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Marlowe
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sandstorm
CarlyleWas my first post back that bad?
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6 yrs ago
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I love sixteen hour flights
7 yrs ago
Birthday, officially twenty years old today! yikes
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8 yrs ago
Happy Holidays, everyone! Enjoy the time with your families, and stay safe on your travels!
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8 yrs ago
It's my birthday! Another year towards twenty, woooooo
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9 yrs ago
For whoever comes to read this, continue being awesome. I'm rooting for you.
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Most Recent Posts
Done, and done. We can skip to the next day anytime.
Sorry for the emotional-ish post. I was inspired by the song in my signature. :D
Sorry for the emotional-ish post. I was inspired by the song in my signature. :D
Fear was a foreign sentiment to Daisuke.
Just what was it about the monosyllabic word that encased the heart with a furious clasp, seizing the victim in a silencing suffocation? To the Japanese boy's father, to be afraid was to be cowardly; it had been a commonplace commandment passed on to Daisuke ever since he was able to walk on his own two feet... but was it fear so terrifying that could paralyze those feet? "I can't do it," he muttered from behind his knees, his arms hugging the shins of his legs as his calves pressed up against his chest.
"It can't be true. It just can't be..." The rotating hologram of the boy, and his profile beside it, was still fresh in Daisuke's memory. There had been a search option that his father had ignored that mentioned his potential crimes, and the number of results amassed to over half a thousand with the first registry dating back six years before now. He might have been the only one to notice the stray information, but it was enough to place him in such a terrified state. He understood that potential only meant that it was a mere possibility, and it was not definite, but... over half a thousand?
And Daisuke had offered to be the boy's friend, too. "Michael," he spoke the name that the boy had used as an alias. "But he doesn't have red eyes, or black hair..." When 'Michael' had approached them, he had blond hair and blue eyes. How was it possible that someone could change their hair and eye color like that, and then, others be unable to discern that it had been altered? The world's technology might have advanced greatly, but hair and eye color manipulation? It was unheard of.
A soft knock on the door shook Daisuke from his innermost thoughts, but he remained quiet. He had locked the door earlier, and when the knob refused to turn, her worried voice came. "Honey?" No response. "Are you okay?" He breathed as if he were laid down, in bed, and asleep, the moonlight glazing over his blanket from the window. After a few moments, footsteps down the hall indicated that Ottavio was gone.
"Dad has to be lying... right?" Daisuke tried to convince himself that all of this was still a game. Maybe the entire thing about the Vongola Famiglia, and his status as the Lightning Guardian, was actually true. He couldn't believe it; does this mean that I'm part of the mafia now?
"Does this mean I have to get strong to protect people?"
Or...
"Does this mean I have to get strong to hurt people?"
People said that alcohol was not enough to wash away the pain, and for Hajime, it was a truth colder than the empty bottles of liquor that laid at his feet.
Hajime was normally not big on drinking, but it was because of tomorrow. There were many pictures sprawled all across the head of the table where the man sat, barely able to hold his head up as his left hand cradled his forehead, the other holding on to the neck of a half-finished bottle of vodka. He convulsed sporadically as he inhaled and exhaled heavily, the heavy scent of the alcohol in his breath as his hand picked one of the pictures out of seemingly random selection.
All of them were pictures of their former family. Frames of time, captured in happiness and smiles no longer native to him. Hajime raised the picture close to his eyes as they struggled to focus on the dancing image. "Kenta..." he groaned, wheezing as he drew out the end of the name. It was a snapshot of his eldest son, who had been born nearly seventeen years ago and was only six, with his tongue out at the camera and his finger pulling down the skin underneath his eye for a funny face. With a bubbly face that was like an infant, his buzzcut-styled brown hair and hazel eyes only made Kenta more appealing to the other adults that saw him.
Hajime, taking a swig of the alcohol, swapped the picture for one that captured his other son, Daisuke, who had graced the family with his arrival two years after his older brother. The small body of the four-year old was facing away from the camera as his head had just turned to catch the snap of the photograph. The four-year old's melancholy eyes that had been looking directly at the camera seemed to stare back at him. Daisuke had always been the quieter one of the two, back then.
Throwing the picture back into the pile of many others, Hajime took a long gulp from the bottle as he reached for another, this time pulling one that included the entire family. His finger trailed along the image of his younger self from almost a decade in the past, grinning as he jokingly flexed with his two sons on his shoulders as his wife, Satomi, nestled against his body and looked up at what was going on atop of her, laughing at the silliness that was once their family. The six-year old Kenta, on his left shoulder, was digging through his hair like a monkey digging for fleas, while a four-year old Daisuke, who was on his right shoulder, had his mouth over Hajime's right thumb as if he were eating candy.
The photograph fell from Hajime's grip as his head fell into his arm, his drunken state unable to combat the emotions that he never allowed to show. His memory came back to the time, just before Satomi left their company to ensure that he and Daisuke would escape from Japan.
"Little Daisuke must have a mother," Satomi had told him. "Promise me this."
"I can't do it," Hajime remembered his last words to her. "I won't break the vows I made to you. Why can't you stay?"
And Hajime could remember the bittersweet smile that Satomi gave him before she would disappear forever. "Please... You have to be the one," she stood above him. "I love you, Hajime." He couldn't even tell her that he loved her.
An unsuspecting pair of arms held Hajime in an embrace from behind as he began to sob uncontrollably. "I'm sorry," he croaked behind the tears. "I'm so, so, sorry, Satomi," he continued as he felt the head of another against the side of his face. He had always told himself that he would never break the vows that he had made to Satomi, during a time that he wished he could relive, over and over.
And now, Hajime had broken that vow.
Just what was it about the monosyllabic word that encased the heart with a furious clasp, seizing the victim in a silencing suffocation? To the Japanese boy's father, to be afraid was to be cowardly; it had been a commonplace commandment passed on to Daisuke ever since he was able to walk on his own two feet... but was it fear so terrifying that could paralyze those feet? "I can't do it," he muttered from behind his knees, his arms hugging the shins of his legs as his calves pressed up against his chest.
"It can't be true. It just can't be..." The rotating hologram of the boy, and his profile beside it, was still fresh in Daisuke's memory. There had been a search option that his father had ignored that mentioned his potential crimes, and the number of results amassed to over half a thousand with the first registry dating back six years before now. He might have been the only one to notice the stray information, but it was enough to place him in such a terrified state. He understood that potential only meant that it was a mere possibility, and it was not definite, but... over half a thousand?
And Daisuke had offered to be the boy's friend, too. "Michael," he spoke the name that the boy had used as an alias. "But he doesn't have red eyes, or black hair..." When 'Michael' had approached them, he had blond hair and blue eyes. How was it possible that someone could change their hair and eye color like that, and then, others be unable to discern that it had been altered? The world's technology might have advanced greatly, but hair and eye color manipulation? It was unheard of.
A soft knock on the door shook Daisuke from his innermost thoughts, but he remained quiet. He had locked the door earlier, and when the knob refused to turn, her worried voice came. "Honey?" No response. "Are you okay?" He breathed as if he were laid down, in bed, and asleep, the moonlight glazing over his blanket from the window. After a few moments, footsteps down the hall indicated that Ottavio was gone.
"Dad has to be lying... right?" Daisuke tried to convince himself that all of this was still a game. Maybe the entire thing about the Vongola Famiglia, and his status as the Lightning Guardian, was actually true. He couldn't believe it; does this mean that I'm part of the mafia now?
"Does this mean I have to get strong to protect people?"
Or...
"Does this mean I have to get strong to hurt people?"
People said that alcohol was not enough to wash away the pain, and for Hajime, it was a truth colder than the empty bottles of liquor that laid at his feet.
Hajime was normally not big on drinking, but it was because of tomorrow. There were many pictures sprawled all across the head of the table where the man sat, barely able to hold his head up as his left hand cradled his forehead, the other holding on to the neck of a half-finished bottle of vodka. He convulsed sporadically as he inhaled and exhaled heavily, the heavy scent of the alcohol in his breath as his hand picked one of the pictures out of seemingly random selection.
All of them were pictures of their former family. Frames of time, captured in happiness and smiles no longer native to him. Hajime raised the picture close to his eyes as they struggled to focus on the dancing image. "Kenta..." he groaned, wheezing as he drew out the end of the name. It was a snapshot of his eldest son, who had been born nearly seventeen years ago and was only six, with his tongue out at the camera and his finger pulling down the skin underneath his eye for a funny face. With a bubbly face that was like an infant, his buzzcut-styled brown hair and hazel eyes only made Kenta more appealing to the other adults that saw him.
Hajime, taking a swig of the alcohol, swapped the picture for one that captured his other son, Daisuke, who had graced the family with his arrival two years after his older brother. The small body of the four-year old was facing away from the camera as his head had just turned to catch the snap of the photograph. The four-year old's melancholy eyes that had been looking directly at the camera seemed to stare back at him. Daisuke had always been the quieter one of the two, back then.
Throwing the picture back into the pile of many others, Hajime took a long gulp from the bottle as he reached for another, this time pulling one that included the entire family. His finger trailed along the image of his younger self from almost a decade in the past, grinning as he jokingly flexed with his two sons on his shoulders as his wife, Satomi, nestled against his body and looked up at what was going on atop of her, laughing at the silliness that was once their family. The six-year old Kenta, on his left shoulder, was digging through his hair like a monkey digging for fleas, while a four-year old Daisuke, who was on his right shoulder, had his mouth over Hajime's right thumb as if he were eating candy.
The photograph fell from Hajime's grip as his head fell into his arm, his drunken state unable to combat the emotions that he never allowed to show. His memory came back to the time, just before Satomi left their company to ensure that he and Daisuke would escape from Japan.
"Little Daisuke must have a mother," Satomi had told him. "Promise me this."
"I can't do it," Hajime remembered his last words to her. "I won't break the vows I made to you. Why can't you stay?"
And Hajime could remember the bittersweet smile that Satomi gave him before she would disappear forever. "Please... You have to be the one," she stood above him. "I love you, Hajime." He couldn't even tell her that he loved her.
An unsuspecting pair of arms held Hajime in an embrace from behind as he began to sob uncontrollably. "I'm sorry," he croaked behind the tears. "I'm so, so, sorry, Satomi," he continued as he felt the head of another against the side of his face. He had always told himself that he would never break the vows that he had made to Satomi, during a time that he wished he could relive, over and over.
And now, Hajime had broken that vow.
Working on a post.
Progress is good.
Here is a preview.
Progress is good.
Here is a preview.
Solace said "I can't do it," he muttered from behind his knees, his arms hugging the shins of his legs as his calves pressed up against his chest.
I'm struggling to actually come up with a post because there is nothing for me to go off, as there is a ridiculous amount of needless clutter. I'll figure something out tomorrow, hopefully, as I'm not in the best of moods to even want to write. It's the type of mood in which makes me question whether or not I even want to continue.
Damn. Just when I was able to finally come back.
I'm really sorry for just disappearing for a whole three weeks. I needed an extended break to take a breather and I didn't realize how it's affecting everything.
I'm here now, though.
Sorry to see you go, dude.
Anyway, I'll try to move things along, now. Give me some time to re-read some stuff, and to work on a reply. I haven't written anything in the time I've been absent.
I'm really sorry for just disappearing for a whole three weeks. I needed an extended break to take a breather and I didn't realize how it's affecting everything.
I'm here now, though.
Sorry to see you go, dude.
Anyway, I'll try to move things along, now. Give me some time to re-read some stuff, and to work on a reply. I haven't written anything in the time I've been absent.
Hello.
In
Something quite different. (Worthy of tilted heads and begrudging interest,)
→
10 yrs ago
Forum: Casual Interest Checks
Intriguing.
"What now, wise guy?"
"He got us in this shit! He should think of something!"
"Guys! Cut it out!"
A single speck of light in the darkness was the final hope that beated in the hearts of the group. The water had risen to their knees as they waddled through the waste, unable to discern whether it was only the sewage or blood. The cavern stretched far beyond their vision of the petite light that they could only provide, a straight path through the shadows as death, their predator, stalked.
"Hey, give me that damn light," the American male cursed, his voice echoing far down the tunnel.
The holder of the light, a fair-skinned Japanese teenager who stood at the head of the group, continued to press onward as if he had not heard the American.
"I said give me the fuckin' light, Hajime!"
Sea-green eyes, dimly illuminated by the light, hung below rogue strands of messy brown hair as the Japanese teenager turned, his jawline clenched in reflection to his free hand, now a fist. "Stop talking so loud, Roland! They might hear us."
"Yeah," a deep, African-accented female voice from Hajime's flank joined him. "Quit complaining. We need to stay quiet."
The American was not pleased about the responses that he received. "We need to hurry and get back to the destination before those damn Russians do, but we're going slower than Hwuang trying to speak English!"
"Screw off," a second Asian accent, a high-pitched voice belonging to a young boy, carefully pronounced his selection of words.
"You're all being immature," another female voice with an accent, this time Irish, interjected. "Iemitsu said that Hajime is our leader. He knows what's best."
Directly at the Japanese teenager's side, a silver-haired boy followed, his left arm drooped back as if he were holding on to something. A faint cyan flared inside of the boy's pupils as he turned his head to look at the group. "She's right," he agreed with the Irish girl. "We need to stick together, and listen to Hajime."
Roland seemed unimpressed by the silver-haired boy's parroting of the Irish girl. "Pipe it, lovebirds. You won't be holding those hands together for long if we don't get back in time."
"I don't know about you people, but I'm starving," a second American voice, significantly deeper than Roland's, yawned. "Rats, I can't believe that I lost my lunch..." the man sighed heavily in annoyance.
Roland was even more irritated to hear the tragic loss. "Those Russian mafioso are gonna invade, and all you can think about is losing your lunch? Skylar, do you realize that you are the reason why we're down here, now?"
"Look, guys," Hajime stopped in his tracks, wheeling around to address them. "The plan might've been compromised-"
Roland interrupted. "Oh, you think?"
A pained "Ow!" following the sound of a fist crashing into one's face sounded. "Listen to him!" the African accent hissed.
"Thanks, Riki. Anyway," Hajime resumed in his hushed voice. "Like Janna and Howlite were getting at, we need to stick together. We're running out of time, right now, and we have valuable information that could save the entire Vongola- no, the entire world, even."
"But that doesn't matter to me as much as all of you being here, right now. Even though this is only our first mission together, we already have the key on how we can end the war in such a short time. Thanks for coming this far with me."
Hajime blinked hard as he felt his soul return to his flesh, the reality in his surroundings returning. He was accustomed to thinking of the past, as much as he tried to not do so; it was like he continually wished to flirt with death, attempting to take its hand for a dance that would last forever. By the time that he had come to, most of the children had already left the house, carrying out Sonya's order of running ten laps around Trespiano.
"Inspiration, eh..." Hajime mumbled to himself as he thought of how Naoto Alato had rallied up his fellow candidates. More often than not, those who possessed Sky Flames were to-be bosses of mafia families, and as such, they had their ways of motivating and convincing their subordinates... whether it were inspiration or fear. Two polar opposites of one person, two different sides of one coin. His brow arched as the boy addressed him directly, folding his arms together as he shook his head. "It's not up to me; I'm not your tutor, she is," he nodded towards Sonya.
Hajime's peripheral vision caught his son at the corner of his eye. Daisuke's plate remained relatively untouched as the boy shriveled back into his chair like a turtle retreating into its shell. "I don't..." his eyes continued to stare at the crimson tablecloth, in shock as if he was staring at real blood.
Hajime sighed, rising from his chair as he swung his trenchcoat over his shoulder. Taking his plate to the sink, he began to walk towards the entrance until he stopped in the middle of the living room, turning back. "I'm counting on you, Sonya," he tipped his head to her before shifting his view back to his frightened son. He bit his tongue as it held the urge for him to say something. No, it has to be this way. "Goodbye," he finally said, turning around and leaving.
"He got us in this shit! He should think of something!"
"Guys! Cut it out!"
A single speck of light in the darkness was the final hope that beated in the hearts of the group. The water had risen to their knees as they waddled through the waste, unable to discern whether it was only the sewage or blood. The cavern stretched far beyond their vision of the petite light that they could only provide, a straight path through the shadows as death, their predator, stalked.
"Hey, give me that damn light," the American male cursed, his voice echoing far down the tunnel.
The holder of the light, a fair-skinned Japanese teenager who stood at the head of the group, continued to press onward as if he had not heard the American.
"I said give me the fuckin' light, Hajime!"
Sea-green eyes, dimly illuminated by the light, hung below rogue strands of messy brown hair as the Japanese teenager turned, his jawline clenched in reflection to his free hand, now a fist. "Stop talking so loud, Roland! They might hear us."
"Yeah," a deep, African-accented female voice from Hajime's flank joined him. "Quit complaining. We need to stay quiet."
The American was not pleased about the responses that he received. "We need to hurry and get back to the destination before those damn Russians do, but we're going slower than Hwuang trying to speak English!"
"Screw off," a second Asian accent, a high-pitched voice belonging to a young boy, carefully pronounced his selection of words.
"You're all being immature," another female voice with an accent, this time Irish, interjected. "Iemitsu said that Hajime is our leader. He knows what's best."
Directly at the Japanese teenager's side, a silver-haired boy followed, his left arm drooped back as if he were holding on to something. A faint cyan flared inside of the boy's pupils as he turned his head to look at the group. "She's right," he agreed with the Irish girl. "We need to stick together, and listen to Hajime."
Roland seemed unimpressed by the silver-haired boy's parroting of the Irish girl. "Pipe it, lovebirds. You won't be holding those hands together for long if we don't get back in time."
"I don't know about you people, but I'm starving," a second American voice, significantly deeper than Roland's, yawned. "Rats, I can't believe that I lost my lunch..." the man sighed heavily in annoyance.
Roland was even more irritated to hear the tragic loss. "Those Russian mafioso are gonna invade, and all you can think about is losing your lunch? Skylar, do you realize that you are the reason why we're down here, now?"
"Look, guys," Hajime stopped in his tracks, wheeling around to address them. "The plan might've been compromised-"
Roland interrupted. "Oh, you think?"
A pained "Ow!" following the sound of a fist crashing into one's face sounded. "Listen to him!" the African accent hissed.
"Thanks, Riki. Anyway," Hajime resumed in his hushed voice. "Like Janna and Howlite were getting at, we need to stick together. We're running out of time, right now, and we have valuable information that could save the entire Vongola- no, the entire world, even."
"But that doesn't matter to me as much as all of you being here, right now. Even though this is only our first mission together, we already have the key on how we can end the war in such a short time. Thanks for coming this far with me."
Hajime blinked hard as he felt his soul return to his flesh, the reality in his surroundings returning. He was accustomed to thinking of the past, as much as he tried to not do so; it was like he continually wished to flirt with death, attempting to take its hand for a dance that would last forever. By the time that he had come to, most of the children had already left the house, carrying out Sonya's order of running ten laps around Trespiano.
"Inspiration, eh..." Hajime mumbled to himself as he thought of how Naoto Alato had rallied up his fellow candidates. More often than not, those who possessed Sky Flames were to-be bosses of mafia families, and as such, they had their ways of motivating and convincing their subordinates... whether it were inspiration or fear. Two polar opposites of one person, two different sides of one coin. His brow arched as the boy addressed him directly, folding his arms together as he shook his head. "It's not up to me; I'm not your tutor, she is," he nodded towards Sonya.
Hajime's peripheral vision caught his son at the corner of his eye. Daisuke's plate remained relatively untouched as the boy shriveled back into his chair like a turtle retreating into its shell. "I don't..." his eyes continued to stare at the crimson tablecloth, in shock as if he was staring at real blood.
Hajime sighed, rising from his chair as he swung his trenchcoat over his shoulder. Taking his plate to the sink, he began to walk towards the entrance until he stopped in the middle of the living room, turning back. "I'm counting on you, Sonya," he tipped his head to her before shifting his view back to his frightened son. He bit his tongue as it held the urge for him to say something. No, it has to be this way. "Goodbye," he finally said, turning around and leaving.
Oh yeah. Reminds me. Forgot to answer the weaknesses thing.
Daisuke is an airhead; his squirrel-like attention span, coupled by his spontaneous and childish demeanor, make him difficult to instruct, and in some instances, cooperate with. He has difficulty coping with reality when it's bleak, and struggles to keep up with an agenda when he feels pressured.
Daisuke is an airhead; his squirrel-like attention span, coupled by his spontaneous and childish demeanor, make him difficult to instruct, and in some instances, cooperate with. He has difficulty coping with reality when it's bleak, and struggles to keep up with an agenda when he feels pressured.
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