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Affinity: Part XVIII
March, 2018
Under the gray sky, in between the gray buildings, and above the gray pavement, a lone figure walked.
He dressed unassumingly and moved unafraid through the streets. It was noon, and it was just above freezing – this was the first winter in five years where New York Zero didn't reach negative twenty degrees; but the cold continued to cling like dead fingers for eight months out of the year. The atmosphere was still recovering from the sudden Mass Cooling Effect that took place six years ago, and the pollution heavy cities such as the rather infamous Big Apple were always the worst when it came to climate, so many people moved.
Which, coincidentally, was why he came to the city.
The man hitched a pack heavy with supplies over his shoulder and inspected a building – tall and eggshell colored with a torn red banner that might have once held words - and the he sighed in the style of a mourner; or, at least, someone who was disappointed in what he was looking at.
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Affinity: Part XVII
Part XVII: Hell
When Alex opened the apartment door, he knew he wasn't alone. "Desmond?" he asked, catching a scent. Pheromones and chemicals: The remnants of sweat and motor oil and aftershave molded together into something undetectable to anyone but Alex, so that when he switched on the lights, he wasn't surprised to see Desmond sitting on the couch.
Puzzlement, however, still remained. "You're out of work early," Alex supplied, walking over to him. It was barely nine o' clock. "Were you trying to scare me or is there a better reason to be alone in the dark?" Desmond had evidently changed out of his work uniform, slipping on jeans, sneakers, and donning his white jacket.
There was a backpack, sitting on the floor to his side.
"Desmond?" Alex repeated, not quite settling into a panic. Still, he practically sighed in relief when Desmond stood, met his eyes for a moment, and kissed him.
There was something there: Impassionate urgency, and that made their kiss feel robotic and manufactur
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Affinity: Part XVI
Part XVI: Dropping Bridges
An alarm was going off.
"What's that for?" A woman asked, craning her neck to stare at her neighbor's computer screen. A few others in the office space paused for fractions of a second – there was a temporary lull in typing; the chittering between the workers, and the responses being made through telephones.
"We got a match," the man replied, smug and nonchalant. He clicked through the numerous open programs on his monitor – constantly in the state of updating information and attempting to draw conclusions with data tables and code. He found the source of the noise and began reading off the alert: "…The Department of Motor Vehicles for New York," he said, looking through a grid of names and numbers. "Someone named… Thomas Morrison just got a motorcycle license." He displayed a thumbnail of what was presumed to be the young man in question. "He has the same fingerprints as a missing person." A Missing Person, of course, meant different thin
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Affinity: Part XV
The sky had diminished into a navy blue dome with purpling edges. It was too early for stars – and remarkably, the city was still too densely populated to show them off. But the street lamps provided just as good illumination; butting through the heat hazy air with yellowing light.
About a block and a half away from the bar, Desmond paused under one of the lights and turned around, finding Alex Mercer somewhere in a casual looking red – head who, judging by his sweatshirt, had attended Manhattan College some time before Zeus had consumed him. "Can I ask you a favor?" he said.
The man – Alex – moved his shoulder's back a bit and placed his – Alex's – feet a little more firmly on the ground, still having the subtle difficulties of adjusting to the stocky build and stomping walk of the new shell. Desmond figured that he would too; he had seen a guy like the one Alex was posing as – that had been in Mkinley's, and Desmond struggled not to wince as his bra
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Affinity: Part XIV
Alex paused in the lobby, hands on the stairwell banister. He resisted the urge to turn and see if someone in heels was following him, making those little aggravating slaps on the tile, because he knew it was him. The elevator shone out of the corner of his eye in the afternoon light, and he gritted his teeth before sprinting up the stairs. The considerably large number of stairs. If his shoes weren't extensions of his body it might have even hurt.
He easily walked up to his apartment door – 22-E – and felt the familiar swell of biomass travel down his spine, spreading to his head, fingers, toes…
In a few reality rippling seconds, where a middle aged woman stood, Alex Mercer appeared, blue eyes blinking as he appreciated the extra inches he had regained. And the lack of a rose colored Chanel suit. Taking someone else's appearance was an ability he had been reacquainted within the last weeks. It had been Desmond's idea – a safety concern, he said – and Dana had
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Mature content
Nightmare Again :iconsky12309:sky12309 33 5
Mature content
Affinity: Part XIII :iconsky12309:sky12309 21 6
Affinity: Part XII
"You think that letting him stay here is a good idea, Alex?" Dana hissed at him from her spot on the couch. Doubtful eyes glared up at him from under her bangs.
"It's the best alternative I can think of," he said lowly, not liking where their conversation was going. Had been going for the past half hour. After Alex had left Desmond alone in his room, he had a rush of thoughts that left him in severe need of someone to talk to. And in the past, that usually meant his sister. He had called Dana, telling her only enough so that she would venture over to his apartment.
"Wait, wait," she had said hurriedly over the phone. "Where's your apartment again?" Alex could only remember the vague directions. "I don't have a key," she responded slowly – Alex guessed that she had been writing the address down. He also realized that he didn't have a key, either. He didn't need one, what with the window, but he got the impression that making the apartment more hospitable than, say, a room in a sana
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Affinity: Part XI
Both Alex and Desmond privately thought that there would be no point in time where this wouldn't feel awkward. After that kiss – that experimental, compulsory, no-other-way-to-express-myself kiss, Alex had left Desmond in his apartment, ducking out into the oddly colored sky to his own home.
Before leaving, Alex had turned back to him and stared, arm against the window frame, leg already swung out of view and dangling in the downpour.  The gap was large enough to illuminate a flash of lightening. The window had been long since fixed since Alex's previous accident, and was now always left open a precious inch or two by Desmond in case the other was so inclined towards another surprise visit. Sometimes, as they stood staring at each other, drops would shake off their clothes, skin or hair, and Desmond had noticed during their shaky ride home that Alex had been… twitching. Almost. It was less of a muscle spasm and more like his entire surface was barely holding back so
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Affinity: Part Xb
"Are you okay?" Desmond repeated for the fourth time. It was the first that Alex made an attempt to answer. It was like watching the beginning of a hospital drama: A perfect scene punctured by someone collapsing and being rushed to the emergency room. Desmond suddenly got a sick feeling that if Alex had something inside him harmful enough to make him react like he had the Worst Migraine Ever, of All Time, then it would have even worse effects on the regular world population. He managed to stand his ground until Alex straightened up again.
"Yeah… I," Alex glared up at the stretching buildings before him. He suddenly got the feeling that they were closing in on him. Crushing him. He tried to draw in a few breaths but his chest didn't rise. The sounds of cars, distant honking and the clatter of feet on pavement became just as dizzying as the voices drifting through his subconscious; the smell of gasoline and dirt and sweat was making him sick.
The lights disappeared, and in their wak
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Affinity: Part Xa
"Does this feel weird to you?" Alex asked out loud. Desmond turned to try and meet his gaze, but the other man was content on just watching the packed streets before them. It was eleven o' clock on a Tuesday afternoon: The sweltering heat of late May had come in at full blast; the thick grey clouds above and the dark steel and asphalt below acted as strong holds to keep the humid air still and looming within the city; everyone who didn't have to leave their environment-controlled skyscrapers chose not to today, it seemed. Though Desmond was still getting shoved this way and that if he slowed down his pace to anything below a mild jog.
"What does?" Desmond asked.
"Nothing… Just, feels like we're on a date, or something," Alex clogged up his response with buffer words and mumbles, obviously feeling slightly off-put for having brought up the entire subject in the first place.
Desmond had the good grace needed to act neutrally to this statement; he shrugged as he shot back, "We are ha
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Part IX: Bonding
Officer Larson stood by the doorway, trying to see the through the frosted glass. "It's ten o' clock," he said, staring at his wrist watch, his cell phone, and the large plastic school clock hanging on the wall. "It is ten o' clock, right?"
Officer Velasquez was leafing through an ancient, dog eared magazine meant for women who belonged on reality TV. "Yep. It's ten." She said without bothering to check.
"Because he called us in at nine."
"Anthony Spiels is the Chief of Police for Manhattan," Velasquez responded, trying to find the portion of pages where two celebrities had their identical outfits compared side by side. "He's bound to be busy." She always liked to see if she had the same idea of who looked good in what as the people who had a subscription to these things did. "We're lucky that we got to see him this year, actually." She resumed flipping through glossy pages and ads while Larson swayed anxiously besides her. "And don't look so nervous," she added in. "It's embarrassing.
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Affinity: Part VIII
Once she got back to Mkinley's tomorrow, Cynthia was going to strangle Tabitha. She had gone back outside to find that Alex Mercer – because it was Alex Mercer who had been coming in and harassing Jonathan for the past month – had disappeared.
She angrily ducked her head deeper into her jacket and moved through the slush. Her destination was coming fast into view: A Manhattan police station – complete with the large globe lights on the porch.
The tiles were linoleum and the walls were just barely thick enough to hold in some sparse heat. Her hair was still pulled tight against her scalp; her ears red from exposure. The front desk was empty and she sank further into her jacket, making fists in her pockets. She wasn't stupid; she knew that going to the police was about as useless as hunting down the Blacklight Virus itself, but still… she shook her head a bit, leaning on the light oak of the desk. It was tall and worn, and stuffed full of papers.
It wasn't Jonathan's
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Affinity: Part VII
Desmond could hear the small, dull thuds Alex's feet made on the carpeted hallways behind him; he could feel the man's blue eyes intently watching his back, and there was still a very small part of him that was desperately pleading to just fake left and run for the nearest transit as soon as they hit the street.
His chest was tight, and he kept on chewing on the inside of his cheek and tapping his fingers against his palms. It felt like he was enduring the worst wait of his life. With each step he found himself cursing New York, cursing his shitty luck, and cursing the man ignorantly following behind him.
But he just couldn't put his heart into the last bit.
It would have been easier if he wasn't on the fence about so many things: Alex Mercer didn't want to hurt him? That, he believed – wanted to believe – but he would remember that double edged sword that had replaced what should have been the man's arm, and his hand started shaking as its unquestionable lethality passed thr
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Affinity: Part VI
The apartment complex was only ten stories tall: Windows full of air conditioning units, walls full of graffiti; the building had to have been made in the late 1800s. Alex watched the crowds of people walk by for twenty minutes or so, waiting for a lull in the foot traffic. For a blessed second, the street was just about empty, and he stood from the stairwell he had been lounging on and walked up to the steel door, clearly locked.
He felt his skin prickle slightly as his hand turned into hooks. Alex jammed the tip of one of the sharpened fingers into the doorknob and felt the tumblers inside break away; the door eased open without him even turning the knob.
"That's not noticeable," he muttered, struggling to close the door again.
The next door was glass with a push bar. He saw someone inside; a haggard looking woman, with a bag of groceries.
He knocked.
"What?" she snarled, turning towards the door. Alex gave a small flex of his fingers in greeting. "Oh." She walked up, letting him in.
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Affinity: Part V: Cat Fight
Alex saw his apprehensive face reflecting off the green glass windows of McKinley's and realized that the hardest part of his endeavor was not convincing himself to get there, or even getting to the bar itself, but actually just going forward a few steps and opening a door.
A door.
Not even a locked door, either.
What was Jonathan Fetcher doing to him?
Making him a monster and a coward, he supposed silently as he rocked side to side on his feet. He figured, after a moment, that this stuttering, anxious behavior of his couldn't go on any longer and he should just get the damn thing over with. Otherwise, he'd be waiting out in the frigid temperatures until Jonathan got off his shift in six hours or so.
With such steeling encouragement in his head, he was ready to open the bar's door.
However, as he reached for the handle, it swung open from the inside, and Cynthia came out, wearing a sour look. It went pretty well with her apron, Alex thought.
"You," she spat, jabbing a finger inches fro
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SPN - Miscalculation by luckyraeve SPN - Miscalculation :iconluckyraeve:luckyraeve 1,373 426 Solo by vongue Solo :iconvongue:vongue 766 118 in Purgatory 4-1 by glaringstar in Purgatory 4-1 :iconglaringstar:glaringstar 689 22 Mighty and Powerful Goddesses - Elle Dorado by Courtoon Mighty and Powerful Goddesses - Elle Dorado :iconcourtoon:Courtoon 6,367 777 Old Paper Texture by nevermoregraphix Old Paper Texture :iconnevermoregraphix:nevermoregraphix 662 493 Ib comic by NightMargin Ib comic :iconnightmargin:NightMargin 2,058 219 Tiles - Sun and Moon by ErinPtah Tiles - Sun and Moon :iconerinptah:ErinPtah 23 0 DJ Coulz Suit Tutorial: BASICS by DJCoulz DJ Coulz Suit Tutorial: BASICS :icondjcoulz:DJCoulz 4,502 421 family by sweetdari family :iconsweetdari:sweetdari 516 18 It's too hot. by sweetdari It's too hot. :iconsweetdari:sweetdari 321 35 Poses by moni158 Poses :iconmoni158:moni158 11,207 222 heartbreaker by erebun heartbreaker :iconerebun:erebun 2,889 132 Hungry Kiss -DeanCastiel- by EspadaDina Hungry Kiss -DeanCastiel- :iconespadadina:EspadaDina 626 59


I just responded to a journal concerning whether or not something was Art. I got out my speech-writing powers and posted this comment:

"...I guess I can go on and be totally cliche and say that it depends on who's looking at the art, right? I mean, we certainly haven't gotten tired of the "Art if Subjective" comment, right? Right?

In reality, I think we shouldn't bother trying to define what art is. Because Art - any form of it, whether it's a painting or a poster or music or a book; fanfiction, poetry, comic books, video games or machinima or hell, even a wall of GUM - is different than anything else we have in the world. It's different than Science, or Math, or anything else we have on Earth because it alludes its definition - how many people have a universal definition of Biology? Okay, well good. Now how many people have a universal idea of Art? Exactly. Some people say this gum-wall is Art, other people argue that it isn't. And yet, there is no way to determine who is right in this aspect. You can toss around words like 'accidental art' or 'postmodernism' or 'abstract' or just 'something that looks cool,' but is it Art?

Why should we define Art? Why should we try and limit this natural, skilled, messy creativity and imagination we have been producing since man itself was born? Why do we want to turn Art - this beautiful expression of the Human Condition - of suffering and love and tragedy and normalcy and religion and symbolism and Nothing and Everything - into something as dead and trite and easy to pin down as the definition of, say, geometry? Why would we do that?

So - is this wall of gum art? I can't tell you that. Only you can tell yourself that. And you can't go out and tell your parents or your friends the status of the piece because that's what you believe. Art is Anything. Art is Everything. But Art can also be Nothing; it's all in the eyes of the beholder."



United States
One of those 'up and coming writer' types. I know; I'm sorry. Promise I'll only let it out in fanfiction for now?


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MissJasperHale1843 Featured By Owner Aug 24, 2012
Happy Birthday :cake: :cookie: :cake: :party: :cake: :party:
sky12309 Featured By Owner Aug 24, 2012
hee, thank you!
Luna-Bell07 Featured By Owner May 6, 2012  Student Writer
Thank you for adding Affinity to :iconoperation-mercer: You wrote the most beautiful and inspirational Alex/Des.
MissJasperHale1843 Featured By Owner Feb 10, 2012
hey assbutt thanks for the fave :P
ajremix Featured By Owner Feb 4, 2012
Thanks for the watch!
RinGreen Featured By Owner Nov 18, 2011
woohoo! Thanks for the watch!
ScenebutCute1210 Featured By Owner Oct 1, 2011  Hobbyist Writer
Thanks For Teh Fave :heart:
Dianacat777 Featured By Owner Aug 23, 2011
Hey, how are you doing?~
sky12309 Featured By Owner Aug 23, 2011
Oh, hey dude what's up?
Dianacat777 Featured By Owner Aug 24, 2011
Not that much. Been working slowly but surely on that oneshot I mentioned. A lot of the action is covered, but it feels pretty unpolished, so I think I'm going to go back and improve the writing itself once I finish the basics.

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