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Literature
Keep Breathing
Used to do sports. Not things like soccer or martial arts, though I've done some of those too; I mean jumping out of a perfectly good plane with a parachute and a board just so I feel like I'm surfing the wind, cheating death.
It worked, for awhile.
But now death is all around me.
I used to like the thrill. Plucking Shaun from getting caught by Abstergo, setting him up to see patterns and information: looking at how they were doing things, their research, and improving the technology with what I had on hand. Discovery and hiding all in one.
Desmond's doing the best he can. But we'll see. We'll find out, in a few days, if we really can cheat death.
I can. Sort of.
Maybe.
I figured it out when Desmond was stuck in the Animus. All those weird pieces of data we saw were Subject 16, right? And with Desmond's mind being so active, there had to be something. That data was in there, had been copied, it wanted to be found and we found it and -
I'm sorry. I mean Clay. Clay Kaczmarek.
He wanted t
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Literature
Chain Lightning
sun dogs fire on the horizon
meteor rain stars across the night
this moment may be brief
but it can be so bright
reflected in another source of light
when the moment dies
the spark still flies
reflected in another pair of eyes
-Rush, "Chain Lightning"
=
The cross had fallen, knife in the back, and to Desmond it was a fitting death.
So much death.
What would he choose?
Death, or life?
Red swam in his vision, edged with blackness.
The world would go on. It would always go on; it went on when he was sleeping, when he was in the Animus, when he was traveling: it kept on turning and turning and now it was safe, it was safe, his father and his comrades and the world were all safe.
Well. In a manner of speaking.
But he did what he could. Stories would echo across the world, passed by those he knew, who knew him. And there would be hope.
"For what is a man, but the stories he tells himself?" Clay's weird grin interrupted all that red. It wasn't exactly what he remembered Clay saying, but in hi
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Literature
Mistakes We Knew [5]
Eric Slingby and I had been partners for years. Decades, even – the years blurred together and to a reaper, it can seem like days.
I had been dying for decades. I could die tomorrow, or in three weeks, with every cough, every chill.
And Eric – he knew me well, he knew when I was saying "I'm fine" just to not worry him. But he'd worry anyway, he'd still argue with William, he'd still put me to bed.
With Ronald Knox it was different – the landlady of the pub, the landlord's wife, started to recognize me last week and served up a round of pints without me having to ask, and Ronald would take his and we would both start talking. About anything, really – sometimes I talked. Sometimes he did. Sometimes we had arguments, the spectacularly enjoyable kind in which both parties are somewhat drunk and don't remember what they were arguing about five minutes afterwards and these arguments didn't hurt, they didn't hurt the same way arguments with Eric hurt.
And that was really h
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Literature
Mistakes We Knew [4]
William T Spears was not an idiot.
He'd known of Grell Sutcliff's little... affections for him for some time - it was really quite obvious, ranging from using red pen and little hearts over the letter 'i' in his reports to sending him flowers and little packets of coffee from the human world with lines of poetry on them.
He liked the T.S. Eliot one - I have measured my life in coffee spoons.
But he also looked at his other subordinates, and paid attention, and it was clear something was going on. Alan Humphries seemed a bit more cheery, but refusing to take Eric Slingby as backup - there must have been a falling out, he didn't need Grell to tell him that.
Falling outs, lovers' quarrels: these all made for unhappy employees, which made for late work, which made for overtime.
And with the way Alan looked at Ronald - it wasn't quite like how Alan looked at Eric in the past, or what passed for trysts within the Dispatch, but it was almost, and almost was enough.
He was not a
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Literature
Mistakes We Knew [3]
Eric Slingby didn't become angry the first time, nor the second; but Eric did have the keys to Alan's flat, and when Alan returned for the third Friday in a row after being out, he was there waiting.
"It hasn't been overtime, has it?" Eric raised an eyebrow, looking Alan Humphries over. Alan's coat was open, letting him see that Alan's waistcoat was slightly undone, the tie slightly loose; things that normally would pass beneath notice but the brunette always was so tidy and neat. "Good to see you're having fun, there."
"Did have fun." Alan smiled, proceeded to take off his coat and put it on a coat rack. He missed, the first time. "Good company. Ronald Knox has lots of stories, you'd be surprised."
"...have you been drinking? With Knox?"
"Just a little."
"Alan..."
"S'fine! No attack. All fine." Alan kept his smile but then raised an eyebrow at Eric. "Why are you here?"
"I was wondering where you went." Eric glared at him now, using a tactic that worked especially well with Alan under
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Literature
Mistakes We Knew [2]
Eric Slingby spent the next week buried to his neck in paperwork. His eyeballs were spared from the onslaught of paper cuts, but they preoccupied themselves with glaring at William T Spears and his desk from across the room instead.
Nor did Spears let him support Alan Humphries on collections. No, he was on desk duty, and after the first couple of days he had memorized the handwriting of the other agents in Dispatch.
On Friday, a paper airplane sailed to him - he didn't even notice it until it bonked him on the head and fluttered rather pitifully from there to the stack of files on his desk. Like a schoolboy, he waited until William Spears wasn't looking to look at it.
Someone had written in it.
And by the handwriting (as he unfolded the plane), and more to the point, the little hearts on the 'i's and the red ink that was used, it was Grell Sutcliff.
Dear Eric,
Would you have time for tea with me this afternoon? We really should talk, and I might be able to help you with your paperw
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Mature content
Mistakes We Knew [1] :iconkitxue:kitxue 13 0
Mature content
Turning Again :iconkitxue:kitxue 7 2
Literature
Words
I. Intense
"Feelings are intense - words are trivial."
It is night, and the ruins of Montereggioni are old.
Shaun Hastings watches, though his back is largely to the Animus; he does have statistics running on his computer, though. Everything's working. Brain activity normal.
But Desmond isn't normal.
"I just want to sleep," he says, sitting up.
Shaun doesn't turn to him. They know; Desmond's been getting into some of the emails, he's seen the messages about nightmares.
The screams.
Nobody will say anything to Desmond themselves.
Shaun keeps typing. "Then sleep. Everyone else is."
Desmond comes round. Shaun tenses, hopes his sweater vest will cover just how tense his muscles are getting; knowing Desmond's been training in that thing and having him behind his computer is one of the lesser worries the historian has, but it is one of the ones usually on his mind.
It wouldn't take much, would it. Not for a Master Assassin.
And Desmond did have a hidden blade.
Sometimes, Shaun
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Literature
Measure of a Man
Consider this.
When you're alive, functioning, you forget stuff all the time. Your keys. What you had for breakfast three days ago. Arguments with your best friend. Bits and pieces of your childhood. Other things take up your time; work, school, reading, watching TV, wondering what all the stupid politicians are going to do to fuck up this country this go round, things like that. You might be working on the great American novel but you go to the toilet and then forget what you wanted to do.
It happens.
I remember everything now.
Sitting at my desk, working on homework. Must have been high school. History homework - advanced US History. I can look at it - it's the colonial times unit. Analyzing factors that led to the Declaration of Independence.
Those who do not learn from history are doomed to repeat it.
"The foreman's son has a degree in engineering, pulls in sixty thousand a year. That's where the money is!"
School was important. But my father needed help, and I was his son.
I would
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Mature content
Tomorrow Never Comes :iconkitxue:kitxue 4 2
Literature
I'm Here

Und doch ist nie der Tod ein ganz willkommner Gast.

Scene Two
It is the hospital. Visiting hours. Miki Sayaka has come to see a boy called Kamijo Kyousuke - the violinist Kamijo, the boy maestro.
Or at least, he had been.
Sayaka, for once, is silent.
Music plays. There are headphones - Sayaka has one side, Kyousuke the other.
Music is so beautiful, isn't it? She can be the one to bring him music, can't she?
She's so close.
She's so happy -
But he is crying.
Her life is so fortunate.
Scene Three
She, Miki Sayaka, will not lose.
No. She will define her fate. Right? She can do this.
The witch is right there - and she has the power to fight it.
It. Who cares about names. Who cares about witches, even - all of them could come, and she would fight, and act, and do, and she would be happy.
She is happy.
She laughs while she fights.
Everything outside the barrier doesn't matter.
She could die -
yes -
but right now -
right now she is doing something.
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Literature
Birthday Redux
Notes:
+ told in Thomas' POV
+ set after Changes, massive spoilers ahoy
+ comments/etc welcome
+ more notes below work
=
It's my birthday today.
Yes, I know. It's Valentine's Day. Obviously someone with such a demon like me would be born today.
For the White Court though, this day is just like any other. Beautiful women. Beautiful men. Desire of all kinds. And food, so much food.
It feels good to eat, to devour, to lust. Sometimes, it's the same thing.
But I am not here for food.
It's not a pleasant building, any more, the place where the apartment used to be. And I'm not exactly welcome, even though Harry had kicked me out of his apartment and it's not his apartment anymore.
But I stayed behind. I had restrained my hunger. Molly Carpenter was still alive, and that was something.
But it wasn't Molly who let me in to this place - it was the police officer.
Former police officer. With blond hair and bright blue eyes that darted everywhere, that tried to keep track of so much.
I sm
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Literature
The Show
Alan Humphries was feeling weaker with each passing moment, but still he held his head up high like the lady of the ton he was playing at being.
This opera wasn't an ordinary opera.
Eric Slingby had to be here.
But where was he?
Alan searched for the telltale flash of green eyes, for the wild-looking hair, but with all the dancers and spectators, the movement of swishing cloth and the shadows of the curtains, it was hard to tell where Eric Slingby might be hiding himself.
"Eric! Eric...!"
He cared about the murders, he cared about these people, but most of all he cared about Eric. He wanted to find Eric before the other reapers did, to talk with him - no, that wasn't exactly right, even though it was true -
- he wanted to go home.
With Eric by his side.
But he couldn't say that here.
No.
They would go home, and then he'd say it, those elusive three words.
And it would all be okay.
Wouldn't it?
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Literature
Standing:Motion
It was dusk, and there was no overtime.
William T Spears allowed himself a smile.
He didn't notice Ronald Knox until the younger reaper sat next to him on the bench.
"Some day, huh, boss?"
William just looked up at the stars. One by one, they were being revealed as day changed into night.
Ronald fell silent, but then there was a hand around him and on his shoulder, and it was Ronald's.
They sat there, on the bench, in silence, watching the stars.
When the stars had come out, when it was past dark and they finally stood to their feet, both reapers had smiles.
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Literature
Snowfield
With the snow came sadness.
William T Spears shut himself away in his office, filing paperwork on the case of the serial murders in London; the souls had been released, and they too had to be properly filed - or that, at least, was his excuse.
Grell Sutcliff would talk, and glance over at the now-empty desks in Dispatch, and then fall silent, remembering that the two colleagues were no longer there. And then he'd talk again. No one knew if he was delusional or if he simply didn't care; no one knew what happened to reaper souls after they died, and no one asked the one person who might have known.
Ronald Knox took the day off and was in a London pub, a pitcher of lager at his table. He ate, and drank, by himself, but insisted later the lads were there with him, Eric drinking with him, Alan flushed and trying to get Eric not to do anything stupid. Alan looked so cute when flushed, Ronald said, and no one wanted to say anything to the contrary.
And the snow kept falling.
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kitxue
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Just a note: ID image me, but painted by numi~ Used with permission.
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   Another year, come and gone. And for some reason, NOW I think I may have offended someone who I kinda. Kinda. Argh.

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:iconwillsdarklady:
Willsdarklady Featured By Owner Oct 16, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
be this the kit i met at Otakon? :)
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:iconwillsdarklady:
Willsdarklady Featured By Owner Nov 21, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
yiss! (& np :) )
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:iconkitxue:
kitxue Featured By Owner Nov 21, 2014
Yes, yes it is! (Sorry about the late response!)
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:iconmoiscen:
Moiscen Featured By Owner May 2, 2013  Student Traditional Artist
I love your writings :heart:
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:iconkitxue:
kitxue Featured By Owner May 2, 2013
Thank you! I'm glad you like them!
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:iconnoruastrife:
NoruaStrife Featured By Owner Jun 24, 2012
Thank you so much for the fave ^^
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:iconundesiredvalentine:
UndesiredValentine Featured By Owner Apr 1, 2012  Hobbyist General Artist
Thanks for the fav! I'm glad you like Cat Major ^.^
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:iconkitxue:
kitxue Featured By Owner Apr 1, 2012
The Major Cat amuses me xD
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:iconundesiredvalentine:
UndesiredValentine Featured By Owner Apr 1, 2012  Hobbyist General Artist
But he's scary D= Lol No, he's meant to be funny =)
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:icondeenuke:
DeeNuke Featured By Owner Mar 29, 2012  Hobbyist General Artist
Hello there and welcome to :iconabstergoindustries: :nod:

Thank you very much for joining and please take a moment to read our group rules (listed on the main page of the group) and the submission guidelines listed in the following link :pointr: [link] :pointl:

Also, if you need any help, don't hesitate to contact me or send a note to the Group. :) Thank you again and I hope you will enjoy the club! :D
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