#man i cant wait for pristine cut

[lucidpeech]

our eternal dance

[cruoren]

the void in him had turned carnivorous. the hunger in him had surged at the behest of days spent behind steel walls until he had begun gnawing at his own heart, driven delirious with the dullness of mundanity. the violence here is like a balm, the blood a salve he bathes in. carnage turns cathartic, and it clings to the supreme leader's gloves, where he had ripped out the guard's spine and held it clutched in his grasp. the bones clatter to the ground when he strews the thing aside with barely a grimace. his heart had grown to crave more-than-usual in its recent abstinence, fueled further by its desires. in his other hand, he casually twirls the buzzing lightsaber about. catharsis, indeed, he thinks, after entertaining meetings after assemblies after demonstrations of organizational nature for the past few months. that the negotiations with the outer rim warlords had gone wrong was an inconvenience for the first order, but an entertaining one nonetheless.

in truth, he had barely registered hux's permission over his mind's own insistence that he did not require it. yet, he had waited still. this is politics, and in such statecraft, he knows to adhere to the chancellor's lead. stood at the archway of the fortress, he had waited until the word had been given and the authorisation passed quietly between them like a guillotine, a swift sentence.

his own uniform is stained carnelian — red wraps all around, in his body and mind, until it’s all that is left for hue, splattered across intricate, golden embellishments. a few steps are taken, almost swaying, over a body, or two, which hux's precise blaster bolts had neatly seen to. he sheathes the saber, quietude befalling over the terrain with its hungry buzz silenced. when he returns to the chancellor's side with heavy strides, he is mindful of where he tracks blood, sweeping his cloak aside 'lest it taints the pristine white fabrics.

@acharnemcnt says, teasingly: ❛ good boy. ❜

the imperious remark stuns him into a moment of inaction, catching him quite off-guard. irritation rears its head, but a strand of warm satisfaction, too, wraps betwixt his ribs like a serpent, wringing poison, almost suffocating in its entirety. he cuts it in half before he can fully process its presence. his head cants to the side, brows furrowed. the flush that stains his features is roused merely by exertion, he is certain. a glove comes to wipe a smudge of — someone — off his cheek, dark gaze flickering, dashing away from the other man. instead, he looks onward to the aftermath, the graveyard he had constructed in minutes, ❝ i sensed the beginnings of their ploy hours ago. ❞ ren asserts, halfway between a genuine complaint at having been made to wait to counterattack, rather than being permitted to handle it prior, and an attempt at manoeuvring toward a distraction.

consequently, in statecraft, ren will heed; but when polity fails, he holds no qualms in exacting his own means of governance. ❝ have my knights escort you back to the ship, see if you can rewire the comms (...) i'll attend the remainder of the reception on my own. if it's half as welcoming as the deliberations, i shall enjoy myself thoroughly. ❞

[accio-that-gay-shit]

Match Made || Bleville (and minor Drarry)

In which Draco is forced to help Harry get Blaise and Neville together.

Draco nudged his friend in the side once more. "Blaise! Focus! We've got a test in a couple days!"

Blaise looked at him. "Hm? Oh, yeah. Right. Sorry.."

Draco rose a brow. "What are you even looking at?"

Blaise just shrugged, so Draco peered around Blaise to follow where his gaze was seconds before. His eyes fell on a table with two Gryffindor boys. Potter and Longbottom.

"You're staring at Potter?" Draco asked with a raised brow, looking back at Blaise.

The Slytherin seemed taken aback. "What? No. That's your man. ("He is not!" Draco argued) I was looking at Longbottom if you're so nosy."

Draco raised a brow, still scowling at Blaise's assumption from before. "Longbottom? Why?"

"I dunno. Have you ever listened to one of his plant rants? He-"

"I have not, nor do I have any interest in doing so." Draco said flatly.

Blaise rolled his eyes. "You're so rude to him. How come you just came to a conclusion of what he's like? You don't know him."

"I'm rude to everyone, and you haven't spoke to him either" Draco pointed out. "Now can we go back to studying?"

Blaise grumbled something and Draco pulled the book out once more.

<><><><><>

"Neville?"

"Hm?" The round-faced boy looked at Harry.

"You seem distracted." Harry pointed out but Neville just shook his head.

"M'Not just thinking is all.." Neville mumbled, a shy smile etched on his face.

Harry glanced in the direction Neville was staring off, and noticed the blonde Slytherin and his friend. Harry looked back at Neville, a confused expression on his face. "Are you looking at Malfoy?"

Neville looked at Harry with a raised brow. "No? I wouldn't take him from you."

Harry scowled and rolled his eyes. "Nope. Never in a million years would I like Malfoy. Who were you staring at then?"

"Just Zabini."

"Why?"

"I dunno. Have you ever heard him joke around with Malfoy? He's really funny."

"What? Firstly, I try to avoid Malfoy. And Secondly, since when do you listen to Zabini and Malfoy?"

Neville just shrugged and tried to change the topic. "So in Professor S-"

"Whoa wait, we're not dropping this" Harry said, a sly smile playing at his lips. "Do you like Zabini?" He asked, dropping his voice to a whisper.

Neville's face flushed. "...No...?" He said, though it came out sounding more like a question.

Harry grinned widely. "You do! That's so cute! Oh my Merlin, you should talk to him!" Harry said and Neville shushed him since Harry's voice had risen and they caught the attention of others in the library.

Harry blushed from embarrassment. "Nothing to see here, folks!"

After a few seconds, no one was paying attention anymore, some looking away with a mutter of 'weirdo'.

"I cant." Neville said. "You know how bad I am at conversations" He stood. "Just don't tell anyone, Harry." He then walked out of the library. Across the room, Harry's green eyes met Draco's silver. It seemed something similar was happening to the Slytherins...

With one quick movement, Harry stood and made his way to the blonde Slytherin. He slid into the seat next to him, that Blaise Zabini had occupied not a minute before.

"What are you-" Draco started with a raised brow, but Harry cut him off.

"Shut up Malfoy. Listen, I'll clarify something. I don't like you. I can not stand you in the slightest. But I need your help with something." Harry said through gritted teeth, he never thought he'd have to utter those last few words. Oh how it pained him.

Draco looked at the other, a bit confused, yet amused. "Well would you look at this. Golden Boy needs my help. Who'd have thought? Certainly not me. I-"

"Shut. Up. I'm not done. Firstly, if you're a git, I will not hesitate to hex your arse off." Draco threw his hands up in defense.

"Alright, alright. I'm listening. What do you need then?"

Harry smirked, proud that he got the Malfoy heir to listen. "Brilliant. So, I was told not to say anything but-"

"Then don't say anything" Draco interrupted with a roll of his eyes. Harry pulled out his wand with one quick movement and held it dangerously close to the blonde's throat. "Alright, I'm listening for real this time" He squeaked, his voice a tad higher then before, as he continued to glance down at the wand.

"Great. Interrupt again and I'll take away that lovely voice of yours" Harry spat out, narrowing his eyes, his voice drenching in sarcasm. Draco gave a quick nod to show he understood and Harry lowered the wand but didn't pocket it. "So. As I was saying, you've got to swear you won't say anything."

Draco was quiet for a moment and Harry raised his brows. "Oh, I'm allowed to speak now?"

Harry scowled. "Just say whether you'll tell or not."

"I won't. Sweet fucking Merlin on a broomstick, will you just get on with it?" Draco narrowed his eyes, and by his expression, one could tell he did not want to be here in the slightest. Harry made a low growling noise and raised his wand ever so slightly to threaten Draco, who got the message. "Bloody hell, alright. I'll try to stop being such a git. Though could you please just get on with it" He said, though the way he said 'please' was not sincere in the slightest.

Harry rolled his eyes, muttering "I highly doubt that," But he lowered his wand once more. "But back on the topic, the thing I needed to tell you was..." Harry drifted off as he wondered if he should actually do this.

"That you're madly in love with me? Spit it out, Potter."

Harry's expression turned to one of disgust. "Ew, no. The thing is.." He took a deep breath and locked eyes with Malfoy. "Neville likes Zabini."

Draco's eyes went wide. Longbottom liked Blaise? And Draco was fairly certain Blaise liked Longbottom... "So what do you need my help with?"

"You're going to help me get them together."

Draco received a detention for exclaiming too loudly in a library.

Walking out of the library, Harry tagged behind Draco, who just groaned. "What do you want now? You just got me a detention and-"

"Firstly, you got yourself that detention. Second of all, I said you're going to help me." Harry said, crossing his arms.

"And if i don't?" Draco retaliated with a scoff.

Harry gripped his wand so hard that his knuckles turned white. He clenched his teeth. He gripped the front of the Slytherin's robes, pointing his wand at him. "Do you really want to risk that, Malfoy? You really want to risk ruining your pristine pure-blood face?"

A whimper emitted from the blonde and he shook his head. "O-Okay i'll help. I'll help." Harry let go of Draco.

"Great. Now. How?"

"You're telling me you don't even have a plan?" Harry glared and Draco took a step back. "Right, okay.. Oh! Maybe we can go to like Hogsmeade as a group, and then just kind of ditch them so they have to spend time with one another?"

Harry thought for a couple of moments. "You know what Malfoy, this might actually work!"

"The only thing is coming up with a reason for us four going together."

"I've got an idea, but you're not going to like it." Harry grumbled, obviously already not liking his own idea.

<><><><><>

"Oi, Blaise. Can we go to Hogsmeade tomorrow? I need more parchment and I don't want to take Pansy. She'll just drag Granger along and then I know we'll be out all day" Draco said, with a sheepish grin.

Blaise laughed. "Sure, as long as you let me go to Honeydukes-"

"Sorry to interrupt Zabini, but I have a question for Malfoy" Draco looked up to meet Harry's eyes. "I was wondering if you'd like to accompany me tomorrow on a trip to Hogsmeade?" Harry tried to hide the regret that he was feeling.

Draco gave him a look that meant: This was your plan? "Blaise and I are already going to Hogsmeade tomorrow. Maybe you can hangout with Longbottom instead." Draco hissed, trying to remind Harry of what he thought the original plan was.

"Oh but my dear Malfoy, I believe this is a better idea." Harry said through gritted teeth and a bitter smile. Blaise, obviously not knowing the context, was just confused.

"How can you be so sure about this, Potter? I'm sure the other idea was a much better one." Draco muttered, narrowing his eyes at the other.

"I'm just sure. This is a better plan. So meet me at Hogsmeade tomorrow with the snake."

"Fine. But you better have the plant." Draco spat and Harry nodded, walking away. The blonde turned back to the table, to see Blaise giving a confused, yet amused expression.

"Firstly, that has got to be the weirdest way that someone has used to ask someone out on a date. Secondly, I told you Potter was your man!" Blaise exclaimed and they caught the attention of most of the Slytherins.

Draco's face flushed and he buried his face into his hands out of embarrassment. Merlin he was going to kill Potter for this terrible idea. "You're still coming with. I need a wingman. There's no way I'm going with him alone."

Blaise laughed and shook his head, despite agreeing with the blonde nonetheless.

<><><><><>

Draco couldn't believe he agreed to this. Well, Blaise and Neville were talking, but he had to stand next to Potter.

"Hey! Lets go into the three broomsticks!" Draco suggested and the group nodded. After a few moments of sitting there, they had gotten their drinks and Draco stood up, throwing a look towards Harry. "Actually Potter, there was something at Honeydukes I wanted to show you" He said, giving him a look and Harry caught on, standing as well. "You two can stay here. We'll be back in a bit. Save our seats"

As Draco and Harry were walking out, Draco mumbled to the Gryffindor. "This is only for the plan."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Obviously."

Blaise looked at Neville, who had a pink face. "So.. er.. Hi.." Blaise said, sounding a bit nervous.

"Hi" Neville replied, with the same amount of nervousness.

"Er... It's Neville, right?"

Neville just gave a nod and they both fell into an awkward silence. "Erm... Did you know 85% of plant life is in the ocean?" Neville mumbled, trying to make a conversation.

Blaise smiled and actually looked genuinely shocked. "Really? Even with all the plants up here?" Neville gave a slight nod. "That's actually really interesting! Do you, er.. know any more plant facts?" Neville smiled and gave a nod.

Blaise just grinned because he knew the answer when he had asked the question.

<><><><><>

"Oh! And Brazil is named after a tree as well-"

Draco groaned as his friend rambled on about the new facts he had learned from Neville the day prior. The blonde shoved his face in the common room couch as he laid stomach down on the couch. "Okay! I get it! You're in love with Longbottom! But do I really have to hear every little fact he tells you? I only asked what happened when I left!" Draco complained.

Blaise rolled his eyes. "And I told you. He told me a bunch of plant stuff like-" Draco growled so Blaise moved on. "Fine. After that we were getting along pretty well, and he offered to go to Hogsmeade with me next weekend!"

"Thats good for you" Draco mumbled, only half genuine.

"How was your date with Potter?" Blaise asked, wiggling his eyebrows.

Draco scoffed. "We only went to Honeydukes and talked next to that new fountain they put in."

"What did you talk about?" Blaise asked with a smirk.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Stuff"

"What kind of stuff?"

"Just... stuff."

Blaise laughed and shook his head.

<><><><><>

A month later in the library with Draco and Blaise...

"I have another date with Neville tomorrow. Oh, did you know-" Blaise started but got rudely interrupted by the blonde Slytherin.

And this is where Draco cracked. "Yes! I do know that 90% of the food we eat comes from just 30 plants! Yes, I know the earth has more than 80,000 edible plants! And YES I KNOW THAT 80% OF THE EARTH'S ORIGINAL FORESTS HAVE BEEN CLEARED OR DESTROYED!"

Across the library, Harry was sitting alone and was reading. Hearing the blonde's exclamation, Harry immediately knew what it was about and just snorted.

The next day when Blaise went out on a date with Neville, Harry caught up with Draco. "Blaise isn't as bad as I thought he'd be" Harry mumbled. "They're good together, yknow?"

"Yeah, but it can still be bloody annoying. We did a good job, right? I'm going to say that this was still our doing. They wouldn't be together if it weren't for us" Draco said, staring as their friends walked into Hogsmeade.

"You know, all we did was put them in the same room together." Harry pointed out but Draco shushed him rather rudely.

"Nope. We did this."

"'We?'"

"Shut up Potter before I take all the credit"

Harry rolled his eyes and laughed quietly. "Despite all this work, and our friend's dating, I still cant stand your guts, Malfoy."

Draco scoffed and rolled his eyes, despite wearing a minuscule smile. "The feeling is mutual."

And with that, the blonde walked away to prepare himself for the load of plant facts he was about to receive when Blaise Zabini came back from his date.

[bubbabobabubbles]

pt.2 of my ac x bnha crossover

uhh i really don't know how to do links that'll be fun to figure out

your hair is going to be split dyed (naturally) and the right side is going to be a pristine silver the other side you pick if you cant pick black goes well for what I have planned soo have fun!

it was near the middle of the day when one of the trouble makers came to class, more specifically our golden-eyed girl. she and her counterpart had already been briefed about what was going down and what they needed to do. now that day was the day the duo was supposed to come back to school, and it was a matter of time when they were supposed to come back. they had their mutual friend nagisa shiota fill them in on what the tentacle monster could do so she wasn't surprised to see two students get called to the front with blades in their hands. the first words she ever comes from a teacher were,

"try to strike me with those knives."

now if nothing piqued her interest that defiantly did the trick. who wants a knife to the head? she watched from a higher-up place as the other students murmured and their eyes widened in confusion. seeing as they were hesitating she jumped down from her spot and stole one from someone else's hand and rushed at the man with a murderous glint in her eyes and swung.

slash

swing

swish

the students were confused by the girl pinned on the ground, she got pretty close to karasuma and she hadn’t been in the class before. who was she? why was she here? and why in the HELL was she trying to stab their teacher? they all stared in bewilderment until karasuma's voice broke them out of their stupor, "I'm assuming you're [redacted] (y/n)? where's akabane karma, I heard you two are always together." with his almost monotone voice it seemed like more of a statement than a question.

"he was still sleeping and I was getting bored. I'm also assuming you're not the ugly octopus we have to kill? or are you and you just look like that so you're not disgusted with your own looks, ugly ass mother fu-" the girl gets interrupted by seeing a head of blue hair, "hi nagisa! is this the octopus or is he an actual human?" the girl was giving a bright smile, with her face still being held on the ground, but still smiling nonetheless. the class however was shocked, how did this sweetheart of a human being know this vulgar girl?

"no that's karasuma. i thought I showed you pictures?" the golden-eyed beauty (cause you're beautiful) finally escaped the grown man's chokehold and responded, "I mean yeah, you did. i was probably sleeping through. you and karma have long enough conversations as it is, it was probably the day i moved into his house." another look of mild shock came across the class. just who is this girl? well, it seems that she picked up on the confused looks she was getting and finally introduced herself, “oh hey everyone. please call me (y/n) happy to meet you.” the class looked at her and deadpanned. why was she so cheerful for class?

“the only reason even got close is because no one could sense you.” the girl that was finally upright looked at the teacher with a raised eyebrow and stated with a small smug smirk, “you could sense me i know it. i was just faster than you.” the teacher just stayed quiet, knowing it was true. ignoring the amazed looks coming from her peers she walked up to the blond female she stole the green blade from in the first place and handed it back to her with a wink, "this is yours, thanks for letting me borrow it." a light flushed look came to nakamura and started stuttering. with a laugh (y/n) motioned for karasuma to resume his teaching.

everyone was still standing outside while karasuma was talking and finishing his lesson, everyone was quiet standing to listening to him. what people had not noticed yet was the student standing on top of the hill with strawberry milk in his hand just chilling and watching from afar, waiting for a certain someone to notice him. as those two certain people turned around one had the reaction he expecting while the other didn't look like he knew what he should do to do.

"KARMAAAAAAA"

"hey there angel." the demon-like male chuckled to himself as the girl attached herself to his front after sprinting up the hill they were on and he supported her with one hand since he had his strawberry milk in the other, "you seem happy this morning what's up." she just smiled like a child, "karasuma is a good teacher I like him!" this made karmas interest peak. (y/n) was like him, neither of them liked teachers, both of them have wanted to kill teachers in the past. what was so good about this one? "oh really?" as the two conversed oblivious to the curious looks the rest of the class were giving them.

"yo nagisa, how are you doing? it's been a while" the sudden foreign voice interrupted their thoughts, "karma... you came back." this made karma give a close-eyed smile which sent shivers up the blue-haired boy's spine, especially since (y/n) had a small one to match.

karma walked down the hill with the girl still situated around his front with his hands holding her thighs and her hands around his neck to hold herself up. "so this is the infamous korosensei? i didn't expect nagisa to be completely right about that part, you really do look like an octopus!" he let the girl's thighs go in favor of setting her down, which she let him do.

in exchange, she gave a small grin and hid her hands behind her back. karma nodded to her and they walked up to their teacher in a sweet manner, thinking they were going to introduce themselves korosensei started to talk, "you're _____ (y/n) and akabane karma correct? i heard both of your suspensions were finished today. BUT i don't think that's an excuse for both of you to be late, and (y/n) you didn't need to attack a teacher the first time you show up here and come back." the yellow octopus' face turned purple with an 'X' in the middle. karma gave a soft and short chuckle.

"sorry it's hard to get back into things you know? feel free to use my first name, the same thing with (y/n). we both think it's less formal." he then held his hand out to shake, "it was nice to meet you, sensei!" something that korosensei didn't realize was that there was something on the student's hands, and another student slipping away. "likewise! let's make this a good and fun year."

as korosensei reached a tentacle to shake karma's hand, as soon as they made contact the tentacle gave a loud 'POP'.

"nyuu!"

karma slid an anti-korosenei knife into his hand from his sleeve, siding it around fast enough to give a fast swipe to their teacher's abdomen. not noticing (y/n) behind him, she had the same substance along her arms down to his hands, so jumping on the alien and getting into contact with about 4 tentacles making them explode as well. The knife she had acquired a couple of minutes prior was sitting comfortably in her hand, managing to cut another tentacle off with a slightly crazed grin resting on her features. the teacher finally had enough time to jump back, looking down at his arm with no emotion clear on his face.

"huh. these really do work against you and you're pretty fast. we tried cutting them into small pieces to stick to ourselves," he gestured to the back of (y/n)'s thigh and showed their hands, "but y'know i really didn't think you'd fall for a trick as simple as this. i mean as an assassin yourself you'd have to be an idiot." it was (y/n)'s turn to finally talk, "adding onto that you jumped back pretty far! aren't you a bit too frightened by some junior high kids?"

"we've heard that you had people call you "korosensei" because it means unkillable, but..."

"are you really that easy of a mark?"

'don't go anywhere, korosensei. we'll show you what it's like to be killed.'

as the duo kept lightly taunting the alien teacher kadae looked over at nagisa who seemed to know the two, "nagisa, it hasn't been long that I've been here and joined class-e so I don't know them. what sort of people are they?" with kadae asking the question a couple of the other student's tuned in so they could listen in as well.

"well for both of them, we were all in the same class for two years, i know that karma and (y/n) have been friends for years before that though. when we were in our second year, both of them were suspended for committing acts of violence repeatedly, even though whenever (y/n) fought she was always provoked first but none of the teachers believed her and since she's usually on edge it's not easy to sneak up on her to do anything. those are the things that landed them in e-calss" when they looked back at the two walking towards their general direction they just stared. "but with the situation we're in, they're probably going to be at the top of the class."

others looked at the light-haired boy in mild confusion, kadae finally asked, "what do you mean?" for a second nagisa took a breath looking at the two flipping the rubber blades around, "if you're looking for people that are proficient in weapons, sneak attacks, and foul play. you can bet those two are some of the best, and they'll probably excel. (y/n)'s really good at hand-to-hand combat too."

once the students got into the classroom and got situated, korosensei gave out a quiz, they were supposed to finish this within a certain time limit but the yellow man had been punching the wall with his tentacles making a squishing sound that started to annoy everyone there.

"what is korosensei been doing?"

"he's doing wall punches isn't he?

"yeah, karma and (y/n)'s comment's probably got to him. he's probably mad."

"his tentacles are too soft to do any damage, though."

okano seemed like she finally had enough of it and looked up from her desk with a scowl on her face, "that's it! enough with the squishing sound! we're taking a quiz here!" korosensei turned and nodded his head with vigor. "p-pardon me!"

in the back of the class terasaka and his buddies looked towards (y/n) on karmas lap, "why does she do that?" the red head looked at the girl in his lap and looked back up again, "we're very close and she's tired cant you see?" her breathing was even and her eyes were closed, no one even noticed she got up from her seat to go and sleep in karmas arms.

the three males shrugged and asked loudly, "so anyways, karma. you sure about this? the monster's pissed." yoshia looked back at the couple and spoke up next, "and we're sure as hell not getting involved." muramatsu then gave his two cents to the situation, "sure you two wouldn't rather be secluded at home again?"

karma gave a quiet chuckle as to not wake the sleeping girl in his arms, "if you were about to be killed, f course you would be angry." at that moment (y/n) decided to stir and say something about the situation, "it's a bit different to just having someone fail miserably and pissing himself instead."

terasaka being the prick he is this early in the show yelled at the newly awaken girl and red-headed boy, "wha- i didn't piss myself! are you two looking for a fight?!" karma being well... him, didn't lose his temper and kept quiet while (y/n) stuck her tongue out and pulled down her bottom eyelid. korosensei heard the last comments and decided to speak up, "hey, you guys over there! don't make a ruckus during the test!"

'tell that to your tentacles.'

"sorry korosensei but (y/n) and I have already finished," he pulled out a singular ice cream cone filled with strawberry icecream, "so we're just going to sit here now and I'm gonna eat my gelato." korosensei still looked angry, "not in class you won't!" korosensei paused between his words, "tha-that's my gelato i bought from Italy yesterday!"

'it's yours?'

karma looked up with a fake gasp while taking a small bit on his tongue, "oh it's yours? i just found it chilling in the staff room." he handed it off to the sleepy girl to hold who took it with care, taking a small bite surprising some of the people in the class, cause who bites their ice cream man?

"it was such a pain to fly through the freezing stratosphere to keep it from melting!" karma gave a smile while (y/n) just looked up at their teacher and took another bite making the other people in the room grimace, besides karma.

"is that so? well whatcha gonna do about it then?" she took another bite, "hit me?"

kororsensei's face turned red with anger. "I will not! I'll just take what's left of it." he began to walk(?) (glide??) over to retrieve the frozen treat until, "come on now, hand it ov-" a popping sound was heard from down below. korosensei had a look of shock cross his eyes, seeing one of his tentacles was gone for the second time that day, around him on the ground were red BB pellets.

karma and (y/n) had taken out their guns and began to shoot at him, (y/n) being slightly faster had shot one off with a white BB, while the others kept missing since the yellow octopus began doing with a cold sweat beginning to drip of his head.

"gotcha again sensei!" karma laughed while (y/n) gave a small grin, korosensei gave a groan in disapproval. the two troublemaking kids had walked up to their teacher the shorter of the two in front. their classmate's eyes were wide at the scene happening before them.

"we'll use these tricks however many times this takes. neither of us really care if it disrupts the class." (y/n) was the one who spoke up this time, "if you don't like this," she pressed her gun to his chest, "then you can kill us, along with our families."

karma walked in the front now opening his mouth to say something, "but from that moment on," he 'stabbed' korosensei with the remaining gelato (y/n) had put back into his hand prior, "no one will ever view you as a teacher. they'll all view you as just some murderous monster." karma took a step back, letting the gelato go, leaving a red stain on his robes.

"we'll be the one's to have killed your existence as a teacher"

"here's our tests by the way, the answers are probably all correct." (y/n) handed the papers to their teacher. "bye sensei! let's play again tomorrow too!" karma turned back to give a quick wave (y/n) doing the same with a small grin on her face, "we'll see everyone tomorrow as well!" as they were walking out he slung an arm around her shoulder and walked out.

'they've always been quick-witted.' nagisa thought to himself as korosensei wiped off the gelato with a sigh. 'those two have always been the same though...recognizing there's a line korosensei can't cross if he wants to continue being a teacher.' his teacher looked down at the wipe with the red looking like something else, 'karma's are going to use some cheap tactic to irritate our teacher. but they'll probably end up using (y/n)'s intelligence which can see others true intentions and his skills at handling others, no matter the type to clash with people.'

"they both seem like smart student's but, just as karma said," he held up thier papers karma's showing a 100 and (y/n) showing a 97, "if i want to remain a teacher I'm not allowed to kill or hurt them." he flew faster after putting the papers away. "so how am i going to deal with both of them?"

it was finally the end of the day, "see ya, nagisa!" said boy raised his hand in reply, "yup! see you tomorrow!"

"hey, look it's nagisa!" some kid came up behind him, continuing with his conversation with his friend, "he must feel right at home down in e-class." his dumbass friend replied, "what a lame guy. he'll never make it out of there unless he shapes up." the conversation just kept going, nagisa's eyes shining with self-doubt. "plus, i heard that (y/n) and karmas suspension is over now, i heard they're both in e-class too!" when will they shut up? "that's the pits! i would rather die than wind up there!"

glass shattering could be heard from both sides of the males, "really? you'd rather die?" a familiar voice rang through nagisa's ears. "how about right now then?" the other voice that normally accompanied it spoke. a small screech escaped the chubbier ones mouth, "akabane! ______!" they ran away not living up to their words with obvious fear reaching across their faces.

karma and (y/n) threw their glass bottles behind them, "ha like we'd actually do it."

'who'd want another suspension after discovering such a nice plaything?'

the duo walked over to their friend with steady steps, "karma, (y/n)..." nagisa started but the red headed male interrupted, "so nagisa, there's something we wanted to ask you." the trio walked through the scanners, scanning their passes as they went through. "we see that you've got a few notes on our teacher and that you know a few things about korosensei." nagisa paused for a second to think about his response. "uh, yeah. kind of."

"does he really get mad if you call him octopus?" (y/n) interfeared.

"an octopus?" he thought back to a paper that was graded, "uhm no i think it's the opposite. i mean he always draws himself as an octopus, and he always picks the octopus in video games. and when he was digging around in the sandbox..." 'octopus pot'

nagisa sweatdropped at the memory. "so if he's making jokes like that, i'd say that the octopus thing is kind of like a trademark, a one-line gag." karma laughed to himself, "i'd just thought of a silly idea." nagisa looked at (y/n) noticing she was being quiet and not being surprised when she was getting talked to by some blond kid, "what are you up to now, karma?" still not looking back he responded, "I'm just happy." the teen finally turned around, "i was just thinking about what i'd do if he was just some monster, but it's turning out to be he's an actual teacher."

the train passed behind the boy making it darker and his golden eyes stand out, a sadistic smile coming across his face. "so i finally get to kill an actual teacher." this is something no one has seen in a while, "i mean, the last one died went and died on his own accord." nagisa gave a small gasp but kept his emotions to himself.

(y/n) had finally finished her conversation with the blond guy that was honestly horrible at flirting by telling him that she had a boyfriend. after he backed off and apologized, she found out his name was kaminari denki and that he went to U.A. that's where her older sister went. they did end up trading socials after having a really fun conversation and agreed they could be friends.

after that, she went back to her friends as they got onto the train and they went home for the day.

[dbhilluminate]

DBHI: Equilibrium, Ch. 1- “Resistance”

Characters: Noah, Gabriel (mentions of Amanda, Connor-50/Zach, Hannah Kamski, Sarah Graves) Word Count: 6,577

Noah ignores Gabriel's demand to leave him be, in favor of following the order of his commanding officer and attempts to make up for Zion's less-than-welcoming attitude toward Archangel's newest cadet.

( Chapter Art by triple_jays_art , Co-authored by grayorca15)

• Chapter Index • Characters •

——

December 16th, 2040 - 7:48 PM Elevators were invented in 1853. As a concept, they hadn’t changed much since. The basic premise was the same - it was a mechanism designed to facilitate vertical travel moving in an upward or downward direction through a given building. Any other considerations beyond that were purely for aesthetic or superfluous reasons. Androids, as the world now knew them, were standardized in 2022 with the introduction of Cyberlife’s ST200 line. Countless revisions and additions to their available lines had been made since. For machines that were intended to look, sound, downright smell like the humans who designed them, they were as refined as could be by the time the company went belly up in 2039. Gifted with all the nuance and intricate thought process his designers saw fit to imbue him with, Noah found his opinion of the elevator car’s default Muzak could be summed up in one word: “Abysmal.” He reached out to give the parting doors a helpful shove, rather than wait for the car to slow to a standstill. The once-pristine glass scraped and squealed as it was forced open ahead of its automated cycle, and he desperately forced his way through the narrow opening in a subdued fit. A few fresh scrapes joined those already present on the worn-down laminate as he stepped out, he just couldn’t get away from it fast enough. “Whoever thought this place ever needed Barry Manilow instrumentals deserves to be arrested,” he huffed as he straightened out the cuffs of his coat and tugged at the lapels. “If I find out they’re living so much as within a kilometer of this island-“ Noah cut himself off at the sight of the landing he had been brought to. It wasn’t quite post-apocalyptic levels of ruin and carnage, but this semi-destroyed corporate hallway had seen better days. The lattice-covered windows lining one wall looked southwest unto the half-frozen river some thirty stories below, snowflakes wafted in and out of sight. Whatever damage control shutters it once possessed had not been closed in the last couple of seasons. The gusting winter wind blew through spiderwebbed cracks, holes the size of tennis rackets let in draft after draft. The linoleum floor was dirty and slippery, partially crusted with ice. A vile mix of particulate, dirt, dust, and other once-airborne contaminants had since discolored the pearly white surface into a streaky, blotchy affront to the eyes, though it couldn’t outdo the dated choice of traveling music Noah had stepped away from. So long as he didn’t trip and fall and tarnish his spotless black and white jacket on it, the mess was avoidable and therefore tolerable. A second closer look at the floor revealed just what he had hoped to find- the minute impressions of footprints in the grime. And recently made, no less. “Well, now, it seems like you’re not as dense as one might think. Come to see what files are left to peek at, are we?” There wasn’t much left that hadn’t already been procured, copied, or transferred, with the original servers lugged away. The company had long since stopped keeping records on paper. What printouts were left to be found there, in the ransacked marketing cubicles, were nothing but financial negotiations and signed contracts, nothing of the actual building of androids. Maybe that was what his quarry found so peculiar, though. It was all before their time, if only slightly. While most other Zionists might have liked to think Cyberlife was ancient history, for the two like-faced individuals (who were the only two of their kind still functioning) it was closer to present tense. They may not have known the company at the height of its power, but indirectly or not, they were getting an education. The tower, which was once the epicenter of every major business move Cyberlife ever made, still boasted an eerie imposing aura of mystery and grandeur. “Or maybe I’m giving him too much credit,” Noah mused. He wasn’t one to tolerate long periods of silence very easily. He inched and sidestepped his way around broken slabs of plaster, looking between the floor, walls, and ceilings for any hints he was still following a fresh trail. Only so many indicators gave some of the damage away as new, compared to the razing anti-industrialists had once wrought on the place. Part of the bankruptcy settlement had involved giving the laid-off personnel time to clear out their possessions, though a few had brought along friends of the not-so-peaceable variety. Like something out of The Odyssey they sprung from hiding in plain sight had ransacked every level they could before being detained and charged with destruction of property. What was especially ironic was that they’d discovered most of those ‘friends’ were deviants who’d bribed the financially drowning board members for one last chance to get in and spit in the company’s eye before it went under. A few doors were closed, though most had been left ajar. Toward the end of the corridor, Noah found exactly what he had hoped- fresh skid marks were a door jamb had forcibly been ripped out. The boot prints with their Archangel-issue tread didn’t continue on, they led inside. Whatever name had once been stenciled on the door had long since been evicted from the premises. At a glance, it looked like the office was the former domain of some marketing bigwig. Cabinets lined the walls, drawers had been pulled out and documents rifled through if not missing completely. A few once-living husks of ferns in decorative pots positioned in every corner had wilted from lack of water and direct sunlight. But as with any office, the main attraction of the room was the sizable desk taking up the center of the space, toward the window at the back wall. Two empty guest chairs had been shunted aside from their spot facing the desk and propped against a wall. The third -a posh, overly-cushioned monstrosity- sat on the opposite side of the desk facing the cracked window. There was no sign of life to it, save for the few wisps of wavy brown hair peeking up from over the headrest. Although the chair was listing precariously about fifty degrees to the left, it hadn’t yet tipped over and spilled its occupant onto the floor. The man was canted far enough over in the opposite direction to counteract the leaning, even in his sleep.

He didn’t bother with a knock or offer so much as a “hello” to announce his entrance and wake him. Noah merely swerved around the desk, paused for one last check to see this was who he expected, then leaned in with a perfectly-disarming smile.

“Living dangerously already, are we?”

Gabriel’s blue eyes ripped open with a hard twitch as the chair tipped off-balance. Both hands shot out and snatched the lapels of his coat before Noah could move back out of his reach, but the falling momentum yanked him off his feet and sent both androids tumbling back over the head of the chair. In one fluid movement, Gabe’s hand reached for the weapon lying on the desktop, tossed Noah onto his back, rolled up onto his knees and pressed the barrel of his gun to the chest of the already-surrendered intruder. Noah may have been afraid if he didn’t know the detached look in his attacker’s eye half as well as he did. It wasn’t his first time encountering the protocol, but it was his first time on the other end of it. It was just a reflex, however overkill it may have been. All he could do was hold up his hands and wait for him to terminate the combat protocol, which he did a few seconds later. Gabe blinked hard and focused his eyes on the man on the other end of his gun, waving and grinning impishly. “...Noah?” His voice nearly cracked as he angrily squinted in recognition. “Who else would it be?” “Oh, fuck me-” The brunette groaned, slammed the gun back to the surface of the desk with a resigned sigh and pressed his fingers into tired eyes. “Don’t sneak up on me like that.” He managed to sound disappointed, the way he said it. Maybe that was the first real peaceful recharge he had gotten since being released, maybe it was his first substantive nap ever. Noah might have found the overreaction to being roused from it excusable, if not for one small (vaguely personal) affront. Noah mirrored the annoyed squint currently being leveled at him, and the grin dropped. “With apologies, then, but how exactly was I supposed to wake you up, hm? You know if I so much as touched you, I’d have been leaving here with a limp wrist.” Gabriel didn’t appear to appreciate his reasoning. “Is it so hard to knock!?” he whined in as high an octave as his emulator would allow, and pushed himself up off his knees. Noah met the reaction with a raised eyebrow. Try as he did to come across as unflappable and reticent, Gabriel could bring the same melodrama when sufficiently motivated. And nothing brought it out like a good needling by his fellow RK900. “Well, aren’t we touchy today,” he noted as he scooted back out of the surly-faced, black-claden shadow of his look-alike. Noah stood up at a presumably-safe distance before he smoothed down the new ruffles marring his jacket. “I wasn’t expecting visitors,” Gabriel hissed as he begrudgingly picked up the chair and sat down in front of the desk, buried his face in his hands and mimed rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Clearly.” Noah paused and frowned to appreciate the show of fatigue. “How long has it been since you slept?” “I haven’t,” Gabe mumbled into his palms, LED blazing red to testify to his less-than-optimal operational levels. “That was the first time I’ve managed to, so thanks for waking me up.” That at least explained the bitter edge. Whatever he’d been doing before he decided to try and take a nap wasn’t so obvious. He’d been released from Archangel custody nearly five days ago and hadn’t done much to start settling into Zion since, much less on the thirty-first floor of Cyberlife Tower. Gabriel hadn’t even set up so much as a cot to lay on. A building this many stories, there had to be more comfortable places to make due. “You’re welcome,” he offered in as perplexed a tone as he felt. Noah finished his readjustments to grab one of the disused office chairs, then dragged it over and spun it around to face Gabriel’s bowed head. “Put your feet up while you’re at it. I’m sure my questions will bore you back to standby in no time.” “Questions?” Gabe bristled, though it wasn’t an abnormal response for him- more like a constant state of being. The glare he shot back at his would-be interrogator looked hairy enough. “Why are you here? I thought I told you to leave me alone.” “Yes, you said, I disregarded. Unfortunately heeding your word means contradicting my given orders,” Noah scoffed, paused to let the information simmer, and sat down. It wasn’t as if he could forget the minor thrashing their parolee had given him a few days prior. “Again, sorry about that- if you don’t like it, take it up with Director Graves. No one says you can’t.” Gabriel didn’t bother to seethe at the mention of her name. As much as he resented Sarah’s suspicion, he understood it all the same. “And what is it she thinks you’re gonna find me doing that’s worth wasting your time to invade my privacy?” he asked, eyes nearly rolled into the back of his head in exasperation. “Napping isn’t a crime.” It was very tempting to tsk at the remark, quip something witty about how it wasn’t against the law to sleep, but to go out of one’s way to visit a location of such import as Belle-Isle…? That did impress Noah as peculiar enough to be followed up on. After all, it wasn’t that long ago trouble came rolling out of this place in waves- economic, societal, and otherwise. Was Gabriel so naïve as to not realize how this looked? Noah shrugged, crossed his legs, and leaned on one armrest for poise. No sense in letting it go to waste when he had taken the time to arrange it, all therapy-office-like. “First of all, this isn’t a waste of time in my book. None of this is.” Whether he agreed or not, Gabriel needed help getting adjusted. “Second- you know that as a cadet of the academy, there are dormitories to be claimed just up the street from the plaza?” Gabriel closed his eyes in place of rolling them again and managed to project a twinge of hurt. “No one wants me there. You know it as well as I do. Better to just seclude myself where it won’t make anyone uncomfortable.” “So instead you decide to hole up in the offices of the very same company whose commanding artificial intelligence built us in secret for the express purpose of undermining whatever city-state Jericho evolved into?” Noah popped his brows, having deadpanned his thoughts into one droll summation, then scoffed again with a dismissive wave. “No, nothing suspicious about that at all.” “Better to be as far away from those I was originally sent to terminate,” the other retorted, kicked up his heels on his desk, crossed his arms and looked away from him. The combination of gestures made him look more like a sulky fifteen-year-old than a five-day-old former killing machine. “Who am I gonna hurt here?” The records as to who all he had actually terminated were unclear. It seemed Gabriel (and the other nines) had only been sent after a singular target apiece, which he had failed to kill. Luckily for Reese, Detective Reed had been running late that morning and intercepted Gabe on his way to off his boyfriend. Unfortunately for Gabriel, threatening the life of Gavin’s partner had sent the policeman into an overprotective, adrenaline-driven rage. Gabe may have failed at completing that objective, to the offense of only two individuals, but he’d certainly offended a few weak-hearted types in ever turning those icy, piercing eyes on anyone since. Noah declined to humor the subject just yet. This wasn’t about what his counterpart may or may not have done. It was what he was presently doing, drifting about the city like a rudderless kite. He could use a guiding hand if not a chaperone, even if he didn’t yet accept needing it. “If you’re so paranoid about the possibility that you might do something along those lines, you know you can ask me for help, right...? Once upon a time, I went through the same phase.” “I’m not paranoid, but they are,” he explained in as flat a tone as ever. Gabe didn’t even bother to acknowledge his offer of help or look over at him, only stared out the broken window at the back of the room. Intentionally or not, it did face northwest- in the vague direction of Zion. Noah followed his eye-line, drummed his fingers, and considered where it was aimed before rising to the bait. He knew better than somehow many handouts Illuminate could spare to every stray deviant left on their doorstep. Demand far exceeded supply these days, sadly, they could only do so much with what they were given. Even with being the superior model he was, clawing his way up the societal ladder from where he’d started had been anything but easy, even if it didn’t look it; and Gabriel was only just starting out. He couldn’t get discouraged that fast, it was unbecoming. “Yes, well- my solution was to talk at them until they tired of trying to not listen. You’re taking the opposite tactic with the whole ‘man of few words’ bit, and it’s making people uncomfortable.” “Yeah? And?” The brunette shot him an expectant look and popped his brows. “That’s just fine by me, I don’t want anything to do with them- all their fake smiles and bullshit ‘best advice’...” He wasn’t completely wrong on that front. Zion’s squeaky-clean do-good public image didn’t hold up in every situation. Their less-amicable nitpicky side took some getting used to. Neither agreeing nor disagreeing, Noah drummed his fingers again. “Then why are you still here, if it’s all so intolerable? Why not leave?” The sullenness lifted a notch, replaced by a kind of forlorn resignation. Gabe closed his eyes and pushed back in his chair a tick further to brush off the discomfort. “Where the hell else am I supposed to go, Noah…?” The question hung for a moment just long enough to convey the genuine frustration in it. “Outside of Zion, this country’s attitude toward Androids is even more twisted than it was before the revolution- you’ve got Watchdogs harassing humans for even suggesting we should integrate into society, and setting fire to deviants in the streets outside of Illuminate safe-zones.” Not that he was afraid of a fight, that much was crystal-clear. Noah tensed his jaw for the moment and let him continue. “And yeah- other Zion installments are popping up all over the country, but they’re all cut from the same political cloth, and they’re all gonna know my name and face. So leaving ain’t gonna do shit to help my reputation.” Gabe’s LED spun up and flashed a yellow blip as he sighed, bit his cheek, and let go of the anger. “I just keep hoping... if I keep taking my orders and doing what I’m told… sooner or later, something will fall into place and I’ll figure it out. Whether I realize ‘I don’t like this’ or ‘I’d rather do that’, I’ll get there eventually. What I do in between is irrelevant, as long as I stay out of trouble.” “So you’d rather just hang yourself up on a peg somewhere like a forgotten coat?” he challenged with a chiding tsk. If there was one thing Noah couldn’t abide more than silence, it was self-imposed quarantine. He had seen it in a few of their series, the recluses and the malcontents who sooner self-terminated than try to move forward without Cyberlife holding their leashes. The common denominator among them was the tangible lack of allies, friends, or in other words, a home. And homelessness wasn’t very becoming of any android, let alone an RK900. He wouldn’t let Gabriel default to it that easily. “Honestly, you can do better. Shutting yourself up on an island isn’t going to help your reputation any more than it is your state of mind. And trouble of one kind or another will find you.” Noah had plenty of colleagues and stacks upon stacks of case files that could attest to that. “Did you not see the decommissioned levels on the way up? Zion is still working with City Hall to dismantle this place week by week.” “You’re wrong,” he replied in a matter-of-fact tone, “They’re restoring the production lines to accommodate Zionists linked to the Lazarus protocol.” Gabe glanced aside at Noah when he went quiet at his correction instead of replying. “There’s a reason I prefer to observe instead of talk, you know. People tend to flap their lips when they think you’re not listening.” “It still doesn’t explain being here if you’re looking to get away from said people.” Noah frowned and drummed his fingers once more -index to pinky, then back again- like sequentially raking the keys of a piano. “A less-trusting individual might even accuse you of planning to sabotage such a project. Based on nothing but proximity.” And therein lay the paranoia aspect again. “They can think all they want. They’d still have to prove me guilty.” True. And just as truthfully, Noah wasn’t exactly interested in helping Zion make any kind of case against Gabriel. He wasn’t given the best hand to begin with- waking up to deviancy was the only thing he could do to survive. It was that or join his fellow ‘suspect’ in a recycling bin because Amanda would sooner command him to self-destruct than allow him to sit in a cell on the Roman’s Road until he cracked. The latter had managed to terminate both his target and himself: offline and gone meant they weren’t catching half as much flack as Gabriel had in three weeks. Only in that sense was 'dead to the world' preferable to vagrancy. “Well, now I can say I gave you fair warning.” Gabe offered no more than rolled-eyes by way of thanks. Noah just shrugged. “You’re certainly guilty of being overtired, like a fussy, six-foot-three toddler. I know what it looks like on that face.” “Still trying to get the hang of sleeping,” he mumbled as he pressed his fingers into his eyes, over his brows, dragged the hand down his face and grimaced. “What a useless subroutine…” Sleeping to recharge (as opposed to going idle and conserving power) was one of their most basic emulations, the same way they faked their respirations or the ‘need’ to blink. “At the very least, it goes a long way in making you look cute at rest,” Noah remarked, as casually as he could, without a trace of a glib smirk to accommodate it. “So not so useless. I’ll take a picture next time and show you.” Gabe scowled and didn’t hesitate to roll his eyes again, as obviously as he possibly could. “How useful,” he mumbled through an annoyed growl, that did little to deter the intruder. “Depending on who you ask, yes,” Noah reached over to grab one of the upturned boots resting on the desk and gave it a pointedly playful shake from side to side. “And if you intend to sleep in this position, you’re doing it wrong.” Gabe hesitated to respond, closed his eyes, and curled the corner of his lip as if to consider the critique a moment. “If you came out here to tell me I’m sleeping wrong, you can save your breath and just leave.” “Actually, it was tertiary to that. If I had known it was sleep you were after, I would have offered you the apartment sooner.” The sudden revelation was enough to give him pause. Gabriel stopped in the middle of whatever retort he’d planned to give and did a double-take, then blinked and shook his head. His LED went solid yellow for a whole second for added effect. Confused was good, it was easier to pry through than huffy stubbornness. “Sorry, I must have misheard.” “No, you heard me right.” Noah grinned and arched one dark eyebrow for effect. “It’s an old second address I keep in Delray. Very low key, has all the basics if you need somewhere to crash for a few weeks, the only thing it lacks is a view. What do you say?” The more he talked, the quicker Gabe’s expression took a hard turn from confusion to annoyance and anger. That twinge of paranoia was acting up again, Noah could practically hear it, but the fatigue wasn’t helping to keep him level-headed either. “And why the hell would you offer it to me...? Out of the kindness of your heart?” he mocked, lip curled and teeth bared like a snarling dog who had suddenly been backed into a corner. “Or do you just want to keep me somewhere that’s more convenient to get to so it’s easier to check up on me? Somewhere you probably have a spare key to...? Thanks, but I’ll pass.” “Is there some clause in your operating manual that says everything ever offered is or was done with ulterior motives?” Having recited a perfectly made-up guideline to better sell his exasperation, Noah grabbed the toe of Gabriel’s boot and shoved his foot off the desk. The sole hit the floor with an unimpressed thunk, and the man tightened his jaw with a twitch in his nose before throwing it right back up. “If it seems as if I have any, I’m sorry to say they’re purely coincidental. But being appointed your probation officer needn’t be all about the negatives. I’m trying to help.” Name one other person who has, he added over the open comm without missing a beat, before Gabriel had time to retort. Gabe squeezed his eyelids together in a hard blink and turned his head away from him a twitch at the unexpected switch to nonverbal conversation. It was an endearing tic, but in his current frame of mind, Noah could only roll his eyes and re-cross his legs in a display of aggravation. He slumped down in the seat to lean his elbows on the armrests, fingers steepled. You seem to find it so tiresome to listen to me speak out loud. Is this better? “It’s worse if anything,” he replied out loud, a refusal to allow him the courtesy of an open line. Conversing audibly at least allowed him to choose his words carefully- a conversation held through instantaneous thought had the potential to catch any stray angry quip before he had a chance to filter it out. “Don’t need you in my head, too.” “Aw, it can’t be that aggravating.” Gabe fidgeted, turned and stared out the window for a few moments of silence before he asked belatedly, “Why do you have a second apartment?” No Android in Zion had so much economic success in the suburb’s short life that they could afford two properties. In keeping with his reputation-precedes-himself ways, Noah had since proven he was no ordinary android. The circumstances surrounding how he ever ended up in a Detroit landfill may have been hazy, but in the time since he had painted over that dubious origin story with more than a few fantastic stories of his own making. “Having a bolt hole or two isn’t so expensive when you pick the right property market.” Noah paused to let that sink in before he let the other shoe drop. “Would you believe me if I said it used to be the cache for a black market bio-components racket? Cyberlife settled all nice and neat on paper, but you wouldn’t know how many of their former staff knew enough of the production process to cobble together cheap knockoffs to sell. Delray was a favorite place to stockpile those spare parts for a few hot months after Belle-Isle was sealed off. Zion knew about it, but Archangel wasn’t quite able to spare any investigators. Enter stage right… moi.” Gabriel remained passively quiet with a suspecting leer even as he carried on a bit longer than he needed to. Noah shrugged and made a face at the memory of those nights of recharging with the constant wail of traffic and heavy machinery just two doors over. It hadn’t been the best few months of his short life. “That was before I got the loft in Brightmoor. Had to start somewhere, and I wasn’t so picky and impatient to think I couldn’t tolerate a warehouse district for a while. I just needed somewhere to put my feet up-” “I think you’re full of shit,” Gabriel finally interjected, cutting him off just at the end of his sentence. “Archangel database has that case filed under a Warrendale address- little out of Zion’s jurisdiction, but Android business is Archangel’s business.” It seemed that while he was spinning his tale, Gabriel had been doing his research. Maybe not so much a dumb grunt after all. Noah grinned and flashed a coy pop of his brows. “My my, sharp as a tack and handsome… we were definitely cut from the same cloth.” “Don’t hold your breath,” Gabe mumbled, “The similarities end there.” Once again the grin dropped in the face of such a tempting moment to layer on the sarcasm. Noah made an exaggerated show to brush the dust from the armrest but didn’t break eye contact. “Evidently, because the ‘old me’ would never settle for the likes of this to catch forty winks. If a detour was somehow meant to show you have no compunctions about demeaning yourself, guess what? Mis-sion accomplished.” He topped off the statement with three sardonic claps. Gabriel rolled his eyes and half smirked at the jab until Noah reached over to swipe at the foot closest to him a third time; this time, instead of letting it happen, he threw his feet down and smacked his hands away with an angry glower. “But I can’t sleep knowing you’re here when you could be resting somewhere better. No strings attached, Gabriel, really.” “You’re not going to stop offering unless I agree, aren’t you?” He took an even breath and let out a tired sigh as he rolled his head back against the headrest, slouched in his seat, and closed his eyes. If he was too tired to continue arguing, it counted for something. Without offering a straight yes or no, Noah scanned the desk for anything he could lob in his direction; unfortunately, the only items available turned out to be a few craggy crumbs of plaster that had rained down from the ceiling. After a quick, half-assed calculation, he swiped one of the larger chunks off the desk and tossed it at the headrest directly beside Gabriel’s face. The resulting flinch didn’t happen, however- his chair swiveled out of the way a hair as the piece dropped over his shoulder through empty air. Only one sullen blue eye opened to half glare at him. “Don’t make me bribe you with the cashmere slippers. They were supposed to be a Christmas gift, but here you’ve forced me into spoiling the fact they exist.” Gabriel blinked, if only just so he could open both eyes and roll them in exasperation. If this kept up, he’d be pre-emptively rolling his eyes every time he opened his goddamn mouth. “Say I accept- you gonna back off and give me my space? Or am I gonna come home to your smug face sitting on my couch ‘cause you’ve still got a spare key?” Noah pretended to think on that, and rubbed his chin before answering with a lazy half-smirk. “When time permits, maybe. But I do have more obligations than hounding you, sad to say. It’s called ‘having a life’.” Given how their first few encounters had gone, it only seemed like a newfound hyper fixation, but if he had his way he would devote more time to making sure this mopey doppelgänger started on a better foot than he had. It wasn’t the answer Gabe was hoping for, though, and he dug his heels in one last time in resistance. “Then what’s the point of trading free, private housing for somewhere I gotta see the judgmental looks of my neighbors at the start and end of my day, and pay rent…?” The academy did pay, but not well enough to handle rent, which was why they offered dorms. “Oh, for-” Noah bit his lip and clenched his fingers, projected frustration, and abruptly stood up. “You’re telling me you’re afraid of a little dirty glance here and there? I thought you were tougher than that.” “Afraid…?” Gabe popped his brows and shook his head. “No. I just know I don’t want to have to put up with it when I’m already short-tempered enough as is. How well do you think it’d go over if one of the neighbors got too nosey and rubbed me the wrong way on a bad day?” Considering how he’d been greeted at the start of this encounter, it was a fair counterargument. He couldn’t fault him when he thought about it like that. Gabriel already harbored a short fuse for annoyances (as exhibited by the sudden reversal he’d pulled when Noah snuck up on him not even ten minutes prior), and even if he could put up with the stares for a time, after repeated exposure to a frayed temper, the day would eventually come that he would snap on somebody and make things worse. Either way, there was still something to be said for Gabriel knowing what he didn’t want. However small that desire might have been, it was still a step in the right direction. So far, it seemed Gabe was on his way to becoming one of those newly-deviated that took their sweet time figuring out how to settle in. As much as Gabe may have wanted to pretend otherwise, he and Zach Preston (formerly known as Connor-50) weren’t so different in that respect. “I’d like to think that by then, given enough time to settle and mellow, you’d know which battles are worth the fight.” Noah mused as he crossed his arms and turned his gaze to what lay beyond the vantage of the window. Off on the far side of the northern riverbank, Downtown’s recurved skyline glowed almost tauntingly. “But until then, you either say yes to this fixed address, or I promise you I won’t let you out of my sight.” “You’re already hounding me enough as it is,” he scoffed in reply. “Am I...? Have you seen me and my immaculate hair anywhere near you these past four days?” “No, what incredible restraint,” he deadpanned in the most sarcastic tone he could manage. A tired look settled into the corners of his eyes at the thought of having to deal with these unexpected visits every day until he agreed to his terms. He knew exactly what he was doing. “If I say yes, will you give me my space?” he attempted to reason, turned and looked him in the eye to make him promise. “Please?” Noah smiled triumphantly and donned the most sincere, earnest face he knew, lifted one hand as if to testify on a sacred text. “Hand to rA9- if you need space, you can do better than some corporate wasteland.” Gabriel leered, still skeptical. He knew he wasn’t just going to leave him alone for good, but he could try to leverage this compromise in his favor. “I mean it- no more unexpected visits or sneaking up on me while I’m napping.” “You can hibernate for the winter if it so pleases you,” Noah sighed and finally indulged an eye-roll for himself. “Maybe it’d even explain the surliness. Part of your code was ported over from an ursine model.” He certainly had the build enough to pass for a man-shaped bear. “That’s not a ‘yes, sir’,” Gabriel chided in a fatherly tone as he crossed an ankle over the opposite knee, leaned over one arm of the chair, propped his fingertips upon his temple, and peered over at him with a half-lidded gaze. Something about the way he said it, coupled with the change of posture, shot an electric surge up his spine like a chill. The next glib response he had readied didn’t seem so witty all of a sudden. It wasn’t an unpleasant ruffle to his metaphorical feathers, but for being so unintentionally undermining, that just wasn’t fair. Noah scoffed defensively and tried to play off the familiar feeling of evocative attraction. “Pft. Excuse me? ‘Sir’ ? Last I checked, I was offering you a favor. You’ll get my affirmative when you actually get off your duff and go there.” “I’ve already met you halfway on something I don’t want to do,” Gabriel countered, his conviction unwavering. “This is the part where you accept my deal and stop being pushy.” Noah’s fingers twitched as it hit him again, and he stumbled over his resolve. He wasn’t wrong, there was a certain turning point at which the teasing became more work than fun, and they were rapidly approaching that boundary, about to cross another he wasn’t comfortable admitting to. “Oh, very well. Fine, there’s no possible way the rest of my night could get any more exciting than this,” Noah fumbled as he fished through the interior pocket of his coat. Fingertips brushed the tarnished old nickel key and removed it from its nest to set it down on the desk with a final-sounding clack. “Take it or leave it. That’s the spare to the spare. If you’re not there by tomorrow morning, I will find you again.” Gabriel exhaled through his nose in irritation as Noah transmitted the flickering address across his HUD out of the corner of his eye. “Oh, don’t worry, I believe you,” he replied, disappointment in his tone at being pressured into accepting. He didn’t even bother asking why Noah had a third apartment as well, lest he get another bullshit story that would keep him there even longer. “My bullshit meter says different,” he sassed back. It was his loss if he didn’t want to hear it, that yarn was even more extravagant than the first. It involved mannequins. “Must be a false positive from the last story you told.” “Hardly. That one was ninety-percent true. So what if I amended where it happened?” Noah turned away and let the question hang. He had made his bid at being accommodating, for better or worse. What came of the offer now was up to Gabe. “It doesn’t matter. I’ve said my piece. Good evening, Mr. Sourface-Surname-Pending.” That was the end of the conversation, as far as he expected; but then again, since they’d met, Gabriel hadn't been one to meet expectations, and this was no exception. “Hey-“ Noah stopped cold on his way to the office door as a firm hand wrapped around his bicep (almost wide enough to curl completely around it). Cheeks flushed a soft shade of red and he shot a dirty look down at it before he glanced down to meet the mirror’s warring gaze. The last time Gabe had worn such a look he was being interrogated in Archangel custody, just before he deviated. Creased brows and crinkled eyes coupled with a curling frown and a strong jaw made him look much older than intended, but it really sold the impression of inner conflict and gave him the appearance of seasoned maturity. The term handsome didn’t do him nearly the justice he deserved. But as much as Noah enjoyed looking at him in such proximity, he only waited a few moments before impatience got the better of him. “What is it now? Believe it or not, I do have obligations to attend to.” It wasn’t a lie, her name was Hannah. Gabriel scowled a little harder and averted his eyes before mumbling a quiet “thanks” under his breath. The word came out so soft it was virtually a whisper. Despite the gruff and grizzly persona, it seemed Cyberlife had bestowed upon him the manners befitting an RK-series, or at least the sense to know when he should be grateful. Tempting as it was to crow victoriously over attaining that much gratitude (however small), Noah pulled his arm away. Only a chosen few were ever permitted to touch his jacket, and Gabriel hadn’t yet earned the privilege. “There, now. Was that so hard?” “You have no idea,” he grumbled through gritted teeth as he swiped the key off the table, turned the chair around, and leaned back to stare out the broken window again. It wasn’t the reaction he’d been hoping for, but it was a start. Then again, Noah wasn’t sure what he’d really been looking for when he’d tracked him down that night. Orders aside, he’d just wanted to see him.

[strigwrites]

Werewolf

At the tailor, I broke down into tears when my favorite lilac shift still couldn’t fit over the swell of my stomach that had not yet seen fit to rid itself of the lingering remnants of a very long and tiresome pregnancy. My first guest since the last party had fallen to tatters at the hands of my daughter’s untimely arrival promised to be an interesting one; the dream of an Ishgardian minor lord come to deposit antiquities into my able hands set me alight, and there wasn’t a chance that I would be lazy about arrangements. The seamstress wrapped her arm around my shoulders and assured me that this was all normal, this was all fine—new mothers were just like this. Can you imagine? She gestured at her assistants as I tried to dab the moisture from my eyes without ruining my paint-perfected face, and they used the cataract of my own tears to bring out a printed charmeuse number that she promised would drape beautifully and give the illusion of a smooth silhouette and naturally I was sold on the spot.

I haven’t yet gotten used to the sound of crying interrupting the pristine wonderland of my own home. I can hear it from across the manse and it will tear me out of a particularly moving concerto with a much prettier wail coming from the orchestrion as I choose the perfect music to accompany the evening to come. One thing they don’t tell you about motherhood is that your instincts don’t necessarily blossom gently like a soft and beautiful flower; in my case, they warped me like a monster in the night, turning me into a beast of instinct alone. The call of my own flesh and blood snaps me out of the luxury of quiet cogitation no matter the hour and into a realm of reaction where my feet move faster than my rational thoughts and carry me until this warm and fragrant bundle is at my chest. I comfort my dearest girl, but in some alien way, she soothes me as much as I do her. I wish I had more agency than this, I don’t want to be riled and pacified this way. Sometimes I even resent her for this spell that has come attached to her, the way it controls me.

It is with this sort of inefficient, maternal mind that I spend the rest of the day readying for this man’s arrival, right up to the last minute spent rearranging a vase that doesn’t quite sit right, but I just can’t seem to fix. Don’t tell me he won’t notice; the point of being a good hostess is that your guests should never even have a chance in the first place, their environs should be that immaculately manicured. Much to my delight, his eyes barely left me from the moment I opened the door and for a time, I forgot all about the demolished and imperfect flesh beneath the exquisite couture. I forgot about my daughter, about my new duties, about my transformation. For a moment, I could be unabashedly the woman I have cultivated for years. My highest calling.

Luther, of course, lets me work relatively unimpeded. He’s happy to see me happy, he says, and of course I believe him. We worked our way through heaping dishes of cheerful greens, all three of us, and platters of minuscule hors d’oeuvres so finely constructed by the culinarian-meets-architect in our kitchen that a part of you died just to devour it. The conversation was uncomplicated—a bit hollow, actually—but I was starved and so I smiled through rich cuts of meat, I laughed over a positively indecent tart that boasted plump slices of stone fruits made glistening with a syrup glaze, and I was ready to deal business over after-dinner coffee (Thavnair’s finest) when it happened. The crying.

I rose so quickly that I nearly sent my chair toppling as I rushed to answer my child’s squalling that I knew not even the nannies I’d hired could quell. I was embarrassed in spite of the understandable nature of my interruption; thank all gods past and present for Luther’s presence to keep him occupied as I was forced to answer to the awaiting baby, for there were no other guests around to cover my absence. Naturally, the dress was no longer suitable for a woman like me, betrayed by my body’s own awakened functions, and it took two maidservants to lower my gown enough for my daughter to nurse. Time was ticking and Luther was to leave soon on business of one sort or another and I felt the pressure of expectation crush me slowly. I swallowed the lump in my throat, for crying would only set me back more time than it would already take for me to return.

I nearly ran the length of my home when we had finished, slowing my steps just before I thought they’d be able to hear my arrival to look as natural and unflustered as possible in spite of the unseen maelstrom I brought with me. I rounded the corner with a quippy phrase already on the tip of my tongue to make my entrance known, but that’s when I saw something was amiss.

“...Anthony?”

Luther’s back was turned to me as he directed several staff, his towering body blocking a full view of the table. My heart leapt into my throat.

“Is everything a--”

“Stay there.”

“What happened?”

“It’s best you don’t concern yourself with this, so do as I say and just stay there.”

I knew at once that the night had been ruined and I felt my blood boil and hiss within. I grew indignant and plowed forward, the heat already rising into my face, spreading through my body in a white-hot rush. My husband turned to block me, but the glimpse of the elezen’s limp body being wrapped in black shroud detonated a slow-ticking timebomb that even I hadn’t realized was planted within.

“Are you joking?! You murdered him?”

“Now hang on...”

“This is why nobody wants to come to our dinner parties!” I shrieked.

“Lower your voice...”

“Do you understand how much effort I poured into this? I am at my most hideous and I have spent all day trying to make myself and this place presentable to company! I brought out the good serving boards! I had a massage!”

“Something was wrong...” I wouldn’t let him finish. Tears were already welling up in my eyes as I squared up in my husband’s shadow and voiced my indignation like a veritable child.

“I-I’ve been trying for ages now to host guests the proper way and so many parties have been ruined! It was already difficult enough and now nobody will ever come to a house where someone’s been murdered! That’s the death knell for entertaining!”

I could hear the sternness rise in his tone, but couldn’t be arsed to back down off the ledge I’d put myself on, and so I just kept on while I had the stage to myself, the lone primadonna.

“There is no sommelier in the whole, wide world who can recommend a wine to wash that bad taste out! Tell me, what kind of dessert says, ‘I’m sorry you heard someone died here, but please try to forget about that little detail and have a good time’?!” It was not my finest moment, to say the least.

“I just want people to love me!” I shouted petulantly, gulping for air as despair bubbled up. As it slowly choked me up, I sputtered my parting remarks. “I am a good hostess! One of the best!”

In the throes my unflattering tantrum, I failed to notice him stoop to kneel in front of me and wait for me to be finished. Even hunched as he was, he was nearly as tall as I am standing, even more imposing than he had been in prior times we no longer talk about. As I scrubbed my eyes with my fists, he offered a gentle, but exasperated, “Are you finished?” to which I nodded.

“Now listen to me,” he began lowly in his perfect gentleman’s cant. “Enough of this fit. He came to harm you. I don’t know how or why, but I took matters into my own hands. To protect you.”

And just like that, the bramble in my chest released its tangled, thorny hold on my heart. A strange chord of warmth plucked and I felt instantly placated. In a moment, I couldn’t remember why anyone found him so terrifying, why this man of means and politesse rattled anyone at all. “Really...?”

He offered a disarming smile in response and swept me up, rising with me cradled in his arms. Just like that, I had everything I wanted and could scarcely recall why I’d been so upset in the first place. What was the man’s name again...? You know what, nevermind. I don’t care.

“You must be exhausted, darling,” he murmured. And gods, was I ever.

[jessipalooza]

The Eye

The night was darker, where hawks wings roosted.

Within the veiled shadows of the forests of Shallowbrook, they ringed the dying flames of bonfires. The young, the old, all knelt before the embers and smoke. However, far from these was the largest caravan, and by it, a fire still half alive. And there within... she stood.

Naked from long, silver-threaded dark hair to ashen, cracking feet, she swayed slowly. Feathers coiled in her grey, wild locks alongside scales, hooked talons wreathed around her lips a macabre belt that trailed into the dead fire. Paint-- or ichor-- swirled over curves and muscle.

At her feet, three stones. At her feet, three deals made. 

Her son had worked so hard shaping them, from the materials she had sought for on her own. What she would receive would fill the frames, become them in the magics of fire and blood and feather, and then... he would have his eyes. It would be perfect. It would be a deal completed once again.

In the cradle of a tree trunk, a baby burbled. The boy's dark hair was just starting to grow, soft and round features still shaping into any familiar pattern. The likeness, around the eye though... was unique.

Dasia took a talon from her belt, and cut a line down her palm. Raising it high, the embers exploded around her-- a gout of flame consuming.

And then, as soon as it was done, she stepped away-- pristine, the paint and gore cleaned of her body, the grey once more washed away to dark and silky locks.

Picking up the baby and a thin wrap, Dasia clucked softly at him. "Ohhh my little precious child, do you know your father is coming? Let us wait for him, yes, just here."

It was no small feat to gather up everything the witch had asked for, and neither was it a small effort to bring it all with him to those shit hole woods - too close to the city for his comfort. But there he was. Smelling of sweat, blood, and the sea. No Vinny, no mutt - just him. 

Karsteth heaved with him a chest strapped to his back. Even for one as strong and as toned as he, there was still considerable strain on his face. Through trees and up hills he journeyed, all until he reached that familiar caravan and the familiar witch in front of it. 

No lust reflected in his eyes upon seeing naked flesh. He had had her before. Twice, as a matter of fact. And the sounds of cooing from a baby told him that the proof of the last fuck wasn't too far. 

He couldn't care less.

Approaching the caravan and the fire that warmed it, he gave no greeting. Rather, he grunted and heaved the chest over his shoulder. It landed on the ground with a heavy thud, dirt pluming out from beneath it. Standing straight, he threw the rope's end across the chest and looked the witch square in the eye with the one he had left.

"Dasia."

The witch smiled, tying off the shawl around her waist. It scraped the leaf litter, but she did not mind. "Karsteth." Her voice was smoky, rich, promising desires but perhaps lying as well. It was hard to tell with witches if they were pretending lust, or making mockery.

However, the coy and smug expression faded at the sight of the chest. Her eyes widened, and she took a step forward despite herself. Power radiated from the place, dark and thick as sap. "You have brought me what I need, then."

She looked up to him once more, excitement in her eyes almost... hungry. "You have completed your part of the deal."

"Yeah, I fuckin' did," he said dismissively.

The pirate turned and sat at the fire, across from Dasia, across from the gifts he bore. His singular gaze drifted to a few critters on sticks, overcooked and charred, but as she cared not for the litter of leaves, neither did he care for a burnt skin. Grabbing one of the 'meals' without asking, he brought it to his mouth and ripped into it. In place of the bitch that traveled so often with him, he was the beast this night.

"Look through and check. My mother's jawbone. My crew's blood. A secret of a dead man. A liar's tongue. Three fuckin' eyes - a whore, a holy man, and a beggar. Hair of a virgin. Amethyst, rock salt, and your fuckin' amber with a bee and everything."

He paused long enough to rip into the critter, stringy, dried-out meat dangling momentarily from his mouth before he sucked it up.

"Check through."

Dropping to knees before the chest, Dasia did not hesitate to open it. Knees against the loam, her fingers traced the metal latches, savoring. In the wood was death. So, so much death. The secret cost she had not needed to ask, for he would deliver without even being told. 

Finally she closed on the clasp, lips parted as she slowly opened it. Within... the loot.

It was not organized. Karsteth was not a meticulous man. The heaped things were rife with rot and the curdled blood, and she minded none of it. Sinking hands into the chest, she reached for bone, for organ, for rock and salt and all she needed. 

Amethyst she rolled through fingers, and nearly purred. Ohhh that was a death, one rich with meaning. The bone-- another needless death, interrupting the cycle, the flow. She ran through the list over and over again in her mind, finding each item. Blood given or stolen, eyes, secrets and--

Her fingers closed on the locks of hair.

Dasia straightened up, eyes wide, lips curled cruelly-- something electrified her skin, turned dark eyes pale purple in an instant. Breath coming heavy for a moment, she coiled the locks around her fingers, forcing a bemused expression.

"You are as good as your deals, Karsteth." She purred, standing. The orange curls still twisted in her hands. "You have brought me all I asked for, and... and more." A laugh bubbled through her lips. "Ohhhh yes. This is good. You have brought me all I need." She lifted the hair and let the dim firelight play over it. “You will get your eye."

Karsteth watched Dasia inspect the loot as he ripped another strip of dried-out meat from the critter's carcass. His one eye leveled on the witch, nude save for a sash, and the look on her face did not go unnoticed. He took another bite, then another, then another, and finally tossed the remains into the fire. There hadn't been much meat anyway.

Stretching one leg out and bending the other at the knee, he let an arm relax over his thigh.

"I better fuckin' get the eye. And I want it now." She waited for a moment, a heavy, silent moment, and then added, "What else are ye willin' to give me?"

She lifted the curls up, watching the light play on them further, entranced for another moment. "With these? You will see your enemies for true. Know them-- where they are. What they do. Always, at a whim. Know them, find them, name them for you, all at a glance!" Her voice was colored with delighted laughter. 

With these I can make you an eye that surpasses all others. All my craft, all the skill that these magics can muster, will go into your eye, Karsteth Dusktide." Her cheeks burned with a heat that was manic, and she brought close the curls, pressing them against her lower lip. "Ohhh yes, this is good news for you, Captain, and poor tidings for your enemies."

Letting her hand drop, she moved back towards the chest. "And let us see it formed, this perfect sight... but one small, small deal."

Taking the ingredients from them, she separated what she would need now, and what would come later. The eyes, the amber, amethyst and salt, the blood. The rest she gathered into the sash, and took to the space across from the fire. A bare stone had been scraped clear for her to stand on, and the price was laid there. Instead, she took the ingredients and the forms from the fire.

"Tell me of the maiden who gave you this hair, and I will make this eye for you... and give you your choice of curse, to lay upon one enemy who has been found with your sight. A true-name curse, a blood curse."

Oh, her excitement had not gone unnoticed. His eye was unwavering on her at this point. Even as he reached for his flask and brought it up to his lips, he kept watching her. The description of the eye cause the hairs on the back of his neck to stand on end, but he would not allow that to show on his face - not to her. He would not grant her that power, not when he had something so similar.

He let her speak, but as she offered him a deal, he leaned forward. "This 'maiden' yer askin' about. The virgin. She means somethin'. That hair means somethin'. Why."

The thrill of what was to come had her in thrall; Dasia was breathless with exhilaration, almost giggling as she spoke. "It does, it does Captain Karsteth, it means a line unbroken, it means a promise fulfilled... it means a chance not lost, oh she was so clever but cleverness cannot hide from fate little Aeya." She stroked the curls with her thumb as the flame played on their shining surface, the reflection in her pale eyes burning and bright. "I know not how you came by this... but it was luckier for you than the girl you stole it from. And I know she yet lives I can feel it still, oh blessings of blessings." 

Her grasp tightened, and several of the strands began to strain against her flesh, snapping delicately in the sooty air. "You have bought yourself the very best eye, the very best magic, the very best spell Dusktide." Some part of her wanted caution, to speak with care--but the magics had her twisted; the things chattered in her ears, made her eyes shift with barely-seen kaleidoscopic magics. What Karsteth offered was more than the key to his own deal, but... to chances thought lost. It was too perfect. 

Her magic-addled sight turned once more to him, and she canted her head. "It means you get the best version possible of this deal, as... payment for the quality of material you bring." Her voice was a purr. "Will you take my newest offer?"

Karsteth regarded Dasia with a keen interest veiled expertly behind a mask of scruff and an uncaring eye. The way that she was speaking and acting, he had rarely if ever seen the witch so happy, and while it does not concern him - what did he give a fuck - it did interest him. His attention shifted to the orange curl twisted within Dasia's fingers, his own ears perking at her question.

He shifted on the tree trunk, adjusting his legs to spread wider. He swung his bow off of his back and rest it next to him before draping both arms across either thigh. Leaning forward, towards the warmth of the crackling flames of the fire, he tilted his head back in consideration. 

"If this hair, this person means so much, what else are ye willin' to offer? What makes that hair so important than the other shit?"

Dasia paused. 

Sliding the hair into her palm, she looked Karsteth over with keen and not wholly-sane eyes. Despite the relaxed posture, the careless words, she could feel his interest rising just as her own had upon sight of the hair. It could be dangerous, she knew, to work with a man like Karsteth. She was old (older than old) and yet men like him still knew how to stoke fear. Where will was strong, magic could not even bend. "Oh, if only..."

Yet... Opportunity flooded in where once had been nothing more than a deal. He could be useful; had proven such many times over. "Mm. I told you, before, when I had promised three eyes to do the work, that I could not make perfection without the right reagents." She had thought he would fail; instead... "You brought me something very rare, and precious; tel'dorei hair." She lifted the locks higher, so he could inspect. 

"We don't have many, these days, and fewer of us with magic. But you found one." Not lies-- none of it was lies, she was sure of it. "A runner, a reader, a seeker, a weaver. Whatever she was, she is of the blood, and so... her hair is worth so much more. Which is why I offer such a curse to you now-- it would be worth my time, to know where others of my ilk linger. Witches do so like to know what witches do."

Karsteth knew Dasia's speech well enough. At least, he thought he did. His gaze remained unwavering from the witch as he asked five simple words, his voice low like gravel and tasting of the promise of blood.

"What's she worth to ye?"

What is she worth?

He had no idea.

Dasia did not let the breath that caught in her throat show; no, she would give him enough to show her interest, but not what this mean in full. Not that this... girl, this virgin, was Aeyanti's daughter, the last of--

"More to me alive than dead." She spoke quietly, with sing song. "Oh, she's worth the lives of half a dozen of my people here-- If you were... some other creature, I'd spill their entrails at your feet now." Dasia's sight was light. "It's unfortunate you are a man, then, because what you want might not be so simple. " Placing the reagents down carefully in a row, she began to organize what she would need for the spell; her own materials, and those the pirate had brought.

As she worked, she spoke. "Let us be fair Karsteth, you know how little I ask for, in return for my magics. Strange items, yes, but not gold-- not kingdoms. Yet, for her? You could ask of me much, and I would give gladly. Any woman you desire, any trophy you could chase-- the luck of the devil himself, even. If you could bring me more than hair."

He considered that offer and considered it heavily. Wetting his lips with a flick of his tongue, her scratched at the scruff on his neck and allowed his one-eyed gaze to finally drift back to the fire. Dancing flames caught his attention as he spoke absent-mindedly. 

"I got my own fuckin' hunt to do first," he said. "But afterwards, if this eye works as it fuckin' well should.... Maybe we can make a deal."

He looked to Dasia at that. "Ye love yer fuckin' deals, after all. And she's just some brat. For now, I'll take the fuckin' deal ye offer. What d'ye wanna know about the bitch? We can talk while ye work." At that, he nodded his chin down to what she was currently doing.

The three baubles drawn from the ashes, Dasia began her work. "Ohh, where she was, what she did-- if she showed magics, if she made deals, what you took and how you took it. Speak of what you saw, and the curse is yours to cast as you will." 

Her hands were quick, and clever; the eyes slid into the etched casings, the old, ichorous blood oozing no bother. She remained unbothered as she took the stones... and pushed them deep into the rotting tissues of stolen eyes. Without a word, the fire in the pit seemed to grow once more, a low and hazy flame that was more heat than flicker. 

"You may speak, but needs must my words are saved for... other things." She tossed a coil of hair off her chest and took up the rest of the reagents... barely willing to let go of the hair. She could use it for her own purposes, better than all of Karsteth's deals... but, he was a clever hunter.

She could give him this, keeping just enough for herself, and get the girl if only she was patient. And Dasia was very patient.

With bare hands, the woman reached into the fire for the wood ash, pouring it through her fingers and over the trio of orbs. There was a strange... twist in magics barely perceptible, and she smiled. When she spoke next, though, it was not words. Not words Karsteth understood. Singsong and low, they seemed to be made for other creatures, whose lips and mouths were larger, more suited for teeth.

Karsteth watched with mild interest, his ears perked to see if he understood any of the 'words' the witch spoke. Offering her a moment to start, he took in a breath and reached for his flask at his hip. The taste of whiskey was a burning one that only succeeded in making his voice harsher, rock-against-rock and full of poison as always.

"Seen her before. Young bitch, on the fatter side. Short curly hair. She had been actin' as a bartender down in Booty Bay first time I met her. Didn't think anythin' of it, though she had some tie to somethin' I'd seen on another person. A boy with grey eyes and a flat bitch with a temper."

He shrugged, taking another pull of whiskey. 

"She was at a similar place when I saw her next. Was there lookin' for a whore for the eye. Ye'd know she was a virgin just by lookin' at her. She wouldn't know what the fuck to do with a man. Couldn't keep her fuckin' eyes off of me the first time and she was gettin' the way virgin bitches do. Figured if I didn't get a whore's eye, could at least get the hair. Was gonna fix her 'problem' as well but another bitch, her sister by the sounds of it, came. Tattooed cunt with black hair. Looked like a whore, spoke like a whore, smelled like a whore."

A cruel smirk spread across his face. "Two fer one."

Her hands worked the magic into the vessels, ash and flame sinking into the stone skins. The words changed their shape, strange and thick, from stone to malleable to liquid... it was repulsive, and obvious, the shimmering of smoke over the work. Each was turned into something beyond what it had been, a heaviness to the air as the small clearing began to fill with blood-scented smoke. Karsteth would feel it, laying on his hair and skin, thick over his leather gear, like a pyre's offering. Oily, greasy, weighted with death.

It carried the scents of a mutiny, of raved seaside towns, of ichor and sea-wet steel. To another, it might be the fall of the city. Magic moved in it, like curled beasts, shifting awake, sliding and squirming through the murk towards the woman at the fire pit.

Despite this, Dasia listened to Karsteth's words, her voice lowering further as she slid the spoils through the flames. From fingers to elbows, the skin of her arms was growing paler-- chalky, cracked, but she seemed unbothered. The only twitch came as he described solving problems.

Her indignation was short lived. As he spoke, painted the picture... Dasia's eyes widened. She did not take take her gaze from the work, but each strange syllable was painted with laughter, bubbling, wicked. She was blessed, then, blood offerings taken and returned tenfold. She knew this whore. She knew this Eye.

She pushed fingers into what had been her niece's flesh, and smiled widely. The best eye, by far for this Captain, but he would never know why.

Taking a breath, she released the magic, and there-- one orb, nearly spherical. Milky and pale, like an egg. "Almost done. It seems you were blessed by great luck.... but did she use magics for you?"

Karsteth halted his words at that, uncertain if he wished to give the witch the details. For a moment, he saw vermilion. He saw his dreams. He saw the vision. For a moment, he felt the pang in his chest, like the steel was still through his chest. But with another swig of the whiskey, it was gone.

"She read some cards."

Unwinding several strands of orange hair from her fingers, Dasia coo'd. "You read cards, little one? Why... what strangeness runs in the blood." Taking the curls, she carefully wound them around the egg, now lifting her eyes to Karsteth.

"Say for me, for this spell, what you want from the eye."

As she spoke, she stepped into the flame, and it grew around her-- the orb settled in her palms, thread-like hair golden in the light as it wrapped around it, made a nest. "Speak, and we shall make."

Arching his brow, Karsteth looked at the little orb and paused, waiting. Speak the spell. Why do you want from the eye.

Running his tongue along his teeth, he spoke clearly: “I want to see my fuckin’ enemies. To find ‘em even when they be hidin’ in their fuckin’ holes like coward cunts.”

At the moment his words finished, the fire began to creep. It did not gust, like it would in a high wind-- did not tower. Like vines, or slithering things it spread up Dasia's body, flame turning from orange to red to brown and bloody. It followed strange, esoteric patterns on her body, leaving ash and greyness in its wake.

A stank began to permeate the glade, carried in the smoke and the witches chanting... which had begun quiet, almost imperceptible, and then grew louder and louder. In her hands, the egg seemed to twist and writhe, attempting to escape her clutched. In with the strange words, his own were woven.

"I want to see my fuckin enemies..." More singsong spell, then "To find em, even when they be hiding..." it was not just her repeating him; he heard his own voice on her lips, the edges frayed with deep and dark laughter.

When the flames crawled to her hands, they pounced upon the egg, and there was a great hissing-- a great shudder, and smoke filled his eyes, his lungs and he couldn't see, couldn't breathe--

And then, it was over. Dasia knealt before him, head slightly bowed but eyes lifted to his, and in her palms... an eye.

It looks real, save the gloss on it. It looks perfect. The bundle of nerves on the back twitch slightly, and she leans forward. "Let me graft this to you, and you will never want for Sight again, Karsteth Dusktide."

The Captain did not recoup at the stench nor the show of magic and blood red wind. He had seen similar things before, but not this intense. But he knew that he had nothing to fear. This was for him. And if it turned on him, she would die. It was simple. Magic be damned. 

As Dasia knelt, the eye in hand, he looked her over. There was something sexual and something more than that. He did not bother hiding how much he enjoyed having someone kneel before him. And for another instant, the vision flashed. He was not on a tree trunk. He was on a throne of bone, flesh, gold, and ship. 

And in an instant, the vision was gone once more. 

He stared at Dasia a moment longer before reaching for his eye patch and removing it. There it was. A gnarled hand-shaped scar and a gaping hole, healed flesh strung across it. 

“I’m waitin’,” he said, his voice low.

Sliding forward on knees, Dasia laid one hand on Karsteth's scarred cheek. There was romance, and maternal softness, and even more-- possessiveness in the gesture. Her pale amethyst eyes locked onto his gaze, and she held it, arrested while threaded magics in strange unnameable colors slid from palm to cheek and into the socket.

The eye held lightly in fingers, Dasia breathed softly on it once-- almost a blown kiss-- and then with surety, slid it into the void in the man's face.

"This will hurt... and then, it will be euphoric." 

And it was. The pain started small, nerves long dead being coaxed to life. It was like fireants inside his skull, biting and tearing and rendering things sharp and caustic and new. The feeling grew sharper and sharper, until his thoughts would be consumed, and then--

Then the eye took hold, and where there was pain, suddenly... peace. More than that, satisfaction. Murky, his vision would slowly begin to return.

Though the pirate snarled and looked as though he were as his mutt, ready to strike at the touch of the witch, he paused and waited. Staring her down, he looked at her - not the eye. Even as her soft breath coaxed it forward. His brows twitched at her warning, but it was one that came too late.

The pain was intense and deep within his skull. He grit his teeth and pulled from her grasp, raising a hand to cover the socket-made-whole. His mind screamed and even he let out a seething grunt. Breaths came faster, shallow, laced with anger and pain. Sweat sprang to his forehead as he finally let loose a roar of sorts, screaming out, "FUCK!!"

And then....

The pain diminished. It evaporated. He could catch his breath, and he did so. Even his good eye was hazy as it opened, the other remaining behind a hand for a moment as he found his bearings.

"What--....the fuck--......"

Dasia smiled, and leaned in to press a very soft, quick kiss to Karsteth; she too felt the connection of eye and bearer and it was delightful, a feeling of rightness. A thing made for the ma, and now, properly placed. A deal done well.

"Shhh, give it a moment to settle. Then, you will know. It will see for you as an eye should, and when you force concentration, when you think of your enemies... they will be made known. The more you know of the enemy, the easier, faster it shall be, but none will evade your sight long."

Karsteth accepted the kiss, though not necessarily from want; he was still finding his feet, finding the ability to catch his breath. At her words, he started to slowly lower his hand, and there the eye was: unnatural in all ways, especially when sitting next to its foster brother of fel-green. He looked to one side, then another, then another...the vision hazy.

"Can I see out of this fuckin' thing normally too or will it only be my enemy?

"It ain't workin'," he pushed impatiently.

Stifling a laugh, she tapped his knees with her fingertips, still giddy to feel how easily this was all settling, despite the mans impatience. "You have been without sight for many months. Give your mind a moment..." 

Even as he complained and she spoke, his vision would begin to clear. It was not comfortable; his vision somewhat unfocused, crosseyed as things tried and failed to be monocular, but then... slowly, it was working.

"It will be as a true eye very soon, and as Sight just after." With a smile, she gathered the earth at her feet and murmured to it with a spell. It shifted in her hands and became a mirror; dark, like the dirt around her, but reflective. She held it to him, allowing Karsteth to see his face as his new eye grew accustomed to seeing for him.

Karsteth made no move away from her hands on his knees, but almost jerked away when she held up the makeshift mirror. A rabid dog, confused and feeling cornered was a danger. But when he saw his face, he halted. There it was: the scar left on his face by Quineven, the trader of secrets, the broker. Gnarled. And there, in its palm, was the eye. 

He was about to remark on how it was ugly, how it didn't match, but then there was red. He though at first that it was blood. That there was something wrong. So much so that he stood from the tree stump and leaned back, groping for something to hold onto - but finding nothing. 

"What--..."

The blood speckled in, little by little, covering his vision. He looked to Dasia but only saw her from one eye. From the other, vermilion. Like the dream. Like the constant dream. No, not vermilion. Orange. Like a sunset.

"--the fuck--....."

Dasia settled back on her legs, watching the last bits of magic take hold. “Patience... wait. What do you see?" It was hard enough giving the man the space he needed to acclimate; he was violent when confused, and this would be very confusing.

She focused in, and... used the connections she had not told him about. She shifted her perspective so she could sense the magics as they moved, and... she tagged along with his vision.

He didn't need to know she left a connection there-- it wasn't necessary. But it had tagged along with the magic inside of the curse, so she would feel when it was placed... and feel if he came across any more of those orange curls.

"What do you see?"

"I see fuckin' red, I see--"

He stopped. 

What was hazy became clear little by little. The orange was hair. Bright, thick locks that swept over one shoulder as a woman read a book in her hands. One shoulder was against a window  and the light was illuminating her features. Eyes tainted with fel, sharp and narrowed. A small, slightly-rounded nose. Lips turned into a frown until they moved. She was talking with someone that he could not see. He could only see her.

And he fucking recognized her.

"Little....fucking....bitch," he growled low beneath his breath.

She could not see as he saw; could only feel the magics. And she felt when they settled on his target.

"Now, you see. You see what the eye can give."

He was standing, staring ahead. Fury burned deep in his gut, flames licked up to his chest. Where he lacked heart, he held rage. His crew was loyal. Sometimes they strayed, but they never abandoned him. He had made a deal for that. He had made a deal with her, then why--

He looked to Dasia.

With that cunt still in his sight - two now - he reached down and violently twisted his hand into Dasia's hair. He jerked her up to her feet, dragged her whether she was ready for it or not. Charging forward, he slammed her back against the caravan that was her 'home'. 

"YOU FUCKIN' BITCH!! YOU SAID MY CREW WOULDN'T FUCKIN'--"

But he paused. The bitch was not part of his crew. She was a bitch, a stowaway, a plaything, a toy, a nuisance, a tool. But not crew. His grip remained on Dasia's hair, he stayed there, pinning her against the caravan as realization seeped into him. 

And all the while, he could see the flash of bright orange in the corner of his vision.

Dasia hissed as she was grabbed up, the connection to the magic interrupted by his yank of hair. She snapped at him in that same spell language, but there was no magic to it-- just a string of epithets. 

"Tch, whoever your enemy is, they aren't of yours and you know this. Not of the crew, not of those you paid for. My magics don't unravel so easily." She sneered at him now, hands coming to claw at the fist buried in her dark locks. "And so long as you live those you bought with blood will remain loyal, but tell me you brought me this enemies blood, and you will speak lies."

Dasia's nails grew sharp-- sharper than any elves-- and they punctured the surface of Karsteth's skin without digging deeper. "You have your eye and your target, and a curse besides. You have the tools to break your enemies. Our deal is complete."

His grip remained as he realized, both from his own knowledge and hers. He grimaced as claws pierced his hands, but he was a stubborn one. He refused to release unless it was on his terms. And so, he gripped harder, more painful. With a yank, only then did he release and turn. 

Abruptly, he moved, striding back to grab for his bow. Stringing it over his back, he turned once more to the path. 

"Aye, our deal is complete. I have a fuckin' bitch to kill."

Finally, the image in his new eye faded, but the last image he saw of her - of the woman - was of her smiling. Perhaps laughing. As though she was laughing at him. 

A curse was a fitting punishment to tide over until he could find her. And so as he left the witch's fire, he spoke the name aloud to invoke.

"Esme Sunshard."

@stormandozone | For interest and/or mentions (body parts mostly....): @forever-afk | @pyrar | @treyu | @edaigoa

[yourlocalyorozuya]

Ask not for whom the bell tolls. Ch. 04

Pairing: Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira

Rating: T

Chapter 1 || Chapter 2 || Chapter 3 || A03 Link

[[i am tired poor and death cant take me fast enough

[[despite it being 11pm tea parties sound wonderful rn

[[anyway have fun reading!

Ask not for whom the bell tolls.

Chapter 4:

The End.

It was approaching. He'd felt it somehow.

It perforated the very air he breathed, the soil that he walked on, like violent smoke and chemical jasmine, artificial and poisoning.

Birds and mice and men alike, voices empty and hollow and echoing. Sunken, listless eyes.

Even behind the Church doors.

The floral offerings in front of the pews are unnaturally bright, he thinks.

Glaringly bright.

It reminds him of the colors of poison.

His eyes close when he feels that familiar numbness creeping down his back.

A wistful smile.

"...You were away for quite a while." He says.

He doesn't bother looking behind himself anymore. He doesn't need to.

He knows that sensation all too well.

A dry, mirthless chuckle, "Of course, I imagine you were quite busy these days."

His voice was hoarse and he felt like he was running on fumes.

Breathing in the smoke and the frozen air.

"I'd have to wonder if you don't tire of killing my subjects."

He can barely force himself to laugh now.

The numbness creeps up his fingers. But that's all there is.

Their gazes meet.

He feels the remnants of fear in the bile that rises in his throat, the scratching at his windpipe.

But that's all there was.

"It's not like I can do much to stop you. All I can do is wait for the end of my own time."

"Are you afraid?"

That made him pause.

"You...speak, as well?" Says the Prince, and he manages to keep his tone even, "Goodness me. What a surprise!"

They even sound alike.

"I certainly wasn't expecting this, though...I should have. Is this how you appear to all your victims?"

"And how do I appear to you?"

"...Hm. Based on what the rumors entail, you're supposed to represent someone amongst my parents,

my friends...

or someone else similarly as important to me."

"You seem uncertain of that claim."

"You...that mask covers your face, but...I do not recognize you."

An eyebrow arched in a familiar way that he knows all too well.

"How hurtful, your Highness."

A hollow sound and the Prince feels the first stirrings of an emotion he can't describe.  

"You'll have to forgive me if I don't remember you, that wasn't my intention.

Solitary confinement can do a lot to the mind."

It happens again, that hollow sound. And the Prince realizes what it is.

Laughter. Unlike the voice, it's very clearly a grotesque non-human snarl

masquerading as human mannerisms and the mockery of a voice

he knows.

He knows...all too well.

"I see. If that's the case, allow me. "

As the voice echoes around the Church, he bends his head slightly,

his hand covered in scratches, bruised knuckles and blue fingers,

prying the mask away from his face.

A familiar smirk and those eyes.

"..."

"What is it, Your Highness?"

He's dimly aware of how his breath catches,

his heart pounding in his ears.

The revelation of an impossibility forming in the corners of his mind.

"You look like you've seen a ghost."

"...Ha. Haha...ha..." He chuckles weakly, "Is that supposed to be a joke?"

"In poor taste, perhaps."

"It's been too long since I talked to another human."

A smile through bruised and cut lips,

with the ghost of human pain in his eyes.

"And it's been especially long since I talked with you."

For some reason,

even though his eyes are used to seeing what they can't understand,

his lips are used to conversing with a god he doesn't believe in-

He can't speak or can't bear to look.

"What a terrifying glare. How unbecoming of a Prince."

"You'd scare all your suitors off with such an expression, Your Highness."

There was that same familiar taunting look,

that crude, honest way of speaking.

How infuriating.

"Are you that much happier lying to yourself?"

"They damn the soul to an early death, you know."

"I shouldn't have to hear that from you."

He says coldly, dropping all pretenses.

"True. I was a hypocrite in that regard."

"What a ridiculous situation. Why are you here?"

"To taunt me before I die?"

Everything about him had changed though.

His movements are stiffer, uncanny like a puppet's.

Artificial light in his eyes and expression.

Most noticeable when he stops smiling, stops pretending.

Something...wrong.

"I'm here to make you remember."

"Remember what?" The prince snarls, "My memory is pristine."

He doesn't need to remember anything.

"Of course, you don't. It's not for your benefit."

His smile is less artificial now.

"You are all too aware of what happened."

"But you may as well humor me one last time."

"...Listen to the raving delusions of a dead man?"

"For old times' sake?"

Old times. A shared history.

The very words leave a bad taste in his mouth.

"...Do I even have a choice?"

"I wonder if you ever did."

And with a grand sweeping motion of his arm,

and a bow,

he begins his tale.

"I will start at the beginning",

"With the last thing you would want to remember."

Of course, he thinks. Somewhat bitterly.

Underneath those deliberate, light-hearted thoughts,

a shadow, a sliver of dread, on his spine,

it begins to grow.

"That day that began with the advent of a Prince"

"And the death of a commoner."

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Chapter 4: Les morts, les mourants et les fleurs offertes, tous pour un thé morbide

End.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

[ecotone99]

[HR] Play Time

Play Time

​

I woke up on a cold metal table with a few pads, that are on the sides of me. The room dim, as the only light is small and encased in the ceiling just above me. A large set of intimidating looking tools near the superior end of the table, near my head. My hands and feet are tied down with leather straps, and a large gag, dry as a desert locked into my mouth, to presumably to prevent my screams. I look about the room, my eyes wander down to my feet. At the end of the workstation lay a tray of the larger tools, ones that can cause permanent damage... and lots of pain.

​

A strange man walks into the room, he is wearing a large light-blue apron, bright white gloves, and a blinding light on his forehead that only casts a larger shadow on my fear. He smiles at me and says, “I am glad to see that you are awake, are you ready to begin?” He continues innocently, ”We have lots to do, and so little time. I really do hope that you will play with me.” I make a muffled scream “hmhnm! Hmhm!” His only response was a flash of a smile.

​

The man walks towards his immaculate tools and adjusts them as if there is a slight imperfection that only he can see. Once he is pleased with how they are, he slips on a mask with practiced precision, and claps his hands. The man cuts of my shirt and throws it in a bin. With a marker of some sort he starts making lines all along my chest, most going right above my abdomen. I am shifting, struggling, trying to do anything to get away. Trying my best to make noise for someone, anyone to hear me. The only sounds that come are pitiful at best “hunhm hmnhuh” My right strap loosens slightly; I gain only the sliver of hope. As I continue to try to wretch the strap free, the man catches notice of the increased movement. He moves to tighten the strap. And the last as my hope draws its last breath, as I feel I soon will. He only clicks his tongue in disappointment.

​

The man, my mind seems to constantly drift to think that he is a doctor, with all his pristine tools, the way he is dressed, and how when he talked, it was in a friendly tone.

​

He backs off, I relax a little, but only for a short time. He begins to start making more marks along me, some tracing my along my bones , some muscles, and other bits. He traces the marker onto my arms and legs, always starting where they are attached, and slowly moving down the limb. By the time he finishes it looks like a toddler drew upon me, only it was almost.... Artistic.

​

My back side is sore from my thrashing. I am close to giving up, prostrating myself before my fate. The doctor looks at me sadly, just when I think he is going to look away, he starts “We haven’t even started playing yet, and you are ready to quit” He walks up to my head, I view him upside down, as he is at the head of the table. He looks me dead in the eye, and for some reason I do not know, I start to hate him, hate the situation, hate myself for giving up so soon. I gain some defiance, fire burns from within my eyes. I am not ready to give up. I start struggling with all my might, I managed to grab his apron because he is still leaning against the table, and as he tries to back off it slips from his neck. He doesn’t seem annoyed, angry, but happy, even exited, as his new toy is ready to play again. I begin to snarl at the man, although it is quite muffled by the gag, so it sounds like a low rumble.

​

The man crouches down to grab the apron, he doesn’t put it on as I was thought he would do, instead he walks away and hangs it on the wall like some sort of trophy. He then walks out of the room through the door that he came in through. Shortly later he walks back in, donning a new apron that is identical to the first. I don’t know how long he was gone, it could have been minutes, or perhaps seconds. The only thoughts that were running through my head were “Where did he go? When will he be back?”.

​

The man walks to his tools and says to me in a rather friendly tone “We are about to play shortly, are you ready?”

​

My eyes widen in fear, and I start pulling, tugging, thrashing in any way possible, the straps don’t become any looser. The end of his eyes begins to crinkle as if he is smiling behind his mask at the sight of me. The only good this action brings me is the soreness that is bound to show up soon. And his satisfaction.

​

The man grabs a tool from the table, its glistens in the light of his mask, so all I can see for the moment is that it is metal. A second later when the light is out of my eyes, I realize it is a scalpel. The blood drains from my face as I piece together what he is about to do.

​

First, he makes a shallow cut along the center of my abdomen. The fear is so intense I can hardly breathe... I cant even feel the pain, yet. Just as he finishes the first cut, he wipes off the small amounts of blood from his scalpel. He starts to make a deep cut just on top of the previous cut, savoring every moment as he goes, he makes the cut deep; cutting all the way through the skin and the tissue beneath. He is very careful to not cut any of the organs, even slowing to an excruciatingly slow pace. The blade not failing to cut the skin with the slippery resistance of the surprisingly small amount of blood that is coming out. I lift my head as it isn't strapped down, I bite down on the gag, close to breaking my teeth. The pain as he cuts is horrible, worse than anything I have ever experienced before. The pain is so bad, I can't think about it, or I will fail to breathe, which might be a blessing. I try my best to not move, for he might cut more than he is trying to, or even slip and cut an organ, and cause even more pain. I scream through the gag, veins pulsing on my head “HMHMUM! HMNUH!” When he finishes his first cut separating my skin across my stomach, he stops what he is doing, cleans off his scalpel for the second time. He walks up to my head, so that he is able to see my face without obstruction. While he still is holding the scalpel.

​

“Thank you so much for playing with me, you have no idea how happy it makes me!” he exclaims. I can only whimper in fear at those words, and what is promised to come.

​

The man starts to walk back towards his tools. I throw away my previous resolution and start to beg, both through my gag, sounding like a dog panting, and through my bulging eyes shaking, threatening to fall out, they shine beneath the bright light on his head, as the first of the tears begin to fall.

​

The man looks at my stomach for a second, thinking of where to cut next. He starts moving the scalpel to the top of the cut and slices a mind-numbing slice to the end of my right side. I cannot help but move as the thin blade artfully carves through my flesh. I arced my back when the pain was great, the doctor isn't ready, he is too slow to pull the scalpel up to avoid and extra damage. I was awarded with a stray sloppy cut, that was a much greater intensity than what I was previously dealt. The blood oozes out as it slithers down my side and finally drips onto the table. The man looks disgusted. A thought flashes through my mind. One of him fixing his already perfect array of tools. I realize the man hates any slight imperfections.

​

The man starts to finish the cut the I made uneven. He commences at the start of the error and makes a fresh cut. I watch on in horrow as I can do nothing to stop this. My jaw and gums aching because of how hard I have been biting into the bit. My mouth feels as if it has seen a drought and a monsoon at the same time. As the man finishes the cut, he wipes down the scalpel and returns it with his other tools. And to correct his mistake he grabs a suture kit and starts to knit together the flayed, jagged, red line. It burns at the contact of the needle piercing the skin. It burns at the skin contacting its other side. It burns as he washes some clear substance over it. Soon the ache of that very spot is reduced, somewhat.

​

My throat. My mouth. So dry. As he is finishing up with the suture I try to scream "Water! Water!” but the only thing that came out was “Wahu! Wahu!” Thankfully the man seems to understand. He leaves the room, only glancing at that one little spot on my chest granting me a second of reprieve. My chest and belly still cut open, except for that one little error.

​

He comes back inside the room. I don’t quite register it as I sit in a daze, just waiting for the pain to stop. The man walks up to me, and comments as he is unfastening my gag “Its rude to keep our guests uncomfortable, isn't it?” I can only stare in response, his meaning of his words not reaching me. The man tips the water to my lips, I try to lap it up as quick as possible, but it is difficult as my mouth and jaw are sore and is extremely dry from the gag. Some of it spills out of my mouth, and down the side of my cheeks. The man, evidently satisfied that I have had enough, pulls the water away. The man sets down the water on his tray of tools ad makes his way back to me. He reaches beside me to where the gag lay and mounts it upon my mouth.

​

The man is back at his tools. He once again reaches for the scalpel, the embodiment of my fear, not the man, not even close. He inspects it to make sure that he cleaned it properly and looks to my chest. The man slowly descends on top of the first cut. Only this time the blade is facing towards my left side. Slowly he starts to apply pressure. The scalpel sinks into my skin, small amounts of blood slipping from the new cut. The blade is cold as ice as it touches my skin, but the new wound hot as fire. The scalpel inches forward, skin parting every bit of the way. My nerves are fried, I can barely feel the pain, even as it burns through me at a scale that isn't supposed to exist. After what seemed to be an eternity, he is finished with the cut.

​

The man takes a step back to examine his handywork. The slashes embedded into my chest are in the shape of a “T”. His eyes are wide in excitement and happiness. That is, until his gaze wonders to the error. His eyes squint from dissatisfaction.

​

The man steps towards his tools, quickly grabs a rag, as he is eager to continue, and wipes down his scalpel once again.

​

My breathing is hard, I can barely move because the pain is intensified whenever I do, I am so, so terrified of more pain. When he operates, I try to be as still as possible. It is not my fault that I am here, that he is cutting me open, but it is my fault for any errors that he makes. I can only relax, if that is what you can call it, whenever he takes a step back. Something I consider a small miracle.

​

The man walks back up to the table, turns to me and says casually, “Let's make this one quick, we are running behind schedule.” He takes his scalpel and places it at the bottom-right of my abdomen. I dread what is about to happen, and silently pray to whoever would listen. He applies pressure and the scalpel sinks beneath my skin, but no further. He makes a quick clean cut along the bottom of my belly, careful to not touch any of the organs. I was not prepared for such a long quick cut. My breath stuck, unable to come in or out. My body starts to tremble. And I feel a wetness, not just from the blood exiting from the wound, but also as all the fluids are released from my down below and onto the table.

​

My torso is now cut into the shape of a red inflammatory “I”

​

The man makes a confused sound as if he didn’t expect this. He turns away, back to his tools and grabs a few rags, meaning to wipe up the disgusting fluids that now cover the table. The scalpel never leaving his hand. It must bring him as much joy as it does me terror. Once he finishes, he throws away the rags, and walks back to his tools

​

Instead of resuming with his scalpel he sets it down on the tools tray, still slick of dark-red blood. I am slightly confused, and morbidly curious about what is doing. After scanning the tray for a moment, he selects 5 items; a set of tongs, and 4 thin, long, and pointy rods. I have no idea what he is doing.

​

The man walks back up to the table, touches a few of the foam pads to make sure they are secure. Once he is content with the pads, he uses his tongs to grip the left side of my loose flesh, he peels it over the side. I scream as I never have before, as this is too much to handle. I can't feel anything except pain, terror, and pain. My other emotions and feelings are dead. He laughs, eyes bright, as if my screams are his joyous creation.

​

He then takes two of the rods he previously grabbed and stakes my skin into the pads so he can view into my chest. I barely notice them entering my flesh. The pain from the cuts and bending of my skin is beyond reason. It is the only thing I can focus on, the only thing I can’t focus on, because if I do it will break me. My heart is beating at an absurd rate, still working hard to pump blood, despite that it has lost a fair bit. The man observes my organs squirm for a few seconds under his gleaming watch.

​

He stops what he is doing, for only a moment, so I can catch my breath and calm down. Once my shaking stops, he uses his tongs, slowly, so slowly, it starts to drive me insane, and starts to peel back my right side. I thought I would be able to stifle my screams because I knew what to expect, but once he started to peel, they just flowed out, music to his ears. He is pleased that his toy hasn’t given up and lay broken on the table.

​

I can't move, not even in the slightest bit. If I do it pulls on the rods embedded within my skin, anchored to the pads. My mind is blank, and my nerves sensitive to every sensation, it magnifies the pain. I feel I am near my breaking point. My heart pounding so hard that even he might be able to hear it, which only increases the blood loss. I am lightheaded and dizzy from the loss of blood and pain.

​

The man grabs a long slender rod with a rubber top. He walks back to me, looming over my chest. He pokes at a few of my organs, presumably to make sure all is in order. I feel as if it should hurt, but I can't bring myself to feel pain of that level, not after what I just experienced.

​

Once he is finished, he wipes off the new tool, and returns it to the table. The man walks over to the bottom of the table and checks the straps after my struggling. The left one came lose, only a little. He then checks the top and finds nothing is out of the ordinary.

​

He turns off the light on his forehead, removes his mask, and looks at me, although it is upside down. He says to me “Now let us play with other areas, shall we start with your arms or legs?” He continues “You have been such a great playmate I will let you choose.” I was left dumbfounded for a moment or two. After he made an inquisitive sound I came back to my senses. I started to wiggle my legs some to indicate my choice. I couldn’t take any more pain from the top half of my body. The man seems pleased that I made my choice. He puts on his mask, turns on his light, and then walks away to his tools.

​

He looks down in disgust as he realizes he forgot to clean his scalpel from the last time he used it. He wipes it down with haste and walks back to me.

​

He places his finger at the top of my leg, and he traces the marker lines he made before he first started to cut. He then traces it back up the line to just confirm where he is going to make his next incision. He makes careful notice of the large vein in my thigh.

​

He starts the slice at the top of my leg in the middle. He makes a quick cut down to me knee, slices it across to form a “T”. He then goes back to the top and makes it into a very long “I”. He is operating on my leg much faster than he did on my chest, as the man finds the chest very exiting compared to the limbs.

​

As he makes his cuts my entire body is trembling, causing even more pain. I am careful to not jerk any part of my body as it might make him make a mistake or cause additional pain from my earlier wounds.

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As he finishes his last slash on my leg, it starts to shake uncontrollably. This causes the rest of my body to move and pull and tear from the stakes. A muffled scream escapes my lips. The man holds down my legs from below the knee to prevent further damage. He doesn’t want his toy broken unless he does it himself. Soon the shaking subsides.

​

He looks at the pins on his tray for a moment, debating whether to put them in now, or when he finishes the leg. He turns to look back at my leg and decides to continue with the operation.

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The man with even more haste than last time cuts along my shin, first creating an “T” and then a “I” I am grateful for the speed in which he is performing, because it makes the intensity of the pain only last a short while. Even if he did go as slow as the start, I wouldn’t have noticed much. The pain is being dullened by my fried nerves. I can only feel the action he is committing against me, and then register the pain, only for a moment. Time doesn’t exist for me anymore. I can feel myself slipping. It is getting hard to hold onto consciousness.

​

I take notice that the man is walking away. He is returning to his tools, and of course wiping down his scalpel. A few moments later I see him with the tongs, a rag, and eight stakes, four for each half of my leg. As he starts to peel back the top part of my leg my body tries to scream, but the only thing that comes out is a hoarse whisper. My throat is raw from the gag and from screaming. He inserts the stakes on the right side first starting on the top. He traces the second rod down the flayed skin before he inserts it on the bottom. He moves to peel the skin on the inside of my thigh. Top. Bottom.

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As he finishes with the top part, he wipes the tongs off with the rag and tosses it to the wall. I make a thought somewhere that he is getting sloppy. He starts to peel back, but before he finishes my heart begins to fail. The room is going dark. He moves quickly and with his white gloves, grabs my actual heart and starts to pump it.... Pumps it again, and again, and again. It makes me hold on for a little longer. I curse to myself that I couldn’t make it out. I couldn’t survive this, and after all this pain, my body just gives out, it wasn’t even the man that finishes me off.

​

My eyes roll back inside my head. I can still hear, but my sight is gone. He keeps pumping my heart with nothing but his thin gloves, now coated in a thick red. He lets go. Marches to his tray and swipes it off the counter. It goes flying, tools scattering every direction. He storms out of the room. The final beat of my heart matching that of him slamming the door, and that was the last of him that I saw.

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