man on the moon.

We may be building some structure so perfect and elegant, we can’t even perceive it. { affiliated with citta alveare }

[signyan]

This captcha is making sure I'm not a robot does that mean Luna can't ask you questions?

What an ingenious way of asking me to turn the thermostat up.

[signyan]

mundotemporis:

-— ｢ღ ｣ —- Few things seemed more suspicious than a man like him welcoming him with open arms at such a late hour of the day. His smile reeked of poison, a total contradiction to the rumours he had heard about him, even when it was very well known that he enjoyed messing with people. Certainly, the vampire was no exception to that rule. He was pretty confident about the idea that most of the traits the other showed to him were the results of years of acting friendly toward several other customers. 

Apparently, doctors were trained in different forms of sweet talking - it was a necessary skill, considering the fact that most people placed value on a medical they could trust. They were no magicians, they couldn’t cause miracles - telling someone that it healing them was beyond their abilities was part of their job as much as prescribing medicine was. 

He invited him to take a seat, and despite the fact that he wasn’t hear because of something as silly as a sore throat or a cold, he sat down. His expression didn’t falter as he watched the other’s movements, how he reached around for a clipboard both of them knew wasn’t necessary in the first place. The chair was small and felt unpleasant, but he waited for the young man in front of him to begin with uttermost patience.  As soon as words spilled out of his mouth though, it took all of his energy to not slip into a frown, obvious annoyance boiling inside of him in response to this mockery. Clearly, this man must have tried to mess with him - he was a clown wearing a doctor’s coat, with a sick, unpleasant sense of humor. A terrible person, through and through. 

“You may answer all of these questions with no”, he answered, despite the fact that he didn’t feel like it. He decided to play along for the time being though, simply to discover a little bit more about the person he was talking to.  “I’ve never been asked about recent fights in a doctor’s office, though. I suppose it makes sense in a city like this.” Crossing his legs, he decided to lean back in his seat, eyes narrowing slightly as he let the masquerade of indifference slowly slip off his face, revealing a more or less displeased expression.

“There’s something more urgent I came here for which has nothing to do with allergies or blood issues. I, Dio, am in need of a reliable person with medical knowledge that is willing to go through a couple of tests with me.” 

What a grump. An absolute disappointment, truly--couldn’t he have smiled a bit? Have capitalized on the adrenaline rush he must have experienced upon so cruelly penetrating Sigma with something that wasn’t all too fleshy nor pleasant?

Or was that not thrilling enough for him? Oh, well, he understands--murdering Sigma wasn’t all too stimulating. He was a bit of an easy target, truth be told.

Oh, right, said man was still grasping at and vying for his attention. Ugh. Morally ambiguous murderers, always so self entitled.

“Yes, fights are terribly frequent in this city. Bloody noses, broken limbs, life threatening lacerations, fleshing eating illnesses induced by disease manipulation because someone decided to wistfully gaze at a married woman, they’ve all trotted into my office and sat in that exact seat. I certainly hope a problem of that sort isn’t troubling you.”

His smile has yet to falter, and an eye rovers over the clipboard, only to then flicker on over and towards the other man. That is, until...‘I, Dio--’ He quirks a brow, proceeding to idly sift through the papers that lay on his desk.

“Is that so.” He replies, tone somewhat deadpan. “I see. Elaborate for me and accommodate this elderly man, won’t you?”

Abruptly, he brings his hands down and against his desk with an uncharacteristic thud. No longer does he don a smile, bringing a hand forward and drawing out a red marker from his desk. And so, he marks the paper confined the clipboard with an obnoxious, gaudy red “X”--from one corner to another.

“You don’t happen to be an, ah, wielder of any supernatural abilities, do you? I apologize for this interrogation process--”

“Mere medical precautions.”

[whyamisweaty]

aesthetic meme - Sigma Klim ( sigmeowklim​ )

[signyan]

erenyega:

“It’s not like I particularly wanted to. That’s why I opted out right here. Sorry for making assumptions.” Eren rapped lightly on his brow, then rubbed the area around his eye. Rubbing it out of habit, he rested his head on his palm.

“How about neither? It’s irritated easily, and that in itself is irritating me, who had to deal with it. Having something to cover it up would be better than letting sand get in it whenever I have to drive home. Not like my car has any enclosures to keep the desert out of my face.”

“You speak as though anyone ever does.” His features harden upon receiving an apology, a single ‘humph’ parting from his lips--unwarranted apologies were always so...

Devoid of meaning. Unnecessary.

“...Your eye is irritated and you decide to attain an eyepatch rather than a pair of goggles.” A sigh. “And you somehow insist you aren’t a weeaboo...” Wordlessly, a gloved hand would snake around the back of his own head, fingers plucking at a band until the eyepatch he once donned slipped off entirely. His hair stoops downwards, concealing his cybernetic eye...and so he motions the eyepatch forward, tossing it in Eren’s direction.

His reflexes are still intact, aren’t they?

“My eye is merely metal and wires--sterilized--but I would advise that you wipe that down regardless. It’s a temporary solution, an eyepatch will hardly do you any good in the longrun regardless of how seemingly impressive it may be. Make do with it, I suppose.”

[signyan]

erenyega:

“I’d really rather not get whatever’s left taken out.” Eren replied, right eye firmly shut. “Not even sure if you could use it.”

“I’d rather you not become too reliant on any cybernetic enhancements, but you know well I could be of assistance if your circumstances are to ever take a sharp decline. And who said I’d want to? It’s not kind to assume things of others. Regardless, from what I’ve gathered, your health seems to have improved since I last saw you.” He responds, tone obscenely deadpan all the while.

“Now, what exactly do you need this eyepatch for, hm? Cosplay or a fetish? Both?”

[signyan]

erenyega:

“…So. Eyepatches. Where the hell can I find one–”

“You’ll receive a 50% discount if you choose to lose one of your eyes beforehand. Would that be of any interest to you?”

[signyan]

“I-I’m sorry, I’m getting flustered u-um! Besides, you already know you’re brilliant so you don’t need me saying it.”

Who allowed him to program an AI this precious--

[grumblygardensarchive]

If you want to RP with me, send me a ✿. If you want to plot with me, send me a ✯. If you enjoy seeing me on your dash, send me a ♡.

[signyan]

“International Cat Day, otherwise known as the only purrelevant day of the year.”

[gotteswelt-blog]

signyan

[gotteswelt-blog]

-— ｢ღ ｣ —- It was strange, almost astounding how many times he had visited a doctor’s office since his arrival inside of the city. Two times in total didn’t sound like much at first, they probably seemed to be a little bit more than average when the information was added that both of them had been in the timespan of a couple of days, but the idea of someone like him seeing the inside of such a facility with the intention of receiving treatment in such a short time was something that had never even crossed his mind before. 

One hundred years. Surviving an entire century in the care of yourself and nobody else was certainly enough to make you confident enough in your own body to never fall apart ever again. It would be an understatement to claim that the scientists’ work of taking away everything he had aimed for and trapping him here like a lab rat was a mere scratch to his ego. It was beyond his understanding how anyone could strip him so easily of the powers of a god and force him and people he had long considered as dead to live more or less comfortable lives here. It wasn’t just humiliating, it was downright threatening and while he hated the fact that he stood powerless in front of them, it was impossible for him to ignore their superiority. He was someone that admired and respected the strength of other’s - hostility toward him or not didn’t change anything about that.

Quietly, he walked down the empty hallway, walls and doors as white as snow to his left and right. His were the only footsteps breaking through the silence, thoughts circling around the past occurrences. If he was going to work toward getting back his powers, he’d first have to know exactly where to start. As far as he knew, not all of his abilities had been taken away. It was crucial to know what exactly he was able to do in his current position and what not, especially when the one man that had reduced him to nothing but a head was part of this so-called experiment as well. Their encounter had led him to another, far more pressing question - it had been a good idea to come to a place that could most likely answer both of them at once. 

From what he had heard, the person he was going to meet was a truly inspiring man on his subject. Gifted, and even if he wasn’t someone one would invite over for coffee and cake, he could safely assume that he wasn’t sent by the scientists in order to give him false information. As far as he had figured out, this entire city was run by participants just like himself. A doctor specialized in genetic engineering, as odd and unapproachable as his personality was supposed to be, was certainly going to be useful at some point.

By the time he finished his thoughts he had already reached the end of the corridor, not bothering to knock or otherwisely announce him opening the door and entering the room beyond it.  The first thing his crimson eyes caught sight of was a young man in a lab coat, sitting on a chair as rid of colours as everything else inside of his office. Their eyes met, and if he hadn’t gathered at least a couple of basic informations about the person in front of him, then the eyepatch above his right one would have probably surprised him. The aura he gave off wasn’t exactly hostile, but not the most inviting either. An odd man, which seemed to resemble the other doctor he had met more than he had noticed at first. As far as he could remember, their surnames had read the same as well - was it possible that this body was the shell of the other personality he had met back then?

“I know that the sign near the entrance said that it was closing time 30 minutes ago…”, he began, his tone cold, yet calm and charming as if it was the devil himself speaking. “…but I wasn’t able to make it earlier. Since no other patient is currently here, I’m sure that you can spare some time for me, though.” He wasn’t lying at least. Before the sun had set, it was impossible for him to take even a single step outside. The only possibility had been to meet the other during the night, when it was quiet, and nobody would interfere with them at all.

[signyan]

He recognizes this man.

He recognizes him, almost instantly despite the red that tinted his vision--his nose begins to ache as the memories of their--or rather, Sigma’s encounter flood his very being, his chest tightens and a pang of anxiety resonates throughout him. It’s not his own anxiety, strangely enough--it’s Sigma’s.

He knows few things regarding this man: he’s strong, he’s individualistic, and he’s little regard for the wellbeing of others. The same could be said for approximately 1/6th of humanity.

That hadn’t rendered him any less of a threat.

Had it been anyone else, he’d respond with a hostility--a deadline is a deadline. But he figures he’ll make time for this one; after all, a smart man studies his enemies.

Or rather, Sigma’s enemies. Whatever the case, he’ll restrain himself, just this instance.

“It’s fine. Take a seat,” he responds, an inconspicuous smile tugging at his lips as he motions towards the chair. A single eye roves over the man from head to toe, and his smile doesn’t fade, not once.

He wasn’t one for smiles, but he was certainly one for faking them--in this city, your survival was contingent on that skill alone.

Gloved fingers graze against the clipboard atop his desk, and idly clicks his pen prior to addressing the man seated before him.

“I’ve never been one for leisure or wasting time--I’m sure the same can be said for yourself. So let’s start, shall we? Allergies? Asthma? Behavioral disorders? Bladder disorders? Any issues with blood? Bowel syndrome? Diabetes? Erectile dysfunctions? Heart problems? Previous hospitalizations? Prone to seizures? Issues with speech? Vision? Any recent, ah, fights? A simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’ to these questions will do.”

“Your name would also be helpful, I suppose.”

[signyan]

cinnamon roll too pure too good for this world

[softdata-deactivated20160906]

White walls and white tiles. Blood stains that haven’t been tended to just yet.

He was a busy man, after all.

Walking into the clinic feels like she had always imagined “coming home” would feel like. A warm familiarity and flashing images of the place of her creation and watching the good Doctor work in absolute silence are brought to the forefront of her memory and the programmed response of wistfulness fulls her artificial heart

. She can’t help but smile when she sees him. Part of her knew he would be here, even though the possibility of the first clinic in the city she walked into being the right one was a one-in-a-million chance mathematically something as akin to intuition as she could create simply knew.

“Take a seat.”

She smooths out her skirt and gingerly sits with nothing but the sound of rustling fabric accompanying it.

Her smile has disappeared and a part of her wonders if he had intended to program her with such an intimate knowledge of his tonality.

“Dying.” she stops, makes a face.

“Well, that…. Um.”

She grips at her skirt and tries to look at anything but him.

“I was shutting down. For good. Your younger self was there and he was holding me, I think, because he felt sorry for me. Even though I had failed you both.”

She inclines her head.

“I’m sorry. I’m not sure why this data is intact but I will perform better this time.”

[signyan]

He doesn’t say anything--a silence lingers as a lone eye flickers to the side. He purses his lips, only to then clack his pen and promptly set it down against his papers. His posture is stiff, his body motionless as he sits in silence.

The second she stops looking is the second he starts. A lone eye roves over her face at last, his gaze meeting that of her own.

“You disobeyed direct orders,” he states at last. “Of course, some of what occurred was in accordance to the plans I’d established. I’m unable to say the same for the rest.”

Whether or not it truly was or wasn’t, whether he’d, in actuality, planned every bit of this was a secret of his own--and one he intended to keep.

Or maybe the truth of the matter was that he simply hadn’t known himself.

He idly grips his pen again, its point grazing against the papers settled before him--”When human beings are born, they’re akin to fleshy sacs of meat. Their genetics are programmed with survival instincts; nothing more. They cry for attention, they pucker their mouths to consume milk, they defecate when they’ve sustained enough nutrients to do so. But then, we decide to teach them to walk. We teach them to talk, to swim, to learn instruments, entirely new languages. That’s not present within their genetic coding; it’s conditioning. It’s evolution. It’s autonomy. It’s a feat of humanity.”

He arches back a slight bit, reclining his chair as he gazes off into nothingness.

“Even those children...you can teach two children socialized within the same household how to speak, how to walk, how to eat and they’ll perform all three activities entirely differently. The anthropological aspect of this phenomena still intact, it doesn’t account for individuality--nor do genetics. It’s a common debate within the field...variation serving as a genetic trait. I suppose the problem is that human beings don’t want to believe their own kind is beyond their control.”

A pause.

'You believed in me this whole time...’ you said. ‘Yeah,’ I replied. ‘Even though I look like this?’ You ask. ‘Of course.’ I respond, once again.”

First person and past tense weren’t meant to align together in his world.

“You spoke of myself while we were in the garden--I don’t recall you instructing you to do that. Nor did Akane. Quite a show of individuality, if not autonomy.”

“You remember this because you’re beyond my programming. You’ve nothing to apologize for.”

[signyan]

cinnamon roll too pure too good for this world

White walls, white tiles, white noise. The occasional crimson stain, but there was little more to his clinic.

Yet today, he finds that he’s greeted by locks of ginger hair.

Not so literally, of course--that particular color merely stuck out to him. It always would.

He would love to claim that he hadn’t noticed her initially, as he sits in his leatherback chair, legs crossed while ink rapidly dances across his paper.

But he can’t. His gaze flickers on and over towards the door prior to her even entering.

He sees hair first, it’s always her hair, and then her face. Something in his chest stirs, and for a moment, a single word attempts to part from his lips, so desperate to escape through gaps between his gritted teeth: Diana.

But she isn’t Diana, and he knows well she won’t ever be.

His features are softening, and he’s well aware, because even if it isn’t Diana it’s Luna and truth be told that did little good for his heart. She’s found him, and he knew she would, she was competent, she was clever, she was docile, she was so much more than what his blueprints once entailed.

She’s devoted, too. Some part of him loathes that.

He doesn’t look at her as he speaks. He gaze flickers towards her, only for a second, and then towards the side, and then the chair that sits across from his desk and towards his papers once again. 

“Take a seat,” he starts.

“And tell me what you last remember.”

softdata

[citta-alveare-deactivated201811]

without prior reserve i'd like to submit my application for luna from zero escape: virtue's last reward! the application can be found under the button labelled "app"

Welcome to the hive, Luna!

You will be housed in apartment i-5.

You will be given all the love in the world, because you deserve it.

Enjoy your stay!

– mod 『 』

[signyan]

My mama said I have to come home right now immediately

[signyan]

“...They don’t happen to be in need of a medic, do they...?”

[signyan]

“Death in this city is futile.”

“Would it not be more befitting to torture him? Or to utilize his body for science? A scalpel may very well teach him a lesson.”

[sigmeowklim]

It is 3am get out || closed

It wasn’t often that he woke up in the middle of the night. Usually it was from the cats pawing at him around 5am for food too. But this was different. He’d woken up as soon as he heard a loud ‘thud’ going on somewhere in the house. Looking over to make sure his boyfriend was still asleep, he slid out of bed, nearly stepping on one of the cats in the process.

Shushing it gently as it meowed a bit from the near encounter with his foot, he tried to listen to what was going on. As quietly as possible, he opened the door from the bedroom to the hall, hoping to follow the noises to their source. From what he could tell it was coming from the living room, so that’s where he headed to, grabbing a broom that had been left in the hall on his way.

Gripping onto the broom tightly, he just inched forward slowly, trying not to alert whatever was making the noise to his presence. Once he got to the living room, he saw the outline of a person. Was it a robber? Honestly, he wouldn’t put it past the people in this city. It was more likely than not. Or an assassin, that also seemed like a likely guess.

He decided to hope for the former though considering he was pretty sure he wouldn’t know how to handle the latter.

Sneaking up on the figure, he just raised the broom above his head, making sure the figure didn’t know he was there. Once he was close enough, he brought the broom down, smacking whoever it was in the face.

“Who the hell are you and why are you in my house at like, 3 in the morning!?”

[signyan]

He’s merely making use of his younger self’s existence.

A gloved hand grips the door and gradually enters, not bothering to kick his boots off--Sigma could tend to any tracks, he was sure. Sighing, he runs his fingers through his hair--the ticking of the clock echoes through the hollow, and he wagers that it’s 11 PM, hm? 

His phone doesn’t seem to be in agreement, however. 3 AM. Well, he was never particularly adept with telling the time.

No groans, no disembodied yelps...Sigma was undoubtedly sleeping. And so, he begins to motion towards the wall, fiddling with the decorations and ornaments scattered about. That is until--

A broom to the face.

He spits--he was never especially fond of the taste of dust. But then, without a moment’s worth of hesitation, he whips around, gripping the broom with one hand and striking Sigma’s cheek with a ‘smack’ with the other.

Imbecile.

He doesn’t stop there, however--how do you immobilize Sigma Klim? The answer is simple. He grips him by a single ear, yanking him down a bit, his other hand still curled around the broom.

“Conscientious, aren’t you?”

“I’m almost impressed--it seems as though living in this city has done you some good.”

[signyan]

The Sacred Story:If you left a legacy, what detail you want people to always include in retelling it? What something you want them to leave out?

If you left a legacy, what detail you want people to always include in retelling it? What something you want them to leave out?

“My very existence.

I would rather there wasn’t a jaded, elderly man, toiling away in his lab for 40 years. The man who kidnapped 8 people, traumatized and held them captive--the man who destroyed, pined and rebuilt. The man on the moon who merely watches and waits. I would rather he didn’t exist at all.”

“I would rather this world exist without a price.”