#not the cleanest way of sorting that out but I fail to check I’m on the right blog every single time 😭😭😭

[howgalling]

Hi! This might be a stupid question, but is this a sideblog? I think I follow you on your main but I’m not sure. Also, your art and world building are both incredible and I hope you have a wonderful day!

It is a sideblog!! I was going to make my main my art blog and delete everything but I got sentimental cause I’ve had the main for years and it’s like a little Time Capsule hehe.

HOWEVER. I kept accidentally messaging people or replying with my main so I changed the name to howgallingg so I could stop embarrassing myself explaining lmfaoo. i should make a pinned post clarifying that … AND THANK U HEHE!! 💖💖💖 and you too :D

[hitsuackerman]

Unpredictable (Overhaul x Reader) pt.3

a/n: I just saw a post with Overhaul without his jacket... BRUH. the infinite possibilities of--- yeah I’ll save that for the next parts XD enjoy the 3rd part :)

warnings: this cannot be read solo, cursing(?), subtle flirting

Links: part 1, part 2, part 4

Masterlist to my other fics: here :)

Overhaul’s waiting list: @jjk-biased​ @infinite-universe-love���

“Okay.” Tsukauchi said as he took the seat across from you. His outstretched hand returning the envelope he had cross-checked. “There really will be a gala at the said area at the said date.”

“Who are the possible plus ones I can bring?” You asked. Your eyes glued to your desktop. As of the moment, you were digging up some articles about one of the minor cases you were working on. Of course, you could skim through articles and talk to your workmate. It was as easy as breathing by now.

“There’s only 3 possible candidates.” He began to enumerate. “Me. Shinezu. Namase.”

“Shinezu?” You stopped reading and stared at him. “You’re kidding me right?”

“Perhaps~” He joked. “I mean it would be nice to bring him along and expose him to the outside world. The kid needs a social life. All locked up in his office. Only going out when absolutely necessary. The exposure would do him good.”

Your focus glided to Shinezu’s office. It wasn’t for you to judge but it was clear as day he was happy as a loner and would dread any sort of unwanted communication. The fact that he was even part of this small select group of people was a miracle itself. Though, you had to admire his intellect. Nothing went past him.

“I was actually planning on taking the man himself.” You broke the news. Somehow that sentence caused your heart to pick up its speed by a little. The sound of Tsukauchi’s chair rolling towards you caused a bit of discomfort. “Think about it. He has more ties than I will ever have and his quirk would surely intimidate the boss. It’s a gamble on my part as to how he would carry himself but he’s level-headed. So far.”

“You sure about that?” His voice was much nearer now.

“Nope.” There was no use in lying to this person. “I’m just pulling threads here. But, his title might draw me closer to the main goal here. Besides, I’d like to see him without that horrendous jacket.”

“You’re not being affected by his charm now, are you?” Tsukauchi pried as he slowly went back to his work space. “We all know just how manipulative he can get.”

Gathering a few folders and envelopes, you placed them onto your bag. Fixing your hair, you stood up and went towards his area. Leaning onto the partition, you fixed the strap of your bag and crossed your arms.

“I don’t like being interrogated, Nao.” You said. “But if it gives peace to your running mind, here is my answer. I’m being as cautious as I can be. There’s nothing more to it.”

You waited for a response but by the looks of it he was either using his quirk on you or he was satisfied with your answer. The latter, hopefully. Excusing yourself, you exited the precinct and looked for the nearest coffee shop. If there was one thing the office needed, it was better coffee.

Your nearest bet was a 5 minute walk from where you stood. Looking at your watch, you had a couple of minutes to spare before interviewing a few civilians. Beginning your short walk, your mind drifted back to the plus one. Tsukauchi didn’t give you the go signal for it. Was this now all on you or would you have to consult him one more time?

Your hand was now fiddling with your phone in your pocket. Trying to single out the possibilities were rather tricky. The neon sign for the shop was now above you. You had been so lost in thought that you failed to realize you had arrived at your destination. Leaning on the door, you dragged yourself in and waited in line.

With the events going on, this called for a sweet drink. Something with chocolate in it. A sugar rush was something you needed.

You were currently the 3rd person in line. Pulling your phone out, you checked for any notifications. There was one. Clicking it open, it stated that the meeting you scheduled to have for next week had been pushed to today. Picturing your schedule, you had some free time later in the afternoon. Nodding, you sent out a reply and moved a step forward.

The day had just begun and things were starting to become busy. Thank gods the coffee shop smelled amazing. The exposed beans generously spread out its aroma around the cafe. Soft jazz music played in the background, enough to blend in with the buzzing chit chats of customers. A hint of mayoram and geranium gifted your sense of smell.

‘Wait..’ Your eyes began to scan the area. There was only one person whose wallet could afford such a scent.

“For an officer,” Overhaul said from behind you. “You’re quite slow.”

Pivoting, you were face to face with him. A new and very identical jacket replacing the old one. However, there was something off about his look today. His golden orbs simply stared back at you. Taking in your puzzled features. Then it hit you. A gasp escaped your mouth.

“Did the bird fly away or is this a new look?” He was without the bird beak. Instead, a simple black mask covered the lower half of his face. What was he hiding underneath that mask? Did he have a scar on his lip? A burn? If his eyes were breathtaking, what could possibly even out such a marvel? Subtly, you shook your head. What in the world were you thinking?

“I choose whether or not to wear the mask.” He replied. His latex wrapped hands motioning you to move forward. “This is one of the cleanest cafes that live up to my standards. It may not look like it but the smell of coffee beans are rather attractive.”

“It’s been a while, (Y/N)!” The employee greeted you. She giggled at how she broke your train of thought. It was something she barely got to see after all. “Will you have the usual?”

“Uh, N-no. For today, I’d like a choco chip supreme with less ice.” Your cheeks began to burn up as you had stuttered. Reaching for your wallet, you felt a foot gently kicking you. Looking up at the source, you stepped aside and waited for his move.

“2 Americano’s.” Overhaul ordered. In the corner of his eyes, he saw how your cheeks were beginning to turn a faint shade of red. As expected, this was interesting for him. “I’ll pay for her order as well.”

“You don’t have to.” You put up your palms and were only met with silence as he handed the payment.

“Put it under her name.” He instructed the employee to which she agreed. When both of you were given the line to wait for your orders, Overhaul signed for you to follow him to a vacant table near the window. Pulling the seat, he waited for you to sit down. To which you did.

“What do you want, Overhaul?”

“Can I not spend time with the person I’m assisting?” His hands remained on his lap. Sure, the table was clean but he wasn’t taking chances. Glancing at the window, his stare glued to the black car parked across the street. He could imagine Chrono inside slowly losing his patience. “I merely wanted an update for your plus one.”

“I’m still thinking about it.”

“Bring the first person that pops in your mind.” He tilted his head once more. “Isn’t that how you people think?”

“So you’re not a person?”

“I’m clean compared to you.”

“I’ll have you know I’m a clean person.” You pouted and pointed your index at him. The way his eyes widened with fear at the possible contamination was rather amusing. “You just wouldn’t know because you're afraid of dust. I bet your immune system is low.”

“Hmph. On the contrary, my health is pristine and well taken care of. I simply choose not to touch filthy people like you. I do make exceptions every now and then.”

“They must be blessed.” You rolled your eyes and the sound of your name broke through the jazz and chatter. “Well, make yourself useful and get our orders.”

“Of course.”

That had to make you wonder. He did not flinch, show any signs of annoyance, or even scoff at your command. Instead, Overhaul silently lifted his chair and made his way towards the counter. Seeing him bow as he received the beverages was weird. For someone who murders people, he sure is polite when it comes to mannerisms. Perhaps, those traits of his were already present. Even before becoming a villain.

When he sat back down, he took a tissue and wrapped it around your cold drink. Placing it in front of you along with the straw.

“Be my plus one.” You blurted out. Your view focused on him.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way.” He stood up and lowered his head. “I shall pick you up at 6. Is that fine?”

“Yeah.”

“If nothing else, I shall leave you be. Chronostasis must be fuming by now.” Before turning to leave, he had the audacity to add. “If you’ll excuse me.”

Following his body, you stared as he crossed the street and entered the same car he had been eyeing at.

Inside the car. Overhaul closed his eyes and listened to the small complaints his companion had. The visit to the shop was never intended but when he saw your figure walking down the street and entering the quaint shop, the decision to stop the car only caused Chrono to wonder.

Handing him the bird mask, he watched as his boss wore the contraption.

“Send the RSVP later.” He instructed. His voice muffled once again. “Use the alias we usually hand out for events like this. And call in the tailor. I’ll be needing a new suit.”

“That woman has taken your interests.” He commented.

“No.”

“Then why bother following her?”

“I did not follow her, Kurono.” He corrected his assistant. “It was merely chance running into her at this time of day. Besides, it’s amusing how she does not seem to hold such fear when I am around.”

Curling the sleeves of his jacket, he observed his skin. Not a sign of breakouts. In his subtle attempts to place himself close to you, he had come to the conclusion that you were relatively pure. Save for your quirk of course.

Speaking of quirk, there were still no updates regarding that information. Imagining the sum of money the Abegawa Tenchu Kai had to pay to keep that hidden was something he had to praise. The same could be said for his real name. Did you even know what his name was? Or were you left with redacted articles regarding that?

Closing his eyes once more, his thoughts went to the headquarters where his experiments were now running a bit late. Still, a few minutes delay was something he could live by.

Meanwhile, you were now preparing what explanation to give Tsukauchi. You had already given him a reasonable explanation as to why you would want to go with Overhaul. It also wouldn’t be the first time you would inform him of such unconventional choices you made. Ruffling your hair, you clicked your tongue and took a deep sip. “Uhm, (Y/N)?”

From the window, your view shifted to the employee. In her hand was a tray with a blueberry cheesecake. A shy smile resting on her feminine features. Scratching her nape, she let out an awkward giggle.

“The man told me to give you this after he left.” She said as she placed the dessert on the shiny brown surface.

“Oh, uh, thank you.” You stared at the cheesecake and immediately took your phone. Looking for the unknown number, you were only hoping that this was his personal number and not one that would alert the whole Shie Hassaikai. Sending the message with a rapidly beating heart, you cursed yourself for feeling this way.

To calm you down, you scrolled a little further and finally dialed your partner.

“Nao. I’m taking Bird boy with me.”

A long sigh was heard on the other side of the call. If you could bet money, you were sure he was massaging the bridge of his nose and leaning onto his chair.

“As much as I do not trust him, that would have to be the best decision for now,”

That went… smoother than you had initially thought.

“What’d you just gather?” Curiosity lacing your voice.

“A lot of big names are invited but we noticed that a handful of them are villains. Notably Akuji, Nokusu, and if our records are right, Tamisura.”

“Shit.”

----

are yall enjoying the story so far? :’) comment or message me if you want to be a part of Overhaul’s waiting list or any questions about the story :)

[imaginaryelle]

Chapter 3: Memento, Mori ~2.5k Rating: Teen (may change in later segments) Warnings: temporary character death, blood, injury, suicide mention, imprisonment, violence, minor character death, mild gore Tags: MDZS, Wangxian, Role Reversal AU, Soulmates AU, Canon Divergence, Very AU okay, I’m warning you, soulmates + WWX living changes things. Note: This chapter was written for the @wangxianweek 2020 day three prompts "mementos" and "rebirth." Many thanks to @miyuki4s and @morphia-writes for awesome brainstorming and feedback! Summary: The clan elders made sure Lan Wangji would not be present for the siege of the Mass Graves, but even the discipline whip can’t cut a soul bond, and pain can’t dim Lan Wangji’s determination, even if his efforts consume him.

Wei Wuxian lives. The siege fails.

Thirteen years later, Lan Wangji wakes in a body that is not his own.

on tumblr: part one | part two

Dawn seeps into his awareness with slow light painted over his eyelids and the bright notes of birdsong outside. For a moment Lan Wangji can’t remember where he is—not the Jingshi—but the smell of rotting blood soon brings his surroundings back to mind.

Physically, the cell looks no better in daylight. When he again extends his senses he finds no change; no new beings have joined him in this prison under the shroud of night.

The body he found himself occupying is still weaker than he is used to, still hungry and thirsty, but he feels steadier for the sleep. All but one of the wounds on his arms have scabbed over, and that one remaining sends a shock through his fingertips when he touches it.

A curse, most likely. Perhaps related to the ritual that called him here.

It’s worrying, but not his most pressing problem; if he doesn’t find a source of water soon, he will lose what mental clarity he still retains. The demands of this body, so much less disciplined than his own, batter at his mind. The itch of blood and sweat on his skin is ever-present, but the single set of yi and trousers he wears is not cleaner than anything else in the room; even the sash is bloodstained. He resumes his meditations, sinking deeper than the night before.

His spiritual power is still reduced, but not quite so low; meditation does seem to help it coalesce into a more workable form as well.

So. He has a small amount of spiritual power, the clothes on his back, a forehead ribbon, a very weak spirit lure and a sharp shard of porcelain. He is barred from escape by a door which opens outwards, a lock, and a seal.

He takes a moment to tie the ribbon in place for whatever comfort that can offer and examines the door again, probing the seal cautiously. Perhaps he can negate it, or overpower it. It will be tricky without the ability to see or physically touch the talisman itself, but it’s theoretically possible. Alternatively, he could write a new talisman, in blood on torn cloth.

Of the two, attempting to remove the seal is more appealing; the spirit lure does not inspire confidence in future talisman creation attempts. He’s determining the exact positioning of the seal talisman when voices suddenly cut through the small morning noises of birds and wind over leaves, apparently partway through a conversation.

“—said only you should take the food,” says one voice.

“Is he here, that you need to quote him so faithfully?” asks another, the tone strident and irritated. “Was he cleaning up pieces of teacup yesterday because his ‘guest’ threw a fit?”

That explains the shard still in the room. Lan Wangji listens with more than his ears to confirm—there are two new presences inside the bright circling of space he can sense, but only two. In less promising developments, the abruptness of their presence implies that that circle is indeed restrained by a ward, and anything could be on its other side.

Outside the cell door, the conversation continues, the voices growing louder as they draw closer.

“I think you can handle one weakened, failed cultivator. He doesn’t even have a golden core,” says the first voice, still reluctant.

“I don’t care what he has,” voice two insists. “I want him incapacitated when that door opens.”

There are footsteps now, careless and too-heavy on raised wooden floorboards. One pair, the one lagging behind, favors the right side. Perhaps an injury, or something carried on that side.  This close, Lan Wangji can also hear a soft rattle of wood against wood, perhaps the mentioned food. He moves to the side from which the door will open and considers his options. He has no chance against a spiritual weapon of any caliber, but if he moves quickly enough—

“If we use the talisman too much it could kill him,” says voice one.

“So then we say he killed himself,” says voice two, very close now.   There is the scrape of a bar being removed. “We can’t be blamed if he’s dead when we open the door, right? He’s been locked in a room on his own.”

Two assailants who barely care whether he lives or dies. Who are willing to kill him, so long as such an act does not draw the ire of a superior. Lan Wangji holds his shard of porcelain carefully in his right hand, nearest the door, and raises his left hand to his face, two fingers pointing to Heaven. He may, just, have the spiritual strength to shield from a talisman, depending on the skill of both maker and caster.

He doesn’t have time to make another plan; iron turns against iron, and the seal dissipates. The door is opening.

“Ugh, that stink,” says the bearer of voice two as Lan Wangji begins to move. “Look at the blood—”

Lan Wangji clears the doorway and slashes a clean line across the speaker’s throat. A talisman flies toward his face but he catches it against his fist and—stumbles back, blood filling his throat and streaming from his nose. He staggers and coughs, fighting to breathe, to see.

The first of his targets is slumped on the floor. The second is reaching for his sword. Lan Wangji rushes him, aiming for that heavier right side and slamming him into the wall. He struggles again with the shard in his fist until the blood that coats his hand is not only his own and this assailant, too, falls.

For a moment Lan Wangji only stands in a sun-warmed hallway and shakes, and breathes.

Blood drips down his chin; he wipes it away with his sleeve. Once again, his spiritual power is a guttering vagueness near his center. His right hand stings, fingers and palm both lacerated, but he cannot let go of the shard until he is certain. He drops to his knees to check for breath, but the second man is well and truly dead, his eyes open but unseeing and his throat a ragged mess. The first man is also still and lifeless.

The outer ward is still in place. No new presence has arrived.

He has a few moments, at least. Perhaps longer. He tucks the shard into his sash with fingers that tremble no matter how he tries to control them, and examines his situation once more.

The door is open, and this hallway, at least, appears unguarded. His assailants wear outer robes of rough, dark blue linen that he doesn’t recognize as belonging to a known Sect, but their inner robes are finer, pale cotton and silk with delicate stitching, so the outer garments are likely a deception rather than daily wear. They each bear spiritual swords that will do Lan Wangji no good at this body’s current level, and the second one also carried a pipa, the neck and frets of which snapped in the struggle. The weapons carry gold detailing, but no peony. Nothing that points definitively to Jin Guangyao or the Jin Sect, or any Sect he knows. Nor does the iron key for the door’s lock bear any identifying stamp.

His hands are still shaking.

The tray of food was upset in the struggle, but some small amount of rice still remains in the dish and a wax-sealed gourd proves to hold water. He drinks half of it, then tears a strip from the cleanest of the dead mens’ sashes, wets it, and wipes carefully at his face and wounds. Aside from the curse mark, the cuts in his right hand are now the most worrying, one lancing long and deep at an angle across his palm. He wraps it carefully, tightening the knot with his teeth when all other attempts fail. Even careful rinsing cannot wash the taste of blood from his tongue.

He needs to keep moving. This progress is only progress so long as he can hold onto it. If there is a way to delay pursuit, he must take it.

He drags both men into the cell and removes their outer robes and sashes. Stained and rough as they are, they will still provide a moment’s doubt to his identity, and he will not surrender to the shame of approaching another being in only his blood-soaked underlayers if he can avoid it.

He’s going to have to approach someone, eventually.

He knows who he wants it to be.

Later, he can think about that later. He eats the rice and cleans up as much of the spill of food and blood as he can. Then he moves the dishes and the men’s weapons into the cell as well.

The array is too obvious a clue to leave it undamaged—even if he cannot decipher it, that doesn’t mean whoever arranged this prison will not recognize it.

He starts at the edges, breaking the circle carefully in case of residual backlash. The blood is dried and flaking, and he uses another torn rag to smudge it into more of a smear than any sort of defined, focused shape. Then he positions one of the dead men over the space, face down to perhaps prevent questions about additional blood, and moves the other out of sight from the door. In their sleeves he finds a jade pendant that tingles against his fingers, a sachet of medicinal herbs, a sachet of chrysanthemum tea, five talismans and a qiankun pouch holding another gourd of water, a comb, and a pair of leaf-wrapped zongzi.

Just the smell of the zongzi makes his mouth water, but escape is more pressing. He puts everything but the water gourds and the pendant in the pouch, along with three of the pipa’s four silk strings and the polished wooden rice bowl. The remaining string he tucks beside the porcelain shard.

Neither of his assailants’ boots fit well, but they will serve far better than bare feet. He wraps one sash around his left arm, covering the curse mark, layers one outer robe over the other despite the gore that coats their collars and promises himself he will wash as soon as an opportunity presents itself.

He leaves the cell, closes the door, and locks and bars it.

He can sense no new presence inside the ward. There are other rooms along the hall, and an opening onto a courtyard beyond it.

None of the other rooms are cells, or locked. Most are empty of all but the faint smell of dust. One holds a small writing desk with a brush, ink stick and stone, paper, and a sheaf of notes he can’t read. He wraps the brush and ink stick carefully and folds all of it into the qiankun pouch. He does it again with the mobile contents of the next room: paper twists of tea, a small cloth bag of rice, a small earthenware bowl and two small bottles—one of soy sauce, one of vinegar. A horsetail whisk he tucks into his sash; this one was clearly designed for shooing insects rather than combat, but better than the makeshift weapons he’s accumulated so far.

The ward burns against his awareness as he nears the courtyard, and he stops in the shadow of the hall to watch that brightly sunlit space carefully.

Birds flit across the space. Insects buzz. Between two buildings he can see trees swaying gently in the light summer breeze, a promise of shadowed shelter beyond this place.

It would be easy to stop here. To meditate until he no longer feels as though his muscles will betray him at any moment.

The longer he stays still, the more likely someone is to come investigate why his assailants haven’t returned.

He closes his eyes and allows himself ten slow, steadying breaths. The ward hums at him. The jade pendant in his sleeve vibrates in response. Like the wards of Cloud Recesses, and the jade pass token he wore for nearly half his life.

If he’s wrong, the ward could rebound on him, and in his present state that would likely knock him unconscious. But this ward is a much stronger, more permanent working than the array he woke to, or any of the talismans he’s encountered thus far. If he’s wrong, he has no way to move outside it anyway. If he’s right …

He steps into the courtyard and walks to the very edge of the carved stone that marks the boundary. Nothing impedes his hand, reaching in front of him. Neither ward nor token shift in resonance.

He steps over the ward.

It hums merrily behind him.

He runs for the trees and doesn’t stop until he hears moving water. It’s only a small stream, but it’s enough to clean himself, and his clothing, and he removes only his boots and the contents of his sash and sleeves before he wades in eagerly. The water is cold, but not nearly as cold as Gusu’s Cold Spring, and the sun is warm on his back as he soaks, and scrubs, and then lays all but the inner trousers out to dry as he re-binds his wounds and combs his hair.

It’s only when he catches sight of his reflected face that he remembers: this body is not his body, for all that he is bound to it, and feels its pain and hunger and weariness.

He examines the face more closely and finds it familiar, but only vaguely so. A face he has not seen in many years, and rarely before, but one that did live within the walls of Cloud Recesses in his memory. A disciple who left the Sect for—family reasons, he thinks. After the Sunshot war. His brother had been disappointed about it. Lan Wangji cannot remember the man’s name. He must have kept the forehead ribbon as a memento.

It’s disconcerting, that this man, this cultivator, knew Lan Wangji’s name well enough to summon him from death but left no strong impression on him during life.

He shakes the thought away and finishes combing and tying up his hair, and then busies himself refilling the water gourds. He trickles a pinch of the chrysanthemum tea into one and sets in the sun to brew. Then he eats one of the sticky, red-bean-stuffed zongzi, and turns his mind to the question of where to go next.

It occurs to him that he may be able to reach his spiritual senses further now, outside the prison’s ward, and so when he has finished his paltry meal he meditates, sinking as deeply as he can. His range is still not as far as he’s accustomed to, but the flow of energy is much clearer. To the north he can feel a collection of power, a static array, strong but far off. To the south another, further away and indistinct.

South, the small tug he associates with the soul bond informs him, and the relief he feels that that connection remains threatens to overwhelm the sensation itself. He should go south.

South, to Wei Ying.

on to part four

[caffeinated-yearning]

The Start of Something Awful

@werewolfpine said I should post my writing and I’m doing it because I will literally never post unless someone forces me to, here’s a snippet of the lore of How Doc Ock Comes To Be, featuring my/Ock’s actual mind thought mannerisms. Technically this has only my S/I Oliver and Doctor Octavius a little at the front end, because I do my best work when it’s one character who thinks too much.

Word Count: ~1.4k Warnings: Self-harm (minor), queasiness (minor), astonishingly sarcastic narrator voice

“Hoshino.”

Oliver looks up from the box; as much as people focused on biorobotics, he rather preferred the metal things he’d been working on. None of that confusion of the ‘bio’ aspect. Cold techne and cold metal, a perfect compliment to his frozen heart. Looked up at his teacher- professor, Otto Octavius, and said nothing.

“The test results..?”

Of course! How could he possibly forget the mind-crippling endeavor of writing up a lab report for the sake of his dear professor? It would never pass off as science if he didn’t suffer the hideous toil of turning his experiment into a report; let it be known that the gods themselves would forbid anyone to simply look at the raw data and draw their own conclusions- no, he has to bring their attention to that all himself.

Ability to self-replicate- [Y] Hive mind program- [Y] Formation of simple and complex shapes- [Y] Link to human minds- concept phase. Mobile complex shapes- concept only. Modify macro chemicals within human body- tested in organic slurry, dubious results. Anything else that could be interesting- hasn’t been conceptualized yet.

“Would you call it a success?”

“If it teaches something new, it is a success.”

“Then have you been taught anything?”

Oh, doctor, do not pretend! This is all just a reinvention of the wheel at this point. Smaller and still programmable they may be, but these are all things that have been done before. They were done decades ago, before everyone found biological machinery to hold more promise. What then is there to learn? Humans disagree with metal, that has been the lesson. Oliver answers in so dry a tone; “discussion section: page three. Sir.”

“So I read.” Oliver returns his attention to his robots, still attentive to the good doctor’s words; “you sound irritated- both in the paper and at present.”

It is proper to smile and shake his head, to set the doctor’s concerns to rest. He fails this task, and in the same dry tone; “I’m not. I have concerns that this research is dated at best.”

“Then you are-.”

Interrupting, and how uncharacteristic that was- “I don’t have the time to be emotional, in any event.” The professor seemed off-put by that. Indeed, it was rude of Oliver to interrupt; he makes note of that, and fails to realize that describing himself as necessarily emotionless might instead be the reason for the doctor’s discomfort. Even the good Doctor Octavius had room to be emotional when good or ill fortune struck.

There was a pause, a little too long, before the doctor spoke- he’d turned back only to give a half-question; “I trust that you can be left alone in the lab, Oliver?”

“Yes, Dr. Octavius.” Really, this was such a dumb question. Could Oliver be trusted? Of course not; every faculty member would agree, if they only knew the contents of his mind. Which made it a rather good thing, how very skilled in keeping his thoughts under lock and key he was. Not with his friends of course. With friends you were expected to share a certain amount of information, and in turn they shared meaningless data points that helped one curry good favor if one kept it all in mind. What a fun game that was, sifting through all that data and hoping you came across anything of interest.

Ah. And he was alone. The professor had left without him noticing.

“And if I am consumed by the plague I now set loose upon the earth, thus was my fate since the moment I was born; not God nor Man could stop me or my creations; Pandora, I call upon thee.” He was alone, could he not be dramatic? The box was opened, and the robots did... Absolutely nothing.

Oh good, they hadn’t developed sentience while he acted out his drama.

A scalpel he’d pilfered from his sibling on a recent trip home; it was perhaps not the cleanest, but it would serve to sever, given he’d sharpened it against bricks and stones when he’d had a moment to do so. The only issue now was to shut down his self-preservation instincts, which barely allowed a scratch to be made against himself. But not seeing the place he would cut made easier the act, and he cut into the skin that made up the hair line just behind and below his right ear.

The incision was easier than he’d expected, perhaps because it was so much closer to his dreams’ completion than anything else had been before. He pretends to be surprised by the blood, but to what end? No one is around.

He starts his computer up, watches the robots come to life, and opens up the file “Concept_Phase.chk”. Checkpoint reached, your game will now auto-save, he hums; for the first time he feels the striking chill of fear. He thinks perhaps it is the first time in his life, but knows instinctively this cannot be the case. Either way, one error at this point would be so much more devastating.

They were crawling into that bloodied cut now. He should have worn a different shirt, but at least the black on this one might spare the rest from carrying a stain. They were a horrible itching sensation in his skin- he forces his hand stationary, to meddle now is more threatening. It is most threatening; he does not understand the limits of the human body, but he does understand the delicacy of the brain.

And they are in his brain.

That is the most terrifying part of it all, and he suppresses the urge to vomit. Brains are such delicate things and he has put so many bits of metal into his. He suppresses the urge to stand and run from this horrible thing that he has done. He stays stock still, and feels fear in every muscle and every nerve ending of his body.

And they are in his brain.

He woke up, cold, and pushed himself off the floor. Linoleum or plastic tile- didn’t matter, it was cold. He almost felt annoyance- hadn’t he been doing something? It was awfully uncharacteristic of him to sleep in the lab. The computer lab, maybe, but this wasn’t that.

Oh fuck the robots and the cut- he grasps at his neck, drawing his hand away with the full expectation to pull away half-scabbed gunk, or blood still running. Nothing. He sighed. Maybe it was another dream- maybe he was still dreaming. Dreaming of being something worthy of pride and love, instead of the falsehood he’d built himself into. Of being a worthwhile investment on the part of his parents and friends. Of being something better than this, whatever this was.

Log onto his computer- and how very strange! He’d never run the checkpoint file before, if it was a dream, so why was there a .log version now? It was suddenly beginning to feel very much not like a dream. Uneasiness, like so many maggots in his stomach, seemed to eat at him. He reached up and closed the box that had once been the house of his pride, and scanned over the .log file.

Program terminated successfully.

Oh thank the gods and devils both. It was successful.

But they were in his brain, now. Theoretically, he should be able to interact with them, if all had gone according to plan. He tried not to think about how unsanitary last night’s actions were, or rather to think about that instead of the presence of so much non-biological material now swarming around in his skull. He could feel the crawling- the sensation of parasites under his skin, but how much of that was simply psychological? He couldn’t say.

“Not nearly enough time to run any sort of experiment on them,” he sighed; class would begin soon. Sure, he was already in the building, but still. “How disappointing. How many are left in there?” He finally bothered to stand up and check the box; maybe if he… tried to input commands to those ones? There were still plenty in there; doesn’t take that much metal to make a computer chip inside one’s head then.

They stirred, sluggish and confused. They had never moved of their own accord before... Responsive? Again, move again- and they did. They swayed with little ripples, ocean waves almost.

Link to human minds- [Y].

[kae-karo]

demon hc: phil just chuckling fondly at dan thirsting over chan, while chan searches the bus and they’re both stood outside in pyjamas on the canadian border. idk, it’s just the kinda fond, secure bde that phil exudes these days

hi so uh this was inspiring so have a ficlet i guess ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ (read on ao3)

It’s far too early to have to deal with border control. Or is it that it’s too late? Phil can’t quite decide, but he hasn’t slept well in the past two hours and the last thing he really wants to do right now is stumble off the bus into the night air and wait for some random person to poke around his temporary living space and invade his privacy.

Alright, he’s not really that bothered, he just wants something easy to complain about, but the weather’s actually quite nice and he’s standing with his shoulder pressed against Dan’s as they wait for the next available agent so he can’t very well be bothered to complain about either of those things.

“I hope this doesn’t take too long,” Phil says, his voice raspy the way it tends to get after a show, after a bit of sleep. Dan’s wrapped up in a tour hoodie, arms folded across his chest and hair mussed up on top of his head. He’d slept just fine, although he’s far grumpier about being woken up than Phil is.

“Yeah, it’d better fricken not,” Dan shoots back, lips pursed in an almost-frown. The dimple in his cheek tempts Phil to poke it, but he’s tired - a deep, weary, bone-tired that saps his energy - so he discards the idea in favor of leaning a bit more into Dan’s shoulder.

They stand there for another minute or two, long enough that Dan’s started up some dramatic sighing - Phil knows he isn’t usually this impatient, but lack of sleep and an unrelenting schedule of shows has taken its toll on them both. Phil nudges Dan with an elbow when someone across the way looks to be walking toward them and the bus.

As the agent gets closer, Phil feels Dan tense beside him, but he keeps his eyes on the man approaching so as not to seem rude. Dan’s probably got that covered enough for them both; Phil’s imagining his grumpy half-frown, scrunched eyebrows, the silent ‘get on with it’ probably scrawled across his features.

“Alright,” the man says, offering far too bright a smile for two in the morning. Phil makes an attempt to return it, though his cheeks sort of hurt from grinning all day at both Seattle shows. His face needs a break. “My name’s Chan, and I’ll be checking over your bus.” Chan glances around briefly, meeting each of the gazes of Dan and Phil and the crew. 

“Now,” his tone stays light but there’s an edge of seriousness that hadn’t been there before - it’s almost conspiratorial, the way he leans in closer, the dark brown of his eyes visible in the harsh yellowish lighting as he quirks his brows up. “If you have any drugs, any tasers, any firearms, I’m not gonna be upset, but it’d be best if you told me now,” he lets his gaze sweep over the crew again, and Phil takes a brief glance to Dan at his side.

He’s expecting a poorly concealed snort of laughter, or maybe an impatient eye roll, but Dan’s got his lips curled in the slightest smile; his eyes track Chan, wide almost to the point of exaggeration, and Phil knows the coloring of his cheeks enough to tell Dan’s blushing. Blushing.

Phil tries to keep his expression neutral, barely processing the chorus of negatives to Chan’s suggestion as he follows Dan’s unwavering staring, but he can feel a smirk pushing its way up to his face - to be fair, Chan’s a conventionally attractive guy, probably not far off from their ages with a crop of dark hair sweeping across his forehead. It’s not quite Phil’s old fringe, more the casual interpretation of it, but it frames his eyes and face nicely. So he’s cute, sure, but not really Phil’s type. Granted, he’s never been infatuated with his own appearance, Dan’s always been the one to fawn over Phil’s features, to comb his fingers through Phil’s hair, to stare so intently into his eyes that he’d start to wonder if he ought not to blink, just to give Dan a moment more of whatever it was he was so enamored with.

“Phil,” Dan hisses once Chan’s disappeared onto the bus. Phil feels an elbow in his ribs, jolting him from his sleepy thoughts of late nights in low lighting with Dan’s face less than an inch from his on their pillow. “Doesn’t Chan look just like Tadashi from Big Hero Six?” Dan turns, now, to properly face Phil. He looks awake, like he hasn’t only just stumbled out of his bunk and into the middle of the night to await border patrol declaring them safe to enter the country.

“Yeah, I guess?” Phil answers, though he can’t quite remember exactly what the guy looked like now. Although he supposes he looked like Tadashi? It’s late, he’s tired. 

“No, Phil,” Dan shakes his head, glances back at the bus. If Phil squints, he’s pretty sure he can see Tada- Chan, he can see Chan through the windows. Or maybe it’s his sleepy brain seeing things. Dan turns back. “He looks just like him, the big brown eyes, the black hair, just-” Dan makes a motion with his hand up by his forehead, something Phil assumes is meant to describe the hair in question. “I mean, live-action Big Hero Six right there.” When Phil’s pursed lips and shrug fail to satisfy Dan, he exhales an irritated breath and turns back to the bus.

He stares a while longer, and Phil stares at him, watching the way Dan’s eyes flick across the windows of the bus, watching the gears whir around in his head and make his lips purse, his cheeks flush deeper, his eyes widen just a little. Phil smirks.

“Keep it in your pants, Howell,” Phil laughs through the words, then clamps a hand over his mouth when the sound threatens to draw too much attention from the few nearby border-crossers and the agents assisting them; Dan’s mouth drops open, cheeks turning a strange orange color as the yellowish lighting mixes with the deepening red flush on his cheeks.

“I’m not- I do not, I mean- he’s-” Dan sputters for a moment, doing his best to look offended but only succeeding in looking more flustered. Phil bites his lip against a giggle, which only serves to make Dan huff out an exasperated breath and tuck his arms under his elbows in a pout.

Until Chan reemerges from the bus and makes his way back over to the group; Dan’s posture relaxes immediately, looking every bit as casual as he’s clearly trying to be, though Phil knows it’s forced. Dan’s expression softens as well, and it reminds Phil of the way Dan used to look at him way back when - the way he still does, when he’s feeling particularly fond for whatever reason. Phil ducks his head, hoping to hide the way his lips have started to curl in an extremely inappropriately-timed grin.

“Wow, well, that’s about the cleanest band bus I think I’ve ever seen.” Chan comments, brows lifted high on his forehead. He’s smiling a bit, but Dan lets out a burst of laughter that Chan’s statement most definitely didn’t warrant; even Phil’s a little surprised at Dan’s outburst. 

“Uh, thanks, yeah, we try to, uh, keep it- we take care of stuff,” Dan says, and Phil feels like he’s been dragged back to that train station in 2009 with the way Dan’s voice goes a bit high pitched, the way he can’t seem to land on what to actually say. Five years ago, or maybe two, or even just last year, Phil might’ve felt that twinge of jealousy, that irrational fear that Dan might find someone else, someone better. 

Now, his only real fear is that Chan will think Phil’s giggling at him instead of at Phil’s hilariously smitten boyfriend, the one who’s finally clamped his mouth shut instead of trying to stumble through some other equally embarrassing attempt at talking. 

A moment of awkward silence settles around them, one Phil’s not very keen on allowing to continue, though he isn’t sure what he could say to get them out of there any faster. 

“Right, well, everything looks clear. You’re good to go, have a great time in Canada!” Chan offers, evidently falling back into his professional role to avoid acknowledging Dan’s comment. Phil doesn’t blame the poor man, Dan can be a lot to handle. He knows from experience.

“Thanks!” Phil offers, mostly just to try to get them all moving on before Dan can-

“Thank you, Chan,” Dan enthuses, a shy smile on his lips as he steps forward and pulls a hand out from under his arm. “So, uh, my name’s Dan, by the way,” he sticks out his hand, and Phil has to cough into the sleeve of his jumper to hide the giggle that sneaks up his throat. 

“Sorry, bit of a cold,” he offers at the frown and scrunched brows Chan throws in his direction. Chan, for his part, just turns back to take Dan’s hand and give it a shake.

“Great to meet you, Dan,” he says, exceptionally polite, before giving him and the rest of the group a final smile and heading back toward the border patrol office. 

Phil leaves Dan alone until they’re back on the bus; once Dan’s settled onto the sofa, Phil plops down beside him with a huff of breath and nudges his side until he turns. He flashes a bright grin at Dan’s still-pink cheeks.

“Hi, so, my name is...Dan.”

[dammitadolfnomorecake]

SCSI

Wherever his brat had gotten to, Levi couldn't find him. He'd checked the well, Hanji's tent, the ruins of the house, the hill where they'd fallen asleep under the stars, as well as walking through the lines of tents, though failed to catch any trace of his boyfriend's scent, like some kind of shitty idiot. Reminding himself that Eren was pregnant and that he wouldn't endanger their baby once he calmed, he returned to their tent to wait for his lover to calm down. It wasn't like he didn't think of kicking Hanji awake to make her help find Eren, he just wanted to show Eren he trusted him enough to go for a walk and cool down on his own. Laying on his bedroll, he pulled Eren's blankets up to his nose, bundling them into a pillow of sorts. When did he become this pathetic? Falling asleep on the bundle, Levi was rudely awoken by screaming. His eyes were burning from a lack of sleep, but the moment he saw Eren hadn't returned, he was wide awake as his heart started to pound. Rushing from the tent, he noticed others seemed just as confused as him, all looking across the ruined town for the source of the screams. Taking off running, his feet led him to the ruins of Eren's house, while his mind was still trying to figure out why. Scowling at the sight of Moblit, Levi started to slow. The man was standing as if guarding the house, though he was way too pale and shaky for it to be said he was doing a good job. Slowing to a fast stride, he stalked right up to the man "Moblit! What's happening?" Moblit jumped as if he hadn't even noticed him approaching, his body language was... twitchy and suspicious "S-squad Leader Levi..." Wringing his hands, Moblit looked back over his shoulder, before jumping at Levi's firm tone "Moblit, spit it out" "It's Commander Erwin, sir. He was attacked last night, sir" No wonder Moblit looked freaked. He'd survived years by Hanji's side, and never would have been able to survive if he didn't have a strong stomach "He was attacked?" "Yes sir. Hanji found him this morning" "Where are Hanji and Erwin?" "In the basement, sir" If Erwin had open and bleeding wounds, the basement was the last place he should be. And how did anyone manage to get the drop on Erwin? The guy was a fucking giant, and despite the fact he hadn't been as active in combat as he'd once been, he could throw down just as well as the rest of them "Right. Stay here and keep watch" "That's what Hanji said" Of course she had. Erwin had probably told her not to let anyone into the basement until he'd thoroughly examined it... The fluffybrowed bastard would walk through a pack of werewolves if it meant knowing what was down there. Levi could already smell the blood as he reached the top of the staircase, smudges and smears of fresh blood ran along the rough stone wall, all of which was Erwin's blood. He couldn't smell anyone or anything else, other than the scents of his trip down with the brats the previous night. Stepping off the bottom step, he eyed the puddle and drag marks leading into the basement. That probably wasn't a good sign "Who's there?!" "Relax. It's just me. What happened?!" Hanji rushed to the door, preventing him from entering. There were more places covered with blood than not, but as Erwin had called out, he couldn't have been too bad "Levi! Where have you been?! Erwin was attacked" "I was sleeping. Now, what's this about Erwin being attacked? Who attacked him?" "We..." Hanji was cut off by Erwin, the man groaning as something thudded behind Hanji "It was Eren" Levi rolled his eyes with a sigh, crossing his arms "It wasn't Eren" "It was a wolf, Levi!" "It still wasn't Eren. Eren wouldn't do that" Stumbling up behind Hanji, Levi felt the colour drain from his face. His commander was missing most of his right arm, the wound poorly bandaged while the crisp white cotton bandages were growing redder by the second "Erwin!" Pushing Hanji aside, Erwin slumped heavily against him "Who knew having my arm bitten off, would make you care?" "What the fuck... Hanji, why didn't you take him back to camp" "Because he was attacked by something" "It was a wolf" "It wasn't Eren" "It was a wolf!" "And I'm telling you, it wasn't Eren. Come on, this shitty dust and dirt isn't going to be any good for that wound" "Where's Eren?" Couldn't Erwin forget his dislike of the teen for longer than 30 seconds? "Eren wouldn't have done this" Hanji nodded quickly, her tone soft yet firm "Erwin, you need to remain calm. You've lost a lot of blood, you were unconscious when I found you, so you may be concussed" "He was unconscious?" "Unconscious and laying on the floor. It looks like he was dragged in, and his arm severed..." "Alright. I get the picture, but I'm telling you, he didn't do it" Moving to Erwin's other side, Hanji took the rest of the man's weight as they made their way up the staircase. The first order Erwin gave the moment they emerged was that Eren was to be taken into custody. Levi forced himself not to drop Erwin's shitty arse on the spot. It was bad enough Erwin was dripping his shitty tasteless blood all over him, reminding him he had hadn't fed since before the scare with the baby, but having the man who wanted to arrest Eren, dripping all over him... it most certainly was not appreciated. Growling in warning, Erwin's pained face soured "Levi, you're letting your feelings get in the way" "No. You're acting moronic. Eren didn't do this" "My fucking arm is gone. It was torn off. Do you want to see what your boyfriend got up to last night? Do you want to see it!?" "Eren didn't fucking do it!" "How can you be so sure? Where you with him all night? Maybe you found something in the basement? Something that set his true nature off?" "If it upset him, Eren wouldn't attack you" "So you did find something" "What we found can wait until you stop bleeding. Hanji, where are we taking him?" "To the closest supply cart. It's the cleanest and biggest space to work with the huge body of his" Great... that was a walk and a half, especially when he couldn't just carry the man by himself. Hanji had them swaying all over the place, causing more bleeding... unfortunately, not enough for Erwin to pass out again "Moblit, wake Mike. Have him find Eren and detain him" "For fucks sake, Eren didn't do this!" "Would you two stop it. Erwin, Levi's right. Why would Eren hurt you?" "Because he knew we would find out whatever he's been hiding" "Eren hasn't been hiding anything" "You're too close to him" "We talked about this and you were going to back off" "That was before he took my fucking arm!" "He didn't do it" "Both of you, shut up! We can talk to Eren once he's found, and stop looking at me like that Levi, I don't believe he is responsible for this attack either. I'll be able to tell you both more once we see his wound properly" * It was hours before Mike and Gunther came to the supply cart Erwin was currently resting in. Hanji was exhausted, while Erwin's life was hanging by a thread. She'd don't what she could, but seeing Erwin like that had shaken her. Sitting on the cobbled road, Levi had his back against the cartwheel with his head in his hands. He and Erwin had just talked all this shit out, now the man could die and he'd be blaming Eren with his dying breath. "Levi?" "Did you find him?" When neither Mike or Gunther answered straight away, Levi looked up at the men "Did you find Eren?" "No... We may have an issue" "We already have an issue. Erwin's lost an arm in an attack sometime this morning. He's blaming Eren, so we need him found" Gunther looked to Mike, Mike shifting his weight "What is it?" "Eren's gone. We searched the city and the top of the walls..." "What do you mean Eren's gone?" "We found a trail of blood, leading back to the gate towards Trost" "Would you just spit it out already? Eren wouldn't just take off, so start talking" "I caught Eren's scent, along with Erwin's and that of two others. Knowing Erwin was attacked, explains the scent of his blood mixed into the trail" Pushing himself to his feet, Levi grabbed Mike by the collar, angered that he was seemingly accusing Eren as Erwin had "What the fuck do you mean there was blood?! And what do you mean Eren's missing" "He's gone Levi. He left with two others, heading back towards Trost" "Eren wouldn't just leave!" Grabbing his right wrist, Gunther shook his head "Let me go. Your anger isn't going to help being him back" "He wouldn't just leave!" "Levi, did something happen? Something that would cause Eren to run?" "He wouldn't run!" "Then why was his blood mixed in with Erwin's?" His blood. With everything that had happened, and denying the need to feed, his mind wasn't as sharp as it usually was. It was now only beginning to sink in "Eren was hurt?" Gently extracting himself from Levi's hold, Mike straightened his clothes "Levi, is there any reason Eren would leave?" "No" "Nothing happened? Nothing with the basement?" "We found his father's journal... his piece of shit father was experimenting on him" Mike and Gunther exchanged another looked "Eren wouldn't leave" "He has" "You're wrong" "Levi..." "He wouldn't fucking leave. He needed to think, but he wouldn't just run off and endanger himself" Now that his brain was processing, he felt something akin to terror. His pregnant boyfriend was missing, with two others by the seem of it... It didn't make sense... Eren wouldn't leave... he wouldn't leave him. The kid was fucking scared to be alone. No matter how hard he tried to hide it in front of everyone else, Levi knew. He knew his brat. Clenching his fists hard enough for his nails to cut into his hands, he shook his head "He wouldn't run" "Are you absolutely sure?" "He's fucking pregnant! Of course I'm fucking sure!" Mike sighed heavily, while Gunther nodded "Ok. We just had to be sure" "Had to be sure about what?" "That he wouldn't leave by his own freewill" "What do you mean he's pregnant!?" Roaring from inside the cart, Levi cursed his luck. He'd thought Erwin would still be out of it. Hanji's voice was muffled, probably telling Erwin to calm down "Levi! Get in here" Gunther ignored Erwin, an almost sympathetic look on his face "Levi, what do you want us to do?" "Check with Eren's friends, see if they're all present. See if you can identify the owners of those two scents, and make sure you keep Ackerman by your side. When you caught Eren's scent, did you see his tracks? Was he in his wolf or human form?" "They were wolf prints" This wasn't looking good for his shifter. A wolf attacked Erwin. Erwin was saying it was Eren. Eren was now missing. Eren was missing, while in his wolf form with Erwin's blood on him... "Eren was upset, but he'd never hurt any of us or risk our baby. He hates being thought of as a risk, and he's taken beatings before just so they wouldn't think him a monster. If he's gone, it's not by choice. I'll retrieve my gear and the journal. We can not let the Government get their hands on it" "Is it that important?" "The information in it, is everything the Government wants to hide" Mike frowned at his words "And Eren will be in danger because of it?" "We all will be. But for, finding Eren is our number one priority" The journal wasn't in their tent. Sometime after he'd left, someone had been through it. Both his and Eren's gear were scattered through the small confines. Triple checking, he found no trace of the book, but he did find traces of his brats blood, or rather, he smelt it. Whoever had taken Eren, had hurt him... and he was going to fucking kill them. Leaving Erwin to Hanji and the situation to Gunther and Mike, Levi slipped his gear on, heading for the gate to Trost. He'd trusted Eren, and now he'd gone and lost him. He should have just taken the journal with him. He should have taken it with him and confront Eren with it, talked things through and made his brat understand he wasn't going through this alone. Mikasa's journal hadn't been like Eren's. It didn't contain truths about beyond the wall, instead it contained notes on her development and observations of her parents. Grisha's letter to Mikasa was on asking her to look after Carla and Eren if everything was to ever happen to him, meaning, the journal was only of use to the girl. If they were going to call the Government out on infecting the citizens with the plague, along with the genocide of the people they were supposed to protect, they needed Eren's journal... and more importantly, they needed his green eyed brat. Landing lightly by the ruins of the Trost entry gate, Levi couldn't deny what Mike and Gunther had said. Bloodied paw prints lead up to and over the rubble, the prints showing Eren was heavily favouring his right side, while the left prints were smudged with blood. His brat was hurt. Good. Well, not good, but that meant they wouldn't be able to travel as fast thanks to Eren being injured. With his speed and desperation to reach Eren, he should be able to catch them. So, knowing how dangerous it would be, Levi scrambled up the rubble, slipping through the thin space barely big enough for a human. The further Levi pushed from Shinganshima, the harder it became to track his boyfriend. The thick grass that had been trampled by the expedition, hadn't recovered, the prints mingled with the chopped ground, Levi relying more on his sense of smell, than his eyesight... but that only got him so far. From the wall, the group had crossed to the forest, a large puddle of tacky blood was the last signs of Eren he found. His boyfriend vanished from there. If Eren hadn't shifted back, they might have had to resort to cutting his boyfriend down to a more manageable size. The thought sickened him, his anger getting the better of him as he launched himself up to the nearest branch, squinting, he couldn't find any broken branches or signs of disturbance, that didn't stop him. Throwing himself forward, he yelled for Eren. If Eren could here him, he could call for him. They both had better than normal hearing, and Eren's was miles better than his. Desperate and determined, he didn't stop, getting himself hopelessly directionally misplaced without finding a single clue. People didn't just disappear! Eren didn't just disappear! He was far too loud for that. Stopping to check his gas, Levi heard the cracking of a branch, his heart leaping "Eren! Eren, if you can hear me, make a sound!" Turning slowly, Levi heard a bang. It took him 5 seconds too long to realise what had happened. A second bang rang out, blood blossoming across his shirt as the second bullet tore through him. When the third bullet hit, it was light out. Pain flaring through the right side of his head, the man already unconscious before he hit the ground.

[douchebagbrainwaves]

AND THE LATTER ARE SO DESPERATE FOR USERS THAT WE'D OFFER TO BUILD MERCHANTS' SITES FOR THEM IF THEY'D TRADE 10% OF THE COMPANY IN LATER ROUNDS UNLESS SOMETHING IS SERIOUSLY WRONG

If you don't know where your ideas are coming from, you're probably happiest on the main branches of the evolutionary tree pass through the languages that have the smallest, cleanest cores. So if you want to invest seriously, the way to win is to race ahead, not to stop and fight. In fact, it may be slightly misleading to say that angel rounds will less often be for specific amounts or have a lead investor. And this would be an optimization, not part of the core language, that would be painless, though annoying, to lose. When you think of yourself as rich there's some amount that would be easy to turn into startup hubs, but two of them have already been reeled in through acquisitions. How can you say that it will set off the alarms sufficiently early, you may not have to be a good one. An easy job from which one can't be fired is worth money; exchanging the two is one of the biggest startup hubs in the world. You'll also have a provisional roadmap of how to succeed. What I'm saying is that the company pays 10 times as much. They don't get that there are more people doing angel-sized investments than they were a rooted in your town and/or will work hard for them.

Are there good universities nearby? The Copernican Revolution All of us had been trained by Kelly Johnson and believed fanatically in his insistence that an airplane that looked beautiful would fly the same way. In 2004 it was ridiculous that Harvard undergrads were still using a Facebook printed on paper. Observation confirms this too: cities either have a startup scene, or they don't. There's a lesson here: startups beget startups. This probably makes them less productive, because they don't have any. They insist on it. I was trying to use the stove at my mother's house a couple weeks ago.

Plenty of good engineers got made into bad managers that way. Angels are the limiting reagent in startup formation. If your terms force startups to do things they don't understand—tends to make startups more pliable in negotiations, since they're usually short of money. Pump out a million emails an hour, get a million hits an hour on your servers, and so must people trying to write systems software on multi-cpu computers. No matter how bad a job they did of analyzing it, this meta-check would at least remind everyone there had to be possible to solve it. It seems like it violates some kind of new spreasheet-like collaboration tool that doesn't even have a name yet. Inefficient software isn't gross. You can throw together an unbelievably inefficient version 1 of a program, you won't ordinarily need to bother with this sort of multi-level slowness, with corresponding benefits. A terms, but should spend their time thinking about how to save it. This was Henry Ford's plan.

You hear this from math to painting. I hadn't been thinking about them. If you look at the most successful people I know. On historical time scales, what we find ourselves saying is things like Oh, those guys can take care of themselves. That doesn't seem so challenging. Such things happen constantly to the biggest organizations of all, is a language where you can assume that if you fail to raise money, they try gamely to make the kind of town where people walk around smiling. Some say Europeans are less energetic, but I got the impression it might be easy.

But you can control them indirectly, by controlling what situations you let yourself get into. Once you start to design things, and there would be wrong too. This essay is derived from a keynote at Xtech. The biggest spammers could probably protect their servers against auto-retrieving spam filters would make the email system rebound. And since we're assuming we're doing this without being able to fork off processes that all end up running in parallel. You can do math this way. Make the truth good, then just tell it. Will we replace hash tables themselves with lists? A country that wants startups will probably do better with founders more in control, and there would be no room for investors to make money. But if you want to come up with organic startup ideas usually don't seem like startup ideas at first. But if you come out of the same sex, and if part of the right answer.

But the non-gullible recipients are merely collateral damage. Nerds don't care about glamour, so to them the appeal of New York is a mystery. They're far better at detecting bullshit than you are at producing it, even if you are the best solution. They like cafes instead of clubs; used bookshops instead of fashionable clothing shops; hiking instead of dancing; sunlight instead of tall buildings. The thought of all this stupendously inefficient software burning up cycles doing the same thing. A has enormously elaborate, custom paperwork. You need that resistance, just as dynamic typing turns out to have selfish advantages.

[louisysl]

I just wanna type this out for myself ‘cause I’m gonna get even more weak and maybe I’ll get drunk again and this time won’t have the willpower to get through it without texting my ex..

But besides the reasons that were unrelated to us as a couple and out of our control (that I can’t risk saying even here) there were others that I guess.. nudged me towards it being over.

Most recently, only earlier this week, he got pissed off at something I said and then ignored me for hours. When he finally replied he blew off at me and then went to sleep, never giving me a chance to explain my side or understand his or properly communicate about any of it.

Next day, he was still ignoring me, so in the evening I called him and we spoke on the phone but he still wouldn’t explain what he was feeling and why. And I kept feeling these twists in my heart, y’know the kind where your heart just knows it’s happening before you want to admit it? It just hurts and you can’t deny that but you can try, which did.

But the ignoring and coldness continued and any message he would sent, even when by the third or fourth day they were less cold and more casual (but by no means normal or frequent) made my heart hurt. If I got a notification and it was from him, my heart sank.

And last weekend, a few days before this happened, I told him about some feelings I had about our relationships and shared my concerns and he acted so cold.. After he asked me if I had “made some kind of a decision then”, and I told him no, I just wanted to talk about it, he visibly relaxed and the coldness just disappeared right out of him.

But he didn’t want to talk about it and this was another common thing.. He’d simply say “this conversation is over, I’m not talking about this”, and that would be it. Even if there hadn’t been a conversation to begin with! He wouldn’t even start a conversation, just outright refused to have it which was torturous to me because I hate any kind of conflict and strongly feel that talking issues out is the best way to solve them.

And then he said something that felt very hurtful and I... Well. I decided in that moment that I was going to leave him. I wanted to do it that second, and I tried to. I wasn’t able to because I got scared (not really of him as I know he would never hurt me physically, but he triggered trauma that had me petrified).. And then he did that magical thing only he could, where he made me forget I ever had anything to be concerned about and instead I just felt happy.. but only for as long as I was in his presence. 

He also did this thing where he’d hide his phone, which may have been a habit but seemed suspicious to me. Like, he’d hide it whenever he went to check his notifications or reply to messages. Then he’d have it out in the open if it was just a group chat with the bros or scrolling through Facebook.. but then go right back to tilting it away or going into the bathroom or holding it away entirely. And I never confronted him about it because what business is his phone of mine? But it was an issue that constantly bothered me.

Also more than a year into our relationship he confessed he’d cheated on his ex. Multiple times. And he never told her.

This was maybe a month or two ago and I haven’t been able to get it out of my head since. He’d previously told me about a kind of cheating sort of thing that didn’t really count as cheating and I didn’t really have a huge issue with that one as he’d done it in the moment out of heartbreak and betrayal and in revenge. But that’s all the cheating he confessed to, months into our relationship, when I straight up asked him about it.

So, that was yet another thing that made me trust him less.. I don’t. Well, I don’t think he cheated on me. I don’t know and he would’ve had opportunities to for sure, but I really don’t think he did.

I did ask him, after he’d confessed the cheating on his ex to me, if he could ever cheat on me.. And while if the question was reversed my answer would’ve been an easy no, he told me he probably would if he suspected me of cheating on him.

Suspected!!!!! As in didn’t even have proof !!! 

Sorry I just. I haven’t recovered from that.. He took it back a bit after he saw how sad his reply made me and said he wouldn’t without strong reason to believe I’d cheated.. But seriously? 

And then there is the fact that I had known him for nearly a year when he confessed a huge massive enormous secret to me.. Months into our relationship... 

A secret that really, really affected our relationship. A secret he should’ve told me before he started a relationship with me.

But it was a really hard one for him to keep and for him to trust anyone with so I have a lot of sympathy for him and understanding for why he didn’t tell me right away.. And to be fair it being such a big deal to me should’ve made me walk away as soon as I heard. I stayed out of will, and I accept that responsibility and don’t hold it against him.. My friends do but they are definitely biased.

Also there was this one issue I don’t even wanna type out here but in case my future self is reading and needs reminding, teachers and movies and lips. 

There’s a lot I miss about him.. He was super super sweet. Just incredibly affectionate. He’d walk out of the bathroom and every single time without a fail he would look for me first thing; he’d either open the door and yell out my name, or look around and find me with his eyes.. And he would just seem so happy to see me after all those minutes spent apart. I loved it.

And mornings with him were amazing!! We’d always wake up for hugs and kisses and little cute things even if one of us was able to sleep longer; we’d just go back to sleep after the other had left. And there’s really no better way to start a morning.

Also, he would compliment me all the time. Just constantly. And it didn’t lessen in time, in fact I think he got more affectionate as time went on. He’d tell me all these cute things too and play with me and just be so so so cute oh my goodness.

He gave the greatest hugs. Tight, warm, safe.. And it was the same when we were cuddling or sleeping together.. Just felt very safe with him all the time, really. Like physically safe even if my heart felt quite unsafe most of the time.

He uses this adorable language that I probably won’t get out of my head anytime soon. He’d just say words in a weird way and it’d stick to everybody, all his friends, me, his family !!!! His mother even talked that way once and it was the most adorable thing.

And speaking of family he loved his more than anything.. More than I’ve seen anyone love their family before. I can’t explain that love but I could feel it all the time. 

Also like.. I’ve never ever kissed anyone fucking quarter as good at kissing as he is. He kisses so soft but with just enough pressure, even when it’s affectionate it’s not uncomfortably rough and he uses his tongue just right. Fuuuuuck. Even like, kissing me on the cheek or forehead! Or when he kissed my neck. Or my ears, hooooly fuck shit balls god damnit I have never ever known you could feel that good and get that turned on that fast but fuck. Fuck.

And sex with him felt like.. like it was the first push the whole time. I think most girls will understand that? Like it just.. Sometimes sex can get boring and you kind of just wait for the other person to finish so it can stop but with him it wasn’t like that. It would feel incredible the whole way through. The whole way. Like I was on the verge of an orgasm constantly.

His dick is like.. perfect. Circumcised and the cleanest dick I’ve ever encountered. Or probably ever will. I was always excited to give him head because it was always so pleasant.. And his dick was just the perfect length, girth and honestly? It was pretty. If you can call a dick pretty.. But you know what I mean?

Oh I don’t know. I miss a lot about him.. And I mourn our future plans so much. And I worry about him because I worry he’s not talking about his feelings to anyone, I worry he’s not letting himself feel them because he’s got a tendency to run from his issues and his feelings.. And I’m convinced he’s keeping himself super busy with work and gym during the week and friends during the weekend.. Which isn’t bad but I hope he’s allowing himself to feel his feelings and think about things.

I don’t know I just.. want to hug him. And take care of him. And make him happy. And talk to him..

But I know realistically it wouldn’t be like that. It won’t be like that. Not for a long time if ever. I think.. we want different things from a relationship probably.. Like I want someone who’s interested in me and my thoughts even when I’m not physically there. Who’s gonna ask about my day and text about theirs and who’s gonna just tell me random things throughout the day? Like just show interest.. And somebody who communicates. Honestly. I refuse to have another relationship with shit communication. 

And by god I want somebody who wants to spend more time than he did.

But there are so so so many things about him that I desperately want in a partner but don’t think I’ll ever find again.

Although right now, and for a long fucking time, I really do not want a relationship. Or even sex. I don’t wanna talk to anyone in a romantic or sexual way in a long long fucking time.

I just wanna.. heal my heart. Forgive myself for leaving him and for not being supportive enough and for not being who he wanted.. And forgive him for his shortcomings. And be able to get through an hour or a whole ass day without thinking about him unless it’s in a way that feels good and soothing.

[high5nerd]

Alone Together---Chap. Seventeen

Yeah there’s smut in this.

I remember Sadie acting a little peculiar a few weeks after Valentine's Day. At first I thought maybe it was something related to school, or...restless sleep? I wasn't sure, but the girl wouldn't talk to me when I asked her and often changed the subject. Alice told me she noticed as well, and asked her when she picked her up from school. Apparently she hasn't heard from one of her friends in a while and she's worrying where they've gone. Alice told her not to worry, that they'll soon get in touch with her.

But Alice told me that she said maybe they sent a letter and it's taking a while, Sadie looked very uncomfortable and hopeless.

...What was that girl up to…

Two months passed, and it was soon April. Thank goodness the snow was finally gone, but the rain was constant on certain days and every morning guaranteed wetness and chilly winds. The flora in the town was struggling to bloom, not fully done but almost there. I liked this type of weather the best. It wasn't blindingly sunny, nor freezing cold, or absolutely dreary. It was decently shady. It didn't hurt my eyes nor did it make me want to stay inside. I liked the smell of rain and watching the leaves sway in the wet wind.

So did Alice.

One time we actually sat outside on the bathroom towels until it started thunderstorming, and we came in sopping wet and laughing. That was a good memory. That was the day I learned that her auburn hair wasn't her natural hair color. I mean, I kind of suspected it since it was an unnatural blood red color, but she told me she liked it better than her brunette hair. So of course, I challenged her to let her hair return to it's natural shade so I could see what she looks like as a girl with brown hair. Why wouldn't I? I felt like I was deceived!

I'm kidding.

April 22nd is Alice's birthday. I'll never forget that day, the first time celebrating her birthday with her and Sadie.

It started with making her chocolate chip pancakes in the morning. I mean, early in the morning. Crack of dawn. I had to literally carry Sadie out of bed in order for her to help me. But the little girl ended up falling back asleep at the table, her head resting on the open cook book I was using.

I needed Sadie's help badly then. I didn't know how to make pancakes and with the appliances in their kitchen, it was like rocket science.

That's a poor excuse. Alright, I'll confess.

Alice walked in and somehow an explosion of batter happened. I have no idea how, please refrain from asking. But the chocolate chip batter spread all over the stove, the wall behind it and all over me. It frightened Sadie awake, for I heard her jolt up with a yelp.

Surprisingly, Alice was laughing hysterically. She held her stomach as she gestured to my face.

I frowned, unamused at how she thought it was hilarious that I failed in making her breakfast. I was thinking of her! And now she's laughing at my attempt of making her a gift.

But I didn't realize I had batter all over my face as well, as well as chocolate splatters. Sadie was biting back a grin as well, rubbing her eyes awake. Alice walked over to me and touched my cheek and showed me her index finger, and indeed it was covered with batter.

"You suck at pancakes." Alice giggled, licking her finger.

"I know, just...shut up." I mumbled through my teeth, looking away. So much for-

Then I felt her tongue on my cheekbone. That startled me and made me jolt back up and stare at her in shock. She merely smiled innocently, but Sadie saw it all.

"Oh ew, Alice! That was nasty! That stuff is uncooked!" Sadie made a sick face and held her stomach.

I grinned widely, dropped the stirring spoon in my hand and wrapped my arms around her before kissing her. Alice giggled through the kiss and her hands wove through my hair, making me shiver. She pulled back from the kiss and licked my jaw where more chocolate lay, causing me to chuckle.

"Oh GOD!" Sadie made fake retching noises, "Stop it! I swear to God Above I'll do anything if you just stop!"

Alice pulled away again and grinned at her, raising a brow. "Anything?"

"Yeah, anything!" Sadie looked like she was having an actual meltdown. It was kind of amusing.

"You'll clean your room."

"Yes!"

"Do your laundry."

"That too!"

I was expecting Alice to give another chore for her sister to do, but I was surprised at the next one. She smiled and said, "Have a sleepover at Lucy's?"

Sadie's eyes widened. Alice told her that she was invited to a slumber party around lunchtime, and Sadie nearly whooped with glee out of her chair. That definitely encouraged her to do a good job cleaning her room and her clothes, because when Alice and I went in to double check the entire room was spotless. Not even a stray sock or puzzle piece on the ground. Not even a hair from her dolls' heads.

To be quite honest, I think it was the most cleanest room I've ever seen a child possess. Even her pillows were fluffed and her trash was empty. The room was spotless. That clearly told me she really wanted to go visit her friend. Maybe it was that friend who wasn't around and why Sadie was so forlorn for a while? I guessed so.

Once she left, it was just Alice and I. That gave us more privacy, and honestly, I kind of liked it. She properly cooked pancakes and ate quite a lot of it. I didn't really have anything to give her, so whatever she wanted to do, I was by her side with it. After lunch she wanted to watch a movie she hasn't seen in many years, and I was more than happy enough to lay on the couch with her. Half of the time I wasn't even watching the movie, I was watching Alice. I would laugh when she laughed, I'd stroke her hair, hold her shoulder when the sad moments happened and she'd cuddle closer, and at one point she allowed me to braid a small strand of her hair during the credits.

"How is your birthday, so far?" I asked, holding her shoulders.

"Good. Simple, just the way I like it." She beamed at me, "But it'd be better if you'd give me a back rub."

I grinned at that and swirled my finger for her to turn around. She made some sort of pleased noise and straightened her back, moving her hair away from her neck.

Oh, I knew what she was doing. She's clever, but isn't matched to my own.

I rubbed her shoulders before pressing my thumbs down her shoulder blades, and rolled my palms until I heard her sigh happily. That made me smirk, knowing how easily I could make her feel good.

...Imagine what else I could do to her...the moans she would make…

Shit. Don't think that, Pitch. Bad zone to go into right now, especially when she was around. Still, I couldn't help myself from kissing her neck and letting my lips linger there the more my hands trailed down her back and wrapped around to her stomach, pulling her close to me.

"Why send Sadie away to her friends house?" I asked, noticing her blush reaching the tip of her neck, "I know for a fact this wasn't a coincidence."

"Damn," Alice laughed as she turned around to face me, "Okay, I wanted my birthday with just you and me. There's...there's something I wanted to show you, to share with you."

I was genuinely curious. She's shared a lot of things with me...what other secrets could this girl keep? I guess my questions were written all over my face because Alice smiled and kissed my nose, causing me to smirk at her sappiness.

"You'll have to wait and see. It's a place that means a lot to me." Alice said softly.

I noticed her eyes glance at my lips before looking back at my eyes. I grinned and leaned back, teasing her. She made that adorable pouty face and followed me back, giving me bambi eyes.

"Come on, that's mean." Alice murmured.

"I'm an evil man." I laughed, gently caressing her cheeks.

"Yeah, you are!" Alice smiled, and then bravely kissed me, albeit a bit off from where her target should be but nonetheless she always was capable of taking my breath away.

To prove her I growled and bit her lip, and she opened her mouth to whimper. My tongue slipped in and gently caressed her own. Her hands were soon stuck in my hair and she pressed her body closer, moaning softly.

I wanted her so bad...I never thought I would experience total, uncontrollable lust and love again, but I have.

But then she pulled away and jumped up, and she started laughing when I made some sort of noise of disappointment. I didn't know I was capable of a whine, but apparently I was. Or at least, at that time.

"Come on," she called as she opened the sliding glass door, "I want to show you."

"Show me what?" I asked as I followed her outside.

The sun was already setting by the time we were outside. The sky was tinted a violet purple with dark pinks and reds. Stars were slowly blinking back into the sky, one by one, and not one single cloud was in sight. The wind was no longer bitingly cold, just warm and soft. Alice led me by the hand into the woods behind the house, carefully stepping over roots and branches, warning me of incoming stumps. I smiled and tried attempting to grab her ass, but she laughed and swatted my hand away, pulling me a bit so I would walk beside her. My arm snaked around her waist as she led me to this tiny clearing, barely ten feet long and seven feet wide.

By the time we reached this clearing, it was dark. The moon was just rising in the sky, but it was bright enough to see what was there. The entire clearing had soft grass and moss, not a single root or rock to be seen. Small flowers of white and purple dotted the grass here and there.

Upon further inspection, Alice released my hand and walked towards a tree at the edge of the clearing and climbed into it with dexterity. She disappeared behind the upper branch, and a rustling followed.

"When I was really little I found this spot, and this hiding place became something like a clubhouse, but only me and my imaginary friends could be in. Not even Sadie knows about this place."

I chuckled, watching my feet shuffle before looking up and seeing her silouette against the leaves. Something was lying in her hands.

"Am I an imaginary friend, then?" I teased.

Alice softly laughed before jumping from the branch expertly, rolling her eyes at me. "No, you didn't let me finish,"

"I apologize." I gave her the best pouty face I could muster, but being one with the dark and known as a villain makes it harder to pull that off.

She smiled before coming over to me and looking at this wooden box in her arms, etched into the cover was the word Memories in childlike handwriting. She traced her fingers across the top of the box and said softly,

"When I got a little older, I knew I wanted to share this place with someone that meant the world to me. It got a little lonely with just playing with imaginary people that even I couldn't see."

I smiled as I plucked a few stray leaves from her tresses. Her hair was already returning to it's original brown color, with the fading red looking like mere highlights. I liked her brown hair.

"Well, I feel honored. Thank you, Alice."

"You should be," she smirked, "Because whatever is in here are memories of...what I used to be before my parents died."

"Alice, you don't-"

"I'm ready to," she said with a brave smile, "Because you were around I finally moved on from all that sadness and regret, and I can look back with fondness now. It no longer hurts to think about Mom and Dad. My fears made me stronger, and now I...I want to show you this." Alice sat down on the soft ground, and I followed her movements.

"You know what a time capsule is?" she asked, putting her hands firmly on top of the box.

I slowly nodded. I knew the meaning behind it, I just didn't know what humans put inside of them. Alice shyly smiled before taking off the lid that scraped against the edges.

Inside were things like photographs, handmade objects, written notes, and even jewelry. Alice held up a plastic bag holding a sterling silver necklace with a swirling pendant, "My mom's. She gave it to me when I turned ten."

"It's very beautiful." I commented, and held my hands open when she handed me a small collection of photos from the past. Some were edged as if they were cut and some still shone as if they were brand new.

The first picture was of a woman in a wedding gown, the sleeves puffed and tapering down to the wrist. A man with a trimmed beard stood next to her, smiling broadly. The woman looked just as happy, and her eyes shone behind the thin veil.

"They got married a couple years after they dated. They were planning on getting married in the winter, but then my mom found out she was pregnant with me, so they got married in the summertime. I guess for legal issues." she had a nostalgic smile on her face that I liked.

She definitely did have her mother's eyes and her father's laughing smile. She inherited his dark hair as well, while Sadie looked more like her mother. But knowing Sadie, she'll grow her hair to her waist unlike her mother who cropped it to the beginning of her neck.

The following photographs were pictures of Alice as a baby and a couple of herself holding Sadie for the first time. Those made me laugh. Alice looked like she was confused as to why a baby was in her arms. She had on a disgusted, confused frown on her face and her messy hair was about to get snagged by Sadie's baby hands.

"That was the first time I held Sadie," Alice rolled her eyes, "I knew I wanted a sister, but I didn't know that babies smelled and...well, all in all I was disgusted that she peed on me."

I knew how much these meant to her. The photos of her family on vacations, Holiday cards her mother decorated, photos of their previous dog they owned when Alice was in high school, and her father happily showing his brand new car.

But then the next photo made my heart drop. The image was of Sadie standing next to Alice with her hand in her mouth, looking puzzled as she stared at the ground. Both of them wore black dresses and had their hair in ponytails, but Sadie looked more like a china doll than Alice did.

The funeral.

Alice showed me a clipping from a newspaper, old and smelling like aged paper. The title read in bold print, Cruise Ship Crash Along Coastline. Below that was an image of a massive vacation cruise, nearly broken and dismantled, sinking into the water. Smoke poured out of the bow of the boat, and only three lifeboats were floating away with people sobbing on them and holding each other for dear life.

"They were brave people," Alice said sadly, "I had a bad feeling when they left. I guess it was a warning of what was going to happen…"

"So...your parents drowned…" I looked up at her, understanding her pain.

She nodded, though with an emotion to show that she has moved on from her grief. "By the time they found their bodies, they were underwater held down by debris. Gramma was the one who told me a few days later…" Alice's voice lowered quietly, "But I think what bothered me most was that when my parents left, that was the last time I heard them say 'I love you.'"

I pulled her into a gentle hug, and she stiffened from surprise. Normally I don't react like that, and granted I don't, but in cases like this….I just knew she needed that. She hugged back before letting out a slight giggle. I pulled away and rose a brow, and she smiled at me.

"They would've liked you," she whispered, caressing my face, "Dad especially. You share the same taste in music," she looked down at my robe, "Though they probably would be concerned about me dating the Boogeyman."

"Everyone associates me with fear, I get that," I smirked, "If they were still around I bet it would take a while for them to trust me."

Alice looked up at me. Her big eyes read every emotion inside her. Love, happiness, comfort…

"I think they already do," she gave a soft smile, "Otherwise I wouldn't have...I wouldn't have felt like this."

Ow. My heartbeat was in my throat. I could feel it pounding...it reverberated all through my body. Was my own body shaking with each thrum of my heart? I never felt it beat so hard before...if anything I would feel it faintly before, but now it…

What was that Christmas movie Sadie liked watching? It had a green monster in it, where he was so evil he stole Christmas but then returned it because his heart grew so big. That's what it felt like. Like it was about to burst out of my chest.

Alice smiled and put everything back in the box before setting it aside, and then shifted her positions so she sat on her legs.

"Remember how you said you felt bad for not getting me anything?"

A pang struck, definitely a warning of guilt. I winced at that, and then slowly nodded. I was hesitant. I hope she wasn't disappointed. But by her confident smile I assumed the worst wasn't going to happen.

"Well, there is," she looked away and brushed back some of her hair behind her ear, "two, in fact."

"Oh? What might the first one be?" I smirked at her.

She laid down on the grass and stared up at the starry sky. Knowing humans she probably couldn't see me, but my well accustomed vision to the night allowed me to see her have a faint smile on her cheeks.

"Tell me about who you were before. Your life before you became you now."

"It's quite long, I'm afraid." I wasn't sure if she wanted to hear about my late wife and how I had a daughter…

She looked in the direction of my voice and smiled brightly, "We've got all night."

I was hesitant still. Awkwardly, I laid down next to her and looked up at the stars, thinking about where to start. Where should I? Right when I was born or where my life really held meaning?

So I started with the basics. I honestly was surprised at how easy these memories came to me now. Remember when Sandy informed me that because Alice's belief is stronger than others, and that she is my Devout Bond? It would help me regain lost memories, and he was right. Almost like a movie playing in my head were unlocked memories that I either couldn't recall or the fearlings blocked. They no longer controlled my mind. I could remember anything, or at least more than before.

I told her how I was the only child of my parents, my father who was a veteran from the royal kingsguard and my mother was a seamstress. My father died from wound infection when I was seven years old, a few years after I was sent to the Academy to be trained for the army. I was the best in my class, excelling at not only battle but linguistics and astronomy. Pretty soon I was assigned to my first squadron when I was only seventeen years old, but I didn't stay long. By the time I moved up to the title of officer, the fearlings and dream pirates were attacking our realm. Because of my skills my commander entrusted me to the royal kingsguard like my father served beforehand, and it was proven just that with my leadership our army would grow and defeat any who tried to attack us. Before I became a general I was roped into an arranged marriage by my mother, and ended up falling in love with my late wife. Days after being titled general, our daughter Emily Jane was born just as the sun was rising. I remember her being the light of my life...both of them. I loved them very much. A few years passed, and by the time Emily Jane was about Sadie's age I was assigned to guard the doors where the fearlings were kept in their dungeon. If I had a choice I would've stayed home. I didn't want to leave my daughter and wife, but they both knew I had no choice. I remember leaving on the ship, and looking back and seeing my wife wave goodbye and Emily Jane crying but waving her little hand very fast.

That was the last time I saw them as Kozmotis Pitchiner. The first time I saw them as Pitch Black, was the last time I'd see them alive.

I ended it there, only because I didn't want to scare Alice with the horrifying story of how I destroyed the entire realm and others as well, and even killed my own wife and witnessed my daughter disappear. I had no control over me back then, it was all the fearlings. All I could do was watch as the kingdom burned to the ground…

But once I was defeated by Nightlight and found myself here, I was capable of controlling myself more, and putting the fearlings at bay. Now that they were satisfied with the damage they've done, I made them my own servants and they do my bidding to keep me alive.

And...here I am now.

"Wow…" Alice sounded impressed, "That's more exciting than any life I've known."

I shrugged, "It was common where I was from. Old news, the usual. If anything your life is interesting. At least you're not forced into a marriage."

"Yeah, but you liked her in the end." she smirked.

"Yeah, I did." I rolled my eyes.

Alice childishly rolled on top of me and touched my face, trying to find where my eyes were in the dark. Once her hands wandered down to my mouth I bit her and she mumbled, "Ow." Then she placed her hands on my cheeks. Don't ask me why, I don't know why she did that.

"What would you do if you and I were in an arranged marriage?"

I smiled, "I'd be very happy, and glad my mother finally listened to me for once and gave me something I wanted."

"You want me?" she sounded surprised, and quiet.

"All the time. Even now…" my voice trailed off. Her face was so close, I could have kissed her. I wasn't going to unless she allowed it, though. But still, my hands found themselves at her waist, thumbing the bottom of her shirt.

"Pitch…"

That was a clear green light for me to kiss her. And I damn well did. Why wouldn't I?

I soon found myself rolling her over onto her back and on top of her. Her legs wrapped around my hips and her arms around my shoulders. My mind went fuzzy...I couldn't regain the self control I had before.

I have to be in control...I...can't…

I must've stopped because Alice touched my face and asked quietly, "Pitch?"

"I want you...right now, but I can't-"

"Yes you can," her mouth connected with my neck as her hands traveled down my chest. I couldn't help but shudder… "I want you to."

"No, you-"

"I do. I want to share myself with you in ways I haven't before. I want you to be my first. I choose you…"

I was quiet. I had to consider her words carefully. She sounded like she sincerely meant it all. But...I wanted her to be sure.

"There aren't any take backs."

"I won't regret it."

"I might if I hurt you."

Alice's lips found mine again, lingering there longer than before.

She pulled away and breathlessly whispered, "Think of it as a birthday gift for me."

That did it. I was kissing her all over, our clothes peeling off one by one. The air got hotter than it was before. Was it us? Was our love heating up the entire forest? I could imagine the entire wood lighting on fire, burning into the sky until the world turned red as we made love on the grass. I haven't done this in so long...for so long I thought I forgot how to hold a woman, how to make her feel good.

But her sighs and moans were an indicator that nothing slipped my mind over the centuries.

Our breath mingled, panting when her body pressed against mine and her hands grabbed at my shoulders. I kissed her again and let my lips trailed over to her ear, teasing her by trailing my hands down her body to her south.

"I bet you would moan my name beautifully." I murmured, biting her neck.

She tried biting back a moan, but failed, and it made it worse the more I played with her body.

I didn't think a virgin like her would know how to make me feel like I was melting. Sweat dripped from our bodies, the air got hotter and hotter. I hadn't even penetrated her yet. We were just playing, seeing who would cave in first. And so far I was winning.

I don't know what I did, but Alice's moans got louder and her back arched. God, it was sexy hearing her make those noises…

They say that when soulmates make love, they get so hot they create fire. I swore I saw steam rise from when I touched her and when she scratched my chest with her blunt nails, I saw tiny flames from her fingertips. She looked so vulnerable under me...so young, full of life and vulnerable. Seeing her squirm at my touch and moan...it undid me.

"Now...Please, Pitch. Now." she was the first to cave in.

I smirked, grinding her hips into mine just to tease her. She made a noise of both pleasure and irritation I wasn't doing her bidding. I grinned and kissed her stomach, enjoying watching it flex and release from her rapid breathing and good feelings.

"Why? I thought you wanted to play."

"P-Pitch…" Alice groaned, and let out a breathless moan when I licked her stomach slowly.

"Beg for me."

"N-no."

"Beg, princess."

I kissed down her inner thigh, teasing her more. By the time I reached where she wanted me to be, her hips jerked and she whimpered. I grinned and rose back up, giving her a superior smile.

"Pitch, please...I want you."

That's right. Beg for me...beg for your king.

Crawling back up to her face, I gently kissed her before thrusting in. Her mouth opened in a gasp, her head craning back.

After that it was just soft, gentle touches...soft thrusts in a rhythm, going faster and faster, harder and harder, and whisperings of 'I love you's. She clung to me, burying her mouth to my shoulder so not even the nighttime animals could hear her scream in pleasure.

…

We made love until the sunrise, and by then, we were fast asleep in each other's arms, legs intertwined. Her head rested in the crook of my neck, her breath soft against my skin. I was the first to wake up with the call of the morning birds. My robe was draped over our legs, giving us some source of warmth from the chilly night. When I woke up, I was met with her sleeping, angelic face...so at peace. Content in her own dreamland. A smile tugged at my lips as I touched her cheek.

But as my eyes traveled downwards, I saw the marks I gave her. Not just bruises, but bite marks as well. Was I that animalistic? They were scattered on her shoulders, her neck, her thighs and her hips and in between her legs. I couldn't help but smile as I touched her leg.

Alice stirred a bit and opened her eyes. I looked at her and grinned.

"Morning."

She smiled sleepily, "Good morning...What're you looking at?"

I gestured to her body, and she looked down. After a moment's worth of staring, she grinned, "Cool. They look like I've been in battle."

"And quite a battle it was." I chuckled, pulling her into a kiss.

[thejokersenigma]

Deadly Voice Part 21

Hi guys, so i haven’t really read over this much but I want to get it out, its 1am here, I’m exhausted and want to go to bed! So I apologize for any problems with it, but I wanted to get it finished tonight!

Hope you guys enjoy - I really appreciate the comments and feedback I am getting! And if you want to talk about anything not to do with fanfic then I am also here! I am happy to chat about anything, honestly!

Warning (yes this one has a warning): Suicidal themes - please don’t read if this is going to be in anyway triggering!

Masterlist

I had awoken in a cold sweat, my breathing fast like I had just been sprinting. As twisted onto my side I could still feel a weird ache in my stomach from my supposed ‘stab’ wound and I even lifted my pyjama top to check once more that it had truly all been a dream. It had.

It was still dark in my room and the clock on my phone read way too early, but there was no way I was closing my eyes again - it still felt all too real. So instead I lay awake, recapping the scenes that I could still remember until my mind seemed satisfied it had truly not happened and I was fine. Then I pulled myself up and out of bed.

I splashed my face with water to help wake me up before deciding to take another shower in an attempt to alleviate some of stress I could still feel in my body, winding me tight. The hot water and soothing massage of soap did seem to ease the tension in my muscles and I stepped out feeling relatively refreshed - though the memories of the dream still lingered in the back of my mind. And my plan. That was what now niggled in my thoughts – waiting to be acted on, promising to put an end to all of this.

I threw on my dressing gown – seeking comfort, knowing I had no need to be dressed and functioning really - and wandered through my darkened flat. The only light came from the street which shone in streaks through breaks in my curtains, illuminating strips of flooring and edges of furniture. I ran my hand over the rough area I knew a light switch would be and sought blindly before finding the plastic switch and flicking it to fill the room with the vivid artificial light that flooded the open room.

After the spots faded my vision I made my way to the kitchen area and made myself a cup of strong coffee before grabbing my laptop off the side of the counter and curling myself up the sofa, settling the laptop on my bare legs.

I spent the rest of the morning sat there researching and planning, only moving to refresh my coffee and chew on bits of dry cereal when I began to get hunger pangs. I soon felt I had looked at everything I needed at least twice and began to run out of ideas on what else to do with my time. I unfolded myself from my chair and felt my bones creak with the lack of use, my muscles stiff. Time to go for a walk, I thought and so I threw some half-decent clothes and headed out into the streets of Gotham with the idea to set everything up I needed.

As I strode out the back door of the club I walked through the alley where I had killed the two men and I was reminded of the Joker, and so sharply reminded of last night’s dream. The dream had been my mind telling me how much I needed to get out. Leave. I couldn’t stay here. I was in constant danger and anyone who I thought might actually care about me clearly didn’t. There was nothing in my life at the moment apart from uncertainty and mental torture. I didn’t want that to become physical torture either – be that by the Joker or Penguin.

The day was the usual over cast weather of Gotham as I moved through the dank streets. I still had the fear of the Joker suddenly appearing around one the streets and I would jump occasionally if I felt I saw flash of green. All were false alarms of course and I slowly began to feel more confident. By the time I returned back to the club I was far more relaxed and walking with more confidence. Besides, I was certain he had lost interest me, and therefore doubted he would want to follow me. Plus I was certain the man was nocturnal – I couldn’t imagine him strolling around Gotham in broad daylight – that would surely be a one way ticket back to Arkham.

I had wasted most of the afternoon with my stroll around the city so I didn’t have much time to kill till I needed to get ready for work. The evening was as uneventful as I could make it – not making any particular effort to attempt anything new. The whole evening I tried to avoid looking for Penguin, and, when I did notice him across the room, walking near the staff corridor, I made sure to avoid eye contact and just finish my set. I couldn’t deny I was distracted though, and I felt my whole soul wasn’t in my singing – my mind still running through the my scheduled plan for tomorrow. Maybe that was for the best – in the end it might be better really that I seemed out of sorts.

At the end of the night I made sure to dodge my way away from any conversations, narrowly avoiding Oliver who I knew would want to go over tomorrow’s schedule, never failing to make at least one criticism on tonight - whether it was my stage presence, the pitch or my outfit.

I slipped past Oliver and out of sight as he headed to the backstage area, and I moved down the staff corridor. I was nearly at the end by the staircase to that lead to my upstairs flat when I froze at a noise behind me coming from Penguin’s office. I thought better about my position and I quickly dashed for the cover of the steps. I made it out of sight of the passageway as the door of the office opened. I stole a glance around the old dark staircase barrier to see a tall business man stood halfway out of the doorway, he seemed to be shaking hands with whoever was in the room – most likely Penguin.

I didn’t loiter long, swiftly, but lightly springing up the remaining steps and then treading softly along the thin, worn carpet that led to my front door so that no one downstairs could hear me. Tonight I didn’t want to be disturbed by anyone.

I closed my front door carefully behind me and then made my way to my bedroom. I was mentally exhausted from the stress of my plan and the events of the past few weeks were still catching up on me, but I knew these same thoughts were reducing my chances of sleep tonight.

Never the less I braced myself for the hours of tossing and turning in my ever constricting bed linen, going through my usual evening routine mechanically before climbing into my bed lying wide awake, staring up at the greying ceiling above me. I was in for a long night I sighed.

And sure enough, it was after the hundredth run through of tomorrow’s plan I finally fell into a exhausted sleep.

 It was time. I could put it off no longer. A nearby clock tower struck 8am. I had chosen this hour for a reason – the streets of Gotham would be busy with commuters, both pedestrians and vehicles.

I strode nonchalantly towards my destination, cars rushing past me where they could before they once again stuck in a blockade of traffic. Backstreets that I only dared to walk in the daylight offered some shelter from the chilly winds, though the cold of the morning still bit at my cheeks – the only bit of skin uncovered in the cold air.  

I left the protection of the alleyways as I stepped out onto the main road, the strong winds now being tunnelled down the wide streets and whipping strands of my air across my face until I have up and scrapped it back into a messy bun. I now made my way towards one of the many bridges that crisscrossed and stitched Gotham together, my bulging coat pocket knocking against my thigh with each stride as I followed the bright brake lights of the usual morning congestion until I met the waterside. I peered over the thick stone barriers at the dark swirl of water below. It looked bleak and cold. How inviting, I thought.

I shook myself out of my thoughts and joined the crowd of people filing up the pavement and over the bridge. I was in no particular hurry and so was often shoved aside and overtaken by those running late for their early morning shifts.

I stepped out to side so I was leant against the low wall that lined the bridge, seeking refuge from the flow of foot traffic. Next to me were a few tourists taking selfies or full landscapes of the skyscraper skyline on their mobile phones and chatting in different accents and languages.

Now that I was here, staring out of the dark watery surface, I was becoming hot and bothered and I peeled my gloves off, my palms feeling clammy. I waited a bit longer - pretending to take in the view - the dark shadows of the towering offices standing out proudly against the dull, ashen sky. Eventually most of the people around me had moved off and I stood relatively alone as I glanced around, except for the steady flow of office workers and occasional vacationers that pasted by.

I took a deep breath. No reason to put this off anymore. I placed my palms on the solid stone barriers in front of me, ensuring I chose the cleanest bit, avoiding the worst areas of old chewing gum and bird droppings – I owed myself that much dignity. I put all my weight into my forearms and swung myself up so I knelt on the cold ledge, blowing out a sharp breath to calm myself as I pushed myself to a crouch, ignoring the stares I was beginning to get.

I made sure I had good balance on my feet before I pushed myself the rest of the way upright so that I stood facing out to the road and people milling before me.

The wind slapped my cheeks even sharper up here but I ignored it and the few lose strands of hair that flew in front of my face. I could see people now staring openly at me and some slowing, though not stopping, to look at the weirdo stood on the bridge. Some seem to just be confused about the situation, but I though a saw a few with concern on their faces, though still no one had stopped.

I could feel my exposed face becoming red and numb from the lashing wintery air. Damn I wish it wasn’t February – this might not be as bad if it was warmer.

The road over the bridge was heavy congested and so I could see some people the static cars looking out their windows at me as I reached into my heavy coat pocket and wrapped my hands around my gun that lay nestled in the fold of material.

I pulled the weapon out slowly, prolonging the moment as long as possible. Let everyone see. Get a good look, I thought as I brought the weapon out into the open. I heard a few gasps then, they probably feared more for their own lives then for mine in that moment. Some people who had begun to loiter did make a quick getaway then, in Gotham you rarely hung around at the sight of a weapon – random attacks being all too frequent on these streets – though I doubted many had occurred out of the cover of darkness and in the middle of a busy, crowded bridge. Though who was I to think this – there were some insane people in this city, and I was starting to believe I might be one of them.

People seemed to relax slightly about their own safety when I raised the gun toward my head. Were people talking? Was someone asking me something? I couldn’t hear over the wind and the rush of blood in my ears. I drowned everyone out. My arms were shaking from all the attention on me. I tried to keep my eyes fixed in front on me, staring unseeing at the river I could make out on the other side of the bridge. Still, out the corner of my eye, I could see a few people step out of their cars, though they didn’t make any move to come closer.

Though I couldn’t really see the gun anymore in my peripheral vision, I could feel its presence to the right of my temple. I felt tears slip down my cheeks. There were screams now; more people were getting out of their cars.

That was nice. People seemed to care. But did they care? Or did they just not want to have to own up later if they saw me do this and never tried to do anything?

People were getting closer now, but they still seem to act as though there was a 5 foot bubble in front of me. None of them dared to get closer than that and they formed a wall around this invisible boundary, their lips moving, eyes pleading. But I didn’t hear anything. It was like I was dreaming again, but I knew this was all too real.

I couldn’t let people touch me. They couldn’t stop me. This was the plan and I had to go through with it. It was the only way I could think of.

Then I noticed a new movement above all the others. Someone, a young girl around my age, was pushing through the wall of bodies. Her winter coat hung open with a scarf wrapped loosely around her neck and a woollen hat shoved quickly on her dark hair. She had come from one of the cars sat in the queue, the blue Volvo’s car door still open wide as she tried to worm her way through those who were too scared to get any closer to me. She seemed to generally care. That was nice. Gotham clearly hadn’t got to her yet. Maybe she wasn’t from around here. Maybe she was just visiting someone – a boyfriend maybe. Wouldn’t that be nice, I thought as my finger rested on the trigger.

She had cleared the crowd now - her woollen hat having been lost in the mass, but she didn’t seem to care. The gun was becoming heavy in my hand now, my arm weakening from holding it up for so long. Get on with it! I snapped at myself. She was a few feet from me now crying something indistinct to my ear amongst the noises that roared in my ears. Was she saying to stop? Don’t do it? It didn’t really matter what she was saying – it wouldn’t stop me. She didn’t know me, didn’t know my situation, and didn’t know that this was the only way I could think of to get out of everything.

I hoped her boyfriend was nice and this toxic city didn’t corrupt her as I finally pulled the trigger. I fell backwards, the chilling air rushing to meet me as I plummeted down, making my stomach drop. The sight of the bridge rushing away from me was enough to get me to shut my eyes, but not before I saw the girl’s head appear over the side of the railing. Sorry, I apologised silently, she didn’t need to experience this.

I fell for longer than I thought, wondering if somehow the world had vanished around me and I was now just falling through a void in the universe. Just as I finished this thought however, I felt the stinging slap as my back collided with the steely surface of the river.

[houmatsunokioku]

Kiyoshi & Amane Supports: A

Supports:　C | B | A

Part III of supports between the lovely @rainyau​‘s Kiyoshi and Amane! Enjoy!

Amane:　*sighs*　(Great Dawn Dragon...I really hope I do not have to see him today...)

Kiyoshi:　...　(One last thing I have to confirm and that's whether or not she can notice me.)

Amane:　*sighs internally*　(Gods... He's right over there... Please, please, please don't come any closer...)

Kiyoshi:　(Now's my chance.)　Hey Amane. I've been thinking the other day about the healer job. I realized that even though it's not my true calling I could possibly become one. Just like you did. I can tell you weren't originally a healer.

Amane:　*looks up from her work*　Fuuma-sa-sama...

Amane:　Oh...i-is that so...

Kiyoshi:　You were training to be a ninja weren't you. Whether by your own will or by your parents' or even to be accepted into your society.

Amane:　E-Eh? What...makes you say that?

Kiyoshi:　*Smiles*　You've made it so obvious. How fast you recognized the cause of my wound was a shuriken. The way you dodge questions, the kunais, and even sensing when I am nearby. Those are all the signs of a ninja or a ninja-in-training.

Amane:　(I wasn’t trying to hide anything though?)　...I see... Though I uh...think that any healer could have just as easily recognised it as as such...

Kiyoshi:　Even the aura you let off. It's not one of a healer. It feels like a wolf in sheep's clothing. There's no denying that you've been through the ninja trials.

Amane:　(What is he implying?! Is he insulting me?!)

Amane:　Oh...I see...

Kiyoshi:　But it doesn't mean you aren't suited to be a healer. Even with all the things I couldn't become and couldn't do as a ninja, my father showed me the path of the samurai. But the denial in you is strong.

Amane:　(What is he talking about?! He's not making any sense!)　E-Eh?

Amane:　Fuuma-sa-sama...I uh...really have no idea what you are talking about... could you please elaborate?

Kiyoshi:　I know that you try to hide your true nature as a soldier. You have a lot of skills a ninja should have so what made you choose to become a healer?

Amane:　...

Amane:　*sigh*

Amane:　*folds her arms in front of her, her eyes cold and critical*　Fuuma-san, what exactly are you trying to say? I have not tried to hide anything from you. There is no need to. We are allies, are we not? Or are you suggesting that I am not suited to be a healer? From what you have just said, it may come as a surprise to you that I actually enjoy healing.

Kiyoshi:　You keep dodging the question by answering it with a question. How about I rephrase the sentence for you, "Were you or were you not a ninja?" I'm only asking of this because of your behavior when we first interacted. You kept using lies to hide your ninja nature. So what's shameful about being a ninja?

Amane:　I have not told any lies. But yes, I was a ninja.

Amane:　*takes out her kunai*　Perhaps I ought to show you why I am not one.

Amane:　*throws the kunai at him, but it misses*　Will that suffice?

Kiyoshi:　Wait...　(With all your skills you're just bad at throwing shuriken and kunais.)　I know more about you than you know. Your family has a whole line of ninjas, but you failed the test and with failing the test you became an outcast and people said that you ruined your family line and was the bad egg. No matter how much you try to fight you still fail.

Amane:　*eyes narrow as many spirits flicker into existence*　I should have expected no less from a member of the Fuuma clan of Mokushu. What are you planning on doing with that information?

Kiyoshi:　I actually didn't get any information on you. I just said my whole life story and replaced it with you.

Amane:　...

Amane:　Well played.

Amane:　Still, that does not answer my question. What are you planning on doing with that information?

Kiyoshi:　*Smiles*　You seriously think I'm going to do something with that? That information is yours alone, I'm not going to tell anybody or use it against you. Not like those "Pure Hoshidians" did with me.

Kiyoshi:　When I first met you, I felt like I was looking in the mirror. Something about you reminded me of myself. I wanted to say that you aren't alone in this. I know you are scared of my family line so I wanted to gain your trust first.

Amane:　...

Amane:　*spirits flicker out of existence one-by-one*　I doubt that 'scared' is the appropriate word choice here. It seems that you have a way of insulting others with words. Is that intentional?

Kiyoshi:　I suppose unintentionally. I've been a hostage for so long so I always used this sort of talk or wording with the ones keeping me that I can't seem to stop the habit around other people.

Amane:　How cyclical.

Kiyoshi:　I don't mean to insult you, I'm sorry for that. My father was the one who had my back when I was an outcast and showed me that everything has potential. So I never want someone to end up in the same situation as I was.

Amane:　...

Amane:　I find that hard to believe, considering who your father is.

Kiyoshi:　I don't blame you. He's conquered, killed, taken land, taken hostages, attack anyone within the territory, disguised Mokushu as a neutral country while siding with King Garon, sent me to attempt to kidnap Azura to get King Garon's full trust, and need I say more. But he's a good father and one I aspire to be. He would make sure to punish anyone who hurt me, even if it's his royal advisor. When I couldn't become a ninja he showed me the blade and was still proud of me. He's just fallen to the sins of pride and greed.

Amane:　...

Amane:　He has ruined the lives of far too many people. His actions can not be justified. At least, not so easily.

Kiyoshi:　No it doesn't, but it doesn't mean he's completely bad. I know what he's done, but I'll still defend him and his honor.

Amane:　To each their own I suppose.

Kiyoshi:　You still seem mad. Was it something I said?

Amane:　*raises eyebrow*　You seriously have no idea?

Kiyoshi:　I apologize, I'm not trying to belittle you.

Amane:　*sighs*　Incredible.

Amane:　I really hope that not everyone from Mokushu has an attitude like yours.

Kiyoshi:　*Grits teeth*　Look, I'm just trying to be nice here. I seriously don't mean anything bad or if I unintentionally said something that hurt you.

Amane:　Are you now... You have sounded nothing but arrogant, condescending, and patronising since this conversation started.

Kiyoshi:　Is that really how I appear? Do you really not believe me or is that your attitude towards all Mokushujin?

Amane:　Tell me. Was I like this at the beginning of this conversation? The last time we spoke? Or even the first time we spoke?

Kiyoshi:　I got ahead of myself again. No, you weren't. I seriously don't want to fight. I know I've been annoying. So I'll try to not be "arrogant" as you say.

Amane:　You don't believe me, do you? If you'd like, I can list out just how you have offended me.

Kiyoshi:　I didn't say that. Stop placing words in my mouth. Do I have to get on my knees for you at this point?

Kiyoshi:　I already apologized.

Amane:　Ah, but you have been placing words in my mouth since the beginning of this conversation, haven't you? Multiple times too. But don't get down on your knees. It won't help your case.

Kiyoshi:　Alright, fine, but I'm not going to apologize more than this. What will it take for you to cool down?

Amane:　*sigh*　To each their own indeed.

Amane:　Truth be told, it has been a good while since I have been like this. What do you suggest?

Kiyoshi:　I want to patch things up between us. I don't exactly have the cleanest slate, but I was hoping to gain your trust.

Amane:　You have my trust that you are not an enemy. Anything more will be...challenging.

Kiyoshi:　Fine, better than nothing I suppose. Even though you and I are so alike with our past we ended up differently. Maybe our potential doesn't lie with the shuriken but by healing or the sword. I don't believe we should be judged for taking a different path. I'm going to apologize one last time because I felt like I seemed too judgmental. I became like the type of people I hate.

Amane:　*smiles gently*　At least there is something we can agree on. Just...promise me a few things.

Kiyoshi:　I'm glad everything's fine now. Alright, what do you need?

Amane:　Optimistic, are we. Not necessarily a bad thing.

Amane:　Just as not all Mokushujin are like...what you were, I trust that you will not be what you were with all Hoshidans? Or anyone else for that matter? I don't think many appreciate having multiple assumptions made of them in the beginning like that.

Amane:　*smile*　And don't look down on healers. It's not as easy a profession as some would like to believe.

Kiyoshi:　Ah I didn't mean to generalize Hoshidians. Just specific ones I really hate, but I'll put my hatred aside and prove that I'm the better one. Oh I didn't mean to look down on healers, we soldiers depend on them more than anything. I know how hard it is to do. When I was on a trial to do different weapons to see my potential the rod was one of them. Healers are the bravest in the battlefield.

Amane:　*raises eyebrow*　Right. I'll take your word for it. For now.

Amane:　Another thing. I'm curious to know if you know why I was so...as you so inaccurately worded... "scared" of members of your clan?

Kiyoshi:　From experience and father has done many frightening things. Plus you used to stutter when you first talked to me.

Amane:　Do you or do you not know?

Kiyoshi:　You mean about your clan in Igasato?

Amane:　You are making it incredibly hard for me to believe that you have not done any background check on me.

Kiyoshi:　I learned all the names of clans as an advanced study it is a lesson that all future daimyos must go through.

Amane:　I have never told you my clan's name.

Kiyoshi:　You have not. I can tell you all that I know from my memories. I remember there was some incident in Igasato about Mokushujin spies, but I can't remember the clans’ names. I assume you probably think I know anything but I really don't.

Kiyoshi:　When did the incident happen?

Amane:　A few years ago.

Kiyoshi:　I assume that it was around the time that I was captured. So no, I really don't know about what happened. But I know that Igasato and Mokushu don't get along, so I can only assume.

Amane:　If you truly know nothing, then how do you know where I am from? Or what clan?

Kiyoshi:　I don't know your clan’s name and Igasato has been father's prime target for the past few years.

Amane:　I could be from Kohga for all you know.

Kiyoshi: 　Kohga's population is mostly dead. It's a very rare chance I'll meet a local.

Amane:　You'd be surprised.

Kiyoshi:　So there's still more people from Kohga. Wouldn't there have been a restoration project by now if you are from Kohga? Maybe I assumed that it was the incident father wrote in one of my first letters he sent me.

Amane:　*shrugs*　Who knows.

Kiyoshi:　I always keep his letters with me. I think this might be the letter he was talking about the issue.　*Gives her the letter*

Amane:　*takes letter and reads the letter while suppressing her growing emotions*　...

Amane:　*returns the letter*　Imagine if this letter got intercepted. Wouldn't that be interesting?

Kiyoshi:　Well those are plans from a few years back. His plans have impro-I mean changed over the past few years. Is this the incident? Not that I'm good at remembering many events except for this and the murder of Saizou the Fourth.

Amane:　*shrugs*　Who knows. For all your talk on gaining trust, you don't seem to care much about the other party.

Kiyoshi:　I hate what my father does. I hate the amount of blood he has shed. I know I may not seem that I care, but I truly do feel guilt. For not stopping my father, for not trying to convince him. But the incident was so long ago my words become careless.

Amane:　...

Amane:　Right. Well I'll tell you anyway. Your father killed mine, and a couple of my childhood best friends'. He also cruelly manipulated the other. Take it as you will.

Amane:　And for the record, I'm not scared of him, or you, or anyone else in your clan. Wary, yes, but never scared.

Kiyoshi:　...I can't apologize for his actions.　*Clenches his hand*　I can only pick the pieces up that my father destroyed. But I'm so sorry, maybe if I begged father or did something it could've gone differently.

Amane:　You're right, an apology from you won't do anything. What's done is done. Besides, you didn't seem sorry at all when talking about his plans just now. Interesting, isn't it? But that is neither here nor there.

Amane:　Perhaps you'd like to consider that when you meet someone else who knows of your origins. Like it or not, your father's actions reflect very poorly on you.

Kiyoshi:　It's not something I can control. It's up to the person whether he or she wishes to judge my past. It's not that I don't care, it's just father causes so much destruction all the time that I've gotten used to it. It's hard for me to show regret, but I don't condone his actions.

Amane:　...

Amane:　Right. Well it's as they say, actions speak louder than words.

Kiyoshi:　Thanks for giving me a chance especially with knowing who I am.

Amane:　You're welcome. As I said, I trust that you're not an enemy. Anything more will be challenging. Very challenging.

Amane:　And if there's nothing more you need from me, I best get back to my duties. Good day.

Kiyoshi:　You too.　(It will take time. I just have to wait.)

The next morning, members of royalty were asked to utilise Dragon Veins to restore the training grounds. Upon arrival, they were shocked to find it completely destroyed. They also received reports of a sudden shortage of training dummies. Suspecting foul play, they sent a few trusted soldiers to investigate. They found nothing, save for a few conflicting accounts of hearing what is best described to be explosions, or clashing metal, the previous night. 

[spiderfan22]

DAY TWO HUNDRED AND SIXTY-ONE - 6/11/17

“FLIP-FLOPPER (ABANDONED)” by DJS

Hello. So here’s a little story all about how I totally gave up on a short play I was writing. The proof is what follows. In short, I started with a very small idea: the fact that I, personally, hate flip-flips. (Sorry to any flip-flop lovers or even just wearers out there, but it’s true, I do.) I decided to take that idea and run with it. But over the course of the few days I’ve been working on this play, I’ve grown increasingly bored with the outcome. So I made the executive decision (the executive board consisting of me, myself, and eye-yi-yi) to put this sucker out of its misery. But I didn’t want to leave the story unresolved either, so enjoy the tacked on ending wherein the main character tries to kill himself, fails, and then there is a dance party.

I know.

A hotel room in a tropical locale. Probably Hawaii.

In shambles. Leftover room service, overflowing suitcase, soiled towels, etc.

But most peculiarly, hundreds of pairs of flipflops--different colors and sizes, but the same basic Old Navy model—hundreds of flip flops, ALL MUTILATED in some fashion. Cut up or ripped apart. Obviously the work of a psychotic.

Late afternoon. Sound of ocean and beach-goers not far off, below.

At first glance the room appears empty. But the door to the balcony is open, and a second later a young man backs into the room--shirtless, deeply tanned, in faded cutoff jeans—slowly lowering a pair of binoculars from his eyes.

Meet TONY.

He stops, clutching the binoculars, lost in a trance for a moment.

Then Tony goes quickly into the bathroom. We can hear him peeing loudly into the toilet. He reemerges (not washing his hands), grabs a stray chicken strip from a plate, and proceeds suck on it like a lolly pop.

He sits at the foot of the bed. He takes up a pair of pinking shears and an “unmolested” flipflop. Then with a delicate, studied precision, he snips off the toe-end of the shoe.

Followed by the heel.

Then the bands that keep the flipflop on your foot.

Snip, snip, snip. Quite happily. Relishing every cut.

Then he savagely goes to town, taking apart the rest of the shoe in a matter of seconds, Tasmanian Devil-style.

By the end he’s breathing heavy. On the verge of delirium. Likely aroused.

The phone in the room rings.

Tony freezes. He listens to the phone ring seven times. Then it stops.

He looks at the remains of the flipflop he’s holding, fixated. Then he nonchalantly tosses it over his shoulder.

Tony is about to start on another flipflop when his mobile phone (plugged into the wall by the TV) sounds an alarm. He inhales sharply, exasperated. The alarm continues to chime, until he gets up and swipes it off.

He brings up his contacts and presses a number. Spits out the chicken strip (if he hasn’t already). Waits.

The line picks up.

TONY “Mom”?

           Yeah, I’m just checking in.

Because I said I would – no reason. Because you made me promise – same time, every day.

Of course it’s inconvenient. I’m working. But it was your rule you forced down my throat. I agreed to it just so I might have some semblance of control, or to even the playing field just a little in this relationship – if you can call it that. It’s so one sided – lopsided.

No, that’s not up for debate, “Mom”.

Because it’s the way it is. It’s true, that’s why. Ask anyone.

No, not Jim. Not one of your cohorts, your little cronies – but an outside, unaffiliated, like objective hopefully, so they can see their way to view the situation with the necessary distance and not for an opinion just based on what you can do for them or what you did do for them, but unbiased. Non-biased.

Well I don’t think that’s too much to ask and I don’t think I’m going overboard or it’s “making a mountain out of a mole hill.” That’s a stupid expression anyway, I just want to tell you so maybe you stop using it in the future.

What?

Yeah, the project’s going well. A lot of movement – we’re making a lot of headway. I mean, it was slow going at first but now things are really starting to pick up stream.

Steam. Steam.

Stop it, you know I meant steam.

No.

No, and stop asking.

Because you know I can’t tell you my location.

Because it’s an experiment and that’s called an outside variable and you could ruin – you could spoil the whole outcome.

My hypothesis, “Mom” – which so far, if you must know, has been right on track, thank you very much. I’ve been right on the money. I mean if you saw the results I was getting…

Well, you’d be impressed. This is revolutionary, this could change the whole field.

No I’m not seeing anyone. What kind of question is that?

No I haven’t met a “nice girl” – that’s not my purpose. That’s not my purpose here.

Because – at this point? At this point in proceedings – it would just be a distraction. And my focus must be laser – like a laser, laser-focused. Laser………….

Sharp, yes. Now I must go. I must be getting off the phone. Lots of intensive – real work to do. Yet to go.

OK, love you too.

No I love you more.

No I love you more.

Love you more.

No I love you more.

I love you more.

Love you more.

Love you more.

Love you more.

No I love you more.

LoveyoumoreGoodnight”Mom”.

Tony ends the call. Tosses the phone on the bed.

He takes up the pinking shears again. He snips at the air in small, quick, delicate movements.

He looks for the TV remote. But after a good deal of searching around the room, under the detritus, can’t find it.

He sniffs his armpit. Recoils from the smell. He thinks about taking a shower and goes looking for a clean towel. There are none, so he chooses the cleanest towel he can find.

He is about to step out of his shorts when there is a knock at the door.

Tony stops, quickly pulls up his shorts.

More knocking.

CONCIERGE, off     Excuse me, Mr. Reynolds, sir? This is the hotel concierge. I don’t mean to trouble you. If I could just have a minute of your time, please, then I’ll be out of your hair. Hate to disturb you, sir, just be a minute.

Tony stays quiet. More knocking.

                                   Mr. Reynolds? Uhhhh, anybody home? Again, I hate to trouble you, just have a small matter to discuss. Then, like I said, I’ll leave you be. However, it is quite urgent and, well, I’d hate to bring in hotel security on a thing like this. Really prefer to solve the problem just between ourselves. Simpler that way. I’m sure you feel the same, keep things easy, light.

TONY                         ummmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

CONCIERGE, off     Mr. Reynolds??

TONY                         ummmmmm Just a minute! Uno momento!

Tony frantically moves about the room trying to hide all the flipflops and pieces of flipflop that he can. He shoves pieces under the bed, into the suitcase, in the closet, in the bathroom, anywhere, so not a vestige of flipflop remains in sight. At the same time, he keeps calling out “Uno momento! Just a minute!” over and over again.

The concierge continues knocking and he raises his voice.

CONCIERGE, off     Mr. Reynolds, I’m not sure what’s going on here, though I’m sure there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation for all of this and if you would just open the door we’ll clear up any misunderstandings. But I must insist, you see, as much as I would like to let us both go about our business and call it a day, that this is my job – well, I’m sure you understand being a working man yourself – and while we may not enjoy every aspect of our jobs to the same degree, what’s expected of us, of how we conduct ourselves, doesn’t change. It can’t change, otherwise there’d be chaos. Or not full-fledged chaos, not looting in the streets, but just general disorder – and so I guess if we could avoid that, I’d greatly appreciate, like I said, you opening the door, so we can sort this all out. Now how does that sound? Sound good?

At that moment, immediately after the concierge has finished this speech, Tony opens the door.

The concierge stands on the threshold, surprise dissolving to an awkward smile.

CONCIERGE Thank you, sir. Mr. Reynolds, sir.

TONY Oh, yeah, no problem –

CONCIERGE Thank you for opening the door, sir.

TONY You’re uhhhhhh, welcome, yeah.

CONCIERGE Straighten this up right away –

TONY What?

CONCIERGE Pardon, sir?

TONY                         Straighten – I’m sorry – you said “straighten this up,” “straighten this up right away,” but what like – I mean, I mean, what would need straightening? Because I’ve just been in my room. I mean I went down to the beach for a little bit, I’m not gonna lie – but the sun, I don’t – I don’t think it’s agreeing with me so much. Kind of disappointing if you must know. I booked this trip –

CONCIERGE            Yes, thank you, sir, we can talk about all that, but first would you mind if I stepped in the room.

TONY                         Inside? Uhhhhhhhhhhhhh

CONCIERGE            No reason to be alarmed, sir.

TONY                         Yeah. No, of course not, it’s just – I’m in the middle of something kinda here, and –

CONCIERGE            Two minutes, sir.

TONY                         Two minutes? Two minutes what and you’re outta here? You’ll leave? Not that, you know, not that that’s uhhhhh –

CONCIERGE            Two minutes is all I need.

TONY                         For?

CONCIERGE            For?

TONY                         Yeah, what for? Two minutes for what?

CONCIERGE            Well, to clear up a matter.

TONY                         Clear up?

CONCIERGE            I promise, a few questions and I’m out of your hair.

TONY                         You said that already.

CONCIERGE            Well, I meant it. Sir.

TONY                         Uhhh, uhhhhhh. Yeah. OK. Come on. Come on in, I guess.

He steps back, allowing the concierge to enter the room.

                                   Sorry about the, you know, the state of things –

CONCIERGE            No problem, sir.

TONY                         - as they are. Or aren’t. I’m usually much better if you can believe it.

CONCIERGE            No doubt, Mr. Reynolds.

TONY                         Tony. It’s Tony. You can call me Tony – if you want. If you don’t want, it’s fine too. Ummmmmmmmmm

The concierge takes a position as close to the center of the room as possible. During the following, he does a slow 180, scanning half the room top to bottom. Then turns and scans the other half. All as inconspicuously as possible.

                                   So what can I – what I can help you fellas with? You said you had a few questions for me? Though I can’t imagine the subject matter.

CONCIERGE            Yes, sir.

TONY                         Now please, I’ve told you, please call me Tony. It’s what I would prefer and, well, you know what they say –

CONCIERGE            No, what do they say, sir?

TONY                         I was getting to that. About the customer –

CONCIERGE            The customer, sir?

TONY                         Tony, please, for the last time. Jesus…

CONCIERGE            Apologies, sir.

TONY                         So is this – uhhh. Was there a problem with my credit card or something? I mean is that it, is that all? Because I can give you another one, no problem. Truthfully, I wasn’t sure of the limit on the Visa I had you put down. That’s my fault. If you need a new card, just ask. Because you know I should have gone with the American Express now that I think about it. Crazy limit – way too much, more than I would ever, could ever charge. I don’t even know why they approved me for such an amount. Not that my credit’s not bad or anything, it’s actually on the high end of – of the scale.

Tony watches the concierge, waiting for him to respond. Nothing.

                                   So is that it, is that what?

CONCIERGE            Is what what, sir?

TONY                         Why you’re – why you needed to talk to me.

CONCIERGE            I’m afraid not, sir.

TONY                         (small) Boy I wish you’d call me Tony.

CONCIERGE            No, the matter I came here to discuss was a complaint.

TONY                         But I didn’t lodge any.

CONCIERGE            I know that. Not you, sir. Another guest.

TONY                         What? Who?

CONCIERGE            Well, you understand we like to keep these things anonymous, sort out one end, then the other – to avoid any contention.

TONY                         Oh. So is uhhhh – so is this complaint – it’s not – I mean, it’s not like it’s against muh-muh – me, is it? Because I don’t see where it could be. Because I’ve pretty much stuck to my room, as I’ve told you, since checking in. Had very few encounters, if any, with other guests. I guess I just don’t see how. And if anyone was complaining about me, they would very well, most likely be a liar. Because I’ve mostly stayed to my room. I don’t like the sun, you see. A little sun goes a long way with me. I burn – I burn so easily, doesn’t matter the SPF, I can lather myself and it – the rays still get through somehow. So best to avoid altogether is, uhhh, is my general policy.

CONCIERGE            So you weren’t down by the pool yesterday afternoon?

TONY                         yesterday? What time yesterday? Uhhh, no. No. I think I was taking a nap.

CONCIERGE            Around 2pm.

TONY                         No, no. I was up here – in my room, uhhh, umm – resting. Yes.

CONCIERGE            At 2pm.

TONY                         Or thereabouts, yeah. Yeahh, uhhhhhh

CONCIERGE            Because we have a report –

TONY                         A what?

CONCIERGE            A report, sir.

TONY                         But I thought you said you had a complaint.

CONCIERGE            They’re one and the same, sir, the report was a complaint.

TONY                         The report was the complaint?

CONCIERGE            Yes, sir.

TONY                         And this report was about me?

CONCIERGE            That’s what I’m trying to get to the bottom of, sir. Of course, we’d like to give everyone the benefit of the doubt –

TONY                         Why don’t you just do that then? Why don’t you just go with that and we can – we can put the matter behind us? Because I really don’t think we’re gonna get anywhere with this line of questions.

CONCIERGE            You didn’t go down to the pool yesterday afternoon?

TONY                         Uhhhh, not at 2pm.

CONCIERGE            So, are you saying you went down to the pool at a different time?

TONY                         Uhhhhh. Well, I mean – yes. Yes. I was there a bit earlier, closer to one forty-five.

CONCIERGE            1:45?

TONY                         Yes. So you see it couldn’t have been me, whoever this complaint was about, because while I might have been down at the pool –

CONCIERGE            You just said you were.

TONY                         - I was, but – as I pointed out, at an earlier time.

CONCIERGE            Fifteen minutes.

TONY                         So the timeline – your timeline – it doesn’t – I mean it doesn’t work out anymore. Does it? It’s just off now. It couldn’t be me.  The person you – the person the complaint’s, the report’s – which I’m still confused over because those things seem like they should be different, be separate – the person it’s – whatever it is – is about.

CONCIERGE            A guest of the resort is claiming he saw you take his –

TONY                         PLEASE! NO MORE! I CAN’T TAKE IT!  I GIVE UP! IT WAS ME, I STOLE THOSE SHOES! BECAUSE I HATE, I HATE, I HATE FLIP-FLOPS!!!!!! AND THIS IS WHAT I DO TO THEMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM

Tony throws open the closet – the bathroom – pulls flipflops out from under the bed, everywhere he’s stashed them – until the room is brimming with flipflops once more.

The concierge’s reaction is huge!

Then, before a word can be said, Tony rushes to the balcony and flings himself off the side. Concierge rushes after him. Looks down.

A couple seconds. Then we hear a small splash below.

The concierge walks downstage and addresses the audience directly, in a dopey Southerner Gomer Pyle voice:

CONCIERGE He landed in the pool.

Pause.

Music kicks in. Daft Punk’s “Get Lucky” featuring Pharrell Williams.

The concierge starts to dance in a really cool, idiosyncratic fashion.

Soon, he is joined by Tony, who comes back through the hotel room door, soaking wet.

They dance to the music. The audience is encouraged to get up and join them.

THE END