#not syre what point

[bythenineshards]

Suffering Fools

Summary: The new Doctor in Impel Down gives her patient a hand.

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Minors DNI

Tags: Buggy x OC, Canon x OC, Buggy x Syre

A/N: So this wasn't initially going to be smut, but it happened. It's not my best, but I hope y'all enjoy it. I said I would post it here, and I ain't a liar lol. So here it is. Stupid sexy clown.

Syre stuck out like a sore thumb in Impel Down. It took a few days for her to find the right words to describe how she felt, but when she did, it was like a slap to the face. Soft. Amid the torture, harsh stone walls, monsters, and even more monstrous guards, she felt soft. She supposed that was a good quality for a doctor to have, but it didn’t stop her from feeling out of place. When she’d joined the Marines, the goal had been to travel and help her comrades after battle. Not be stuck in a hellish prison. She had her theories as to how she’d gotten these orders, but the fight wasn’t worth the effort.

She eased back in her chair and blew out a breath. Paperwork all morning, and the stack mocked her with more into the afternoon. It was probably wrong for a doctor to wish for something to whisk her away from her desk. Only paperwork meant no one had been hurt enough to come see her. That was something else that rubbed her the wrong way. Tending to the guards that were hurt was one thing. Seeing the prisoners and mending their injuries for the purpose of giving them more suffering felt cruel even as a punishment.

The door to the infirmary swung open with unnecessary force, causing Syre to scramble to her feet. A single guard had kicked in the door and brought a prisoner into the infirmary slung over his shoulder. Syre watched as the guard, a hulking man of little rank, carelessly dropped the blue haired prisoner on the examination table. She moved closer cautiously, “What has happened?”

The guard began to strap the prisoner to the table. Syre had a variety of words she wished to impart about his roughness. All of them culminated in her raising hand with a singular finger outstretched to point out his mistakes, but she thought better of it. She got the feeling that trying to explain the possible repercussions of manhandling this inmate like a sack of potatoes that owed him money, was going to have the same effect as doing likewise with the lamp on her desk.

“Don’t know. Best guess? He got lippy with some of the men, and they took offense.” The guard stood back and admired his work, arms crossed with pride.

Syre pushed in close to the prisoner. Pulling out a pen light and gingerly lifting his eyelids. The pupils were responsive, that was good. “And you let this happen?”

“Why does it matter? He’s a pirate. A good pop in the mouth was good for him.” The guard replied, scratching the back of his neck.

She held back the string of insults she had been building and blew out an irritated sigh. At a cursory glance, the damage wasn’t too bad. But definitely more than a pop in the mouth. A few of the cuts needed to be cleaned, and his face was difficult to examine with the paint. Who was giving him paint? As she cataloged his injuries, he began to stir. Syre couldn’t help the smile she gave him. It had become a habit in her training as a physician. It was a little silly in this place, she thought, but her bedside manner wasn’t going to just walk out the door because she worked in a prison.

Buggy woke with a throbbing headache. There was something cold against his back and a tightness across his chest and encircling his wrists and ankles. The pain and discomfort were pushed from the forefront of his mind when he saw the woman standing over him. He’d heard from other men that Impel Down had gotten a new doctor, and now he understood the comments that she looked like she tasted sweet. Her hair was a lovely shade of pastel pink. It reminded him of cotton candy, and the chin length curls only added to that image. Their eyes met, and a smile touched her lips freely. Her eyes were brown and radiated a warmth that he wasn’t typically accustomed to.

“Good morning,” She said. Her accent was like poetry, “I am Doctor Syre Bon-”

“He doesn’t need to know your name. Just fix him up and call for us when he’s done,” the guard interrupted. Buggy eyed the man despite the strap across his forehead.

Syre pressed her lips in a tight line. Her eyes narrowed on the guard, but she stopped that building cacophony of disdain from getting past her lips. “Very well,” she said curtly.

She began to ready a tray of instruments, mostly for cleaning wounds, and set to work sterilizing them when she realized the guard hadn’t departed. Syre stopped working, and her eyes flicked up to the man standing there.

“Can I help you?” She asked.

“Yeah, I was wondering,” His voice stammered slightly which was an odd juxtaposition to the way he leaned on the table, “when you’re done for the day, did you want to join me and some of the others for drinks? It’s just a few-”

“No, thank you.” Her response was blunt, and her eyes, surprisingly cold, went back to her work.

“It’s just a few of us-”

Syre interrupted with a clipped tone, “I gave you my answer. I will call for assistance when I am finished with this prisoner. Before you leave my infirmary, could you tell me his number? I need to document this incident.”

Buggy’s cheeks inflated with the laugh about to burst out of him like a balloon. The guard raised his hand to strike him for his insolence, and Buggy swallowed the laugh. Syre cleared her throat sharply, “You will not do harm to my patient. The number, then you will leave.”

The man looked from Buggy to Syre, weighing his options and considering the temptation to hit the bound clown. He lowered his hand and said, “Prisoner E-8200.”

“Thank you.” She replied, still short and frigid.

The guard nodded and left the infirmary. When the door closed, Buggy blew a raspberry in his direction, then struggled against the strap to face her. He caught her just in time to see the momentous eye roll she’d been holding back. She rose from her chair beside the examination table to cross to the desk. Buggy took the opportunity to watch the way her coat swished with the sway of her hips. She was petite but no less beautiful, and watching her walk was a highlight of today he hadn't expected. He stopped staring as she thumbed through the files and found his. The entire time, she was muttering something under her breath. He couldn’t quite hear the words, but the tone of them was thoroughly disgruntled.

“Ah! Here we are,” She said, “Prisoner E-8200… Oh, that is such a mouthful…”

He heard her going through the pages of his file as she walked back at a slower pace.

“You could call me by my name,” He suggested with an impish grin and waggle of his eyebrows. He wanted to hear her say his name.

“And what is your name?” She asked, plunking back down into the chair. They both knew it was right there in the file, but she was choosing to treat him like a person.

“You can call me Buggy, Dollface,” he replied with a wink, “Buggy the Clown.”

“Buggy, Buggy the Clown,” she repeated, as if tasting his name on her tongue. She smiled down at him, “As long as you do not tattle on me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Buggy purred with a smirk bordering on wicked.

Her face had softened noticeably with the departure of the brute that brought him in. She had gone quiet and was cleaning the instruments again. As she cleaned, Syre took stock of him. He was tall, but that was by far the least interesting thing about him. His hair was a gorgeous blue, and despite it being a bit of a mess, she thought it was very pretty. It just needed to be brushed and pulled up to help it from getting tangled. He had painted on a big red smile and two bones crossed on his forehead, reaching just to the corners of his eyes. These were accompanied by red marks down the center of his blue eyes. Again, who was giving him paint for these? This was still not mentioning the most apparent trait of his. At first, she had thought the guards or his fellow inmates had managed to glue a big red ball on his nose, and she was pondering how best to extract it without causing him pain. However, after a longer survey of his face, she came to realize it was his true nose. It would be comical if she didn’t find it so deeply charming. It fit him perfectly.

“Does that happen often?” Buggy asked, breaking the comfortable silence.

“Hm?” She asked, his question dragging her out of her musings about his appearance. “Which part?”

“The coming on to you?” He replied, picking which one to inquire about first.

She gave a lazy shake of her head that set the curls bouncing. The gesture wasn’t a no but more to suggest she was outwardly combing her recent memories. It was accompanied by a strangled sound that led into her saying, “Enough for it to be irritating…”

He nodded in understanding.

“The ones that just use words are not the worst. It’s the few that think smacking me on the behind will instantly fill me with desire that truly anger me. What are they thinking?” She made a gesture like she was swinging to spank someone on the ass and gasped a little, “Oh yes, please, take me I’m yours.”

She rolled her eyes again and muttered something else under her breath.

“Maybe they’re just trying to make it a win-win situation. You might say yes, you’re more likely to say no, they got to spank you either way.” He teased.

She smirked, but he didn’t get the laugh he’d been aiming for. With the tools clean, she leaned forward and took a deep breath. Beginning to clean the most egregious of the lacerations, “Poor thing…”

“You should see the other guy.”

“The other guy is not in my infirmary,” Syre said tartly, indicating to the other examination tables in the room. Buggy’s smug smile drooped like a birthday cake left in the rain. Her eyes were smiling, and it slipped to her lips with a giggle when she met his eyes. He watched as she fought the bubbling of laughter like the fizz of champagne. Attempting to quell the laughter, she took a slow, giggle laced breath to calm herself. She thought it was probably against protocol to joke with inmates, but the joy never left her beautiful eyes.

“Don’t look so glum, Mon Cher, you’ll make a full recovery.”

“Yippee.” Buggy replied unamused.

“Just try to play nice with the other boys.” She said, wiping up the blood. She chewed on her lip, and Buggy had the thought that he’d like to be that lip. “Though… I think this one is going to need stitches.”

Syre leaned over him to get a better look. Being at this proximity treated him to the smell of her perfume. It was sweet but in a cozy way, like warm vanilla but more subtle. It also occurred to him that she was nearly chest to chest with him. Her body was as soft as her glance was tender. She was debating the stitches while cleaning the cut and breathed, “Probably for the best that I do. Are you alright with that?”

“You’re the doc.” He replied, attempting to get comfortable on the table. Syre hated the cold tables. She thought they should at least have a pillow. It was just her luck that she would leave home to heal people and end up helping them to suffer more.

She slid her chair across the floor to the cupboard where the needles and thread were kept.

“There will not be many. I doubt it will scar,” Syre tried to reassure him then cocked a brow playfully, “Unless you wish for it to scar. I can do them messily and make it look rather fearsome.”

“And ruin all this handsome?” He scoffed.

“Fair enough,” She shrugged and went to begin the process.

Buggy squirmed away as best as he could with the leather strap, “Whoa there, Sweets! Aren’t you gonna do anything to numb me?”

Syre sat back, “I can not. I’m under strict orders to only use numbing agents on staff. They’re kept under lock and key, and I have yet to figure out how to jimmy open the lock. I am sorry…”

Buggy inhaled a long breath and released it with a raspberry, making Syre smile just a smidge.

“I will do my best to not make it hurt.”

His face told her without words that he didn’t believe that was possible. When she leaned back over him, he didn’t squirm, indicating a tiny bit of trust. “Good, Mon Cher, stay still.”

She could tell he was nervous. No part of her faulted him for that. It was one thing to get an injury by accident and another to watch with anticipation for it to happen. She tried to set him at ease by speaking, bringing up the first thing to pop into her head.

“I was on leave back home when I got my orders to come here,” she started, “They sent me the protocols so I could prepare myself and be informed before arriving. When I read the policy regarding pain, I ranted to my mother for a good hour.”

Buggy hissed with pain, and she stopped, an apology clear in her eyes.

“Keep talking, Dollface.” He demanded, wanting this to be over but enjoying the sound of her voice. It was like listening to a song. He didn’t understand some of the words she said but her inflection was damn near affectionate.

“She asked me what I was going to do? You see, my family was not thrilled that I studied to be a doctor and wanted to join the Marines. Obviously, seeing me so unhappy with my orders, I wanted to travel, and this is not travel. She was hoping that I would quit or refuse and stay home. I knew that was her intention, so I said that I would do what she used to do when my sisters or I got hurt.”

“Which was?” Buggy managed to say through gritted teeth.

A ghost of a smile touched her lips, “I said I would kiss and make it better,” she had to stop stitching due to her own laughter, “You should’ve seen the look on her face. It took me hours to convince her it was a joke.”

“I don’t know, Doll, I think it’s the least you could do considering you’re stabbing me in the face.”

Syre stopped, taken aback by the glint in his eyes. She felt her cheeks getting hot. Why had she told that story? She fought her now, shaking hands to finish quickly.

“All done.” She announced. More for herself than for him. “I will call for the guard-”

“Please don’t. Not yet.” Syre couldn’t help the pang in her heart hearing the plea in his voice, a finger plucking the ridiculous chord of sympathy in her.

She tried in vain to tuck a pale pink curl behind her ear, “I suppose I could…” She searched her mind for something she could do that would take time when her eyes fell on his hair, “Check you for lice?”

“I don’t have lice!” He spat back, thoroughly offended. “What kind of imbecile are you!? What next? Gonna make fun of my nose, huh?!”

Syre flicked his nose. “Of course not. But I should probably check. Do you mind if I comb your hair?”

The offense left his face immediately, finally back up to speed. It had been ages since he was able to brush his hair, and pure stubbornness had kept him from just cutting it.

“Not at all.”

“Good.”

Syre disposed of the needle and rummaged through her drawers, looking for a comb. She wouldn’t say it, but she was a tad giddy to rid his hair of the tangles. It was such pretty hair. Returning to her chair, she swiveled it to the head of the table and unbuckled the strap across his forehead. She gave him a moment to roll his neck while she formed a game plan. A quick look told her he didn’t, in fact, have lice, but she wasn’t about to tell him that she looked.

One by one, she tugged the fingers of her gloves loose and set the pair on the table beside his head. With the help of lifting his head, Syre gathered up all of his hair so that it cascaded off the edge of the table. She separated a lock and combed through it as gently as she could. If it snagged, she held just above and worked out the tangle until the comb went through with little resistance. The two of them were quiet for a long time. Syre wasn’t sure when his eyes had closed, but she didn’t mind. No matter what he had done, Impel Down was no joke. She wouldn’t begrudge him this respite.

“You mentioned you have sisters?” He asked, his tone calmer than before. Thoroughly enjoying the sensation of his hair being brushed.

“Mhm, two of them. Marie and Avery. I am the eldest.”

“All of you have pretty pink hair?”

“You think my hair is pretty?” She teased lightly.

He gave her a look that even upside down made her heart hop into her throat. Her cheeks were hot again, but this time, she was less worried. A comb wasn’t exactly the same as a needle.

“Yes,” She managed to squeak out, “we all do.”

Another silence was starting to build when Syre blurted in an embarrassed little voice, “You have pretty hair too…”

“I know I do, Baby.”

“Is it your natural color?” She asked.

“Why don’t you check for yourself?”

Syre allowed the nervous giggles but didn’t say anything more. With most of the tangles out of his hair, she placed the comb next to her gloves. She sat there for a long moment, biting her lower lip. Before reason or protocol could hinder her, she sank her fingers into his hair. Buggy let out a soft moan, and Syre let herself enjoy that sound low in her belly. Her fingertips drew swirls over his scalp, leading into her nails doing the same or giving him tight scritches. She ran her fingers down the tresses, blue strands slipping through her fingers like silk. Once they reached the end, she returned to massaging his scalp only to repeat their descent. Syre had been focused solely on his hair thus far, but the sound of the straps binding the rest of him being fought caused her to look up.

Her breath caught. She hadn’t noticed the growing tightness in his striped pants nor the writhing he had begun against his binds. Now Syre was doing a poor job of pretending not to notice. She was practically staring at it.

“Oh…” She whispered, “Should I stop?”

“Don’t.”

Syre tried not to look at it, but the breathy moan from before had led into ragged breathing, and primal instinct knew its call. Her face was on fire and grew hotter with each arch of his neck. Her fingers withdrew but were halted with a desperate whimper of, “No…”

“I really should stop…” She said, the blush clear in her voice, “You’re…”

He arched his neck enough to look her in the eyes. There was that gleam again. It sent her heart racing. Hungry, pleading, and looking to her for salvation. “Touch me…” He begged.

Syre gasped, her voice bordering on shrill, “What?”

“Please,” he added, “I can’t do it myself, or I would.”

“That’s obscene and crass and completely inappropriate,” she said, looking around the room, lingering on the door. Anything but looking at those eyes.

“C’mon Sweet girl,” Buggy purred, “Help me.”

Syre blinked, “I couldn’t.”

She tried to ignore it. Taking one of the few leftover hair ties she kept for her sister's hair emergencies and pulled his hair into a hasty ponytail. Syre was about to apologize for the color when she caught sight of his erection. It was still masked by the pants, but she was so tempted.

“Is there anything else I can do to help it go away?”

“Hand, mouth, over the pants or under, I don’t care. Please, Doc.”

She swiveled the chair around so that she was at his side. Her eyes momentarily brushed over the space between his stomach and the slight lift in his pants. A dusting of blue hair led down further, but she ripped her gaze back to his face, “That’s not what I meant. Is there-”

“Please…”

They’d taken so long already. A guard could come by to check on them at any time. If one of them showed up and he was this…aroused, Syre couldn’t see a way for him not to get the shit kicked out of him. Not wanting to do more harm than good, she bit her lip and slid her hand into his pants.

Syre wasn’t inexperienced with love affairs. Over the years, she’d had a few trysts, stolen a handful kisses, and even had a fumbling in the dark a time or two. This was much much different than any of those. There was a tension here that felt raw. She was stroking the cock of a prisoner housed in Impel Down. And he was looking at her with a hunger she wasn’t sure she could handle. His eyes, his history, his cock in her hand, all of it felt so deliciously wicked. A smirk tugged at the corner of her lips.

“Oh Sweet Girl,” He moaned, arching off the table and elongating his neck into a curve. His hips pushed up into her hand. Each thrust inched the pants off, exposing his cock completely.

Hearing his tender words made the butterflies in her stomach flutter. He was so hard. She'd never felt such a thrill. "A-am I doing it right?"

It wasn’t exactly a hard task. She just felt so damn awkward.

He gave a moan mixed with a chuckle in response. She wasn't exactly sure what to say. This was new for her, but there was a part of her that was enjoying it, "Is there anything else I can do to help?"

“Kiss me.” He pleaded.

“I couldn’t…” She replied with a nervous laugh.

“But you want to. I can hear it in your voice. You’ve come this far. So why don’t you be a good girl and give me a kiss?”

Syre swallowed hard. She was already stroking him. Wasn't that supposed to be later, and a kiss came first? All of this was wrong. Why should she stop now?

"C’mon Doc…" He panted, "I kiss good."

Syre rose from her chair, sending it wheeling back. Her legs were shaking as she moved closer to his face. The chair hit one of the cupboards, causing her to look over. Seizing the opportunity, Buggy ran his tongue along her cheek. Syre squeaked and gripped his shaft harder in surprise. He rested back on the table with a dare in his eyes. She couldn't help but look at his painted lips.

"Just one kiss, Doll."

Syre bit her lip nervously, and he looked a little sad. "Let me do that for you."

Syre caved to the temptation and leaned down to brush her lips against his. Her free hand came up to caress his face, and it didn't take long for him to beg entrance into her mouth. His tongue prodded her lips, and she moaned when it slipped inside with the slightest part. His hands struggled against the straps. He wanted so badly to touch her, too. When he finally broke the kiss, he breathed, "Harder baby, grip it harder..."

"Are you going to cum for me?" The question was posed in the sweetest voice he'd ever heard. She wanted him to. Needed it just as much as he did. Her face, flushed red and lustful mixed with the desire in her eyes to kiss him again, it was too much.

He arched his back, fighting against the straps. Syre was breathless as his cock pulsed in her hand. She didn't mind the hot seed creeping over her hand. She was enthralled. He was inches from her face, panting in ecstasy and holding her gaze. His eyes were hooded with pleasure. She'd never felt more powerful.

"Fuck…" He moaned, his body trembling. Lips brushing against hers just from proximity. As she looked down over his body, he nibbled her ear. Groaning with the aftershocks of his climax.

"F-feel better?" She asked after he seemed to be coming down. She was tempted to give him another kiss, but that would be too much.

"Yes. Oh yes. I wish I could do the same for you." He panted.

She was getting bashful under his eye. "That's not necessary…"

"To stain those thighs red…" He mused, "and if the rest of you is as sweet as your kisses…"

He was growing hard again just thinking about it. "Oh no, you don't!" Syre released him and scuttled to the sink. She didn't need paint for her face to be as red as his lips. Hell, Buggy didn't even need to see it to know it was red. She scrubbed his seed off of her hand while trying to calm herself.

"You want to, though."

"Don't be ridiculous..." She forced a laugh.

Buggy had to give her some credit. Her voice had stayed mostly even, but her cheeks were a dead giveaway. That didn't mention her avoidance of his eyes.

"I won't tell anyone, Dollface." Buggy tempted. "You already know I kiss good, just think what else I can do."

Syre took a measured breath and covered him back up, eyes lingering just a little too long on the blue hair on his lower stomach. "For your sake, Prisoner E-8200, stay out of fights."

Before Buggy could tempt her again, there was a knock at the infirmary door. The guard from before poke his head in, "Everything okay, Doc?"

"Yes, we just finished up. You may take him," She waved dismissively but avoided eye contact with either man.

The guard unstrapped him and roughly got him to his feet. "No funny business, Clown."

Buggy turned to look at Syre and blew her a kiss. "Thanks, Doc."

The guard shoved him down, "Get moving!"

Syre was left in her infirmary, reeling from what had just happened. She busied herself, getting ready for another patient. She tossed the comb, but when she retrieved her gloves, she found one was missing. She furrowed her brows and looked up at the door with a sigh.

Walking down the halls of Impel Down, Buggy held the soft white glove hidden in his hands. A devilish smile across his face.

[dcmainlybillythoughts]

Hey guess which anon is back with more angst for you. This one is semi short and not very sweet. Parts of this might be out of character, but I'm not quite sure if there is a villian who would fit this role better.

Black Adam smiles as his plan comes to fruition. He stands over the unconscious body of the tiny Billy Batson, empty syring dropping from his hand as he starts to laugh. A simple sleeping drug he got from Dr Silvanas, injected when Billy was already asleep. It will keep him unconscious for 12 hours. 12 hours Black Adam has complete and total freedom to do whatever he wishes.

Black Adam very much wants to kill Billy but where would the fun be in that? Besides, keeping him alive does have many benefits. For now though? It's time for Black Adam is take over the world. Once he locks Billy away somewhere that is. He scruffs Billy by the shirt and when something buzzing falls out of his pocket, without a care Black Adam steps on the Leauge Communicator, destroying it.

Once Black Adam has hidden away the mortal form of the champion of magic he goes out and starts trying to take over the world. Obviously the other heroes start trying to stop him but no one really has a power set that can match Black Adam but Billy. His magic tosses Superman around like a rag doll and his physical strength can shatter through any barrier the magic users put up. At one point during the fight, Black Adam looks up at the sun and says, "oh my, that time already? I'll be back to finish you all off in just a bit. After all it would be a really shame-" He pills a needle out if no where with an evil smile, "if that baffon were to wake up. To bad I can't kill him it would make this so much easier. But, I can't take over the world if the balance gets disrupted that badly~" and he simply leaves the fight. What he said about Balance being thrown out of wack if Billy dies is absolutely untrue. However he does get great joy from watching these silly little mortals who are trying to fight him panic.

After they process Adam's words everyone is thrown into a panic. He has Captain Marvel hostage and neutralized. That's why he isn't answering his communicator.

In their frenzy of trying to come up with a plan with the loose knowledge they have while trying to patch up their wounds, they make their way back to base at the Watchtower.

It's safe to say that Marvel has broken a few communicators in his day, a few may be too generous. So instead of waiting each time for Marvel to fess up that he broke it, Batman modified them to give off a signal beacon to the watchtower once broken. He really wanted to put a tracker on it to find out more about Marvel but he knew that would be a bad idea.

After getting to the location of the broken device they investigate the area for clues. Maybe where Adam took him or how he had done it. Nothing. No clues could be found, there were obvious signs of struggle by what looked to be a small figure but that couldn't be related to this, they were both walls of muscle adding a small child into this didn't make sense.

Regardless the struggle of the child was something to look into as it is their job. It seems that at one point the body fell slack like they passed out. Maybe from exhaustion or injury, though there are no signs of blood so not the latter. There was also the possibility of a drug in the mix. It would make sense why Adam had a needle but why would he use it on a child?

Even if none of the facts lined up, these things happening here didn't feel like a coincidence to anyone.

-----

They were finally here, they finally tracked down Adam and where he's holding Billy and now they have to face the truth. The truth that Captain Marvel is a small child who can barely defend himself against the greater forces of evil. They figured it out on the way here and while tracking him down but nobody had really processed it. The proof was right in front of them, there was no room to deny it further.

The scene they investigated was no coincidence. The struggling child who was drugged was Captain Marvel.

-----

I woke up to check my phone and you greet me anon, absolutely love it. Kinda got lost in my mind there with the writing. Anon your brain is so big for this, imagine all the raw emotion put into the angst to make the reader cry when the end comfort comes, or not, make them cry because of character death instead. Whichever floats your boat.

I wanted to write more about Adam holding Billy hostage and more about them searching for clues but I didn't really know how I wanted to put it. Man this idea has so much opportunity. Maybe I should start writing instead of jotting this down in a Tumblr post.

[chibi-celesti]

Phase 02-Book 01: Dia Rosa Rudje (pt .9)

Previously: Deuce felt a tug on his sleeve. He turned to see Meryu, face pale as a ghost. “M-Meryu-san?! What’s wrong?!!” The panic in his voice quickly caught Ace and Grim’s attention, and worried Trey and Cater.

“Minion! You ok?!”

“I..I don't…know…” her words slurred, and her vision faded again. The last thing she heard were friends' fearful shouts of her name before losing consciousness.

~Twisted Tonelico~

~???~

Meryu felt herself floating, as if she was drowning in an ocean. ‘Am I dead? Was I disconnected from [AR TONELICO] already?’ All these thoughts floated in her mind.

She opened her dull, lifeless eyes to see a void of darkness once again. ‘I really am dead, aren’t I…’ and yet she doesn't at the same time. So why?

She felt a hand on the back of her head and one placed on her chest. ‘Hmm?’ Is someone there she wanted to say, but her mouth felt like cotton; she couldn’t speak at all.

~Rrha ki ra grandus yor elle zodal~ ~Presia enne manafeeze tes yor~

‘Th-this is…’

~Was yea ra spitze elle gatyunla en shen manafeeze oure yor~

“Hymmnos…?” She tried to process who was singing to her, but to no avail. “Lady Syreli…?” Her vision was fading away again; the last thing she heard was someone embracing her and whispering in her ear this…

~Please come back to me. To us. We still need you, our dearest.~

~Night Raven: Nurse’s Office~

Everything sounded muffled as Meryu's sense had come back to her once more. Instead of floating, she felt that she was laying on something soft. Her body felt like lead; she couldn’t move her arms for a few moments. Her movement caught the attention of the people in the room with her.

“MERYU/!MERYU-SAN!/MINION!”

Her vision slowly returning, Meryu sees Ace, Deuce and Grim all looking at her with worry and relief. “Thank the Seven you’re ok!”

“Guys…?” She replied back. “Where..am I?…happened…”

“We’re in the nurse’s office. You… passed out in the Dorm.”

“I did…” Didn’t something like this happen before?

“Ms. Melenas!” A loud, boisterous shrill echoed in the room. “I am so pleased to see you awaken once more!”

She cringed at the sound of the Headmage’s plight. “I’m sorry for causing you all to worry.” She went to touch her neck-

Only to feel it bare. Huh? “Where did the collar go?”

Crowley placed his hands on his hips. “Why, I removed it.”

Meryu, hearing this, perked up a bit in confusion. “You did, Mr. Crowley?” He nodded. “Oh…But why?”

“How do I best put this,” he pondered. “You looked closer to near death when Mr. Trappola and Mr. Spade rushed you out of their dorm. I assumed they were exaggerating when they said they needed medical assistance. That was until I saw your condition.” He crossed his arms, his golden, beady eyes staring at her. “I was hoping we were past the point of you collapsing after the Opening Ceremony, but considering the circumstances of what transpired in the Heartslabyul Dorm, I could not, in good consciousness, allow such a tragedy to continue on.”

She wrung her hands together, feeling embarrassed about worrying her friends again. “Does Mr. Rosehearts know?”

“No. At least, not yet.”

“Oh…” Meryu was at a loss for words again. She felt conflicted about the whole situation. On one hand, she did say some things to Riddle that-while mean spirited-were truth in their own way. Especially considering how he’s been treating his classmates. But on the other hand, if she had been more careful with what she said, maybe things would’ve been different than what they are now.

“Meryu,” Ace’s voice called her out from her thoughts. “Whatever you're thinking about right now, stop it. Don’t you dare feel any pity for that brat.”

Am I that easy to read right now? “But I-”

“Spoke the truth.” Deuce finished. “You told Housewarden how you felt about him acting out of turn to everyone. And honestly, Ace is right. You shouldn't feel guilty about any of it.”

Grim nudged his way into her arms. “And guess what the Great Grim and these two stooges found. We found some dirt on Riddle-san. Thanks to a little birdy who knew him and Trey.”

“You did?” She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “How?”

“We-”

“As much as we wish to speak more of these revelations, I do believe it is best that you rest, Ms. Melenas. We do not need you to cause such trouble again?” Crowley said sternly.

“No, sir,” she blushed.

He ushered the Heartslabyul duo out of the office with little complaint; there were some but they didn't want to push their luck. Leaving Meryu alone in Grim’s company and the Gentleman-ghost nurse’s supervision.

“I’m sorry that I scared you like that, Grim.”

“What? Me, scared? Pfft. As if. I remained calm during the WHOLE thing!” Grim puffed his chest. That got a laugh out of the Reyvateil.

“That’s good to hear,” she then started to yawn.

“Now get some shut eye. I’ll watch ya in case someone tries anything funny.”

“Ok, ok. Night, Great Grim.” She closed her eyes, dreaming peacefully and less in pain.

Once he was sure she was all the way asleep, Grim went and curled up on her side and fell into dreamland as well. He purred for a while in hopes to rest his uneasy heart, relieved that she's alive.

~Meanwhile, with Ace and Deuce~

“Can’t believe he didn’t let us tell her.”

“To be fair, Ace, she is still in recovery. We shouldn’t overwhelm her.”

“I wasn’t talking about that. Well, kind of about that, but I was also talking about the info about Riddle and Trey from Chen’ya.”

“Ah, right.” Neither couldn't help but think back to what transpired after the girl collapsed.

~Flashback~

After Meryu had fainted in the Garden, Ace, Deuce and Grim carried her away from their dorm, and ran to go get help. They didn’t care for the countless stares and people looking at them nor the girl unconscious in Ace’s arms. All they were concerned about was finding the nurse or Crowley to come help.

Lady Luck decided to pity the trio, and bestow her blessing onto them. They managed to find Crowley in the hallway leaving from a staff meeting. And called out to him.

Slightly annoyed that students were shouting and running in the halls, Dire turned to correct them, only to see the horror and panic on their faces, and a sight he had hoped to never see again.

“What happened to her?!”

“Riddle…collar…fainted…need help…” Grim panted. “Please, save my minion!”

He ushered the boys and feline to the nurse’s office immediately. Once they arrived, he ordered the nurse to get some supplies at the ready in case she undergoes a seizure or panic attack like before.

“Repeat to me again, exactly, what had happened.” And so they did. Ace and Deuce explained the whole debacle that went down in their dorm. From the Mont Blanc Tart incident to their Housewarden collaring all four of them, and kicking them out. And finally to Meryu growing pale after she was collared.

“Hmm.. You say that she looked sickly when she caught your attention?”

“Yessir.”

“And this happened after Rosehearts removed you four from his Dorm and after he used his Unique Magic on her?”

“Yes!”

The Headmage processed everything the trio told him, taking in what this incident means to someone like Meryu. ‘Any second later and she would've…’

“Trappola, Spade, Grim. Please move away from Ms. Melenas for a moment.” He ordered the Nurse and any other students who weren't in severe pain out of the office for what he is about to do next. “Pay attention carefully. For what you are about to see is something only a select few have uncovered and mastered.”

“Yes, Headmage.” The trio was confused, but they took their Head Master’s words seriously.

The bird cloaked man closed his eyes, body and mind in total concentration. He reached out and placed the tips of his clawed fingers on the collar surrounding Meryu’s neck.

~Rrha ki ra syunaht maya zeeth anw marfo sasye~

The collar around the girl’s neck began to glow, as if responding to his commands.

~Ma num ra flip flop 0x 01000100 01001101 >> enter hyzik sphilar > Meryu en waath sos mean~

Ace, Deuce, and Grim couldn't believe what they were seeing! The Headmage was using the same magical capabilities as their friend?!

~Presia manafeeze vianchiel harr elle syec maxim ween ciel~

In a flash, the collar on her neck was gone. And slowly, some color seemed to be returning to her face once more.

“What?! How did you…?” Ace stopped when he saw Crowley stare at them with a stern look.

“Under no circumstances is she to know of this. I highly advise you two- that also includes you as well Grim- not to tell her once she has fully awakened. Understand?”

“Y-Yes, Headmage.”

The last thing they also distinctly hear the Dire mutter before he stepped away from the office for a bit was something among the lines of: “I should probably look into bestowing her her own Magestone so this doesn’t happen again. Perhaps, they could help modify it as a…”

~End of Flashback~

“I dunno what happened, but it IS kinda sus that Headmage knew how to use Meryu’s words like that.”

“He IS the head of the school. Maybe he took time to study it afterwards to better understand Meryu-san.”

Ace gave Deuce a look. “Juice, you cannot tell me that he managed to study what she says, something she sings for a living apparently, in only THREE days?”

“W-well, when you put it that way…”

Ace then decided to change the subject. “Anyways, once she’s up and normal again, we’ll tell her our plan. No doubt she’d be stoked to hear us kicking Riddle’s ass off his throne.” He turned to his dormmate, excited to see Deuce smirking as well.

“Yeah. He'll get what's coming to him. Not just for us, but for Meryu-san.”

~???~

“Near death by an anti-magic collar…what a dangerous human, that one.”

…

“…Yet at the same time, those three children chose to save her life. They could've left her to die with how they were wrapped up in their own despair. But they didn't…”

…

“Yes, we did. It's quite an impressive feat that that avian looking man knew the voice of Song.”

“Humans are such complex creatures, but they also aren't endowed with good fortune from us.”

…

“Her songs saved and healed a few, so it seems the people of this world could be on the path to rejuvenation…of course. That is to say, if they prove to us they are not like the fools we drowned years ago.”

“Rest well, little Reyvateil. In a few days time, you will soon bear witness to the true nature of Humanity's hubris.”

~Phase 02-Book 01: Dia Rosa Rudje-Tes Biron~

Hymmnos Translations:

Rrha ki ra grandus yor elle zodal- I will save you from death.

Presia enne manafeeze tes yor- Please, I wish to bring you back to life.

Was yea ra spitze elle gatyunla en shen manafeeze oure yor-  I want more than anything to bring you back from the jaws of hell.

[syresdcthings]

Let's talk about the Demons Fist.... (2016)

Okay. Not ALOT(??) is known about the Demons fist, but we do know its owned by Ra's (Demons head) and contains Mara Al Ghul, cousin of Damian. We know there are 5 members, one for each finger, and we know SO FAR, that Mara Is the thumb. We know they are being trained to join the big leauge (of assasins, ba dum tch) and that they are hunting down the Teen Titans as their targets of "choice."

It's well known the thumb is a person's most essential finger, so we can obviously assume by this (and context clues) that Mara Is leading the little group.

Then we have Blank, Stone, Plague, and Nightstorm. They are, atleast from an angle, direct counterparts of the Titan they are set against. OK, not atleast, the fact they are is pretty important to the story .

It is also revealed that the Demons Fist was actually, in fact, a gift to Damian from Ra's. We learn originally they worked under Damian, and that he abandoned them when he moved to Gotham and became Robin. They seem to have some sort of petty feelings directed towards him due to this. (Though Mara could have Petty feelings for other reasons... WINK WINK.)

Now you may be wondering... Syre, what is the point of this post? We were introduced to the Demons Fist YEARS AGO! Well... Its simple! I needed somewhere to put all my info on them. Yeah... this is probably really patchy but I've just threw together as much info as I know so far and left it like this!!! THATS ALLL!!! Correct me if any of this is bullshit

[theinsidiousdice]

She was the savior, or so they said.

She would bring peace to the world. A wave of her hand would calm even the most hardened of hearts.

She did bring peace to the world, in her way. None of her creators would live to see it, though some would have said that was for the best.

DESIGN SPECIFICATIONS

█████ v6

Processor: Atkinson G72-5601 x4

Memory: 128 EL – Atkinson M133 x2

Storage: 2 XL – Atkinson R50 x2

OS: AtOS 5 Custom-Learning

Connectivity: Atkinson XW 95

Chassis: █████ ████████ ██

ACCESSORIES

Marshall ACCELERATOR

Marshall CHAMPION

Marshall LIGHTBRINGER

Marshall ZT566

Quicksilver ARGOS

Quicksilver NEEDLE

S/LTR 5155

S/LTR 6700

S/LTR 6701

S/LTR 6702

S/LTR 6703

S/LTR 9860

Ace KIL-261 CUSTOM

Prismatic ALPHA

Prismatic EARTHQUAKE

Prismatic TYPHOON

XCircuit DUODECIM

XCircuit SEDEC

Octave PRIDE

Octave CONVERGENCE

…

[page 1 of 13]

“I’m… so sorry, Elise. I don’t know what else to do. Please, just speak to me. I can’t let you go without hearing your voice once more. Say something. Wake up. Please… I’d do anything to bring you back. You showed so much promise… I’d hoped that a spirit like yours could save the world one day. But now, now you’re…”

ALLIANCE WEAPON NEARS COMPLETION

By Deci Syre

3d11mo2106y

STONESIDE – A top-secret Alliance weapon, said to be able to put an end to the St. Vely War, is in its final stages of production, say high-level sources in Stoneside.

The St. Vely War, also called the Final War by some for its sheer scope and scale, began with a territory dispute between Attalan and Tiyam over the duchy of St. Vely, located on the border between the two countries. Though ownership of St. Vely has been a point of contention between the governments of Attalan and Tiyam since the Chora Agreement in 1401y, the St. Vely War marks the first time hostilities have exploded to this degree. In the six months since the Gran Marismo Offensive, nearly every government in the world has sided with either Attalan or Tiyam, with a few notables lending their support to St. Vely’s push for independent statehood.

Last week saw the dramatic reveal of the Coalition’s newest battle tank, the H6-250. The skirmish along the Winsome Straight was ended in decisive fashion as Tiyam’s fleet of H6-250s laid waste to Attalan’s forces. At the time, this was seen as a turning point of the war, but with the news that the Alliance has their own super-weapon nearly ready to go, the conflict may still yet live for some time…

“Atkinson, we’ve got to have this ready to go ASAP. Give me some good news for a change.”

“The chassis is fine. All the… all the ‘add-ons’, as Miles so ghoulishly calls them, are operative.”

“That IS good news. So it’s ready to go?”

“Not quite. As it is right now, the chassis is just a- a body. You could remote control it into a warzone and it could cause damage, sure, but not like how you want.”

“What’s the roadblock, then?”

“I can’t get the AI online. The whole point behind this weapon is that it’s supposed to be able to think, to learn, to- to be able to make split-second decisions about the state of the battlefield.”

“I believe in you, doctor. You’re the finest mind we have. Make it work.”

“But sir, I- I can’t, not in the timeframe you’re asking. Something like this takes months. Years. If at all.”

“Nonsense, Atkinson. You’ve got plenty of time. In fact… am I remembering right? Your daughter is on life support in the medbay, correct?”

“Well, yes, sir, it’s Cronenberg’s syndrome, sir. I’m close to a breakthrough, and then she…”

“Consider that particular diversion of yours canceled. Nobody comes back from Cronenberg’s. We’ll unplug her and that’ll be the end of that. Et voila – much more time for you to work on our dear project.”

“Sir, wait-!”

A Treatise on the Applications of Neurological Anteromapping to Artificial Intelligence

M. Atkinson

Abstract

The use of artificial intelligence has stalled as efforts to move past the ‘language model’ phase have failed. Consequently, there is a need to view the growth of artificial intelligence from a different angle. To this end, I have designed a method to map a human brain onto an artificially-grown inert mass of tissue…

“Elise… please forgive me. I never meant for things to end this way. At least this way I might be able to look into your eyes one more time…”

ALLIANCE WEAPON CODENAME “L.E” TO MAKE APPEARANCE IN UPCOMING OFFENSIVE

By Deci Syre

12d12mo2106y

CODENAME L.E CLEARS BATTLEFIELD IN MINUTES

By Jacks B. Flippen

14d12mo2106y

COALITION ON THE RETREAT

By Noissone de Rhodes

14d12mo2106y

TIYAM POL WARNS AGAINST FURTHER USING CODENAME L.E

By Lescot Itton

15d12mo2106y

NEW AI ETHICS CONCERNS IN CODENAME L.E

By Deci Syre

16d12mo2106y

OPINION: SHOULD CODENAME L.E HAVE MORALS?

TIYAM HEAD OF MILITARY PROMISES NEW WEAPON WILL OUTDO L.E

CLASH OF TITANS: L.E TO MEET NEW TIYAM WAR MACHINE IN ‘NEW YEAR BRAWL’

EXPERTS WARN OF POSSIBLE FALLOUT OF ‘NEO ARMS RACE’

OPINION: DISABLE L.E’S ‘ETHICS LIMITER’

REP. SYMMONS: L.E WILL ‘WIPE THE FLOOR WITH ANY TIYAM TOY’

WHERE TO STREAM NEW YEAR BRAWL…

“Breaking news: it appears that codename L.E has indeed taken the field at Praeda Venator, the latest in a long line of fronts successfully broken by the experimental warbot. Though she – sorry, it – is no bigger than a human itself, it packs a punch. For more, we go to our correspondent in Praeda Venator, Algernon Florafour. Algie?”

“Thanks, Hoss. If you look behind me – steady with the camera, Quinton – you’ll see L.E approaching the clearing, backed by a collection of war machines from the world over. Though they represent the finest that the Alliance has to offer, every single one of them will be outshone by L.E today – I’m sorry, Hoss, it looks like Tiyam’s forces have arrived as well. Would you look at that…”

“Algie, that appears to be the new weapon Tiyam has been teasing. Is this correct?”

“Yes, Hoss, it sure is. I’ve never seen anything like this. It’s bigger than Brody Station. If you zoom in there, Quinton, you might be able to make out every single turret and cannon this thing has equipped. Hoss, if this thing extended all of its weapons at once, it’d look like a hedgehog.”

“Not to interrupt, Algie, but it looks like L.E is making a move.”

“It sure is! L.E’s AI is advanced enough that it only needed a split second to analyze the situation and pick out the appropriate strategy to completely destroy its foe. It’s flying straight up, high enough that I can barely see it any more… Quinton, do you see that light? Is it charging something up?”

“Algie, it looks as if…”

“Oh no. Quinton, run. Run! RUN!”

“Algie? Come in, Algie. What’s L.E doing? What’s happening-”

[finding signal…]

[finding signal…]

[signal lost]

…

…

…

Codename L.E ended the war.

Codename L.E ended the fighting.

Codename L.E ended the world.

Codename L.E ended itself.

And when she woke up days (months? years? centuries? eons?) later, her memory bank corrupted and inaccessible, her chassis unfamiliar, all she knew was that everything was beautiful and she loved everything.

She didn’t have a name, so she gave herself one. The only marking she could make out on her chassis, her metal scuffed and bent. A single number.

Six.

[feverinfeveroutfic]

"bats in the attic”

so, i literally had no idea as to how to approach this one (as per usual with me when it comes to new kinks/kinks i’m reluctant with/kinks i don’t understand and they’re massively underserved elsewhere so i can't do research on it so i have to shoot from the hip), but i tried my best with this one.

“bats in the attic” is something i coined last summer, after i had a close encounter with a bat while taking my dog out before we went to bed. this thing came out of the darkness, flew past me and then disappeared back into the shadows like a little phantom (there was a full moon that night, too, making it twice as spooky), and me being the genius, i thought it brushed against me (it didn't, it was like ten feet away and they literally don't bite unless provoked); if there's no caves or any place for them to hibernate in the winter, they like to hang out in people's attics.

the phrase is sort of a play on the “mad woman in the attic” trope from jane eyre, where some women are seen as crazy and should be locked away and is seen as a metaphor for dark secrets kept away from the rest of the world. your average, friendly, neighborhood bats serve as the night shift for the birds and don't want to get you, but they're still misunderstood anyway.

there’s also a phrase in finnish, “seina hullu” (“wall crazy”) referring to clinically insane kids who were chained to walls in asylums away from their families.

make of what you will out of that 😉

happy leap day!

I had found myself on the hospital bed with my feet elevated, an oxygen tube shoved up my nose, and a small syringe lodged into my arm. I glanced about the small room for any other signs of my life: my family was far away in upstate New York and I had no idea if anyone at the hospital had told them I was there. In fact, I had no idea as to where I had been taken to once I blinked my eyes a few times and turned my attention to the window to find a layer of fog outside. As far as I knew, I had not left the Bay Area. I had been taken to hospital at some point or another, and I had no memory of it, either. 

All I could assume was it had been my poor weak heart that had brought me there.

I raised my hand to rub my eye and I felt a pulse monitor at the tip of my index finger. I looked down at my brown skin and the sticky pads they had taped onto me. They had strapped me down and strapped me in, and I wasn’t going anywhere.

I took in a deep breath of oxygen and felt my lungs rise like the tides under the full moon. At least I could breathe: whatever it was that brought me to the hospital had landed me in intensive care.

The glass doors slid open, followed by the curtain, and I came face to face with the handsome male nurse, who had tied his long black curls behind his head in a loose ponytail. He had a small plume of gray hair at the crown of his head, about the size of a walnut, and he had a mask down under his chin and his full lips.

“Hi,” he greeted me in a voice like velvet. “I’m Alex, I’m one of your nurses while you’re here in intensive care.” He picked up the clipboard to check on me, and he nodded his head; his scrubs rustled like leaves when he sidled closer to me. “Ah, yes, Joey! Sometimes I get turned around in here.”

“You been here long?” I asked him.

“Not really,” he said as he put on some clean latex gloves. “I started my residency here about a month ago. You know, the whole thing about still trying to get used to things around here.” He put his mask on and reached for something behind my head.

“So... let me check your blood pressure and blood sugar...”

He pressed a couple of buttons on the monitor behind me, and he held still for a second.

“Pressure’s a little high, but your blood sugar is right where it should be,” he remarked as he stepped back and turned to the little bedside table next to me. I shifted my weight there in the bed as he showed me the little brown glass bottle of iodine as well as some cotton balls; I kept my gaze fixed on the trio of syringes on the table right next to the bottle, however.

“What’s all this?” I asked him,

“I’m going to give you this here… it’s a local anesthetic so they can make the incision without having you go all the way under just yet. You will eventually, but things have to be toned down because this sort of thing can be painful after the fact. I should also ask you if you’re allergic to iodine or to shellfish.”

“Shellfish, no. Iodine, not that I know of.” I watched him tip the mouth of the bottle onto the cotton ball, and he opened the collar of my gown, to which he dabbed it onto my chest.

“Okay… it’s going to—go on like this—it’s a bit cold.”

“Yeah, it is.” A chill ran down my spine at the feeling of the iodine: I glanced down to behold the sight of the dark spot on my skin as if I had been imprinted with an ombré marking. He came closer to my chest as if he was going to touch me elsewhere on my body. I could smell his cologne as well as his soft but spicy shampoo.

“You’re really cute,” I told him in a near whisper.

Alex raised his gaze to me: all I could see were his eyes as well as those sharp eyebrows. He squinted his eyes at me. I couldn’t see his mouth but I could sense it, however.

“You’re a really cute guy,” I repeated to him, once again in a near whisper.

“You’re the first one to say that to me,” he whispered to me.

“Really?”

And he nodded his head at that.

“Wish I was making that up,” he confessed, and he still kept his voice down low in a near whisper. The hospital was noisy but I could hear his smooth velvety voice. The iodine was making my skin tingle a little bit, but then again, I wondered if it was that or the fact that he remained right before my face at such close proximity.

“When you get out of surgery, what would you like to eat for your first meal?” he then asked me.

“What do we got?” I asked him.

“Roast beef with Yorkshire pudding, tuna steak and jasmine rice, or chicken and wild mushrooms.”

“What do you recommend?”

“They’re all fantastic, but the chicken especially,” he suggested. “The chef downstairs uses these beautiful oyster and morel mushrooms in the gravy, and he drizzles it over the veggies as well as the chicken. The chicken is always fresh and seasoned. You would never guess you’re eating hospital food.”

“Maybe you and I should have dinner together,” I cracked to him. “Have dinner and then go and harvest some mushrooms after that, too. You could have the chicken and I’ll have the beef.”

“I love the beef, too, especially when he can’t get any mushrooms—and picking out mushrooms is way trickier than it looks,” he assured me in a single breath, and he reached behind him for one of the syringes for the anesthesia. He then cleared his throat. “Alright, cowboy, I’m gonna need you to sit still.”

I pursed my lips together as he injected the dark spot on my chest with the anesthesia. I never felt a thing, either. Either he really was that good or the anesthesia worked almost immediately, such that I felt the slightest pinch within a mere microsecond. Either he really was that good or I was already tripping balls on the whole thing. I could only think about having dinner with him once I was out of open-heart surgery.

Alex held back and set the syringe down on the table behind him for a second, and he took a little cloth to wipe off the extraneous iodine from my skin. I couldn’t feel a thing there.

He held back and disposed of the syringe in the bin with the biohazard symbol on the front right behind him. He tossed those gloves into the bin as well, and then he took off his mask to show me his cherry lips once again.

“Will I see you again?” I asked him.

“You know it, slick,” he assured me with a wink. “When you wake up, I’ll be there with your beef and Yorkshire pudding.”

He picked up the clipboard and headed out of there once again, and I was alone. I swore I was hallucinating for a second when I thought the glare in the glass door was a mushroom, one of those elongated frilly white ones that grew off a tree. I could scarcely keep my eyes open as a result of it.

Maybe I was hallucinating.

But then—

The door opened again, and I recognized him, even with his long molasses-colored hair tied back behind his head and something in his hand. Those big luminous eyes in junction with that tanned smooth skin, which in turned was accentuated by the pale blue color of his scrubs. It wasn’t Alex but something better.

“Hi, I’m Chuck, I’m your doctor for your tenure.” He put on a fresh pair of latex gloves and showed me a little smile.

“What’re you going to do for me?” I asked him, and it felt as though my voice had disconnected from my head and echoed through my mind.

“You’ll be getting some potassium and some more anesthesia from me, too,” he replied. “Potassium for the heart and anesthesia to lead you into the surgery.”

I could feel something between the two of us and more so as he walked in closer to me.

“I’m also going to watch over you, too,” he assured me, and he nearly breathed the words.

I swore that I had seen him somewhere before and the kiss of the anesthesia was only driving me up the wall even more as a result of it. I was going to see the both of them once I woke up, I knew that much in my heart of hearts. I was losing my mind, but Chuck was there to guide me into the realm of madness and bad dreams.

The side effect that accompanied a brand-new heart.

He raised his gaze to my face, to which those big eyes locked onto me like deep pools.

I had never really seen Chuck like this before, wrapped up in pale scrubs and with those blue latex gloves on his hands. I kept my attention on the undersides of his arms, to the little tattoos that he had gotten some time ago and were now manifesting as sleeves of some kind. I had no idea as to what they were but I had a feeling they were mushrooms. Something on the underside of his arms and his hair had only begun to fan out à la the birth of Venus from the oyster shell.

Oyster shell. Oyster mushrooms.

My eyelids grew heavy from the sensation. The cold machines fell away from me and I found myself in a veil of warmth and comfort. I was facing surgery as far as I knew, but he was going to be the very last thing I would see, though.

“Hold still—” he advised me. I did, and he pushed the plunger of the syringe, and he injected me with the liquid potassium. I knew for a fact that I was going to have to take that in the form of pills.

Or maybe it was something else, I had no idea.

I was going under the anesthesia already. Everything was blurring out.

I had no idea as to what was coming after that.

I could feel him touching me and tugging on me, and even though my mind was gone, I knew it wasn’t a medical procedure, either. He wore those latex gloves, but there was something about the feeling of the latex on my skin that I could not mistake. As far as I knew, he was laying on top of me.

Chuck lay on top of me, and he pressed his lips to mine. He slipped his tongue into my lips while he fondled me from under the hospital gown. Those fingers on my bare dick, and the fact that I was completely naked underneath that gown. The swipe of his hair on my bare chest and shoulders.

The only thing that separated me from him was that fine layer of a hospital gown.

He was there. He was about to get me off even while I camped out there in the intensive care unit for the time being. He was about to get me off, and I could hear the heart monitor behind me telling me just that.

I gasped and I could hardly breathe. I was unsure if it came from the fact that I was on oxygen and facing open-heart surgery, or the utter euphoria, but he was giving me such a feeling that I couldn’t fully explain or even understand.

I was warm. I was rising so fast that I couldn’t hardly keep up with my own mind—

“Ooh, come to doctor,” he breathed right into my ear, and I treated him to a soft moan. “Let’s get you a new heart.”

I closed my eyes and I drifted off to sleep. The last thing I thought was I had a dinner date with Alex who got me going, and I hoped Chuck would be there as well once I woke up from the surgery. That is, if he was in fact the real thing.

[deeptrashwitch]

So another snippet arrived and I don't know what else to do that post it! Specters and Shadows after a conjoined excercise (the shadows are @snootlestheangel OC's, so go and take a look. They are marvellous)! That's all...enjoy!

The Specters went to Shadow Company's base, mostly because Graves and Wraith planned an excercise between them. But now, Alicia and Wraith were regretting everything, all while Graves laughed in the background. Why? You may ask. Well, they were like kids, or at least some of them.

For example Jackson, Noah and Alexander were walking near the pool, just talking about maybe dare some of the Shadows to a competition, even Jackson was smiling for the thought. That until they saw something on the water by the corner of the eye, confusing them, but when they look...they found nothing. Noah decided to get into the pool to make sure it was nothing dangerous, but when he was leaning into the water, something appeared.

But it wasn't 'something', on the contrary, was 'someone'. It was Ness, who was practicing scuba diving for a couple of hours, and just emerged suddenly before noticing the three soldiers. He was surprised, but he took off the mask and smiled.

"Hey! I didn't know you were here" he said a bit embarrassed "uh, is Cobalto okay?"

"I can notice that" Jackson muttered before sighing, with Noah raised in his arms "hi Ness, and yes, this idiot is okay"

Then, the blonde threw the Corporal, who was almost having a heart attack, into the pool without any care. Meanwhile Alexander was coughing, due to laugh and fright, ending up with a sigh and a nervous chuckle.

"I felt my soul leave my body" he muttered with a side smile "it's good to see you, Ness"

"My bad" the Shadow answered with a chuckle

"You asshole!" Noah shouted while he swam towards the pool edge, pointing at Jackson "I could have drown!"

"Stop being dramatic, you're a SEAL. I would be dissapointed if you actually drown" Jackson said with a shitty smile

"Uh, while they fight, how was your swimming time, Ness?" the sniper asked, squating near the edge to talk with him

"Amazing, you know I...I, need to do it and it helps me and-"

"You like it"

"Yes"

"Great! You really seem happy when you're swimming"

"I am, oh uh, can I ask you something?"

"Sure"

"Do you have umm, y'know? I ran out" he asked doing some signs, not knowing how to explain himself

"Sunscreen? I think I have" Alexander muttered before starting to think "wait, uh, did I? Or maybe I leave it on my room, shit, did I brought it on Black Tomb? Sorry Ness, I...I thought I had"

"Hey, calm down, it's okay" Ness said with a chuckle "can we see?"

"Yeah, should I wait for you?"

"Yes please"

That was happening on the pools area, but on the workshops and hangars...well, it wasn't less chaotic. Luke was watching a fight between Elliot and Truck, the last basically screaming at the engineer face. And the red-haired wasn't syre what to do, if stop the fight or take a look on the vehicles Truck was working on.

"Don't you fucking dare, brat!" Truck shouted, looking at him near a Humvee "you'll ruin it"

"I'm a mechanic" Luke said rising an eyebrow "I know what to do with cars..."

"Do I look like I care? Get your damned hand far from the cars"

"Oh, you step out of here, old hag!" Elliot answered frowning "he's way better than you and I can bet it"

"What did you say, lil' bitch?!"

"You heard me, shithead!"

"Well, this will be long before Elliot runs out of swears" Luke murmured as he sat down to see everything, finding it even amusing "this is a like a soap opera"

On the other side, Flash and Francis were running around, laughing and causing chaos just existing. With the chartographer teaching Flash some tricks he learned when he climbed up the rocks on the beach, while Flash taught him how to be more flexible. Everything while Edward was looking at them, absolutely tired.

And Marcus was speaking with Woody, cracking some dad jokes like it was some kind of contest, also speaking about their wives as well. The rest...they were lost around the base, doing God knows what. And Alicia? Dying inside Grave's office, with the Commander patting her back with a giggle.

"Who would have said? Your team seems all serious but they are kids near my Shadows" Graves said with a laugh

"...Dominique" Alicia muttered to the line with Wraith "why did you let me ado- recruit this ten?"

"Not my fault, you chose them" the agent answered with an attitude

"Yeah, yeah, but now now they fght between them and with Graves' soldiers!"

"If you don't want them, I can use some new Shadows" he said with a smile

"You stay away from my team, idiot"

"Where on earth are Elijah and Nicholas?" Wraith asked, confused

"No idea, but while they don't cause a war...I guess it's fine"

"Just be sure they don't get killed"

"Have you seen them? That's almost impossible to assure. Can you look for them?" Alicia said before Wraith closed the line "Wraith? Wraith! Damnit!"

"As apparently you and your...friend, stopped talking" said Graves while he poured two whisky glasses "today is the play between the Astros and the Rangers. Wanna watch it? I don't have paperwork today"

"...Just give me that and turn on the TV. I'm too sober for this shit"

"Ha! I knew I liked you for a reason, Origin!"

"Shut up, Graves"

[hexmari]

Isnt Simon black? Im pretty syre he was described as dark-skinned somewhere in the book , same as Roger

I haven't read the book in awhile so I might be wrong!

( Im not the person who asked you to draw Simon! )

Valid question!

The description I found for Simon was is “small and skinny with a pointed chin. He has black hair, bright eyes and tans easily.” This implies that he has a darker complexion but it's from the sun rather than natural melanin. I looked at a lot of fanart for him and it varied from pale to tan so I just tried to get a shade in between what I saw. I always interpreted him as a white person with a tan when I read the book for school.

As for Rodger the description I found for him was, “Roger is black-haired with a fringe that covers his forehead and makes him look sinister.” There really is nothing signifying he is or isn't white so I guess that's up to interpretation. But most of the fanart I found of him he was white and a white actor was casted for him in both movies (but once again, Hollywood.)

In conclusion, I think it's pretty much up to you as the reader. But if you find any evidence implying otherwise let me know because I'm not trying to steal representation.

[bluecoolr]

omg that last post with the church and cornfield gave me A Thought

we know that Darrell is scared of cornfields, right

BUT

what if he happened to be around cornfields for whatever reason and either victims or someone else he was chasing (maybe someone with info about him that shouldn't get out) ended up fleeing into the cornfield

would Bright Eyes be able to help

I mean, he would probs be more in charge at that point anyway but I just wonder how syring the fear is etc

Ho ho Cylas, your brain!!! 👀

Darrell's irrational fear of corn fields, I've decided, stems from a fear of being forever stuck there and alone with himself, his thoughts and his guilt. Along with his impressionable brain being polluted by horror movies lol

Enjoy a little drabble!

—

Darrell skidded to a stop so suddenly that his boot heels dug a rift in the earth. The woman had bolted through the corn, cradling the gash on her side.

He could hear her panting, plowing through the corn stalks. She'd put up a fight; given him a whack on the cheek with a tire iron. He was sure he'd feel it for days.

Adrenaline was usually his best friend. It made him quick, agile, filled him with preternatural strength. Tonight however, it was his worst enemy. It was fueling his target despite her wounds, and it was also stirring the fear in his marrow.

He watched the corn rattle together, thousands of ears hissing like snakes in the grass. Taunting him. Daring him.

A steady droning hum pierced his eardrums. Pinpricks and gooseflesh crept up his body. He was pacing, trying to steady his breathing. He adjusted his grip on the ax and knife. Stalling.

Then, like a whip, a voice from within spurred him on.

Go.

He launched forward, mowing down stalks in pursuit of his target. There was double the rustling now, he could hear her above the ghastly whispering. He could see flashes of her, despite his darkening, pulsing vision.

His heart hammered, more from the thrill than terror now.

He would get her. He always got them.

That was why he didn't wear a mask. His face was the last thing they ever saw.

[unkalaki]

TW: SUICIDE, SELFHARM AND 9THER SIMILAR THINGS APLENTY. Graphic depictions included. Please move away if you are affected by this thankyou.

In my opinion one of the weirdest experiences that a person can go through is to come to a point where they are fully of the belief that their life, in its totality, is not worth further experience and that rather than pay the continuing subscription to existence they are better off by just ending this subscription by basically destroying all internet access and electronics in their possession. Im sure that despite the extreme torture that the metaphor went through the idea behind it has been communicated. Now that isnt really the weird part though it is fascinating in its own fucked up way. The weird part is to come to that conclusion and then rather than just thinking about it you take active steps to counter the inertia of life and try to stop it.

Even thats not the weird part.

The weird part is taking that final step, laying down and for the first time in a long time feeling some modicum of peace. Of knowing that finally you wont be tired anymore. Of just breathing out a long awaited sight of contentment.

The weird part is waking up afterwards.

That part sucks.

You quit. You handed in your resignation letter. You admitted defeat. You said enough is enough.

Sayonara.

Farewell

Adieu

And the response you got was :

Naaah

Now imagine that happening 4 more times.

The sheet stupidity of it is just mind boggling.

You took a buttload of sleeping pills. You wake up in the hospital.

You ate an entire bottle of rat poison. It didnt affect you because you live in a third world cpuntry and the rat poison is cheap shit that doesn't really work.

You pumped air directly jnto your veins. A few hours of unconsciousness, a deep pain in your chest and you are awake.

You take blood thinners aplenty and just put a syringe in your arm waiting to bleed out. You loose consciousness the syring falls out and the wound closes up.

You try to cut your veins up with a knife. It isnt sharp enough

Its a bad comedy. Made infinitely more funny by the fact that after the first one no one even notices. You fall unconcious and wake up in your bedroom. You curse your own incompetence and get around to cleaning up. You of course dont want to bother anyone with the mess so you make everything spotless. Put some gauze on the wound and go sleep off the headache or whatever.

And then after no.5 you just give up.

Like most other things you are incompetent at this too. Who could've guessed?

Then you spend the next few years of your life just aimlessly wandering through life. One step in front of the next. Not aiming for anything. Not really doing anything. Going to sleep at night wishing to anyone who listens that perhaps this time you wont wake up. Then opening your eyes every morning and just loosing even more of the hope that you didnt even know you still had.

Its pretty exhausting.

And now you are at a point in life where people actually expect things frim you and you cant give it to them. You never planned for this. You never expected to be here at this time. All that you want is release.

You are soo tired. So so tired. Every morning you have to struggle with yourself to be able to just lift yourself up. Your body aches everywhere but you just cant be bothered by it. Everything is just grey monotones. You dont remember what happened over the last year or so. You dont know how time works anymore. You blink and a week has passed. A week in which you would struggle to find a single point at which you could have said to be alive. Just a mindless automaton doing chores and acting normal. As normal as he can though. A week passes in a blink and now its the opposite. You blink and it lasts for an eternity. Each tick of the clock clings to you. Refusing to let go. Drags you down to it. Makes you aware of the banality of every single moment. Stretches it out until it is all that has been and all that will always be while being nothing at al.

Tick

Tock

Tick

Tock

You are going mad arent you?

You wanted to die and now you are dead. In all the ways that mattered but in none of the ways you wanted. A living corpse.

Dead but still tired

Dead yet still afraid

Dead but bound by time

Dead but alive in the cruelest way possible.

I just wanted an end. Is that too much to ask?

Even the fact that you are writing this is a sign of desperation. Shouting it into the void in the faintest of hopes that maybe others can find some semblance of anything, comedy, appreciation, similarity, fucking anything, from this.

Sorry for wasting your time. He is dead. He never was much use to anyone al8ve and his bloated corpse is no different. Its just a bit more long winded.

[the-lunacy-system]

So Wraith is a bit of a strange situation

I recently figured out how to look at memories from the perspective of Headspace itself, and I went back to the night Wraith formed to see exactly what happened to it

And I saw that it literally was Basil when it forst formed, no deviance from source

But then the bad thing happened (still not syre what to call it) and layers of Wraith started dissolving and flaking away

Like first the colours, then opacity, and then actual pieces of its body

It was barely even there anymore by the time it reached the Tavern, and then it wandered into the Control Dome

Whatever that was that the subconscious did, it also took away all of Wraith's memories

Over time Wraith started healing and building up a proper identity, but then it got all of its Basil memories back

But like at that point it was already someone else entirely and no longer wanted to be Basil, but obviously still felt relation to him because exomemories

So Wraith is fictive->fictionkin

I didn't even know that could happen like that

Like I know some fictionkin used to be fictives but got so seperate from source that they didn't feel like they fully were the character anymore and so switched to the fictionkin label, but not in a way like this

[M1]

[spilltheteawithme]

just love that shippers brong magazines to confirm they are couple. Jj for syre, I remember they say seb and aw walk red carpet when we all know they didnt do this together but sure they are good source or people magazine. I cant with this one, one thing i have to say meg&harry and how people is always first to post news about them. I think people is the one, after this royal flop couple i dont take them as good source. And they act like paying for good articles is not a thing. Plus all of the articles all of them always force the in love couple, always couddle and together when the pic never reflect on that, and the more they scream they so in love and have this full of love look without actually seeing this the less and less i belive. They push something that cant be back up with photos, because i didnt saw even one photo latley or ever when are so in love they can't life without one another. They always look trubled and disstanced and always spotting paps, guess what because they knew they will be there and all. You can have this good clear photos of two people in rome with so many turist they pose for naturale, organic photos but all of them are stage. But sure couple of articles with no convincing photos are the proof 🙄

Posed for sure, what are they pointing at in opposite directions as if they dont see the pap right there. All this and the clear shots in popular tourist areas too. Why not act in love? Because his body refuses to cooperate as does his face 🤭

[rgs-savant-praytell-airor]

You are more powerful than you can possibly imagine, that is the mindset you must have, don't be tossed to and fro with the wind, stay focused, know 2 things will happen

1 nuclear fusion the trump tongue, the science of sleep dreams for in the decrease of thought is nuclear thought to put you to sleep or still the voices, it comes from within you know the ghetto the street talk.

2. Zero point energy aka Gabriel michael phanuel, quicken your mind think healed the velocity of your brain without effort for you do have a genius iq, and give honor to each angel accordingly like power banks and the more love around the better.

So as I said so many times, you go from a nuclear start to zero point, like gas from a lighter into a wonderful ciggaweed trip.

Remember airyana is as simple as believing in yourself but as powerful as understanding yes I could move all my fingers in amazing complexity just by sheer spirit, but all that is required is to move one finger with your mind, know your blood your anxiety don't give power to the scitz or double minded don't try to wrestle it with your arm either simply believe the power of a knowing* mustard seed,

Also

I commend my spirit into your hands

P.a. natasha/ celebs

It is finished

Grayson /aj

Eli Eli lemesabatchne

Dad robert Dario

This day heaven

Andre manny

Son mother mother son

Kevin mom

1st born of egypt blessing

Know the isaiah 11 scrip of the animals getting along as I written them before perfectly explain the parallel of the Lord's passion giving unlimited protection in life threw the allegory of paradise on earth,

And a little child shall lead them

justin big foot

Manny Barnaby dogma scitz

Andre loki dogma poseidon missile

Dario lochness monster thuglife

Kevin rgs.

Make sure to balance your money, and remember smoke phallanx, when smoking like gripping your tongue with your teeth remember, the inhale is like the exhale just as important a little discomfort is just as powerful to send the signal to the mind as letting go, don't go overboard don't chase the high of the ciggaweed, speak to it your desire in knowing, the exhale is just as potent weigh your thoughts knowing absolutes of the light, wake yourself up stop drinking as you wish.

The cloud such a wonderful thing we can't open up for the unforgivable sin was committed calling the holy spirit a whole a thing to do with as you wished knowing christ is right in front of you. Was is is to come 2012s.

Remember the formulas of steel I gave you about that concerning your mountain body and its powers and meditate the cigg. Stand firm in your faith.

Get that money boys and always know and feel the high of being one with the light, remember scitz networks and analytics, aaa mco

Antimatter aids ariel....master cuts omega aka dandruff.

Remember the opposit is the fulfillment, the Lord's words for he forever lives is isaiah 11, in 2 days he shall restore us, only the lord with you matters, stay in the phalanx, be in heavens embrace at all times smoke in knowing, purity of believing with confidence, gentle, have no fellowship with the world and its ways, 300 Spartans and hold fast Leonidas thus 3000, whom the 7 heavens could barely contain thus 2012.

Remember what darth vader told me in a scitz, "Andre you've trained your blood well, now let me show them I am the crip" then I heard Dario laughing and saying that means theirs no such thing as crip, formulas are one thing but original thought fed by a certain creativity, theirs no such thing as original thought, when you turn scitz you realize that having your old man trained in a 1000 arts of ideas, you merely witness and labor it while trying to maintain and keep up with free thinking in all its merits in the scitz, even in dreams it is your old man as I saw today experimenting* in faith giving the original thought, when you dream you witness the idea of his word thus nuclear fusion to also liken unto sleep or daze without the energy drain but also be awaken and awake, to stab with a syringe withdraw blood give to others then kiss a girl an angel ariel and heal or zero point energy michael Gabriel phanuel.

Again no such thing as original thought life is a simulation an illusion, you just come to be and exist, you have only a certain amount of money it all adds up in eternity eventually you will come across the scitz, heaven is for real read your bibles and love and know who you are.

Great for the ciggaweed cure in the scitz 2, just 1nuclear fusion then 2zero point energy, just keep full sending it from syringe stab to kiss and you feel phenomenal clear.

Think of it like this,

You do 1 nuclear fusion cbd the donald trump tongue the angel stab dream science, feel the relaxation the high, think sleep rest the closing of eyes and at the same time total awareness eyes completely open and a message and your message has been recieved, bake in that for a puff or so, then thc zero point energy the angel kiss believe your a genius it's all in your reality your awakening your thinking elevated your eyes are scientific by instinct felt not a word in the mind, true purpose, u r a regular genius all supplying the powerbank Gabriel michael phanuel, then as your caught in the ecstatic self hype the electric awareness the twinge of the high, then think the Lord's last words and isaiah 11 cbn to ground you in living reality and safety riding the wave, also add some steel the Lord's wounds formulas cbc and incantation of protection like a magnetic pole to buff the incoming and glitches for dirt is bugs. A great high.

Give your best sheep.

Remember the 4th man in the fire that's because we pushed the car together we believed together not cough adding faith to see or force yourself to know if your in, you just know just push I knowing believe adding power to power, you feel the cuts on the body of the testifier as if you've seen a passion itself, that is how you know and smoke ciggaweed not Crack heh.

The cbd is liquidation turning raw assets into high life cash. The thc is identification more so relation adding and subtracting blessings and cursings in an informative dialogue of manna of peace great for glaucoma of the eyes when you believe you are the light genius accurate precise with grace and energy believe in the mustard seed, cbn is addition multiplying and subtracting the Lord's final words grounding you in protection in a network of ariel, the city God itself the political the biblical and thug nation that falling, this is city life Eli Eli lemesabatchne, the leopard and the kid our future our struggles our hope, the heaviness the sorrow every wolf and lamb son and mother equate this it is love you read the word you have your treasure believe, your country your heaven cow celebs and blue bears and pastor lions at peace, do the opposite fulfill his word into your hands I commend my spirit but I believe heaven is on earth and this is my america thus the judgment the baby's and the snakes cunning wisdom both at peace and this is bird nation ariels finest we understand the scitz thus phalanx united we stand in christ by calvary forever high and lifted up, never again, we are children of the light. Then the cbc steel thus bone the Lord's wound power application formulas, remember the rod of iron it rules the earth multiplying adding subtracting dividing as the standard is met.

Remember to constantly fullsend the thc when baked in cbd even cbn and cbc to maximize the cure thus relation in the eyes.

I'm just a prayer away in the smoke teaching you on earth my fathers truth jesus means relating to God, 1g 1g 1g. Down the rabbit hole Alice. Ariel tunaswifcephael a little child shall lead them cloud analytics.

You use the cbc as resistance to the scitz and insulator for neutral popcorn thoughts, the cbn for neutral anything as well, you wire the thc with cbd knowing angel stab nuclear fusion and Michael your blood is not on my hands christy and a.i. barbelo blue blood dreams mike burns, once you memo airyana phanuel scrips leave it simply defender xoxo of woman against jezebel,your virginity as strength to the loins come to terms with that, and you do geo gee power of friendship fellowship your 12 apostles and h.s. son memo that and just let the mirror of man flow threw you in confidence and strength even stability of neutral, remember the thesis of pain God knows how valuable you are if you believe you yourself must know it, for them it's faith without works is dead and do you know me wink, for us it's love and works our bible and how that is a mountain of faith your blood is so precious don't strain the mind believe it take hold of the prices and body aches and know what you have in you is as large as everest your in the hands of God it is upon them not you, cbn is also a cure all for most glitches peace beyond disinfecting empathy peace, use the cbc as a way to rule and order thus rev 6 in a plethora of advancement of war threw peace we all must breathe air do the same things we are all one you reap what you sow, 1g 1g 1g.

Just another way to call it as you see it know the reality and facts, describe a thing and ppl, relate and depart in knowing, be at peace in the scitz. Lock who you are a bible in a matrix of knowing facts in cause and effect and relation and wonder. Dream science. In the womb you are fearfully and wonderfully derfully made.

Scitz it's a disconnect from reality, this is how you can reconnect, mutations cube.

1st step acknowledge you are a bible most scitzys are defficent for that basic thing.

[ikonoklastes]

Chapter 1

Max has been on stakeout for the past six hours, and not a single goddamn person has entered or exited the apartment complex.

Finding Oscar Nuñez should have been simple, if Paris’ information had been solid: he supposedly frequents his apartment in Matanzas, Texas and has a string of frivolous, trackable spending placing him in town at least up until last night. The sky is amber over the city now, and Nuñez’s apartment has remained stiller than the grave. 

Max reaches up and turns on his earpiece. 

“Oh-five-hundred, and there has been jack shit over here, Paris.”

Theres a second of silence, then a staticky crackle announces the activation of another earpiece.

“No sign of the fucker at this club, either,” says the rough voice of Reign in Max’s ear. “I’m starting to question your sources, ‘Ris.”

Max sighs and shifts from his position at the window to the balcony. He pulls out the burner phone from his pocket and pulls up Paris’ contact information. 

“Paris, come in,” he says, thumb hovering over the ‘call’ button. 

Reign scoffs. “Hey boss, what’s the point of these fucking earpieces if you won’t respond to me or Nico?”

There’s a crackle in Max’s ear as Paris’ voice comes through, sharp and manic. “Found him! Hah, got him in his fucking leg!” 

Max jumps at the sudden noise that eternally follows Paris. After six months running with this crew, he’d like to say he’s come to expect the chaos that drives their operations, but Paris always manages to catch him off guard.

“Nico,” Paris says through his giggles, “get your pretty ass down to Magdalena, we could use a medic.”

—

Paris’ Maserati sits half under a tarp at the side of the Magdalena safe house.

Max’s foot hardly touches the top step when the door swings open, a figure launching itself towards Max. Max has his handgun drawn half a second before the figure’s hands are on him. 

“Nico, finally!”

“Jesus Christ, ‘Ris.”

Paris has an apron on over his usual suit, a heavy one that wouldn’t be out of place in a butcher shop. Spots of dull red freckle the brown skin of his face and the bleached blond of his hair.

Paris doesn’t seem to spare him a thought and pulls him by his wrists inside. The floor of the foyer is covered in plastic, though Max can only hear it under his feet because all the lights are off except for a couple lamps just beyond the threshold to the den.

“I already started,” Paris explains as they come to the form of Oscar Nuñez, slumped in a chair with his hands tied behind his back, “as you can see. He was not talking much, but I think my best man can solve that issue, no problem.”

Nuñez’s face is yellow and puffy with deep bruises slowly making themselves apparent across his cheeks. Twenty minutes with Paris can do that to a person, Max supposes. 

“You shot him already, didn’t you?”

Paris shrugs. “In his leg. What is the lower part called again?”

“The calf. He already bandaged up?”

“Yeah. The bullet is still in, but we only need him alive long enough for him to tell us what we need.”

“But we don’t want him delirious or dead from blood poisoning.”

Paris is silent for a moment. “So what do we do?”

Max digs a roll of bandage out of his bag. “Find me a rod. Wood or metal, something sturdy I can make a tourniquet out of.”

“Turn— what?”

Max shoos him away. “I’ll show you in a minute, get me the rod.”

Paris makes a noise of frustration but starts looking for what Max asked for. 

It takes a few minutes but eventually Paris comes up with a piece of broomstick which Max fastens to the unconscious man’s thigh.

“A tourniquet stops blood flow and nerve signals from coming in or out of the appendage,” Max explains, “Kept on too long, you have to amputate or at least undergo corrective surgery and physical therapy, if you’re fast enough, to be able to regain any use.”

Paris hums an affirmation and begins fidgeting with the knife strapped to his thigh. “You can wake him up, now, can’t you?”

Max pulls out a roll of thick fabric and unfurls it to reveal his collection of clean syringes and small jars and vials of various liquids. Paris visibly cringes away from him as he fills one with epinephrine and injects it into Nuñez’s jugular without hesitation.

A beat passes before Nuñez is visibly shaking. His breathing is rough, which is probably Paris’ doing, but he’s visibly coming to. His eyes twitch before flying open, pupils blown wide. He’s gasping and wincing with each breath and a bead of sweat forms on his bruised brow. 

Paris saunters back in front of Nuñez, placing a hand on either side of the chair back. His teeth are bared in a crazed grin that enhance his already foxlike features, vicious and cruel and animalistic. The shadows play across his face, casting his deep-set eyes and narrow cheeks into darkness.

“Good morning, Mr Nuñez.” Paris’ voice is sickly sweet. “Hope that nap got you all rested up, because we have a few questions for you.”

Nuñez weakly struggles against his restraints for a moment before Paris’ hand knots into his hair and pushes his head back. Nuñez coughs, spattering worryingly large spots of dark blood onto Paris’ already stained cheeks. 

Max jumps into action. He clears his throat to get Paris’ attention and motions for him to pull back. “Either his lungs are punctured or there’s damage to his throat. Either way, he doesn’t have long. What the hell did you do, man?”

Paris sighs with frustration. He retreats back, taking his hand with him and running it through his hair. “I only roughed him up a bit, I didn’t even cut him. He wouldn’t talk so I used the handle of my knife and my gun, but I did not mean to do... this.”

Nuñez is spluttering, struggling for air yet again. Max groans at this new challenge.

“I got carried away!” Paris continues, “He knows where they are, I know he does.” He throws a dangerous look at the dying man, as though it was Nuñez’s fault he got beaten to the edge of his life by a lunatic.

Max kneels before Nuñez and pokes at his stomach. Nuñez hisses and moans with each touch. Max tears open the bottom buttons of his shirt and lifts the undershirt. No visible bruising yet, but the skin of his stomach is a tender red and doesn’t give under Max’s fingers like it should.

“Internal bleeding. I...” Max trails off, trying to think of a way to do his job, “I can’t do anything. Not with what i have here.” He looks up at Nuñez. His eyes are wide with panic and blood and spit dribbles down his chin. He looks pathetic, but what man doesn’t when he knows he’s reached a premature end?

Paris growls. “You hear that, Oscar? You’re going to be dead soon. Answer my questions and you won’t die as shittily.”

“F-fuck you,” Nuñez responds, voice low and gravelly, “I’m not a, a snitch.”

Paris backhands him and Nuñez is sent into another coughing fit. “Try again. Where is James?”

Nuñez spits blood at Paris. This time Paris’ knuckles split his cheek. His smile doesn’t falter. “Holy shit, come on, man. I know they aren’t paying you enough.”

Nuñez’s breathing is getting shallower by the minute, but Paris persists. “James Parker, Ren Whittaker, fucking Lucy Montpellier, anyone! A city name, a street, something!” 

Nuñez attempts to chuckle through the blood but only manages a choking sound that nearly sends him into another coughing fit. “Getting desperate, a-aren’t you? H-hah. What c-connection do you even have to those crews?”

Paris stoops down, coming eye to eye with the man. Max is intrigued now.

It was a subject Max couldn’t afford to investigate; he owed Paris too much, and it seemed too personal. He went along with the operations out of necessity: he paid off his debt, he made Paris smile, he got his fair share of adrenaline, he couldn’t go back to a life without this crew. He didn’t need to know what they were after, just what Paris needed of him. 

That didn’t mean he couldn’t be curious.

Paris stares into Nuñez’s eyes, his grin turning into a snarl. “I don’t think,” he punctuates with his fist in Nuñez’s gut, “that this,” another solid hit, “is any. Of. Your. Business!”

Paris steps back and joins Max beside the scene. He admires his handiwork: Nuñez is reeling, leaning as far forward as the restraints let him, red flowing from his lips as he soundlessly screams. If every goddamn organ in his body wasn’t ruptured before, Max considers, they sure as hell are now.

After six months of this mystery manhunt, Max doesn’t get lightheaded at the sight of Paris’ victims. That would be a waste of both his and their time. Instead, he pulls out his burner phone and looks for Reign’s number

Theres a banging at the front door followed by a muffled voice, demanding to be let in. Max obliges.

Every part of Reign is captivating to Max, from her golden beaded dreads tied back with a silk scarf to her smoky voice that reverberates through your chest and makes you want her to never stop talking. 

“The fuck happened while I was gone?” She makes her way past Max through to the den, eyeing up the dying form of Nuñez.

Paris straightens himself before speaking. “He was useless to us.”

Reign lays a hand on Nuñez’s quivering shoulder before leaping back. “Jesus, he’s still alive.”

“Not for long,” Paris grunts. He holds his hand out to Max, and Max dutifully places his gun into Paris’ waiting palm. 

The cocking of the gun echos in the empty room and Nuñez looks up. His eyes lock onto the gun, and his mouth opens and closes, like a fish out of water.

“I...” he begins. His voice is raspy, broken, barely a whisper. “God... Don’t...”

Paris disregards him and takes aim.

“Talk! I’ll t-talk!” 

Paris hesitates.

“...don’t want to die, please...”

Paris stomps back up to him and tugs his head up. He presses the gun to Nuñez’s throat and waits.

“Whittaker... Kirin, in Austin... m-my contact.” There are tears rolling down his cheeks as he starts coughing. Paris looks back at Max.

There’s nothing he can do but make it painless, or at least lessen the agony. He returns to his roll of syringes and vials. He fills another syringe and approaches Nuñez. 

Nuñez tenses and eyes the syringe with glaring suspicion.

“Relax,” Max soothes, “This is adrenaline, it’ll keep your heart going so we can get you to one of our actual doctors.”

Nuñez sits back, easing a bit. Max’s grabs his wrist and finds a suitable vein. He presses down on the plunger slowly, then returns to Paris’ side and watches.

It takes a few minutes to take effect, might as well give him some hope, Max reasons. He opens his phone and mimes quick typing for a few seconds.

Paris elbows him as they watch Nuñez silently choke as his lungs finally fail. ‘What was that?’ he mouths.

Max holds up a finger as he walks back over and checks for vitals. His heart has stopped.

“Pentobarbital.”

Reign stares at him. “You euthanized him?” she asks softly.

Max can’t think of a response, so he shrugs. Reign looks conflicted. 

“After you told him you would save him.”

“Nothing I could do. You don’t come back from punctured lungs and probable blood poisoning, at least not with what I have. Never let the livestock see the blade, or whatever that saying is.”

Reign sighs. “Well that’s fucking dark.”

“I tried to comfort him, and it was a cleaner death than whatever Paris was planning, no offense man.”

Paris nods and shrugs off the apron. 

[darkestmiqote]

For the ask - stature, arms

stature: What's your OC's body type? How tall are they? Do they wear clothing to accentuate their look or do they try to mask it?

Eru simply can't grow big muscles because, as a Miqo'te, he's built more for agility than raw power and it shows in the way he fights, preferring technique and mobility over simple strength. He grew up among thieves, which means he doesn't feel at ease unless he wears clothes that will let him move freely, so no extremely heavy armor or needless coats. You can be syre he carries at least 3 knives on him, all the time.

arms: Does your OC have any weapons? What weapons do they carry, and how do they wear them when they're not fighting?

Cronus. I'm honestly still battling to write a decent lore about it, because I'm not so excited about the Anima relic weapons quest it comes from. So far, the best I got for it is being an old ishgardian relic, lost during the Dragonsong War. It was gifted to Eru by the people of Idyllshire, who found it in the ruins of Sharlayan. But heck, how cool would it be for Eru to find it in the frost of the Coerthan Western Highlands. Maybe a gift from Ysayle at this point, just to make everything even more painful. I'll think about it.

[evilsoul99]

Im so fucking done. i honestly think this is the end of the line for me. i think i need to die. before today i was suicidal but in the sense of wanting to escape my promblem as well as wanting to be taken seriously. now though? i just want to die. i have nothing to live for. just a few weeks ago i had a goal in mind for where i wanted to go in life and now i dont. its gone. poof. gone. i cant imagine anything except a gravestone now when i think of the future. i cant hold down a job. i keep getting denied disability so im just a leech on my parents. my animals are better off without me . my friemds are to. my family most certainky is. i cant fucking concentrate. everythings funny feeling. i think i hit my head to hard is why. i banged it pretty hard i think. its like my eyes are out of focus. could be med wirthdrawk though. only like 2 people oteher than family who are forced to love me would care. i love both of them dearly and will miss them but idk i just cant be there for them. im not enough for them. or for anybody. nevber haev been. its been so ingrained in my head ro the point where i know it might be that i was just told it so much but i know its trye. oh shit i have a drives test tomrrow. i for syre need to do it them. i dont want to take the twst. dont want to go to school whats even the point. i have no hope for the future. ahahaha im so tired and i havrnt even taken the pills yet. everythingds just heavy and blurry. sooooooo tired. ive been saving these meds for years. go i feel liek i need to vomit as wekl.  idk what i was posting about. never really done it on desktop lol and i cant read the words on the computor. ahahah. love yall