We’re both a part of a society that lets you be immortal. Though, in exchange, we have to kill somebody once a month; otherwise, we’ll be executed.”

Oliver froze. “I’m sorry, what-”

“I understand it’s absurd. Our leader himself is absurd, after all,” she jeered. “But at least he gave us a ‘break’, so to say, on that.”

“You’ve killed people too, then?”

“Yes.”

“And is that why my dad died?”

Her lips pinched together. “… yes.”

An awkward silence held them apart. The large crowds chattering away covered up their distance.

“There are two groups in our society.” Alice continued what she started. “There aren’t many First Eras left… We hated what we were doing, enough to kill ourselves. I’m one of the last ones, and the leader’s aide all the same.”

“How many of you are there left?”

“Five, including myself.” Her voice held no emotion with the statement. Oliver gulped at the amount.

“Then,” he shrugged off the concept, “what about the group?”

“Second Eras? They’re stranger to say the least. Our leader took most of them in when they were mere children, so they were raised to believe murder was moral enough.” She added, “They’re all disturbed. And Vittorino was the first of that era.”

Oliver raised a brow at her. “If you say he’s disturbed, then why do you leave one of ‘em to check up on me?”

Alice answered without a thought. “He was older than most when being taken, so he has a bit more sense to him than the others. Besides, he was the only one willing to out of boredom and favors. I would’ve gotten someone I trust more if she wasn’t an arse about it.”

“So Vittorino was a prick but was more willing than the other prick?”

“Practically.”

Oliver chuckled at her last comment. Though, it crossed his mind that a certain street faced him.

“Um, Alice?”

“I’m about to get to the place I’m going.” He pointed at Ayu’s street. “So, can you go…?”

She opened up with an, “Oh!” adjusting her hair. “Of course, I can.” She began to walk away from him.

“Goodbye then,” she waved, “I hope to see you soon.”

“Yeah,” he hesitantly waved back. “Thanks for the info.”

She disappeared with the crowds; Oliver stared in the distance. The answer he’d gotten in the walk boggled his thoughts. His mother was at least readable, yet restricted all the same.

The puzzle of his origins still floated in the air, close enough to reach, it was just a ‘leader’ that blocked out the useful pieces.

“Who the hell is the guy anyways,” Oliver muttered. Well, a dick out of anything.

He shrugged it off, along with the prior conversation as Ayu’s alleyway stood right in front of him.

In a turn, Oliver peeked through the opening with browned moss. Inside the small home, a lump sat in the middle of the ground.

Oliver tilted his head at the figure, bewildered. “Guess they’re not here…” He entered without another thought, pondering over the little lump.

It bared small little cloth fuzz that moved off from the gentle winds. Oliver leaned over for a closer look; its appearance began to manifest. From ahead, the lump formed to shape. And at the end of the wrapped-up figure was a big tuff of black hair brushing against Ayu’s dry skin.

Oliver backed up from his observations after realizing the lump was just Ayu. The boy fidgeted from his blanket as he slept. Murmurs filled Oliver’s ears. He didn’t bother trying to translate the sloppy whispers, instead sitting down by the sleeping boy.

Settling his bag, he grabbed his ukulele and began tuning. It didn’t take long for him to start strumming. The notes took him off-course from his mental state. It only took the matter of a few chords to bring some satisfaction.

He glanced around at his surroundings while playing. Ayu’s blanket seemed too thin and worn to get any good sleep; his calendar flew left and right that it was only a matter of time until it fell out its tape; and a small journal laid next to Ayu’s sleeping body, right there in the open.

Oliver put his playing at a halt. He placed his instrument down with careful sound, replacing it with the journal. He glanced down at Ayu with weary eyes. Though, after no signs of waking up, Oliver sneered at himself. He turned, hiding the journal from Ayu’s sight, opening it up to read through anything humorous.

First pages: Hilarious. Each held lackluster art. Long torsos, disturbing eyes, no feet, and anything else that could make a drawing off. The scribbles on the side left the artist looking illiterate. Oliver skimmed through it all with puffs of laughing breaths.

However, as the pages went on, the boy encountered pages full of sloppy writing. He squinted his eyes to get at least the beginning of some, though ultimately had to skip to recent pages for better handwriting.

The dates counted for every day. Each day held for every time he did nothing, when he made something new, when he failed, anything. And with almost all entries, there would be a continuous statement: “No Akeldama.”

… Who’s Akeldama?

I havent seen Lillie in a whyle.

Who’s Lillie?

Annette told me that theres bin area deths in the forest for a whyle now

… shit-

The journal was taken from his grasp. He flinched in shock and above him stood Ayu with the item. “What are you doing?”

“I uh-” Oliver’s eyes shifted to the abandoned blanket. “When did you even wake up?” I didn’t even notice him walking.

“A minute ago. But what are you doing with this?” His raspy voice set a colder tone than usual. His red glare shook Oliver up.

“I was just waiting for you to wake up and got curious. Your drawings look cool!”

Ayu frowned with skeptic eyes. He rolled his eyes, yawning, and sat by Oliver. “Fine then.”

“I wanted you to sleep. You don’t seem to get much of it anyways with the traffic.”

“It’s alright, Oliver, really.”

…

“I wanted to talk to you,” Oliver started, “about what happened last week. A bit more straightforwardly at least.”

“I’d figure.” He huffed an awkward chuckle.

“But- uh…” Oliver avoided the boy’s eyes, words couldn’t fill the air. In the midst of his pause, a brief sight of Ayu’s legs reminded him. They were still skinny to the bone as always. “My mom left me food to cook… and I know you need it more than I do.”

His eyes held Oliver with confusion: lowered lips and a blank stare. “So, you want to talk at…?”

“My house. I’ll make the food myself,” God, I hope this is good. “You can shower and wash your clothes first if you want, since I can tell you need some cleaning.”

“I… thanks.” A blush tickled his face. Oliver peered at the dark red against his pale skin. Strange. “I don’t really wanna be an annoyance to you but-”

The boy snapped out of his stare. “It’s okay! It’s okay! You’re struggling like me so it’s the least I can do.”

“Then,” Ayu stood up, padding his dry, open skin, “shouldn’t we get going?”

A blank stare stroke Oliver in a hesitant essence. Nonetheless, he followed. “Um, yeah!”

***

Smoky air blew against the heat fan. Oliver’s eyes focused solely on the meal cooking on the pan. Ayu sat on the side fresh out of the shower and wash. He curled up in his tall seat as he sipped upon a cup of water. They both avoid each other’s eyes; They both allowed the sounds of oil burning up to play over them.

Oliver hesitated speaking. His past thoughts reoccurred to him.

Even if I excuse anything, it’s not like he’ll change his mind.

“What’re you making?” Oliver passed the question off until realizing it was Ayu. He twisted his head back. Ayu still stared at the cup he held. “It smells good.”

“It’s just lemon pork tenderloins. My mom usually gives me pork stuff for me all the time since it used to be my favorite.” He answered with a blank tone, without any joy in his eyes as he cooked.

“Isn’t that stuff hard to make?”

“Not really,” Oliver noted, “Cooking’s pretty easy for me; but that’s inconvenient at best.” He tried to make a stuttered laugh, though he missed the idea of food tasting as good as back then.

They both took another pause.

“You don’t know how to cook yourself, Ayu, don’t you?”

“No… I was usually just given junk food anyways.”

“Then,” he lowered the stove heat, “here, I can show you.”

A skeptical tone overtook him. “You want me to cook?”

“No, I’m going to help you.” Oliver reassured him. So, then you don’t burn the house down. He went off from the stove and set his hands on the table that stood in front of Ayu. “It’ll just be the cooking part of it. That’s easy enough, right?”

“But isn’t that the part where I can burn the house down, like you said?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye on it.” He set aside Ayu’s cup from his hands. “This is how I was taught so you’ll be fine.”

***

“So… you just gotta wait ‘til it’s brown?”

The last tenderloin was tossed in the fryer as Ayu asked for once.

“Yes,” Oliver answered. He glared at the one’s Ayu cooked on the side, “Not until they’re charred.”

“I guess that’s easier to follow than cutting it up to see if it’s red inside.”

Oliver bit his lip. “Yeah, I guess that’s more of a chicken thing than pork… but I just grew the habit of being safe.”

Ayu shrugged. “If it’s edible, I’ll eat it.”

“Even a human?”

Ayu frowned at the joke. “There’s a limit.” Oliver’s chest tightened at the mistake.

“… We’re still not gonna talk about that now.”

“Yeah, yeah…” he mumbled, staring at the meat in the pan.

Ayu’s wet hair had started to dry out. It puffed up to the same shape it was before. The hair kept Oliver distracted for the silent seconds. His hand reached to touch a small tuff, stroking for a short moment. It’s just soft. “Your hair’s weird.”

His eyes blinked once or twice. “What?”

“Well, it’s long enough to make you look like a girl,” he snorted.

Ayu pulled his hair in front of him. It blocked half of his face. “Shut up. It’s hard to find a way to cut it good by yourself.”

Oliver noted, “That and even when washed, it looks like a puffball.”

“Okay, that’s just how my hair works.”

Oliver gave a small huff of a chuckle. “I’ll get you gel sometime then. It’s distracting-”

“No, don’t get gel,” Ayu retorted, “Annette tried it on my once and I thought it was gross.”

“Why gross…?

“My hair felt like greasy stone, that’s why.”

“… Ayu, that’s the point.”

“Then I don’t like that point.” He grabbed the spatula and plopped the last tenderloin on the serving plate. “I think it’s done.”

Oliver’s eyes widened. “Huh, that one actually looks pretty good.”

“Just give me more simple directions next time then,” he grumbled.

Oliver sat with his mouth shut. Ayu faced directly next to him. He watched as the boy stuffed himself with everything made.

Oliver was greeted with nothing in front of him. There laid empty space: no plate, no food, only a fork he toddled with his hands.

“Damn, this was great…” He mumbled with a full mouth.

“Like my mom says, even when ruined, it’ll still taste great.”

A whack slammed to Oliver back. His voice squeaked, “Motherfu- that hurt!”

Ayu snorted. “Sorry. Just don’t roast me like that.”

Oliver glared at him.

“Still, tell your mom that I like the recipe.” He took another bite.

Oliver dropped his fork against the table after seconds of no conversation. He tensed himself with his words, “About last week, on my birthday…”

Ayu glanced back in confusion, then swallowing and facing down. “Y-yeah…”

No words were said yet again, only an apparent atmosphere of the topic in the air. Oliver prayed to not choke on it.

No, it doesn’t have to be now.

He stammered, “You know what? Let’s not focus on that right now.”

Ayu blinked. “Wait what?”

“We can just talk about that later; we have all day!” The boy forced a curve on his lips.

Ayu stuttered, “Uh sure-”

“What shows do you- did you watch before all of that?”

“… Hm,” he scratched on the dry skin on his cheek, “My family didn’t watch that much. Just VHS movies and Crimson stuff on Saturdays, I think. I just played around with someone most of the time…”

“Oh yeah, you mentioned Crimson.” Oliver hopped down from his seat.

He shrugged. “I watched them the most out of anything.” He smiled while staring at the air. “They were just cool and people made ‘em cooler, yanno?”

“Sure,” Oliver replied without a thought. As Ayu talked, he walked to the TV, setting up the DVR. “I was never really into that stuff, but either way, you’re missing out.”

“I’ve been ‘missing out’ for four years actually.”

Oliver chuckled at the joke. “Well, ever heard of The Mr. Rious House?”

“Annette might’ve talked about it a little but no, not really.” He climbed out of his seat with careful steps on the stool.

“Oh, boy you’re in for a ride.” With only a press of a remote control, the television set played the crackles of thunder. Ayu jumped at the sound.

“God, damn it- wait is that a dead body?”

Oliver sneered, “Yep, and this is a kid show’s first minute of the first episode.”

“Well this is going to be… a thing.” Ayu sat down on the couch with wobbly knees.

This’ll be fun.

“It won’t,” he hissed, curling up to his knees with an organ playing.

***

“This house isn’t fun.”

The third episode began to play. Oliver and Ayu had settled themselves on the couch with separate blankets, Ayu’s being thicker and covering his entire being.

Oliver sat against the middle cushion. He enjoyed himself over the nostalgia of the first few episodes while glancing over at Ayu’s reactions ever so often.

It all consisted of him flinching and muttering words of help. Humorous to say the least.

“Just wait until you see Mr. Rious, Ayu. He’s the best character.”

He glared at the screen. “I don’t wanna see this man.”

“He’s a fun dad for Noll,” Oliver chuckled. “Wait, that’s a spoiler.”

The show continued to play and Oliver watched along the adventure.

“What do you mean Rious still isn’t here? He hasn’t been in five years! What is this about him being my-”

“Oliver?”

The boy snapped back from his focus. “What is it?”

“You said you were adopted, right?”

“Yeah. What about it?”

“How’re your parents then?”

“Oh.” Oliver hummed in consideration. “I just have an adoptive parent really. It’s me and my mom here.”

“Huh… Did you ever have a dad?” Ayu tilted his head down, curious eyes shining at Oliver.

“I apparently did before my mom took me in.” He leaned back. “He died and got my mom her career choice.”

“Really?” The blanketed boy’s tone didn’t hold as much emotion as prior. “How’d that happen?”

“Simple. He killed himself during college years.”

Ayu choked.

“Now that’s the reaction I expected,” Oliver stated dully.

Ayu gawked, “You don’t just say someone killed himself like that, Jesus Christ-. I thought he just got in some accident or monster attack!”

Oliver shrugged. “My mom thought I was mature enough to tell me when I was younger and I think I’ve matured enough over the past years to talk about it… Probably the most fucked up thing I can say about myself without getting arrested.”

Ayu frantically blinked over and over. “Do- do you ever think about him? Or like, miss him or anything?”

Oliver scoffs. “That’s always the dumb question. I never even knew him; how would I miss him?” He ponders for a second. “Thinking is another thing.”

Ayu didn’t give a reply. The show played as they talked.

“Sure, it’s always interesting to hear about him, I guess. But I mostly just think about him in ‘what if’ scenarios.”

Ayu’s face gleamed with worry. “Like…?”

Oliver bit his lip, then took a breath. “Like what if I die like that?”

Ayu’s eyes widened. What did he expect? His mouth fell flat as he muttered. “I…”

“Noll! What are you even doing?”

“Look, I know I screwed up some times, but this’ll help, won’t it?”

“… Don’t?”

“What? Don’t die?”

“Yeah…”

Oliver smiled. “Well, I’m pretty sure that’s been the plan for a while. ‘Least for my body and sub-conscious to say so-”

“Just don’t die, please.” Ayu tugged on Oliver’s blanket. “It’s a dumb thing to ask, but… it’s not fun.”

Oliver studied his expression hidden through his hair. It was torn with scared eyes staring and glimmering a vermillion again. His reaction begged the question: so, who did he have to deal with? But the boy pushed aside the conversation at the end of it. “Let’s keep watching.”

“I uh, yeah that ending scared me.”

“Your reactions are some of the best. But did you really not expect Rious to do that?”

“Look I was hoping he’d be a funny, crazy guy,” Ayu retorted.

“You watch Crimson. Don’t they have screwed up villains in that?”

“Yeah but that was different. Crimson made them goofballs in the end!”

Oliver just eyed him. “Did it really creep you out that much? You’ve definitely seen worse-”

“Yes, it did.”

He laughed it off and transferred the topic. “I learned one of the themes on my uke. They were fun ones, weren’t they,” he teased.

“Shut up.”

Oliver sat up. “The song’s kinda slow but I did it.” He paced back to his room to grab his ukulele out of the case. In the corner of his eye, he peered his switchblade on the corner chair. A piercing in his bloody lip could suffice for the time being, so he stepped aside. He won’t come into this room anyways.

He ran back to the living room where Ayu played with his now soft hair and sat back next to him.

“Surprisingly the full version sounds really nice,” Oliver mumbled as he tuned up his instrument a bit. “Okay…” He took a breath before starting a set of chords.

Overall, the protagonist’s theme laid great poetic-ness to the story as a well-meaning representation of his backstory and foreshadowing to come, at least in Oliver’s head. The theme was rather soft. The plucking of the strings following and drifting along one by one emerged the room in an echoing tragedy. Notes played to the tune of the mother’s lullaby of tender somber, and eventually, her words began.

“If you sing me a lullaby,

Then maybe a love song too…

And one day, you’ll sing me a requiem,

And someday, they’ll sing yours too.”

Her song was a simple poem, not much substance in lyrics. The song held meaning in the story at least.

After some repetition, it took a few strums and tabs to finish the piece.

“And that’s the song.” Oliver set down the ukulele while speaking. “It might be a little boring but who knows, my music tastes may just be boring.”

“You really sing good,” Ayu commented.

“Well, you mean, I sing well.”

“Shut the hell up,” Ayu pushed Oliver, nearly making the boy fall over from the force. “I hated grammar out of anything in school.”

“School’s pretty easy,” Oliver flaunted, striking a pose. “But I’ve also been told that I’m gifted in music.”

“Oh yeah? Then stop being a show-off,” Ayu snapped back at him.

“Sorry,” he replied, with no meaning expressed in his words and tone.

Oliver returned back to his ukulele to play with the strings. The tune he formed ended up being major somehow. Things are going well for now at least-

“Oliver, are we gonna talk?”

Great, I jinxed it. “Huh?”

“You said you were going to but… I guess you just wanted to distract yourself.” Ayu crawled closer to Oliver.

The boy didn’t make any movement; he continued playing with a nod.

“You… really don’t wanna talk about it.”

Another nod.

“Look…” Ayu started. “I get this entire thing is fucked up. I still think it’s too fucked up for me to- allow it to get in my head. But I can still listen… I wanna be helpful for somebody for once. ‘Specially with that stuff you were saying earlier…”

Oliver stayed quiet.

Ayu sighed. “I’m sorry if I scared you there… Just say what you want.”

Oliver’s melody dwindled down each beat getting slower until a full stop. He breathed in and out before saying few words. “I can’t fix it if you were wondering.”

“What?”

“I’m supposed to be like this, without a choice.” He took a pause. “I think I was a pretty big accident.”

Ayu’s face scrunched up. “I don’t think jokes are good for right now.”

Oliver rolled his eyes. “I can’t change or control it. And I may end up hurting both you and Annette so… I think it’s best that you guys stop hanging out with me. Like most people.”

Ayu curled up more into his blanket with pondering eyes. “… I’m not sure.”

“What do you mean you’re not sure-”

“You’re one of the only people I can actually talk to, Ollie. You look like a good guy too.” His stared up directed into Oliver’s gaze. “I don’t think you should give up on a possible answer just yet.”

“I,” Oliver stumbled on words. “I still wanna keep at least some distance.”

“How come?”

“Well, whenever I make friends, I end up screwing them over the worst way possible by accident so that’s a reason.”

Ayu blinked up again. Then realized. “Oh.” He made a crooked smile, brows faced with slight worry. “I’m pretty sure I’m strong enough, still.”

Oliver’s face goes sour in doubt.

“Oh yeah… how come you always wear that jacket?” Ayu tugs at the red cardigan. “Don’t you have more?”

“I do,” Oliver answered. “But I mainly use this one since blood stains are harder to find with this.”

Ayu cringes. “That… sucks.”

“It does.” Oliver tugged his left sleeve farther down. “It really does.”

Oliver looked over at the clock on the stove. He stood up and dragged Ayu to get up too. “You should get going. My mom’s gonna be here in an hour. Do you want me to take you?”

Ayu passed him off. “No, I’m fine. Thanks for bringing me over. I feel fresh, yanno?” He pulled up his newly cleaned jacket up to his nose, eying Oliver as he sniffed it.

Is he trying to hide that? Oliver chuckled at the thought. “Yeah, I can tell.”

“Uhm, see ya later.” Ayu grinned as he shut the door.

Oliver only muttered back his words; however, as soon as the door closed, he rushed to his room and jumped onto the bed. “Oh, thank God!”

“Thank Him for what?” Vittorino appeared against the wall like every day.

“I have a dog’s nose and he doesn’t smell terrible anymore. Plus, he didn’t wanna kill me!”

“Oh, right. It wasn’t that surprising.” He snickered. “It’s been a week again, how’ve you been.”

“Shut your damn mouth; I almost forgot about it.”

“Hungry then,” he proclaimed. “Are you gonna eat soon?”

“Til I’m forced to, I’m not gonna.” The boy slugged himself off the bed to the switchblade on the chair. “Now, if you can please leave? I’m about to have a snack.”

He made his way to the bathroom routine.

“Sure, fine. Just don’t drink too much. Alice’ll get mad at me again.” He disappeared as soon as he told.

Oliver’s eyes narrowed. “I’m sure she will.”

#writing #my writing #writeblr #writblr #writers on tumblr #black sun tale #bst #chapter 8 #swearing warning #suicide mention #death mention #murder mention?#blood mention warning #why are my tags always like this #bst oliver #bst alice #bst ayu #bst vittorino

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wyrd66 · 5 years

Text

haanpere replied to your post “I have the day off from work and will be at the computer most of the...”

I'm interested in what kind of art and media paski might have(if any)? :D From all that I've gathered, they don't seem to regard anything that doesn't serve a practical purpose as having a reason to exist, and they seem very serious in general so I wonder, do paski do anything recreational just for the sake of it? Like, create music, make art, write stories/poetry, make movies, anything of the sort? o3o

Oh yes, they absolutely have art and music! They are actually kind of obsessed with beautiful things in general. My idea was that the average paski house (on Duniyaa, or in space) is just adorned with plants and flowers, and on the walls are bright and happy sayings like “happy family”, “full of love”, etc. written in beautiful script. More upper-class houses on Duniyaa may be adorned with precious stones and crystals, or may have mosiacs painted on the walls. Gardens and arboretums are also a Big Thing to paski. The powerful Dar family manages an enormous arboretum that is both world-famous and open to the public. The gardens there are stunning.

They also do paint, and make sculptures, and the like. Ceramics are an enormous part of their culture-- instead of going the way of metals, like us, they use ceramics. There is a ton of clay mud on Duniyaa. Everything is pottery. They have vases and sculptures to die for. Paintings are also very popular to adorn homes, workplaces, etc. with. Banjaree’s Papa, Geet, is actually a very accomplished artist, and his paintings are in quite a few homes on Unity, and some have even been shipped off-planet. And jewelers are always in high demand; very lucrative career.

They also write books and poetry. My idea was that Raatasingh especially is a beautifully poetic language, full of metaphors and epithets. For example, the name for the secondary slashing claw in Raatasingh translates to “moon-shard”. “Moon-shard” is also a way to refer to warships, as they are another weapon. And artificial intelligences, which don’t exist in paski society (being a purely human invention), are referred to in Raatasingh as “mirrors” or “reflections”. So yeah, super poetic language. They produce a lot of written works, though all of it is heavily censored by the government.

They make a lot of movies, and they also have video games. I have some old posts on those in my #society tag, though I can’t be bothered to find them at the moment. XD

For music each subspecies has their own flavor. I was thinking that Pilasira have a lot of hard drum beats and pounding rhythms, and chants in unison-- sort of like a haka? A Daget might have a solo verse because they are that awesome and badass, but otherwise it’s a group thing. For Raatasira I’ve always pictured beautiful stringed instruments like shamisen, and long, drawn-out notes in harmony for singing. No one ever solos, as that’s being selfish and a braggart. I haven’t really found something for Caandiki and Binasinga yet; they’re definitely the less-developed subspecies.

Thank you for asking!

#haanpere #paski headworld #society #the patented wyrd text wall (tm)

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jimlingss · 6 years

Text

Jungle Park [2]

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3

➜ Words: 6.4k

➜ Genres: Fluff, Light Humour (?), Slice of Life, Workplace Romance!AU

➜ Summary: The equation is simple. Hoseok needs to hire someone. You need a job. Except like any actual equation, it’s not fucking simple at all! Not when you have to add the fact that he was forced to hire someone he doesn’t want in his office, he has little respect for your job in general, and oh yeah...once upon a time you might have—*CENSORED*.

➜ Warnings: swearing

The stack of applications sits on the edge of his desk untouched. Hoseok’s been up to his neck in work, dealing with files that have accumulated and clients that come in screaming about the latest crazy thing their soon-to-be-ex spouse did. In all honesty, he completely forgot about hiring an HR person and he let himself forget since frankly, he couldn’t care less about the entire ordeal. That is...until his partner comes stomping into his office. “You haven’t hired anyone yet?!” “What?” Hoseok looks up from his computer. “Hire who?” “Oh my god. You one brain celled man!” Jimin laments dramatically before flopping down in the seat across from Hoseok’s own chair. He lugs his stack of paper onto his desk, dropping his briefcase and sighing tiredly. “I told you to hire someone for HR, remember?” “Oh, right, that,” he mutters from the corner of his mouth, closing the document he was working on and hopping to another. “Yes, that.” Jimin takes the stack of applications that are piled on top of the other folders and he flips through them. “You’re supposed to pick someone, remember? You even interviewed them.” “Uh-huh.” Hoseok turns several pages, eyes burning at the tiny black text and slivers of white between them. “Haven’t had the time to think about it. It’s not a priority.” “Well it should be.” Jimin purses his lips and skims the résumé from the top. “How about this person? Kwon Suwoong? Graduated in 2013 with a masters in psychology and he’s worked in an HR position before.” “I don’t like his personality,” Hoseok says from the corner of his mouth. “Seems flaky to me.” “Okay. What about this person? Park Jihyo. Straight out of university and looks like she has a ton of volunteer experiences.” The younger man nods with a hum. “She went abroad for a year building schools and houses.” “She’s too idealistic,” Hoseok notes. “Too energetic, too many ideas, gives me a headache.” Jimin sighs and files through the stack of applications, ignoring some as well. It seems like his partner has a complaint about every single person and it’s only until he lands on a specific one that seems to warrant no protests. “How about Y/N?” Hoseok looks up from his papers, away from his computer. Jimin’s lips are pouted as he reads your paper. “Solid education, a lot of odd previous jobs…..” His pupils flicker to the male across from him when he hears no whining. “What do you think?” “She’s….weird.” His brow lifts in curiosity. “What do you mean?” “I don’t know.” Hoseok doesn’t try to explain himself. “I feel like she’ll give me a headache too.” The corner of Jimin’s lips tug and he puts the stack down before settling into the seat. “Is there anyone who won’t give you a headache? If you can’t pick anyone, then I choose this person. Give her a call and let her know she got the job, alright?” “Ugh.” He leans back in his swivel chair, staring at the ceiling. “Can’t you call instead?” “Nope.” Jimin pops the last syllable with a massive grin, getting up and before he slips out the room, his head still pokes through the doorway. “You call. And also, make sure to train her, show her around and introduce her to everyone. We want to make our new HR manager feel welcome, don’t we?” The lawyer behind the desk pinches the bridge of his nose, already feeling the thumps at his temples, the onset sign of a new headache coming to welcome his day.

An entire week passed. You accepted reality — you just weren’t going to get the job. And you even went to the public library to print another stack of résumés to continue your job hunt. But when you get the phone call, the very same one you had been dreaming of, while you were walking to the sad strip mall, you quite literally screamed. Hoseok scowled, peeling the phone away from his ear, and you apologized profusely. The very next day, you went back to the firm with freshly ironed clothes. “Welcome to the team.” The handsome dark-haired male greets you at the front with a slight smile and nod. Your hands are shaking, but instead of nervousness, this time it’s from sheer excitement. He exhales and glances at his watch. “I’ll show you around and help you get settled.” “That would be great, thank you.” Immediately, he begins without a breath to spare. You try your best to keep up with his wide strides, quickening your steps as you trail after his shadow, heels already beginning to pinch your toes. “As you know we’re a divorce law firm that’s been running for four years,” he tells you as he makes his way down the hall and you nod, having done your research beforehand. “Jimin and I are partners. I am the primary litigator and I take care of running the logistics of the firm while Jimin is in charge of mediation which we get more cases for. So, you’ll probably see me go to court more often. The rest of this office is split between supporting either me or Jimin.” “O-okay.” You’re not used to such a fast pace and your mind is already swirling with information. Hoseok approaches the first set of cubicles on the floor. “This is our legal assistants which is the same thing as a paralegal, Kim Seokjin, Kim Namjoon, Kang Seulgi, and….where’s Sebin?” A blonde man pushes his seat back so his face is seen past the high cubicle wall. He’s strikingly handsome, full cheeks and rounded eyes. “She went to go mail something for Jimin.” His pupils flicker up and down to you, a smile pulling on his pink plump lips. “And who is this?” “This is your new HR representative,” Hoseok introduces with an impassive tone. “Hello.” You bow your head and shake hands with the brunette male closer to you. He pushes his rounded spectacles up, dimples pressed cutely on both sides of his cheeks. “My name is Y/N. Nice to meet you.” The girl sitting across from him, hidden behind a giant stack of boxes moves until you see her. “Jin, can you not be greasy towards the new girl? It’s kind of really disgusting.” She turns towards you with her arm extended. Her monolid eyes are cat-like, but they crinkle cutely when you shake her hand. “I’m Seulgi, nice to meet you. Trust me, you’ll want to steer clear of all the men here.” “Hey! What did I ever do?!” The blonde whines in a higher pitch tone. “I literally just said hi!” “Yeah, but you were all like ‘who is this’?” She mimics his tone, dropping a pitch, extending the syllables and sounding purposely sleazy. You have to hold back a laugh, put more at ease when they’re bickering back and forth like this. “I did not sound like that!” Jin defends himself. Namjoon sighs and puts down his glasses. “Can we not start this? It’s not even ten o’clock yet.” But your nervousness isn’t completely dispelled, not when Hoseok is already beginning to nudge you in a different direction. “Alright, alright. Get back to work before we fire you. You can do more in-depth meet and greet later. Namjoon, the draft to opposing counsel should be on my desk in the next half-hour.” You can barely bid goodbye before you’re led to the next cubicle, weaving between high stacks of boxes of files and papers. Hoseok gestures towards three different people. “This is our accountants, Hyuk and Inyoung. And Jungkook here is our articling student. He’s a lawyer in training and should officially join the team in a few months.” They’re a more shy bunch than the legal assistants. The dark-haired boy seems the youngest of the entire group, giving you a slight nod and smile. His doe eyes are big, almost reminding you of a deer in headlights. On the other hand, the woman sitting across from him in the cubicle set tucks her light hair behind her ear, greeting you happily and the man beside her seems to stare at you for an extra long time, his eyes flickering up and down your frame that makes you feel slightly uncomfortable. Hoseok doesn’t pay any attention to the little introductions and then he continues to parade you around, pointing to the kitchen and the bathroom and a few of the offices. He walks down the hall and then lets out a loud ‘ahem’ when he notices the crowd at the water cooler. He crosses his arms and makes himself known. “Is there not any work to do?” “Oh come on, Hoseok.” An older lady turns around, wrinkles around her face creased when she grins at him. She brushes a loose curl from her updo away from her face, blazer hugging her curves, red-stained lips curling at the sight of you. “We’re just curious about the new hire. And this must be her?” “I’m Y/N.” You smile at the four of them. “Nice to meet you.” “Thank god, you’re here.” A younger girl approaches you, abandoning her cup of water on top of the cooler, and she grasps your hands while her eyes glimmer. “We need you here so badly.” “Let her breathe, Sunyi.” A short man with black hair narrows his eyes onto you before they soften in curiosity. His cheeks puff out, lips naturally pouted. “You’re too goddamn suffocating.” “Okay, fuck you, Yoongi.” She spins around on her heel, cussing him out. “Hey!” The man standing next to Yoongi with caramel hair takes a few steps closer to you. “That’s no way to speak in front of such a gorgeous lady. You’re so uncultured.” His boxy grin appears as he suavely shakes your hand, making you lose your breath. “I’m Kim Taehyung, it’s an absolute pleasure to meet you.” “Ew.” Sunyi shoves him out of the way, bumping shoulders with the man. “You’re worse than Jin is. I’m Lee Sunyi, slave of Hoseok and Jimin. Also known as one of the lawyers here.” “You’re so dramatic.” The person lingering behind her rolls her eyes. “I’m Min Yoongi. Lawyer. We’re all lawyers here. Nice to meet you.” The other woman introduces herself as Kye Naul. The group seems to take interest in you, about to ask where you’re from or what you’ll be doing here, but Hoseok takes a glance at his watch, sighs, and pushes them out of the way. “Okay, get back to work. We have business to attend to. You can ask what you want later.” “You should loosen up,” Taehyung notes before dashing off. “I’ll loosen up when we get work done,” he grumbles back to the other. Naul saunters off, Taehyung tosses a wink and Sunyi a sweet smile. Hoseok continues to walk down the hall and your mind is dizzy with names and introductions, not sure you can remember it all. It’s overwhelming to say the least and doesn’t help when your boss continues— “Including Jimin and I, there are fifteen people here in total. Two receptionists, four legal assistants, five lawyers counting Jungkook, and two accountants. Jimin’s out right now but you can meet him later. He’ll probably swing by.” Hoseok pushes open the last door in the corner of where the two halls meet and you’re met with a tiny room. There’s one small window at the back covered by broken blinds, one cramped desk and one metal drawer unit. The door itself is slim and the walls are gray, space minuscule, making it seem like a… “This was originally a storage closet,” the lawyer states. “We emptied it out for you. It’s your office now.” “Oh..okay…” You nod, taking it all in even when there’s not much to take in. It’s a bit disheartening to know you’ll be operating in a place that used to be a closet, but the more you look at it, the more you consider it’s not too terrible. You’ve worked in worse conditions. Hoseok glances at his watch. “I should go now.” “Um-” You quickly turn around, catching his attention. When he stares at you intensely, you feel yourself grow small, muttering out the words, “Is there something you’d like me to do?” “Something to do?” He frowns and his lips part as if searching for an answer. “Get yourself settled in first.” “Alright.” You nod, mouth pulling into a smile. “Thank y—” “No problem,” Hoseok says before you can interrupt and he’s off like he has better places to be. You’re left standing in the small space, staring at his backside until it gets smaller. Then you turn towards your closet office, exhaling tiredly and wondering where to even begin. // When left to your own devices, the first thing you do is clean. You manage to find a few rags under the kitchen sink and you go to town. Every surface is scrubbed with cleaning solution or water. You get rid of the grime in all the closet corners, cleaning the cobwebs that accumulate near the ceiling, bidding farewell to dust bunnies. With the strength you’ve accumulated from going to the gym once every year, you pull the wooden desk and all its wires to the corner so it faces the open door. You also tug the cabinet beside it, creating an open space for others to enter. Once you sit down in the swivel chair, turning on the computer you were given, you realize there’s nothing for you to do. You lean back, deciding to rest a bit, pondering how your clothes became this wrinkly and how you’re going to salvage your sweaty face. But then you realize how awfully plain this room is. There are grey walls. And it’s empty. You’re not sure if you’re just free to leave or if you’ll get deducted pay. Taking a peek around, you find Jimin’s office empty and Hoseok’s door is shut tight, a visible sign that he shouldn’t be disturbed. Debating if you need to ask for permission, you end up deciding to just fuck it. During lunch, you slip out of the office, walking down the street to a few shopping centers. By the end of the day, you have a new teal rug, light yellow curtains on the windows, a high school poster of encouragement stuck on the wall along with a vibrant calendar, picture frames on your desk that are yet to be filled, and a cute plant on the corner of your desk. More importantly, you place a welcome sign on the door and under it lays a welcome mat. Your pocket hurts, but one look around tells you it’s all worth it. This will become your second home after all. // The atmosphere of the office is tense. By the time everyone’s arrived, the sound of working fills the area — photocopier whirring, coffee machine running nonstop, phones ringing, the sound of keys typing echoing off the walls, papers being flipped, one or two murmurs spoken before it’s silenced down. No one seems to notice your presence at all. You could slip out all day if you wanted to, like yesterday, but you have a job to do. And you’re going to make sure you do it goddamn well. “Is that….cookies?” Seokjin stops in his tracks and pops his head through your door, his nose sniffing the air. His eyes immediately land on the two plates on your desk and how they’re still steaming. “Yeah, I woke up early this morning and had some time, so I did some baking…” Jin nods and clears his throat. “Uh, is it okay if I, um, have one?’” “Yes! Of course!” You gesture towards your bait. “Feel free! I made them for people to enjoy!” Exactly according to plan, he nods with a smile and enters your office to take a cookie. He bites and then his eyes light up. “Wow, this is really, really good. Can I have one more?” “Sure.” You smile. “I wouldn’t know what to do with the leftovers anyways. Feel free to sit down.” The blonde man innocently plops down in the seat across from you and he swallows a mouthful as you watch him attentively, hands folded underneath your chin. “Is everything going okay?” “Yeah, not bad,” he says. “It is always this busy?” You casually ask with a smile, still amazed with the amount of productivity around here, despite the tense atmosphere. “Yeah.” Jin laughs. “We can be swamped up to our chins in work. Sometimes, I even forget to have lunch, it gets so bad.” Your brows raise and there’s a note of surprise in your voice. “Really?” He pauses from taking another bite. “Wait. I’m not going to get in trouble, right?” “What do you mean?” Jin leans closer to you from across the desk, dropping down to a whisper as his pupils flicker outside for a moment. “I mean, I think you’re really nice, Y/N. I also think it’s awesome that you’re here and a part of our team. But there are...some people who don’t like gossip or anyone talking badly about the office.” Your expression washes over until it’s indignant. “You mean Hoseok?” That would also explain why everyone around here seems to be wary of you. The receptionists were whispering in the kitchen when you went to get coffee and you hadn’t gotten any visitors yesterday or this morning until you pulled out the cookies. You wonder if people are afraid of Hoseok or just respect him too much….probably a mix of both. Seokjin puts his palms up and gives a small, squeaky giggle. “You said it, not me.” “You won’t get into any trouble,” you reassure him with the utmost confidence. “Everything you say to me is confidential….unless you have plans to do something illegal.” “I don't.” He grins at your smile and then adds, “not yet.” “Good.” You laugh, easing the person across from you. “My door is always open and you can talk to me about anything you’d like, any problem you might have with the office or anyone in it. Any issue you have, I’ll make sure it becomes addressed. It’s what I’m being paid for after all.” Jin quirks his head to one side, hand slipping on top of your desk towards another chocolate chip cookie as if you wouldn’t notice his sly movements. “Thanks, Y/N. I really appreciate that. It’s nice to know someone has our backs.” “You’re welcome.” It’s taking a bit of time for you to become adjusted to your job and truly understand the dynamics of this place. But it’s not long before you receive another knock and there’s someone else at your doorway. “Hey…” Another legal assistant makes her way inside your office with a bit of hesitancy. You remember her from her unique and pretty eyes, Seulgi. She’s fairly cute as well, her skirt and blouse ensemble matching, and her brunette hair slightly waved. “I heard your door was open?” “It is.” You switch off the monitor of your computer to give your full attention to your new guest. “Welcome!” “Oh my god, I love what you did with the place.” She notices a snow globe on top of the cabinet that you had taken from home. The girl ogles at the posters and calendars, observing the difference in curtains as well and how it lets in a lot more sunlight. “It’s cute, looks a lot better than how it used to. Doesn’t even look like a storage closet anymore.” “Thanks. Had to spend a fortune, but I think it was worth it. I also nabbed a lot of things on sale, like I replenished my washi tape supply.” You tug open your drawer, dumping it a handful on your desk. Seulgi gasps and falls into the seat across from you. “These are so adorable!” She holds up a pink lace washi tape and you mentally cheer for noticing her cute stationary when you were introduced to her yesterday. “I can never find cheap good ones like these. Where did you get them?” “The store down the avenue.” You smile at her enthusiasm. “You want to have them?” “What? Are you sure?” Seulgi stares at you with giant eyes and you tell her to go ahead since it’s not like you have much use for them. She murmurs something about only taking five of them and begins to go through the pile, abandoning a stack of files on the other chair as she chooses. “Is there anything that you’d like me to do for you?” you ask her as she’s preoccupied. “Any way you’d like me to improve the office?” The female hums and sits straight, her thin lips pressing together. She seems to consider if she should open up to you or not, but then she looks at your earnest expression and the washi tape, and decides why not. “Well, sometimes Hoseok can be…..I don’t know. He’s a great boss and all and good at his job, but there are times he makes us stay late and doesn’t tell us until an hour beforehand.” “Oh, I see…” “And there are times he calls us on the weekend and I get that it’s a tough job and he needs help, but it’s the weekend.” She rolls her eyes and doesn’t even bother to keep quiet as her blood begins to boil. “He just tells us we should get there in an hour! So I have to drop everything and go and he doesn’t even say ‘thank you’ when it’s done! My god!” It’s progress. If no one will give you work, you’ll find work. More people come through your office, sitting down, chatting, getting to know you and you getting to know who they are. Lots of people are apprehensive, not sure if they can trust you. But you ease them and have a fun time learning who they are. And then there are some people who don’t require any coaxings at all. “Y/N?” Another woman you recognize as Sunyi knocks on your door. She’s in her coat, handbag slung on her shoulder and other arm holding onto a thick file folder. “Do you have a second?” “Yes, of course,” you give a warm welcome to your new visitor. The lawyer sighs and heaves her folder on your desk, falling into the chair across from yours lifelessly. “I thought I’d stop by before going to lunch. Oh, cookies, nice!” She grabs one and chews thoughtfully before sending an approving look. Little do people know, you just used premade cookie batter. Your hands fold on top of the smooth surface of your desk. “What can I do for you?” “A lot,” she laughs genuinely. “I don’t even know where to begin. I’ve been waiting for this moment for a long time. This is probably the best decision Jung and Park have ever made.” You laugh as well, nodding. “Well, feel free. I have a lot of time on my hands right now.” “Where to start, where to start,” she mutters underneath her breath before sighing, putting down the rest of her cookie and dusting off her hands. “Okay, if it’s possible, I’d like to file an official complaint about Min Yoongi. He’s a prick. He chews really loudly when others are trying to work. Like, he brings in carrots with dip and potato chips into meetings and it’s highly distracting. Also, there are problems with his hygiene. The man doesn’t shower and thinks axe body spray is enough to cover his stench! News flash — this isn’t high school! He smells like a bag of rotten eggs left in the sun.” You don’t have any complaint forms yet, so you grab sticky notes, frantically writing down her complaints which are endless. She grieves on and on about Yoongi’s working habits, eating habits, breathing habits. And as amused as you become listening to her stories, you find she is more relaxed as she continues her rant. “Oh and Hoseok.” Sunyi slumps over your desk, groaning into her palms. “Can he please stop calling me one minute before five o’clock? It’s time for me to leave, but he always drags me in for another long ass meeting and I don’t get to leave until six. He’s so goddamn uptight.” “I know right,” you agree with a laugh. “I think he makes everyone anxious around here.” “Right?!” She snaps her fingers, lighting up when the words come out of your mouth. “Finally, someone understands me!” Even if Hoseok doesn’t give you the warmest welcome, everyone else does. By the time lunchtime is over, there are people entering your office, requesting your help with their problems. You don’t even get a chance to sit down or breathe. But you really wouldn’t have it any other way. You thrive on face-to-face interaction with others, of hearing their stories and listening to what they have to say. It’s not only interesting, but you like to help and feel needed. “It’s not even the second day yet.” There’s a grumble from a tall dark-haired male. He sips on his coffee, eyes pierced past the white rim and glaring into your office from down the hall. From where he stands, in front of his own office, he can catch the corner of your room, mainly where your desk and computer is. “People are already wasting their time gossiping.” “Lighten up, Hope.” Jimin pats his friend’s back, utilizing the old nickname with a squeaky giggle and cheeky smile, eyes crinkled into half moons. “Why so serious? Where did the hyper ball of sunshine go?” “This is a professional setting,” Hoseok reminds his partner. “I’m just trying to do my job and the others should too.” “It’s not like you’re getting any work done either.” The shorter man slips away, shooting a tiny wink. “Maybe you should go over there and talk to her instead of staring all day.” If possible, Hoseok’s frown becomes deeper. Right as you get a chance to collect yourself and organize all the sticky notes you have, there’s yet another knock on your door. You whip your head up, but it’s one of the last people you were expecting. Immediately, you rise to your feet, chair shifting back, hands gripping the hem of your blazer. “Good afternoon, Mr. Park.” “Oh please, sit.” He gestures and takes a seat across from you as well, throwing one leg over the other. Though you’ve yet to officially meet your other boss, in passing and through pictures, he always seems to be the kinder one of the two. Even now, the man had a warm smile and cute eyes directed towards you, running a hand through the brown mess of hair. “And call me Jimin. It sounds too formal to call me by my last name. Same thing with Hoseok. Mr. Jung is his dad, not him. If he tells you to call him that, then tattle to me and I’ll make sure to punch him.” “Okay.” You nod, feeling calm from his soft-spoken words and returning his smile. “How are you settling down?” His hands are clasped and Jimin takes one sweep of your office with his eyes. “I love what you did with the place. It’s cozy. Nothing’s been too hard, right?” “No.” You shake your head. “Honestly, everything’s been great. I like everyone here, just getting used to things a bit more.” The lawyer hums and then takes a peek outside, finding that his partner has disappeared. “Did Hoseok help you with introductions and orientation?” “Yeah, well...umm..” You twiddle with your fingers. “He did, but I was wondering if there was something specific that you’d like me to do? If...there are official conflict forms you’d like me to fill out or if there are any binders I should have on office safety.” His brows raise. “Did he give you none of that?” “No, not really.” You give a sheepish smile, momentarily looking at your stack of sticky notes that have a bunch of scribbles on them. All Hoseok did was briefly pass names around and then he threw you in this closet with an old computer. “Well, ask him again.” Jimin nods. “Hoseok acts as our office manager as well, so if there are forms you need, he’ll have them or can find some and help you print it out. It’s actually great that you’re here since you can help him out. Aside from that, I know you’ll be doing a lot of conflict resolution — it’s one of the main reasons why we hired you, since there’s so much conflict in this office. Any other specifics about your job, ask Hoseok.” “Alright.” “To be frank.” Jimin leans in closer with a mischievous smile. “You’re my white knight.” The corner of your mouth tugs. “What do you mean?” “You’re saving me,” your supposed boss tells you and in this moment, he feels more like a friend sharing a secret than anything. “You’re doing the job I don’t want to do. I got tired of handling problems around here, so I made Hoseok hire someone.” “Well I’m glad to save the day then.” You laugh before hesitating on the next thing you want to admit as well. “But….” “What?” You lean in closer, exchanging your own whispers. “Hoseok doesn’t like me, right?” The man across from you leans back in his chair in giggles, laughing and covering his mouth with the palm of his hand. “Why would you think that?” “I can just tell.” Your shoulders shrug. “He keeps glaring at me.” Jimin grins. “He’ll warm up to you.” You smile sheepishly. “Probably.” // With what Jimin said in mind, you scrape up enough courage to finally stand up and knock on the door down the hall. It’s nerve wracking and simply rapping your knuckles on the wooden surface has all cells in your body screaming. It would be best if you were to stay far, far away from Hoseok. He not only intimidates the hell out of you, but makes you nervous beyond belief. Still, you grow some balls and go for it. “Who is it?” You crack open the door, pushing your nose and one eye through the sliver. Hoseok is at his desk, a swamp of boxes and papers and files surrounding him. He’s tapping on the keys of his computer and scribbling something on a notepad at the same time. Never once does he look at you. “Um, is now a good time?” “It’s never a good time,” he says with a sigh. “What do you need?” “I just..uh...wanted to ask a few things.” You slide into the room quietly, watching how he’s hard at work. His hair is in a disarray, tie loosened, black blazer abandoned at the back of his chair, white dress shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows. You feel pride blooming in your chest, for someone you once knew who became so successful. Oddly enough, you feel proud of him. “What is it?” Hoseok breaks you out of your trance and you clear your throat. “Um, I think I’m missing a few forms and a few binders…? Also, I was wondering if I could get my nameplate. It’s obviously not important, but I thought I’d just ask.” Your voice trails off until it becomes quiet and you cringe at how you always lose your composure in front of him. “And I wanted to know if you have any specific tasks for me.” “Ask the legal assistants and they can help you find whatever forms you want. There aren’t any binders since we’ve never had an HR department before, but there might be something from when this place opened up. Check the cabinet drawers at accounting. Tell reception to order a nameplate for you and…” Hoseok finally lifts his chin and he frowns, thinking hard. “Why don’t you write a staff handbook?” It’s as if you’re a child and he’s making up things for you to do, so you can just leave him alone. “A staff handbook?” “Yes,” he says and it’s like he’s talking to himself. Hoseok nods a few times. “We don’t have anything for our employees and new ones like you. It would be nice to have something that states our firm’s policies, mission statements, our culture and procedures.” “Uh…” You wonder how you’re going to write something like that when you have no idea what this firm stands for. But you decide to not say anything in case you upset him. All you manage is an— “okay…” “Alright. Sounds good.” He returns back to his work, expecting you to waltz out here, satisfied. Except, you linger. He feels his headache worsen, but pretends not to see you. Maybe if he concentrates hard enough, you’ll just vanish into thin air and leave him in peace. But of course, that would be irrational. “Uh…” You take a step closer to his desk, hesitating, but never once backing down. “One more thing.” “What.” “I would like to conduct a survey.” There’s a pause and you decide to spit the rest out while you have a chance. “I just would really like to know what everyone’s thoughts are. It would be a simple survey, asking how they feel about their safety and their comfort levels and the environment. I could see what improvements or adjustments to make. It would just help and could benefit all parties involved. It would only take five minutes tops. It’s really quick…..…..please?” If looks could kill, Jung Hoseok would have you buried six feet under by five o’clock today. // Everyone is actually delighted. Instead of getting started on work that’ll last for the next eight hours, the first thing they get to do this morning is join you in the conference room. It’s your first real meeting, thirteen people gathered around the table and staring at you. But you reassure yourself and begin handing out the surveys and the pencils, letting everyone know to take their time and that every submission will be confidential. They’re pretty happy to sip on their morning brew and write smack about each other, on the firm, and on Hoseok for you to read. “We’re losing control,” said man mutters from the corner of his mouth towards his partner. His arms are crossed and eyes are narrowed past the glass of the conference room, glaring at each person who has a smile on their face. “You’re too dramatic.” Jimin laughs and takes a drink of his coffee. “We’re not losing control. You’re just learning to micromanage less. Plus, doesn’t this shake things up a bit? It’s fun and different. Maybe I should fill a survey out too.” “You’re the boss of this place too, idiot.” The corner of Hoseok’s lips tug, unable to help his tiny smile that breaks the serious exterior. The shorter man only smacks his lips several times, savouring the bitter taste on his tongue and feeling more awake as time ticks by. “Well, I obviously don’t wear the pants of this place.” “These pants are being set on fire...” Hoseok nudges his chin over to where you’re standing in front of the room, helping Namjoon who’s probably clarifying one of the questions. “...by that HR girl.” “Her name is Y/N,” Jimin chides with a mischievous smile. Hoseok sighs. // When you see the results of the survey, you sigh as well….several times...enough for your lungs to probably burst. “What’s going on?” If the productivity of the firm was measured, this would’ve hit an all time low. Everybody was currently gathered outside of Hoseok’s office, unable to take a peek in when the blinds are drawn. There seems to be bickering and yelling seeping from the crack of the door and even Jimin is standing next to Yoongi, an amused smile on his face while the rest are either snickering, shocked or entertained. The sound of work ceases to exist. “Y/N is arguing with Hoseok,” Naul tells Seulgi with a few cackles of her own. “That girl got steel balls on her.” “Oh my god.” Seulgi presses her ear to the wall. “No way…” Inside, you’re absolutely exasperated and Hoseok is ready to hurl you out the window. “These are terrible results!” You can’t believe it and the absurdness of it all is making you hysterical. “Where are the safety requirements of this office? Does it even exist? And you know you can’t overwork these people! There are no vacation times and their pay is low!” “Low?!” He scoffs and knocks back his head. “If you think it’s low then what I make is low too! If someone has a problem with their pay, then they should directly come talk to me and we’ll deal with it!” “Obviously everyone feels too threatened to come and talk to you!” “We run a business, not a charity.” He gets up, hands on his hips and he turns towards the city view windows before spinning back on his heel to face you. It’s not like him to lose composure like this and he’s not sure how you can get under his skin so easily. “I knew this was a bad idea. I knew it. They’re using this as leverage to complain and whine and not do any work.” “These are legitimate concerns.” You slap the results of the survey on his desk, refusing to waver or become intimidated. “If you care about these people, then you’d care about this too. I’m just trying to do my job.” “And I’m trying to do mine!” “But you listen to no one but yourself.” “I can’t do this anymore.” Hoseok shakes his head and shouts for his partner’s help— “Jimin!” “Fine.” You throw your hands up. “If you want to be this way, let’s talk with someone who’s more rational. Jimin!”

The screams of Jimin’s name and oncoming steps makes said man run in the opposite direction. Jimin sprints down the hall, darting past cubicles and offices, sliding right through the elevators doors that were beginning to close. Gone.

#bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #hoseok fanfic #jhope fanfic #hoseok scenario #OC as an HR manager who just wants to do well #Hoseok a lawyer who just wants some fUCkInG pEaCE and quIET!!! LORD IS IT TOO MUCH TO ASK FOR?!?!?!?!#the ball is beginning to just roll....

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sparkesink · 5 years

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Chapter 14:

Such Is, The American Dream

How Does One Write…

(When One Has Nothing To Write Upon?)

No Desperate Tragedy…

No Thrilling Woe.

My Rains,

(My Snout…)

Never Forced,

(Still Out.)

The Most Difficult Task,

(Writing Upon A Wim…)

Not Which Becomes A Light Source,

(Discarded Amongst The Gray…)

But That Of The Smiles Which Roll Astray.

The Memories That Stay,

Through A Drought-Full Snow…

Never…

(Really,)

Mattered…

We Always Destined…

(Take Such Blow.)

I Had Never Imagined,

(The Difficulty…)

“Catch What You Sow…”

I Really Just Hope,

I Did Not Catch The Bow…

Allow Intellect,

(Power To Tow.)

Slow,

Sweet Ebb And Flow.

Only One Little Thing:

(Keep My Mind Low.)

This Internet Shit Is Much Harder Than It Seems…

Seamless Integration,

Flawless Digital Frustration…

Hours Upon Hours Of Choices To Feed…

How Many Algorithm Marketing Targets Do I Need?

Constant Change,

(A Living Thing…)

Creating A Robot,

(Behind Your News Feed.)

Good Money Spent:

(Just One Moment Of Your Time…)

Try Being More:

Sensible,

(Simply,)

Speaking In Rhyme…

There Is No Easy Feet,

While Introducing Something New.

There Is No Target Audience,

(Per-say,)

In Lieu.

There Is No,

(One,)

Industry We Fall Within.

Shall We Write Code?

(Leaving Artistic Voice Shackled And Thin?)

Maybe The Camera Feel Cold?

While Contracts Come Tackled,

(Spattered Upon Tin.)

How Can So Many Things,

All Come Shining Their Rings…

And I’m Expected To Succeed…

(You Don’t Know:)

Not A Single Itch Of This Presentation…

Is Procured By Any Other…

(Than Me.)

One Little Girl,

Four Personalities…

All Separate In Their Beautiful Talents.

How Could Anyone Know…

(She Performs The Full Trapeze.)

Not A Building,

No Projects…

(Between Groups…)

Just Me;

(Here,)

Trying Not To Cry.

Pushing A Project:

(I Never Got To Practice.)

I Didn’t Go To College For Computer Science…

A Whole Degree Dedicated:

(The Science Of Marketing…)

I Didn’t Ask For This Work…

As It Laid It’s Beautiful Head Upon My Chest.

I Was Given This Burden,

To Think And Create…

To Reach The Stars:

Give Them All Back…

(Sensibly Late.)

Heaven Forbid,

We Use Our Word,

To Speak…

(To Talk.)

Create Conversation,

(Substituting Reaction To Mock.)

We Are Forced Language Of Societal Choosing,

From The Moment We Enter This World.

Here,

(Upon This Earth…)

Within This Reality,

At This Exact Moment In Time:

We Grow,

We Forget How To Talk…

We Let All Of The Bullshit Hide,

(Who We Really Are Inside.)

That Happy Child,

Giggling With Your Mother…

She Raspberries Your Little Baby Belly.

She Kisses Your Forehead:

Promising Beauty Within Life.

Unconditional Love,

(Regardless Societal Strife.)

Though,

(At Some Moment…)

For Some:

Brief…

A Loss At Happenstance…

(A Loss Of Seconds To Breathe.)

For Others:

An Extensive Span Of Trauma And Fear,

Acceptance Washed,

(Blatantly Clear.)

Do You Understand Fear?

Months Turned Years,

Consistent Fears:

Fear To Open The Front Door,

Fear Of Anything,

(Aside The Shore.)

I Broke Myself.

I Ignored Myself.

I Allowed Others To Abuse Me,

(Shamed The Woman I Could Be.)

I Feel Sick,

Consistently At War:

I’ve Fought My Whole Life,

(My Truth Resides Within My Lore.)

Do You Think I’m Privileged?

(I’ve Been Given A Hand Up?)

Could You Realize It All Came At A Price?

Do You Understand Manipulative Narcissistic Strife?

It Flows As The Waves Within The Sea,

(Maybe This Is Why It Consistently Captivates Me.)

Though I Have Only Begun To Live This New Life:

One Of Health,

Truth,

Integrity,

(And Dignity…)

All Those Dark Memories:

Transparently Vibrant Through Stained Glass.

I’ve Been On This Emotional Ride Since Birth,

I Am Their Narcissistic Supply,

(Second Class.)

“My Worth”:

Highs And Lows,

“You’re Impressively Bland,”

“You’re Intelligently Stupid,”

“You’re Non Like The Rest,

As Soon As She Breaks,

Make Haste:

Take Her To The Test!”

Round And Round,

I Tumble Through Sea Foam,

An Eternity Caught,

(A Weightless Tomb.)

Little “B”,

So Soft And Sweet Was She.

She Crawled Beneath Her Bunk Bed,

Just A Moment To Breathe.

Forced To Obey,

Shunned If She Don’t Stay.

She Just Did Not Want To Play,

(With That Little Girl,)

A Girl Who’s Cousin Fondled Her,

(Post Six Years From A Six Year Old Twirl.)

She Moved Each Toy,

All Those Soiled Clothes,

She Placed Herself Perfectly…

Between The Mattress And The Floor.

She Only Six At The Time…

She Didn’t Understand,

(Emotional Manipulative War.)

She Didn’t Understand,

She Deserved Her Respect,

Her Heart Under-defined:

(“Sore”.)

She Hid Under That Bed,

Gasping For Breath;

Rocking Back And Forth,

Both Hands Entangled Her Head.

She Sat There Crying,

Though Silent She Must Be…

For If Anyone Found Her,

(Emotional Scrutiny.)

She Learned To Sob Silently:

(No One Let’s The Girl Just Be.)

She Tucked Her Tears Within A Sock,

Bit Her Lip And Listened,

Counting The Clock…

Curious How Long She Could Disappear,

Before They Even Noticed,

“She’s Not Here.”

One Hour,

Two?

(None Hadn’t A Clue…)

Till Finally Her Mother Came Ringing Through…

She Heard Her Panic,

Thirty Minutes Gone By…

Is It Fucked Up,

She Enjoyed It?

(Hearing Mom Cry.)

They Called The Police,

Worried She Had Been Taken;

She Finally Wiggled,

(Mountains Of Emotion Shaken,)

Out Of Her Room,

(Snot Encasing The Entirety Of Her Face,)

Why Couldn’t You Understand,

(She Isn’t At Home In This Place.)

She Was Escorted To The Side Walk,

Directly Affront Her Claim.

She Sat Silent As The Officer Explain,

“You Cannot Hide From Your Parents,

This Is Bad.”

So What If She Is Sad?

So What If She Has No Name,

So What If She Is Human,

So What She Lives In Shame?

She Is Six,

(Just Her Parents Property.)

Never Hit,

Welted Below The Belt…

(Emotionally Scarred.)

Never Bled,

(Controlled,)

“The Person She Is…

(Must Be Discard.”)

“She Is Not Allowed To Be,

(The One She Is Meant To See,)

She Only Allowed To Be,

(The One I Want To See!)”

Her Desires Shot,

Her Goals,

‘Just Silly Dreams…’

(Even Early Graduation Wasn’t Satisfactory To Thee.)

Her Dean’s List Scholars,

Scholarships At Sixteen…

“She Could Have Done Better,

Had She Only Listened To Me…

Had She Only Let Me Direct Her Life,

(Listened As A Sheep,)

Maybe She Would Be Normal,

Maybe She Wouldn’t Be…

(A Fucking Head Case,)

Maybe She Would Finally Sleep.

She Could Live And Become ‘Normal’,

If She Would Only Just ‘Play The Game’…

Since She Refuse,

We Mock Her In Exasperating Blame.”

Forward To Twenty-one Years,

(Now Enthralled Within Devine Game:)

A Rabbit Called,

His Eye Yellow Amongst A Brunette Mane.

He Scurried Diligently Amongst My Toes,

Furry Innocence Disregard Hidden Foes.

I Offered Him My Guidance,

A Compass Found,

(Hanging Amongst The Fir…)

The Rabbit Shook His Tale In Great Exuberance,

My Third Eye Cringed Within Prominent Clairvoyance.

I Had Been Wandering For Days Amongst These Trees,

(I Hadn’t Expected To Find Creatures Such As These.)

The Rabbit Was First,

He Spoke Aloud,

(Whispered,)

Follow Me,

(I’ll Show You Around.)

All This Time Rummaging From Within The Trees,

Consistently Trudging Muck,

(Seeping Between The Leaves.)

He Turned Timid,

Around And Around,

Figure-eights Between Each Tree:

Before A Days Pass,

He Guided Me,

Beyond The Forest Entrance,

(Amass.)

I Forfeited Precious Time Progressing,

(Before Encountering You!)

“I’m Back Where I Fucking Started!

You Beady Eyed Fool!”

The Rabbit Appeared Different,

(His Eye Gold Sprouting Orange:)

“Don’t You Get It?

I’m Not Here To Help You.

You Should Have Taken Interest,

(Within Prior Warn.)

Enjoy Trudging Back,

Dusk Covers Within Mist Until Morn.”

Then Out Of The Muck,

This Yellow-eyed Rabbit Disappear.

Leaning In Close With One Ear…

“FUCK!”

Kicking The Mud,

My Heart Sweltered Within My Chest,

My Knees Buckled,

(Demanded Rest.)

One Should Never Follow The Rabbit:

(Fuck That Rabbit.)

Forgive My Language,

I Was Never One To Censor…

(I Should Have Procured A Sponsor.)

Here,

Returned Upon The Beginning.

(Happy Anniversary To Me;)

3/14,

Another Beginning To Be.

I Suppose We Shall Try Again:

Follow My Heart,

Close What That Yellow Eyed Rabbit Left Tart,

Sever A Clean Part.

Keep The Soul,

Sponge The Rest.

Remain Hopeful,

(This Is Not A Final Test.)

I Suppose,

(To Me,)

It Seems Unbearable:

To Pull Myself From The Muck,

A Constant Reminder,

Slivers Of Luck,

(Fuck.)

Purchased Clothing To Tuck,

To Be Taken Into Success,

Without A Harvey Weinstein Conclusion…

(Business Fueled By Your Sucking Skills;)

I Digress.

No One Ever Talks About Modification Discrimination:

A Projected Judgmental Temptation,

Toward Self Expression.

Sighted Within The Way The Eyes Glaze,

Creases,

(Between The Sinus,)

Laze.

Projecting Yourself As A Business Cog:

“Don’t Quit Your Job.”

Bouncing Baby Blue,

Upon One Hip Or Two?

Can You Meet Next Wednesday?

Let Us Print Money For Few,

Don’t Mind The Toddler Fingers,

Find Purpose For My Mouth,

(En Lieu.)

Don’t Mind The Baby Babble,

(Mommy Wears Twenty Hats, Too.)

What Shall It Be Today?

Manning Landscape Stats?

Emotional Abuse?

(Milk Toppled By Stray Cats.)

Mommy And Me,

Climbing Counters,

(Refuse To Leave Be.)

Business Woman Performance:

A Joke,

(Scuffing Down Toke,)

Gaining Courage To Speak…

(To Other Folk.)

When Does This Feel Good?

When Does Satisfaction Creep My Soul?

(As I’m Told It Should.)

Such An Interesting Observation;

(In Which I Stand Alone.)

Expressing My Soul…

To Feel Sensation:

(A Cold And Lonely Tone.)

Choosing Printing Paper,

Juggling A Tired Toddler,

I Hold Her For Hours While Yawns Taper…

Which Ink Can Finally Coddle Her?

Could I Choose To Become A Cloud?

I Would Never Become “To Loud”.

I Would Never Drag Myself Through Sharpened Glass,

No Results Within My Mass.

I Could Be Beautifully Gazed Upon For All To See,

(While Remaining Far-away…)

Intact,

(With My Dignity.)

Removing Myself From Toxicity,

(Festering Within Such Simplicity.)

I Dream Upon Days,

(Lost In Daze,)

With Him…

Fizzled Out Of Adolescent Faze.

Fingers,

(Twirling My Hair Up Within Them.)

Coffee In Bed,

Date Nights In Red,

Laughing,

Exuding Such Needed Encouragement Said.

“Good Morning Beautiful,”

Every Morning.

A Hazel Eye That Never Projects A Bore…

A Look That Never Dies,

Such Relationship,

(Containing Exclusive Polite Lies.)

Weekends In Adventure,

Dreamer Talk Of Tenure,

Clouds Positioned To Lend An Ear…

Speaking Of Peace And Beauty,

Without A Reminder Of The Muck…

Gaining Momentum…

(Circling Near.)

Appreciation Of The Highs,

Consideration Of The Lows,

(An Anchor Lent Each Time It Shows.)

Walks Along The Beach,

Ability To Intellectually Teach…

A Woman,

(Who Is Anything But What She Wants To Be.)

A Smart Ass,

(Behind An Extended Vocabulary.)

Something Equivalent,

(Capable In Loving What Cannot Become Seen.)

Am I Lost?

Naïve?

Exclusive Denial Of What My Soul Is Screaming?

My Tower Leaning,

My Foundation Feening…

(Freely Poured Concrete…)

In Which Will Not Crack Under Pressure.

A Sentiment Of Force Capable To Hold,

(A Collapsing Infrastructure,)

Containing Such Vast Weight,

(Others Incapable Of Supportive Toll.)

A Crumbling “Eighth World Wonder,”

Supporting It’s Self Under Continuous Richter…

Acknowledging Important Features,

Cracking Off Remaining Seizures…

(Demolishing Pertinent Structures…)

Praying To A One-way Conversation…

(Within Myself.)

I Am Sick Of Being Sick.

Left Alone,

(Head Filled With Ideas Of “Home.”)

Just Let This Pressure,

(Excruciating Weight From Within My Chest,)

Dissipate…

Allow “Sensibly Late” To Mark Date…

I’ve Only Ever Desired Peace,

(Within Myself.)

Countless Influential People Project The Same Bore:

“Follow Your Dreams, Determination Hangs Sore…”

When Does A Lifetime Of Unfortunate Events End?

When Will I Be Given Time To Mend?

What Is Time But A Linear Bend?

If There Is No Beginning…

(Subsequently,)

There Is No End.

All Versions,

Within All Realities,

Upon All Timelines:

(Alive And Vibrant,)

Simultaneously Thrive.

Amongst A Paradox,

(Created Within Such A Reality,

Accepted Through Current Consciousness…)

Somewhere,

Along Some Timeline,

Within Such Reality,

Procured Through Such A Paradox…

In Which I Have Made This Work Worth Something.

At This Very Moment,

In A Linear Timeline,

Upon A Parallel Paradox;

I Have Succeeded.

The String Of Unfortunate Events Severed…

The Curse Lifted From My Ora.

I’m Left Staring Within This Same Pacific Ocean,

(Washed Away With The Sand.)

What Does This All Mean?

(Why Me?)

Why Have I Been Chosen To Endure This Strife?

Why Must A Devine Test Be Inflicted Upon This Life?

Why Am I Here?

(A Breeze Guided Me Near.)

Why Hasn’t This Happenstance Become Clear?

When Will This Trepidation Recede?

Will I Remain Humble If Encased Within Greed?

Eight Years Of Sorrow And Woe,

(Why Does This Fucking Novel Breed Such Daunting Tow?)

WHY AM I HERE?

WHY CAN I NOT SEE CLEAR?

AM I FACED TO ACEND WITHIN THE MIRROR?

WHY AM I FUCKING HERE?!?

What’s This Ship Got To Do With Anything?

Why These Sands?

Why This Bay?

It Felt So Natural,

(Before We Came To Stay…)

The Cosmos Were Ringing,

Guiding Me Amongst This Shore,

Now Enthralled In Silence,

Saturated Within Thirty Days,

(Blood And Pain,)

Payment For This Lore.

I Peer Amongst These Ruins,

(Sunken Deep Within Our Sands…)

What Does This Old Ship Have To Do With Anything?

What Am I Doing?

I Moved My Family,

Upon Premonition And Happenstance:

Guided Transition With Ease…

I Just Cannot Find My Purpose…

(Amongst These Seas.)

It’s As Though I Should Just Call It;

(Wave My White Flag And Surrender.)

Live Within Death:

Pull My Life Together,

(Ascender.)

I Cannot Seem To Convince,

Which I Am Meant

A Fruit Gathered,

(From Purposeful Quince.)

Am I Writing In The Wrong Direction?

(I Cannot Seem To Find My Way.)

What Could I Become?

In Such Case Of Succession?

This Lore Is All I’ve Ever Known…

My Key To Contentment Unknown.

How Could I Continue This Dream?

(My Work Greatly Unseen.)

I Came Here Upon This Day,

To Wave Goodbye To My Bay.

To Kiss My Waves One Final Day:

I Kiss The Earth Which This Tattered Ship Lay.

I Cannot Continue This Silly Nonsense,

I Must Learn To Become Practical;

Build A Wall Around My Heart,

Coated Kevlar Tactical.

The Coroner Always Gets His Way,

(Impractical To Believe I Could Stay…)

Something Happened:

(I Have Black Chunks Re-written Within My Memory…)

A Night Called An Instance…

A Body Arrested Through Our Back Gate…

I Couldn’t Recall The Melody…

A Tiny Girl,

Standing In Our Backyard So Late.

I Saw The Police Escort Him,

(From Back Through To Front,)

Why Was I There?

Did I Come Out To Confront?

I Was Told Our Chow Chow Bit Him…

(That Couldn’t Become Correct?)

For Had This Been Truth,

My Jazmine Girl Would’ve Become Laid To Rest…

Were We Victim To Common Burglary?

Or Maybe…

I A Victim Of Something Grotesque.

Why Are All Other Moments,

(Surrounding This,)

A Blackened Mess?

Just One Slide,

Seared Within My Psyche…

Just One Man,

Blood Dripping Down One Pant Upon A Lichee.

Two Officers Restraining Each Hand…

Walking Through My Back Gate;

My Mother Weeping Amongst The Blue And Red,

Authoritative Lights:

(Illuminating A Common Cul-de-sac…)

Why Was I In Back?

How Did I Get There?

Where Is The Archive;

(These Memories In Which I Lack?)

This Chapter Is Shit, Any-who.

Written From Within The Desperation:

An Unemployed Failure,

Female,

Tattooed,

(And Equally Discriminated.)

I Don’t Think Many Realize,

I Manage Traffic Analytics…

Do You Know What It Is Like?

Working Diligently Upon A Project;

Simultaneously,

Nineteen Months Only One…

One Single Human Came To Visit.

Do You Know What It Is Like?

Explaining Brilliance:

To Pinheads In Suits Of Murk?

Endless Determination,

Anxiety Loaded,

(Maximum Pulsation.)

What Would The Common Human See?

If Only To Look Past This Cover,

Do My Tattoos Cause Anxiety To Flee?

Could It Be?

For What Purpose Could You Possibly Leave?

Pretending To Understand,

When I Prove Fact:

(You’ve Never Even Ventured One Page Through This Land,)

Though,

You’ve Graciously Provided Patronize,

(Enveloping Strength In Which You Lack.)

Such A Shame,

A Vortex Cannot Become Undeveloped,

(Once Given Life To Breathe…)

This Story Cannot Become Untold,

(Reaction To Mature To Leave.)

Could You Evaporate Within The Fog?

Lending An Ear Amongst This Slimy Log?

Maybe It’s Just Ahead Of It’s Time…

Maybe,

(One Day…)

My Words Will Not Become Overlooked…

Maybe You’ll Investigate;

(A Thorough Understanding Of This Song.)

I Make Others Feel Uncomfortable?

(Speaking My Truth Is Unavoidable…)

How Can You Possibly Judge?

(There Has Been No Company Enthralled Within My Work.)

This Story Lay Stagnant:

Tattered Memories Of A Warrior Lurk.

Then Again,

Who Ever Cared About The Survivor?

Veterans Homeless,

Left Within Insanity Amongst The Street…

A Jungle Few Understand,

Portraying Images Of War,

Within Survival Upon Distant Land.

Have You Been Without Shelter?

Do You Understand The Terror?

Sleeping In A Tent,

Praying For A Lucky Start…

Sleeping In The Back Of A Festiva,

(Two Lovers Between Two Dogs Is An Art.)

Have You Ever Woken Up On a Stranger’s Floor?

Thanking The Sun For Another Day Of Lore…

Have You Experienced A Soul Saturated In Blood Stains?

(Those Chosen For Greatness Are Greatly Maimed.)

Do You Understand What It Could Feel Like?

The Pain Of Hunger Outweighs Pain Of Plasma Donations,

Joining Medical Research Studies,

Finances Supplied Only A Few Brief Moments To Breathe…

And You Look At ME?

“Don’t Quit Your Day Job…”

I Should Petition The Gods In Which I Dedicated My Soul,

But Then…

That Would Become Wrath…

And In Doing So I Endure Disown,

From This Pursuit Of Becoming “Whole”.

I Ponder Amongst My Thoughts:

How Dare You?

Patronizing Something,

(You Never Even Gave A Chance.)

A Research Experiment In Sloth And Judgment:

Could One Become So Busy?

Not Even A Seconds Chance?

Before Discarded?

(Lousy?)

There Will Become A Day,

Where Those Whom Shunned,

Come Flowing In Throughout Our Bay…

They Will Pretend To Believe In Divine Things,

(I Know They Only Bare Steel Woven Strings…)

I Shall Look You Within The Eye,

Plant My Courage As I Say,

“Please, Walk On By.

Your Money Is No Good Here,

For I Had Plans You Could Have Received…

Instead?

You Left Me,

Here To Bleed.

I Cauterized My Wounds,

I Had No Assistance From Greed-written Fools.

There Will Become A Day:

One Glorious,

Relieving Day…

In Which I Will Have Gained This Courage,

Take My Stand,

Show Off This Pearl-Glass Spine,

The One Abandoned Upon Needful Time.

I Will Build This Myself,

I Will Become Relentless…

I Will Show The Judged:

I Cannot Be Rendered Senseless.

You Cannot Break Me:

I Am The Mother Reaper.

“What Exactly Are You Doing?”

There She Was:

Vivian,

(In The Flesh,)

Sitting Amongst That Moss Covered Log,

(Before Me.)

“Didn’t I Explain?

Blatantly Clear?

Your Swimming Within Muck…

It Will Devour You,

You Foolish Buck.

No One Wants To Drown Within Your Quicksand,

Where Is Your Land?

You Sit Around Here,

Swimming In Mud And Blood…

He’s Fucking Waiting For You!

Get Your Ass Up!”

She Held No Consequence,

(A Royal Demeanor:)

I Stop To Acknowledge My Current Surroundings,

Listen To Logic…

Internalize Her…

“How Are You Here?

I Mean, How Are You Within This Chapter?

I Am Alone Here,

Left To Retrospect…

A Blackened Cell Within A Writing Table…

Expected To Secure A Sable Label.”

“You’re Past That, My Love…

You’re Swimming In Muck.”

My Eyes Jaunt Aside,

Then To Beneath…

My Skin Consumed In The Sticky Black Tar…

The Skulled Outlines,

Consuming Me Full…

They Paralyze Your Senses…

Construct False Locations…

“Don’t You Get It?

You’ve Never Left This Lost Forest.”

“For Which Do You Mean I Never Left?”

I Already Pulled Myself Up Out Of The Muck,

Stuck,

Undeniable Quicksand…”

“The Faster You Pull The Quicker They Tuck…

You Must Be Cunning,

Haven’t You Learned Anything?

You Have No Receipt For Luck.

You Must Will It Off,

It Shall Cling To Your Soul If Not.”

Returning Her Casual Ignorance With Scowling Stare:

“That’s All Your Advice?

‘Will It Off’ While You Just Fucking Sit There?”

“Yeah, You’re Being Weak.

Should I Spell It Out For You?”

She, Sitting Upon Her Log:

Joint Cherried Upon One Hand.

She, Lounged:

Weight Shifted Left To Mock,

Legs Crossed Amongst The Dew.

Stiff Fingers Find Smoke Inhalation:

Kissing Fingerprints Along Each Solemn Drag…

“You Saw The Rabbit?”

She Leans In Close,

(Three Inches From My Thigh…)

Whispers:

“It Hurts To Climb High?”

“No,

How Are You Here?

This Breaks All The Rules…

I’m Not Near…

It’s A Black Coated Fear,

This Chapter Is Within Me,

I Cannot Be Within This Lost Forest…

This Is Not Real…”

Within Blinking Seconds:

The Scenery Flicker…

A Dark Interrogation Room,

One Light With That Writing Table Central:

Drowning In Blacked,

Living Tar…

The Mud-blood Creatures Sleeking Upon My Mind…

Gasping For Breath;

One Eye Opened From Between This Slim Kind,

Vivian Kissing Her Joint…

Watching Me Suffer…

The Slime Covers My Mind,

Desperate,

Desperation,

Within That One Table Cell…

She Whispers:

“It’s Coming…

That Dream…

It’s Your’s To Capture,

Doll-face…

You Want Your Salvation?

Your Dreams Turn Reality?

Disregard Temptation?

Just Get Up,

Find Your Way Through This Lost Forest…

The Galaxies Owe You Reciprocated Payment,

You Already Succeeded…

Just Wake Up!”

Devoured Within Blackened Tar,

Jade Sit Within The Corner Of My Cell,

(Right Far.)

Sobbing Amongst Herself…

“I Have A Forest To Navigate,

I Cannot Save Her Here…”

An Unseen Sensation,

A Delicate Hand,

Index And Thumb Clenching My Conch…

Ripping My Ear,

Out From Within The Clear.

“Find Your Will To Walk,

My Subtle Naive Friend…

You Better Prepare:

The Land Beyond This Is A Living Jungle,

The Circus Will Lead Your Final Test…

It’s Coming For You,

All Those Passionate Desires:

Pleads For The Best…

Living Light,

Past The Circus…

Glorious Wonders You Could Never Imagine,

Endless Salvation…

Gifted To Those Suffering Temptation:

You Must Finish,

You’re Meant For This.”

“I Don’t Know If I Am:

My Shoulders Can’t Take Anymore Weight…”

“You Silly Fool,”

Vivian Snarking From Between Strings Of Muck,

(Spiderwebbing My Appearance:)

“Remove The Toxic Parasite Upon Your Luck!”

Sure Enough,

I Straighten My Spine,

Stand Within The Blood,

(Two Vertebrae A Time…)

His Smile Grin Beyond This Blackened Muck…

The Corner,

Disguised In Luck…

His Sweet Face Shift,

Those Green Bifocals Lift…

“You Have No Power Over Me!

Return To Where You Came, Be!”

Within Astonishing Grace,

I Remove His Toxic Control,

Willing Him The Size Of A Rabbit Face.

I Gently Place Him Back Within The Muck…

“You Cannot Control Me,”

I Kiss His Forehead In Empathetic Laze,

“I Cannot Continue As Your Puppet,

Tethered To Abusive Greedy Strings, Ablaze.”

This Little Toy Man,

In This Little Toy Boat…

Evaporated,

Taken Amongst The Creatures,

(Within The Quicksand: Despair.)

Dripping In Toxic Goo,

I Straighten My Spine,

Now Three Vertebrae A Time…

“Ahh, Now You Understand…

The Brave Of Heart,

The Relentless Conquer This Land…

Here,

Wipe Yourself Off,

Inhale This Toke,

Find Relaxing Enjoyment Within Your Cough.”

Vivian Lent Me A Silk Handkerchief,

(From Within Her Brassiere.)

“Now Listen Here,

I’ve Willed Paths Within This Forest:

Three Guarded By Rabbit,

One Left Free And Clear.

Just Follow Your Heart,

You’re Intelligent Around Here:

Wait For Your Moment…

It’s Coming Near.”

She Evaporated Within This Forest Mist,

A Fine,

Black,

Shear,

Delicate,

Smoke Dissipated Before My Iris.

The Handkerchief Now Sizable,

(Equal To That Of A Blanket Towel.)

I Remove The Blood From Amongst My Skin,

Watching The Remanence Dance Amongst The Fabric:

Alive In Devaluation,

Desperation,

(Despair.)

I Look Back Amongst The Muck,

One Final Time:

The Corner’s Greed-Colored Bifocals Sink,

Accompanied With A Porcelain Grin…

I Sat In Grief,

(Watching Them Slip Beyond The Blood, Water Thin…)

“I’m Sorry,

I Am The Mother Reaper…

You Cannot Break Me:

I Must Live Beyond This Mud,

Tasting Of Tin.”

Grief Stricken Relief.

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