this blog is now closed.
i have remade with my original url from a long, long time ago. i will be a highly selective blog and will run it on my own terms due to my mental health absolutely needing to be put first. i will not follow everyone who follows me, but don’t take it personally.
the new blog is still a little U/C but it just needs a tag and verse page, the latter of which I’m transferring from this one.
i think that’s it.
this blog is now closed.
i have remade with my original url from a long, long time ago. i will be a highly selective blog and will run it on my own terms due to my mental health absolutely needing to be put first. i will not follow everyone who follows me, but don’t take it personally.
the new blog is still a little U/C but it just needs a tag and verse page, the latter of which I’m transferring from this one.
i think that’s it.
[ well, i’ve set up... a rules page. but it’s bedtime for me already. i’ll be back at it tomorrow, i’m sure. :v
reminder: this blog will become an inactive archive soon. ]
//I’m up for starting anew or continuing our thread if you want to of course! Glad to see you back
i would like to! thank you ; v ;
i’m going to make sure i run this blog in a way that puts my well being first this time, rather than stressing myself about imagined deadlines for replies /nodnod
// this is so random, I was just thinking about your Proton yesterday/today! Would definitely be interested in following again if you’re happy with that :)
for sure, I’ll let you know when it’s up! I’ve found a lot more time lately because some other hobbies of mine have calmed down for the year so I’m hoping to get it done by today at least, and then maybe start some real posts / threads on my days off at the end of the week. :’)
i want to come back to this blog but i’m not going to come back to this blog, i’m going to remake and refresh everything
and i’m going to be selective. i just don’t think i can handle a lot of people, i had a rough year and then i saw there was some big drama on the dash and i noped on out
sorry.
message me if you would like the new blog when it has been completed or if you want to continue anything we started. i’m sincerely sorry that i disappeared without much warning.
them: i love you
me: that’s nice however that is Impossible™ considering i am, to the very core, fundamentally unloveable
[ oof i got distracted on an off-site rp and did not get much done today but ayy lmao i got all week and the four drafts i have are in the works and will likely be put in the queue to stagger things, so there’s that! thank you for the support. ]
[ i found motivation to start slogging through drafts so, hopefully soon i will have replies to everyone i owe. if i miss you just hmu with a link, thank you for your patience while i sort my shit out mentally. ]
[ i know i’m supposed to be back from hiatus and making posts, but here’s the thing:
Were he in a better mood, he might have been amused by the arrogance of this boy. But this is par for the course when a man realizes that death is so close at hand. They fight or they cower or they beg or as they quite often do such as with this boy, they do all three and more. The boy reeks of fear even as he stumbles over his own tongue in a bid for his own life. He’s heard it all at this point. Riches and false promises and everything in between that these people lay at his feet in a desperate tribute.
What this boy bargains with is a variation of a promise, but it’s enough of a twist that he’s intrigued.
“The honesty is almost refreshing.”
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the silk handkerchief, using it to dab at blood along the boy’s cheek that’s long since dried. The people he’d tasked to collect him certainly hadn’t been handling him with any care. But what would they care to keep him in perfection condition when he was expected to die?
“But I have plenty of people with me who know how to be violent when I want them to be violent. I’m sure you’ve experienced that first hand when you were brought here.” He takes the boy’s hand and drops the bloodied cloth into his palm and forces his fingers to close shut around it.
“And the difference between those people and you is that they know when not to be violent. I can’t keep having to fix your messes, Lance. It’s not good for my business to have my people waste their time disposing of unwanted corpses.”
He smiles, knowing the moonlight would only cast it into dark shadows. “But I do happen to need a man who can be brutal. The kind of brutality that’ll make a man scream and beg for death. I need a man who can become a monster and have even their own mother wish he’d never been born.”
There was a moment in which he had been anticipating some sort of sudden pain, or perhaps that the world around him would suddenly cease to exist; and that would be that. His end would be unceremonious. Yet, he was still conscious, still very much alive. He was offering next to nothing, and suddenly, he was to be spared?
He nodded in response, though it seemed more like a twitch of his head, and it was only with that motion of closing his hand that it truly dawns on him how loud the silence can be; each pause that the older man made was agonizingly long, dragging on like years in a century.
I am finished, aren’t I-- here, and now.
That’s what he thought, at least. With nothing to lose, he took that open-ended final statement and ran with it. He could do that-- was there really much difference between calculated torture and murdering for a perceived offense, anyway? One was more... sanctioned, in this case, but Lance knew he had the stomach for the former. It was something he thought about quite frequently, in fact. All he was missing was self-control.
He looked up in spite of the darkness; his face would be the only one visible in this exchange, and it was a bold move to dare hold a gaze with the boss of a criminal organization.
“I’d do it without hesitation, and without making an unnecessary mess for the organization. I can do it.” And who else would volunteer for such a job? Something like this, it could be an outlet for all that rage that he held onto for no apparent reason.
Eyes fell from the mans face to stare at the knife he was so proudly displaying ( or rather, flailing around like some mad man ). She would stay silent on the matter for now, paying it no mind – being Giovanni’s Secretary tended to give her a bit of a safe feeling when it came to the dangerous criminals of their organization. If he were to decide to vocalize this threat, she would make her own. In due time, though…
“I believe the recruitment this time around was held by one Missus Rothfield and one Mister Arnold. That one married couple that heads the recruitment office. You can go take it up with them, but, might I give you a word of warning…” Matori leaned forward in her chair, lifting her chin from its’ resting place on her hand, gaze finally moving from the knife to his own violent one.
“You should realize that if you can desensitize your recruits and make them be comfortable with such a practice, you can manipulate them into a better group than the ones who come in raring for action.” It wasn’t often Matori gave a word of passing advice. She was feeling a little generous today.
“Make them lose their morals and they’ll be better to train than the rowdy bunch you usually deal with.”
It was a thought, that gentle suggestion of hers, which had crossed his mind once or twice before; he had certainly considered something that might break them, but knowing him, he’d have an accidental death on his hands. He didn’t miss the initial attitude behind her comments, but he did have enough respect for her to take them to mind, and act on them once he was able to come up with something that wouldn’t force him to hide a body. Proton was quiet, weighing his options.
Seemingly satisfied, he put his knife away, holding his now-empty hands in the air as if to shrug.
“You make a good point, so I’ll spare the lovely couple a visit in favor of something that might be a little more fun for me.”
The executive could only hope that his grunts wouldn’t end up being poached for it later, though. After all the work he would have to plan and put into it...
“I’ll be on my way.”
He turned to leave without so much as a thanks; the thanks, when it came to him, was his leaving without inflicting harm on anyone in the process, after all.
Cyan listened to the thuds of the Pokemon as they bumped into the walls, and, at another moment he would have been concerned or laughing at their antics, but for now, terror won out.
As Proton spoke, he merely shrunk further into the couch, willing himself to turn into a pillow or fall into the earth and die before he so much as touched one of his knives.
Proton gave a good point though. Why was he still alive? Well, he merely adapted to his needs.
“I just…um, I always did what you asked, sir. I didn’t get in the way, I stood in your sh-shadow, like I was supposed to…” he supplied, blinking back tears. Proton’s next works jarred him from his fear-addled haze and he looked up at the man, hopeful.
“R-really? Yes! I-I’ll do it, I’ll watch her!” a pause “Oh, b-but, what about when we have the same shifts..?”
That made sense. He never paid much mind to anyone who knew better than to stand out, after all, and those lucky ones were often the ones who transferred out when they couldn’t take the constant paranoia anymore. Only the adaptable and strong-willed could manage to stay for very long.
If he could manage to get this far-- and even after tonight, still not face his wrath-- he must have been worth something.
“You’ll tell them you cannot work the shifts I work. Tell them we don’t get on very well. Though, I suppose that’s not fair, considering I’m there every weekday. Do you really need that much to live on if you’ve got a place to stay, though?”
Implying, of course, that he would be staying here. With all of the knives!
“It will be nice to have someone to care for my Pokémon.”
Proton wasn’t leaving him much of a choice in the matter, with that statement.
Truly Johtonian technique.
This was a pleasant enough surprise. He’d accepted the leading role without sacrificing deference to her– a conundrum another might be stuck at.
“Tell me. Proton. Where does a young ruffian like you learn the technique of a gentleman?”
Of course, she wasn’t expecting a full answer. The snake-like smile was back, though it had faded slightly, almost genuinely pleased at the surprise– as was she disappointed. Her wish to control her son’s life conflicted with some sense of pride at having raised him right.
“At my parents’ insistence, ma’am,” he answered– not too quickly, but he certainly didn’t hesitate with it. Her time was not to be wasted, and he knew it. Normally, he wouldn’t admit such a thing without some sort of disgust in his voice, the mere thought of being under the strict schedules of his parents made him bristle; but he was incredibly pleasant in his answer this time. In fact, with a very careful ear, it sounded almost grateful.
“I took a lot of different classes each day of the weak to learn the things they felt would make me a proper adult.”
it’s okay to be scared of me. after all, i’m probably the most dangerous thing you’ll ever encounter in your life.
