#THIS BODY IS A FUCKING MACHINE DESIGNED FOR THE WRONG PURPOSE

[spikeyjo]

I am on t and truly they need to call this shit the salmon juice because my ass is being transformed into a creature beyond my imagination

[amphiaria]

hi. will you write five paragraphs about the vagina button.

okay fine. warning this is going to be me reaching and thinking way deeper about the subject than clamp ever did.

the answer to "chobits why are you like this" is because society is saturated in sex.

I think that the CSA argument is unkind because chii/elda and freya are not children, not really. they also aren't really adults. they're not mammals at all. they don't age. they're machines. they were constructed to fill a role within a nuclear family to which neither of them was especially suited. they were designed to simulate the human experience as closely as any constructed creature in history ever had, which (perhaps inadvertently) included the desire for romantic love. his "daughter" falling desperately in love with him was not something that her creator could have anticipated. these were two brand new beings, the very first of their kind, and they were introduced into a society with power dynamics and taboos that were frankly not suited to the kind of creatures that they are. subsequently the desire for romantic love that freya felt for her creator drove her so insane that she more or less committed suicide over it.

I think the CSA argument is inaccurate because genitalia are not inherently sexual. secondary sexual characteristics are not inherently sexual. sexuality is something that is unavoidably imposed by force upon these characteristics. it is a very common source of trauma for developing children to have gained characteristics that are suddenly perceived by their surrounding society as sexual. do I think that persocoms in general were designed specifically to be fucked safely? it's possible. society is saturated in sex, and people are going to fuck anything that they put their minds to. do I think the chobits, elda and freya, were designed with this purpose in mind? not necessarily. if you were going to design a human woman that is as close to an organic creature as possible, why would you omit these characteristics? why would you assume nefarious intent in their inclusion?

chii/elda enters the story as a complete outsider to the sexual undercurrents of society. she has no conception of the sexually charged nature of undergarments, feels absolutely no shame in nudity or in revealing clothing, is ignorant of what the people in hideki's dirty magazines are doing, doesn't get the innuendo in the natto/batter panels, and is exploited by men manipulating her body over and over again for their own purposes at various points in the story. there is no indication in the text that chii is capable of feeling sexual desire (there is no indication that persocoms do in general). as a general rule, sexuality is something that is outside of her, and imposed upon her.

from a watsonian standpoint, I don't think there is a good argument for why the everloving fuck mihara would ever have put chii/elda's reset button in her vagina. from a doylist standpoint, what I believe clamp is trying to ask is this: in a society that is obsessed with sex, that is unable to stop talking about and thinking about sex, that is unable to stop imposing sexuality upon even objects that are arguably fundamentally incapable of experiencing desire or reciprocating in any way, is a relationship with somebody with whom you cannot consummate this kind of relationship worth it? is romantic love? the story wants to say that it is. it can be read as an asexual narrative - a relationship with chii is worth pursuing even if she is incapable of providing the one thing that society says all relationships must be for. there is nothing broken about her or wrong with her the way that she is. she is not lesser because hideki cannot have sex with her, and that he is written to be a sex-obsessed pervert is intended to make this decision deeper. she does not need to change who she is and he shouldn't try to change her. it fumbles the bag really hard on this. it's not well-written. but I see the bones of it. the message is there even if it's mishandled.

anyway umineko did this better. read umineko as a chaser btw.

[rmoonstoner]

***

Poisoned Empanadas

***

Pairing:

Moon Knight (Jake Lockley) x Spider!fem!reader

Spider-Man 2099 (Miguel O'Hara) x Spider!fem!reader

***

Warnings:

18+, violence, strong language, mentions of death, mentions of depression, sexual themes, volatile emotions, part 2 of the sex dream, dats a big boi

***

Summary:

This one is a little different. It's a recounting of the first chapters, but from Miguel's point of view. When the reader is referred to, it will be with she/her pronouns, not you. It's going to be shorter, because I want it to fit the chapter sizes I have picked.

***

Chapter 4 - B - Fast food dessert type Empanadas

These are the most commonly marketed Empanadas in the food industry. Many famous chains have their own versions of these sweet and delicious pastries. Chains like Taco Bell and McDonald's. (Yes, I know that McDonald's version is technically a pie, but to me it's literally the same thing in a rectangle, with venting slits. This is not a plug for McDonald's, I just happened to be really fucking high on edibles and eating a McDonald's pie at the time of writing this. I added Taco Bell as an afterthought. I wanted one from Taco Bell, but our location vanished mysteriously in the middle of the night a few months back.)

***

Miguel was tired and grumpy. His life up until now had be hard, and the most recent hand had him almost folding entirely.

First he had been screwed over by his boss and was tricked into being hooked on a designer drug. Next, his fiance had cheated on him with said boss. And finally, his boss had forced him into doing research and tests on a subject he didn't want to do or agreed with.

Sure the subject had originally been his own choice, but his employer thought it necessary to make certain changes to what Miguel was doing. They all added up, and eventually Miguel began to hate his work with a passion, as it wasn't his anymore. He also hated his dependency on the drug.

Then to add insult to injury, his boss changed something in his current test setup, which was working in a cure for himself, didn't tell Miguel, then when Miguel ran the experiment, he ended up being pricked by something. In his panic to fix his mistake, he hadn't seen what had pricked him.

It was an alarmingly large vial of volatile Spider DNA, and it worked quickly to change Miguel's body and his very chemical makeup. It caused him to become sicker than when he was withdrawing, yet his boss still forced him into coming into work the next day, with barely any check up on the accident. In fact, his boss was actively trying to cover it up, and offered a bribe in return to keep his mouth shut.

But Miguel wasn't going to take that bribe. He wanted to blow the whistle and make his boss pay for everything he had done to him. He thought better of those plans, and decided to politely decline the offer with not much of a fuss.

Miguel didn't think his boss would take things further after he refused.

Unfortunately he was very wrong.

He was set up yet again to fail. The next experiment he conducted, one he chose and wanted to do, had somehow failed spectacularly. He suspected it was on purpose, and Lyla had informed him it was.

Just like his boss had planned.

Miguel didn't have time to ponder on the incident. He had been violently ripped from one dimension to another in a failed experiment. An experiment that he was conducting to try and rid himself of a previous condition he had acquired in the last test.

A massive explosion ripped through the lab he was in. It happened just seconds after getting into the chair to have the robotic assistant to inject him with a serum to reverse the Spider DNA infusion.

Well, needless to say, that didn't happen.

Shit hit the fan.

Red lights and warning buzzers went off. The meters were off of the charts, breaking the indicator needles in the process. Miguel had been caught in the blast and sent flying through the wall into another part of the lab. He ended up hitting a machine that held a casing of some sort of unstable material, and then he had blacked out.

***

When Miguel awoke, it was to the sound of birds chirping. More sounds of a bustling city started to bleed through. Cars, horns, chatter, footsteps, heavy machinery…

He was confused that it was dark, as it had been daylight when he started the experiment. Mid-morning to be exact.

His whole body hurt. Muscles ached, and a lot of his skin had been bruised and cut, but it wasn't as bad as it should have been. He felt sick and after emptying his stomach and he tried to figure out where he was, and why no one had come for him all day…

Until he realized where and when he was.

***

That day sucked. Miguel was lucky enough to have his watch, and subsequently his AI assistant, survive the explosion and sudden displacement. Lyla was able to worm her way into the primitive internet networks, and with a little tweaking, she made up a basic identification system for Miguel. By doing this, she unlocked a simple bank account for him and managed to syphon some funds into it. She even booked a prepaid mid-range hotel in the bad end of town to keep him busy.

He had a long shower the first day, did a bunch of research on the current time period and the customs. Laws, and basic things one would need to know if hurled back in time some fifty plus years, and then he slept for a long time.

***

The second day of the second week, he noticed he had a gnarly beard starting to happen. He didn't enjoy the scruff, which grew so much faster now than it used to, and he needed a change. Miguel went shopping and bought a razor and some scissors, along with some basic supplies to enjoy during his stay here.

He went home and cut his hair with Lyla's guidance and shaved. He went on to do more research on the local area, with Lyla compiling files on the local heroes, starting with the most well known first. The Hulk, Iron Man, Captain America, Black Widow, Vision, Hawkeye, Ant-Man and the Wasp, and every Spider-Folk there was.

Miguel found himself spending a lot of time on those ones, particularly the light Spider. He told himself it was because she had weirdly specific light related powers, and not the fact he really digged the way her outfit looked and hugged every curve.

His research led him to the more mythical or cosmic members, like Thor, The Scarlet Witch, Doctor Strange, Master Wong, Captain Marvel, and the Guardians of the Galaxy.

He was amazed at just how many there were.

Then he went on to the lesser known ones. He went through a large list, and found a few that seemed quite absurd to him. One of them appeared to be a pack of ever changing and roaming knights that claimed to be the fists of Khonshu. Some of the sources he read into lead him to believe they were the same person with some sort of fashion crisis.

That one left a sour taste in Miguel's mouth and he had no idea why. He just didn't like them. How could he, when the knights left a brutal trail of blood and gore behind them wherever they went. Apparently there was a whole reddit thread dedicated to these lunatics. Miguel was suspicious that these weren't different people, and merely just one man running amok like a crazed Mr. DressUp.

The guy that was in a white tailored suit, he was reasonable, passive, and tried to talk his way out of situations. He still beat the shit out of people, but only when provoked. He also talked non-stop, and had a British accent.

The one in the scraggly ancient looking robes and bandages, he was quiet and well calculated. He had a purpose, and he would do his tasks with barely a word. He was fond of violence, and had no issues causing major bodily harm to people. He would only kill if it was necessary. When he did talk, his voice was a rough American accent.

But then the third outfit just looked exactly the same as the first one, but in a dark smokey grey. Everything was the same, but reversed. The stitching on the mask was on the other side, pocket square was on the left and not the right. He was the most violent of the three, being the only one to gleefully kill their targets while cracking lame jokes and roasting them relentlessly. He would use improvised weapons, firearms and knives, and he spoke fluent Spanish.

Miguel got lost down a rabbit hole concerning these guys. There were theories it was really three guys that worked as a team, but others recounted how they had witnessed one of them literally change his suit in the blink of an eye with the aid of some sort of magic.

Those stories were concerning to hear. That there was some madman out there fighting crime with magic, and murdering people without much consequence in the name of some ancient God. The problem was that the authorities thought there were three separate individuals, so nothing could really be done if they couldn't be caught.

Miguel spent the rest of that week researching and compiling the largest folder of data on these people as he could get.

***

In the beginning of the third week, he happened to be watching television in the sub par motel. It was a rerun of the Captain America musical, and Miguel was floored with how bad the whole thing looked. None of the characters looked like any of the heros he had seen in the paper. Just twenty minutes in, he was about to change the channel, when a Daily Bugle news bulletin came across the screen.

LOCAL SPIDER MENACE CAUSES A RAMPAGE WITH THE RHINO, AGAIN!!!

Miguel was confused at first, but as the television showed a bird's eye view of the aftermath of a warehouse that had collapsed, he found himself sitting on the edge of his seat. The camera panned to a major highway, with cars stopped all over the road and people running and screaming.

There was Spider-Man running after the Rhino down the road, and the Rhino appeared to be chasing another Spider-Man. The camera zoomed in, and Miguel was surprised to see it wasn't a man, but a woman in a black space patterned suit. She was making bubbles and disks of light appear, then jumping onto them, or using her webs on them to get away.

He was intrigued as the camera got closer. By now he figured it was a drone that was flying about covering this story. He could see how fast the space Spider was, and how she was purposely slowing down for the rampaging man to catch up to her. Every so often, she would let the angry man get so close, it almost appeared like she was either really good at her job, or like she was playing with death and hoping to get gored.

She would even toss out a snarky and sassy line at him, just to make him angrier and lash out. Apparently she was quite good at pissing off the villains and goading them into chasing her down.

***

For the next few days Miguel went out and about in his street clothing. Miguel was making note of important landmarks around the city. He scoped out Stark Tower, the Sanctum, the Daily Bugle, local laboratories and other such places. He took a look around the problem areas with high crime rates, and then he checked out the better neighbourhoods. He did it all by foot and it helped Lyla keep track of everything.

Miguel was so focused on these hot spots, that he never bothered to look up local restaurants or food places. He had gotten used to just going to the local corner store for all of his needs. It was usually mass amounts of junk food, soda water, and a couple of new drinks he had found, Mountain Dew and Monster energy drinks.

The Mountain Dew soda brand had all sorts of weird flavors. Miguel wasn't very fond of the original green one, but he very much enjoyed the ones from the cultural foods import section. His favorite was Baja Blast and Goji Citrus Strawberry. 

And the Monsters! Holy shock! They were delicious! Miguel ended up buying every flavor they had. He drank two right away, both being some sort of fruit punch flavor, he wasn't sure. He had the urge to go on a run, and he was out there for four hours, before he realized how hungry he was.

That's when he also discovered how insanely good pizza pockets and Heluva Good dip were. He spent the day working out and binge eating, much to Lyla's dismay.

***

On the seventh day of the third week, he was looking at clothing at a main street vendor, an energy drink in his hand, and he was making fun of a bootleg Spider-Man costume.

"This looks so awful. It looks nothing like the local Spiders. None of them."

"Miguel, it's a bootleg. It doesn't have an official merchandise tag on it." Lyla piped up and Miguel laughed.

"It's still shocking awful-"

"Help me! Please!"

A loud scream rang out from behind. Miguel looked over and saw a woman that was being hauled away from her car towards the alleyway. Miguel looked back at the tacky outfit and snatched it from the shelf without a single thought.

Within moments he had hidden his clothes behind a dumpster and had changed, before dashing off to help the woman. Somehow he was still carrying his half empty can of Monster. He grumbled about the tightness of the costume and how uncomfortable it was in all the wrong places.

"Maybe you should have taken the extra second to grab an adult size." Lyla snickered at him as he approached the suspect.

The suspect was surprised to see a large man in a very ill fitting and cheap spandex costume, and he shoved the woman at Miguel. Miguel caught her and apologized, then he leapt after the man on all fours. He caught up to him, and threw his can at the man. It missed, but the contents exploded all over the suspect. Miguel caught up to him while he was wiping his eyes and cursing, only to be flipped into a dumpster for his efforts.

With his luck, he managed to end up in a particularly gross pile of trash, with most of it being rancid food waste. Miguel hissed and let out a string of angry and bitter Spanish as he spent the rest of the day tracking the guy down. It was easy, because the man now stunk of Sweet Tarts, which subsequently was what the energy drink smelled like to Miguel.

It was nightfall by the time he caught up to the bastard and boy was he tired. By then, it was way too easy to take him down and subdue him. It was right before Miguel had dealt a kick to the man, took the purse, and sent him flying into some trash cans when he heard and smelled someone else's presence.

Flowers.

He smelled flowers. That was a pleasant and easy to spot smell, since he was covered in gross sticky garbage juice and body sweat from the day.

Then he could hear a heartbeat and breathing, along with gasps and a shuffle of shoes on concrete. He peaked over his shoulder and saw a small dark bump on the railing, and he turned back just in time to avoid an attack from the man he thought he had knocked out. He incapacitated the criminal and then secured him with his webs. Once done, he turned and addressed the other person's presence, and to his surprise, it was a woman. A woman that promptly hid from him.

He couldn't help himself, so he jumped up to check her out and see what her deal was and why she was creeping around on a roof all by herself.

And boy was he ever glad that he did.

There she was, that pretty little light Spider in her sparkling night sky outfit.

It was such a weird event, and in the end, she ended up sharing her identity, accusing him of being her ex boyfriend, yelling at him, her deciding he wasn't her ex, apologizing, and then buying him some pizza.

They talked all night.

Well, up until he bailed on her once he saw he still had that lady's purse.

Well okay, it was really because he was getting far too comfortable with her far too quickly. She felt safe, warm, and welcoming… After she stopped yelling at him. That got his attention, if you know what I mean.

He had openly stared at her, his eyes drinking in the way her outfit clung tightly to her body. He enjoyed the shape of her face, and how her eyes shined like the night sky. He was especially fond of the way she seemed quite feisty and foul mouthed, even if she used terms he wasn't accustomed to.

He decided it was best to stay away, keep a low profile, and hope she assumed he had left.

But things didn't go as planned.

***

Miguel had exhausted all his options, with his only local answer being Stark Industries. He set a plan into motion to try and get Lyla to jack into the place so he could snag the information he needed to get himself back home.

While he made mental notes on how to go forward, he made his way back to his hotel, collecting his lost clothes and bag from before. He had a much needed shower to rid himself of the stink he had been marinating in all night, and put the costume into the sink to soak for a few hours while he slept. Lyla had promised him she would work on something to replace it.

***

His dreams didn't help him at all.

Miguel ended up in an acid trip copy of the city, and he was stuck wandering the rooftops endlessly. He noticed the costume he was wearing, actually fit him perfectly, and the design had changed drastically. It was nice, and he made a mental note to let Lyla know.

He had no idea what the point of the dream was, but he could tell that there were lights coming from an especially dark area of rooftops. It almost looked like an aurora borealis, but only over that one rooftop. The one that was the tallest.

He decided to make his way over. His movements were choppy and almost like he was missing chunks of the journey towards the roof, and it didn't seem like he was getting any closer at all. It also felt like he was moving at fifteen frames per second, and he did not like it at all.

A flash of grey caught his eye. It was moving quickly, much faster than he was, and it was fluid and graceful. It was hopping over the buildings faster than he could keep up. At first he thought it was a shadow, but the more he looked at the streak of grey, the more he began to see it was a man in a well tailored suit.

A suit that looked freakishly familiar.

Miguel suddenly sped up and went at a full run. Everything sped up to the way he liked it to be. He wanted to get closer and catch it, and as he kept the chase up, the man that was running away started to look more and more familiar. The closer he got, the more details he could see.

The man was wearing a mask that covered his entire head. When he looked back at Miguel, he appeared to not even acknowledge him, or perhaps he didn't see him. Maybe he did,  and just didn't care. Either way, Miguel followed him, noting that, he too, was going for the lights on the building.

A sudden thought hit him like a bullet. Miguel had webs! He raised his hand and shot at the building above him. When it connected, Miguel yanked himself up and over the man in the dark grey suit. The man scowled and shot him the finger.

Triumph filled him as he zipped past the guy and drew himself closer to the light. He was filled with pride at how well he was doing. He had to make a brief stop to kick off the side of the building in order to keep up this momentum, and that's where shit went sideways.

The moment he shot out another web, it was met with a glinting metal object and it was severed. He tried again, but the same thing happened. He got angry and turned to peer behind him, seeing the masked man literally moving over him and kicking him right in the face as he used his shoulders to leap upwards.

Miguel yelped as he fell. The top of the building flew away from him, sending the light far away. He tried to shoot out a life line, but he failed to snag anything.

Darkness was threatening to swallow him up, when he tried a final time to grasp any sort of surface to save himself. The last rope he flung out managed to hit something, and he used the sudden change in motion to send him upwards.

Miguel slammed hard against a concrete wall, his claws digging in easily, like a spade into dirt. He huffed and looked up, feeling like time had shifted forwards again. He couldn't see the other man at all.

"I miss you, you know. Every night I think about you. It helps to keep me going, knowing you'll be there when I get back." Miguel heard his own voice, twisted and not exactly right sounding.

He snarled and pulled himself up, almost violently as he climbed higher and higher, similar to an angry bear chasing its prey up to the top. In seconds he had pulled himself up to the edge and looked over. His eyes focused on what was there and he grit his teeth.

There, in that fucking asshole's lap, was the girl that had bought him pizza. The pretty light Spider that he'd been thinking too much about recently. She was quiet as the guy spoke to her while his hands were all over her, grabbing and pawing, and Miguel snarled to himself.

"Do you know why I call you, 'mi estrella'? I consider you like the sun, and myself the moon. You're so brilliant and warm, and your greatness shines so brightly. It reflects onto me, making me feel like my heart is full."

The words sent Miguel's gag reflex into overdrive and he almost barfed at how corny and cheesy the phrases were. He didn't like it one bit and he began to drag himself up and to a standing position. As he stood, his eyes processed how she was reacting. She seemed distant, even though she was letting the man touch her. The lack of a response from her was maddening.

Even in his dreams, the woman he had met didn't seem too thrilled about what was happening. He wasn't either.

Miguel moved quickly. The action was so fast, the other man didn't see it coming as if time had slowed right down for everyone, except for Miguel. Miguel lunged forward, grabbed the man by the lapels, and yeeted him straight off of the building, before sliding into his place under the Galaxy Spider.

Time sped up again, and she looked surprised to see him there. Surprised, but pleased. His mouth began to move, words spilling out as she squirmed in his lap.

"Don't think about him. His pretty words mean nothing when he keeps breaking your heart." 

"Miguel." Her voice sounded like liquid silk to his ears, and he couldn't stop himself from pushing her back and kissing her with need.

He remembered calling her beautiful, and then the rest was a wild and vivid fever dream. He had been desperate as he clawed at the fabric of her suit and ravaged every inch of her skin that was revealed. She seemed to enjoy being bitten and manhandled, while he enjoyed the way she thrashed, bit, and clawed at him in return.

She made him throb with desire, and he knew that he was hooked, when he probably should have minded his own business. He knew he couldn't leave any time soon.

He enjoyed her sitting in his lap. He enjoyed it even more when he pushed her onto her back and ground into her to the point he heard the building crack, and she begged him for more. He made her come so easily, and he couldn't fathom why. It wasn't like he was a virgin or anything, but he didn't think sex could be this…

Well, pornographic and mind blowing.

His favorite part of the dream, was when he webbed her hands, feet, and torso up, then proceeded to make a makeshift sex swing. She also seemed to very much enjoy the contraption, and he made use of it for every position change after.

That dream lasted an eerily long time, and when it was done, Miguel woke up feeling like he didn't rest at all, like he was really there, actually doing that for hours. He was hot, tired, and very sweaty and sticky.

And so were his sheets.

"Good morning, Miguel. I take it you had a very… Explicit and pleasant wet dream?" Lyla chirped up at him, effectively startling him.

"Shock! Don't scare me like that. And, uh, nooo…"

"You don't have to lie to me, Miguel O'Hara. Your heart rate and blood pressure skyrocketed, you were tossing and turning  and the final evidence, is that you had a seizure like reaction and-"

"Alright already! Yes! Yes, I had a wet dream. Ya happy?"

"Oooo, was it about the lady Spider?" Lyla asked, but Miguel didn't answer.

Note:

***

Series Master List

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I decided in this story, that Jake's Moon Knight suit can be different and ever changing. He wears his comic book one we didn't get to see in the Moon Knight series, and a version of Steven's suit, but charcoal and black. You might remember it from the sex dream Y/N had in a previous chapter. He won't be using the other one much.

***

Special thanks to:

Beta Reader:

@einno-arko

Proof Reader:

@iceclaw101

Ideas:

@theaussiedragon @howaboutcastiel @einno-arko

***

Tags:

@theaussiedragon @autismsupermusicalassassin @readingfan @missdragon-1 @marvelescvpe @lunar-ghoulie @cicithemess2000 @animesnowstorm @mahbeanz @dafuqelaine @bby-lupin @paranoiac-666 @konniebon @cl0v3r-s0up @seraphine-so-pretty @jupitersmoon167 @butterflypillows @ivystoryweaver @mintellaine @bxdbxtxh15 @badbishsblog @cleothegoldfish @xxmadamjinxx @bitchyexpertprincess @sakurayuki8655-blog @jklkverr @jkthinkstoomuch @oscarissac2099

[elysianslove]

shameful lust; suna rintarō

synopsis; he’s off limits in every way, but that only makes you want him more. based off of this, this, and this. the smut is inspired by my bunny anon’s birthday idea :) bunny, you know the one :)

pairings; brother’s bsf!suna rintarō x fem!reader

genre; porn with kind of plot lmfao

word count; 5.5k what the fuck??

trigger warning; age gap (not specified, & everyone’s 18+), masturbation, unprotected sex, creampie, squirting, humiliation, praise, mini panic attack, link for the lingerie (slight nsfw warning)

it started off innocent, as most things do. you were sixteen when you first felt the butterflies nestled deep in your stomach, the drop of your heart, the heat of your cheeks, only around him. you’d thought it was a natural reaction; after all, you’d known suna rintarō since, quite literally, forever, and you were a growing girl, hormones imbalanced and thoughts as confusing as ever. it was normal, completely ordinary to feel as nervous as you did whenever his hand so much brushed against yours, or whenever he’d barely glance your way to offer a small, teasing smile.

it meant nothing, of course. you were just a young girl, sixteen, desperate to lose yourself in some sort of fantasy. a silly crush on your brother’s best friend was nothing strange, and definitely inevitable.

it would go away.

you’re eighteen when the feelings don’t go away, and when they begin reshaping into more— impure thoughts. the more you see of him, the more hyperaware you grow of everything that he is. suddenly your eyes easily find the small strip of skin revealed when he stretches his arms up, and suddenly you can’t help but constantly think about the way he sits, legs spread so wide as if to... accommodate something. suddenly your thoughts always find their way back to the way he’d hugged you goodbye, arms squeezing you so tight to him, allowing you to feel every ridge and ripple of his muscles, and the way he had ruffled your hair and his hand, so large, so easily sinking into the strands— and you’re left wondering what else his fingers could do in your hair, to the rest of your body—

it’s bad. it’s really bad. every day you try and convince yourself it’s innocent, and every night you prove yourself wrong when you find yourself on your stomach, face buried in your pillow and teeth biting down on it, mouth dampening the cloth as your fingers rub harshly at your clit and sink into your dripping cunt— all with his name falling off your tongue as you heave and cry. every night you think about how much thicker his fingers are in comparison to yours, how much longer, how they’d feel inside of you, curling within you. you know he’s dexterous, insanely good with his hands. you’ve seen the way his fingers fly across a keyboard or tap urgently at a gaming console. you know it, and it in no way helps in calming your frustration.

it’s bad, of course, but you live with it. after all, he is in every way off limits. a lot older than you, and much more experienced, suna would have to lose his mind before he ever thinks of you the way you think of him. what would a girl like you have to offer a guy like him anyways? your shaky hands and clumsy mouth? your tight cunt that can barely fit two of your fingers? you’d only leave him unsatisfied, and leave yourself utterly humiliated.

worst of all, however, you can’t imagine how devastated, how betrayed, your brother would be if he’d caught you fooling around with his best friend.

so although you’re yearning to say fuck all and fuck him, you don’t, because it doesn’t make sense in the slightest for you to do so. you continue to make due with what shirtless image of him or that time he slept over and went commando, waking up at the same time you had and his — his dick was hard— you could see—

fuck.

you need to grow up.

as you sit with your back to your headboard, your knees bent up and swinging slightly, two simple knock erupt on your bedroom door. it’s late afternoon, the sun’s brightness dimming slightly, casting your room in an orange glow. in all honesty, it’s soothing.

looking up from your phone momentarily, you call out for the person knocking to come in, your eyes returning to your screen once more.

“hey.”

at the sound of the awfully familiar voice, your head snaps back up and you lock your phone, looking up with newfound excitement at the man standing at your doorway. “hi,” you return with a smile, sitting up and crossing your legs.

suna smiles back, walking into your room with one hand tucked behind his back. “your brother said i’d find you here,” he explains, walking towards you.

you quirk a brow, curiously and amusingly smiling as you ask, “whatcha got there?”

he’s quiet for a moment as he walks over to your side of the bed, maneuvering in a way that doesn’t reveal what he has hidden behind him. you twist around on your bed, leaning on your knees to face him properly, and it’s just when you lift up slightly to settle comfortably that he leans down, bends over to get close enough to whisper, “happy birthday, pretty girl.” he gives you not another moment to process how close his face is — how close his lips are to yours — before the hand behind his back comes around between you.

tucked in his hand is a medium sized bag, not related to any sort of brand, so you assume it’s a simple bag he’d gotten from a convenience store. that would really only mean one thing— that he’s gotten you more than just one gift. you can’t see what’s in it since there are colorful papers stacked within it, obstructing your view, but you’re still flustered at the mere thought he’d even considered to buy you a gift. it’s not unusual; suna, every year on your birthday, has gotten you a gift, yet it’s usually more so a gag gift than anything. some inside joke of yours, maybe he’d pay for your dinner, things like that. never a full on, thought out gift.

“you didn’t have to,” you say, settling back down on your knees and hesitantly taking the bag from him.

he waves you off, disagreeing. “course i did; you’re nineteen now.”

you roll your eyes. “wouldn’t eighteen be more special?”

“fine,” he decides, playfully taking the bag from your grasp and pulling it to him. “guess i’ll just give this to someone else then— maybe your mom—“

“suna!”

at your reaction, he laughs boisterously, and against all odds, you find yourself smiling too. quickly, you reach out for the bag again, pulling it back to you.

“open it when you’re alone,” he disclaims, almost as if in warning.

warily, you eye the bag.

“sure.”

you try to be quieter when unboxing suna’s gift, but the paper’s scrunching is just so damn loud. after cursing it out, you finally rid the bag of its first layer of paper, and are met with a scented candle and some lotion. basic, expected. there‘s a card there too, and when you open it, there’s a note in his messy handwriting, reading out a simple happy birthday— and a good couple of yens too. money, a candle, lotion.

so basic.

there’s still more paper beneath, but you don’t expect it to be for anything except decoration, not for—

what the fuck.

what the fuck.

What The Fuck?

your two hands dip into the bag, reaching out for the final gift, grabbing it by its straps and—

holy shit, he got you lingerie.

it’s so— sheer? you don’t think an inch of you will be properly covered, even with the lingerie on. it’s properly transparent, with only the intricate lace designs to modestly cover you. when you dig into the bag, you find the panties to match the bra and— well, it’s pretty, you can’t lie. there are dark, almost flowerlike designs all over, and it’s a deep black, nearly blue or green. there’s also a garter belt, but there aren’t any stockings in the bag to attach to the clips. maybe he’d expected you to take care of that?— ah no, you stand corrected. there are stockings.

fuck, he thought of everything didn’t he?

but more importantly, what the fuck does all of this mean?

burying the lingerie deep inside the bag again, and making sure to cover it up with the paper, thoroughly, you place the other gifts and the card back in and on top, before putting it aside on your bed.

and now, to gather your fucking thoughts.

you had to text him to thank him for the gift, obviously. but there was no way he’d accidentally misplaced the lingerie there. it was deliberately placed, with the way it was folded and tucked neatly, underneath an extra layer of paper above and beneath it? yeah, definitely on purpose. but— why? had he taken notice of your feelings towards him? was this his way of making fun or... reassuring you they were mutual?

god, what the hell are you thinking.

snatching your phone from your bedside table, you check the time.

2:01 a.m.

okay, everyone‘s bound to be asleep by now. hopefully. you eye the bag, so cautiously one would assume there’s some sort of killing machine within it. you contemplate. shake your head. no. the gears twist. yes.

no.

yes. no. yes. no—

fuck it, it’s yours anyways, isn’t it?

you snatch it loudly, rushing off to lock your bedroom door, then rushing to close the blinds, tightly, surely, then rushing to turn the lights off and turning the small lamp by your bedside on instead. what else are you meant to do with lingerie other than, well, put it on? it’s rational, you think, obvious.

it’s fine.

stealing one last, deep breathe, you dump the contents of the bag again, and pick out the lingerie.

it fits.

it fits perfectly.

the bra is snug against your chest, pushing at your breasts but not digging in uncomfortably. your nipples peak through what‘s revealed of the mesh, and when they stand perky and hard, you blame it on the fact that you‘re half naked. the garter belt wraps tightly around your waist, not squeezing to the point of discomfort and pain, but not loose that it’s a nuisance, and the clips that hang from it are attached to a pair of stockings that stop mid thigh, squeezing at the flesh. finally, a pair of panties rest on your cups, cupping your ass perfectly. it too is sheer, and god— you can see so much of you.

is this— what he would‘ve wanted?

you can’t deny that you do look good. it shows your figure off appealingly, and coupled with some dark lipstick, your messy hair, and the slightest smudge to your day’s eyeliner— would— would he have wanted you like this? all dolled up for him?

is this what suna likes?

doubting the fact that you’ll ever have the courage to put this set on again, you grab at your phone, clearing the area before your mirror, then sitting down at the edge of your bed. might as well enjoy it while it lasts, shouldn’t you? posing in the mirror, you appreciate the way you look, the way the dim lighting complements the atmosphere, the way the piece hugs your body and shows you off. you look so good.

so good— for him.

reveling in this surge of confidence, you snap a good amount of pictures, posing differently in each of them, taking them at different angles. your camera roll overflows with them, and as you fall back on the bed, hair splayed out on the mattress, you smile proudly at the pictures.

do you look good enough for him to see?

the thought strikes you suddenly; it tickles at the pit of your stomach, makes your knees bend and your toes curl.

should you?

the messenger app is open at the text messages between you and him before you can think, a picture of you uploaded and ready to send.

should you?

you tuck your lower lip between your teeth, mulling it over anxiously.

no, you most definitely shouldn’t.

quickly, you swipe out of the messenger app, and onto safari. porn it is.

you should‘ve turned the ac on. fuck, it’s hot.

3:10 a.m. 45 minutes since you’d put the lingerie set on and had your mini photoshoot, ten minutes since you’d started masturbating. everything’s still in place except for the garter clips, which have snapped off of your stockings at some point in the past few minutes, but you pay it barely any mind as your legs spread wider, one hand dipped beneath your panties, the other pressing hard against your mouth, trying to keep yourself quiet.

it’s not that you generally had a problem keeping down your noises. your home was constantly filled with people, and you’re almost always sexually frustrated at the most inconvenient times. this time, however, it’s different. it’s different because you’re wearing a lingerie set that suna picked out, that suna bought for you, that suna gave you himself. would he have wanted to watch you touch yourself like this, dressed up so pretty? or— would he have wanted to fuck you while—

shit, you’re gonna cum.

you let out a broken moan, bleeding into a desperate son, muffled barely your hand. your fingers fuck into your cunt faster, squelching lowly as you arch your back, pressing your palm harshly against your clit.

“ugh, hngh,” you whine, squeal, wrist aching. “fuck, rin— please—“

you’re so loud, shit, shit, shit.

beside you, your phone dings! loudly, alerting you of a message received, but you can’t stop, not when you’re so close. it dings again, and again, but you continue to ignore, chasing your own high so desperately, faster, faster, faster. the coil tightens, your body tenses, mind hazing over and eyes rolling back— so close, so fucking close.

“well aren’t you a doll.”

your eyes snap open, and you only manage one second to process who the fuck and what the fuck before your hips are trembling and twisting, and your legs are shaking so awfully as your back arches deep. the moment you hear his voice, so deep and clear, looming just by the edge of your bed where you lay spread, fucking yourself, you cum— and you’re convinced you have a humiliation kink. you didn’t cum because you’d simply been close— you came because you heard him catch you.

in your post orgasmic daze, you pant deeply, chest heaving, rising and falling rapidly as you try to catch your breath. your fingers pull back from your panties, falling to the bed, sticky and wet, while your other hand falls from from your mouth, drool and spit dripping from the corner of your lips.

“aw, you ruined the set.”

you sigh. “rin.” the way you say his name isn’t in a way that’s calling out for him, but neither are you scolding him nor brushing him off for teasing you. you’re just simply trying to process the fact that he’s here.

“i like it when you call me that,” he admits, and in a second he’s falling over you, hands bracing and steadying him beside your head, keeping himself hovering at a small distance. “why do you always insist on calling me suna?” he wonders, head tilting curiously.

blinking slowly, you breathe in, and out, and ask, “what are you doing here?”

above you, he shrugs. “you were the one that sent me those—”

immediately, you’re pushing him off you, sitting up all too quickly as you reach out for your phone. you shakily unlock it, typing in your password and opening the messenger app. he’s right— shit. you could’ve sworn you’d deleted the photo, because you’d explicitly decided just how stupid sending it would’ve been. 

well, look at you now. 

“that wasn’t— oh my god, i’m so sorry, i didn’t mean to,” you stutter, turning your body towards him once more, but avoiding his gaze, your body, only barely having just cooled down, heating up once more. 

“oh?” he tests. “was it not meant for me?” 

“no, i—“ 

he’s smiling all too wide for him to not be getting off on your embarrassment. at the thought of that, your eyes unintentionally snap up to him, to his crotch, where beneath his sweats is a bulge, and god, it’s like all those nights ago where you’d seen his dick through his sweats and he’s big, he’s so big—

“just where do you think you’re looking?” he sneers, hand all of a sudden gripping your chin, tilting your head back up and forcing you to finally, for the first time, meet his eyes. they’re dark, almost sinister, as they narrowly glare at you, begging you for explanation. 

your mind’s no longer clouded over, all pleasure dissipating from your veins, pathetic humiliation replacing it. “i’m sorry,” you mewl, eyes tearing up at the look on his face. of course he was disgusted. just as your stupid crush on him was natural, so was his reaction. “i’m sorry, please don’t tell anyone,” you beg, lower lip wobbling. 

his grip on your chin tightens as he furrows his brows. “tell anyone?” he questions. “about what?” 

had he not— heard you? 

he says your name, firmly, deeply, in a way that has you stifling your sobs and biting your bottom lip to stop its quivering. patiently, you wait for him to speak, to say anything, until finally, he asks, “do you want me to fuck you?” and your heart stops. “yeah?” he continues, his other hand reaching for your wrist, your hand, the same one that’s still sticky with the evidence of you. slowly, as he brings his lips closer to yours, fingers slipping so that he’s squishing your cheeks tightly, he leads your hand to his crotch, to where his dick is painfully hard beneath his sweats. your initial touch is featherlight, and he doesn’t fully press your hand to his clothed cock, but still, just the smallest, tiniest feel of him has the lust in your veins thrumming alive. “you think you’d look pretty—” he pauses, lips hovering by yours, eyes searching for any sign of hesitance or resistance, “sitting on my cock?” 

“i’m sorry,” you apologize again, but he swallows it by finally, finally, pressing his lips to yours. his lips are so soft, softer than you’d imagined and fantasized a thousand times over, as they press against yours, managing to pull the softest moan of surprise and pleasure from you. you’d forgotten, in your moment of shame, just how much you’d craved suna rintarō. just how often you thought about him, those same fingers gripping your chin to be buried inside of you, those pretty lips sucking on your tits and clit. “want you so bad,” you hiccup, kissing him back. “so bad.” 

he hums, amused, pulling back. licking his lips with a grin, as if tasting you, his hands leave you entirely, reaching for the hem of his shirt as he lifts it up, freeing himself of the piece of clothing. “don’t you think i know, sweetheart?” he teases, daringly. at the sight of your eyes widening, he nods with a dramatized serious expression, tutting as he adds, “so dirty, thinkin’ ‘bout me like that.” 

you whine again, hands lifting up to obstruct your face from his view as you fall back on the bed, body bouncing slightly. “stop,” you plead, not for him to pull back but for him to stop reminding you of just how wrong it is to feel the way you do. still, you spread your sticky thighs for him when he presses his hands to your knees, and you shiver at the feel of his fingers tickling at your skin. “i’m sorry.” 

“that’s okay, pretty girl,” he reassures you, faux sweetness dripping like honey off his tongue. he leans in, carefully slow, hands following the curve of his body and yours. “i want you too.” he smiles mischievously, leaning close once more. “so bad,” he mimics you, lips hovering right above yours before he kisses you once more. you want to pinch his arm for outright mocking you, because really, how infuriating can he be? but it’s impossible to want to do anything but desire him in every possible way at the moment, especially when he presses himself harder against you, hips slotting between your legs and clothed cock brushing against your dripping panties. 

“rin,” you plead, hands clawing at his back, grasping at his shoulders. god, his skin is so warm. 

“yes?” he drawls, wet lips kissing the corner of your mouth, trailing easily to your jaw, and down to your neck. patiently, he waits for you to speak. 

with a trembling voice, you ask, “be quick. please.” 

a little stunned, suna pauses his ministrations at your neck, but it’s barely for a second. because moments later, he’s grinning sinisterly into the crook of your neck, sucking hotly as he replies, “sure thing.” 

you do want to take your time. you want him to stuff his face between your legs and sink his fingers so deep inside of you. you want him to force your mouth down on him, want to bury your face in your lap till you’re choking and gagging on his cock. you want him to take his time stretching you for his cock before he sinks inside of you, letting you feel every single inch and ridge of his dick until he bottoms out. you wish. you wish. 

but you’re desperate, and needy, and frustrated, and most of all, you’re not even sure if this is real. you’re scared to blink and have him disappear all of a sudden. you’re scared to wake up with soaked panties and no gift from suna, no suna above you, hard cock pressing against your cunt, only the same suna from all these past years, the same suna you pine over at a distance, wanting but never having. 

so you whimper so quietly, “be quick,” again, because he’s still too slow for your liking.

his fingers grasp the sides of your panties, pulling as quick as he can, sliding them down your thighs, watching as the cloth rolls at the urgency as it slides past your knees, your shins, your ankles, legs lifted high up. at the final loop around your right ankle, as suna flings it off, he kisses at your ankle, gripping it tightly and using it to spread your legs. 

as your legs spread, your pussy, soaking from both your past orgasm and this unbelievable build up, spreads too, glistening and dripping for him. his eyes easily fall to it, and, with that same glint in his eyes, he grins, and licks his lips again. “wish i could have a taste,” he admits to you, shuffling closer and bending your legs closer to your chest with one hand. the other hand frantically pushes at the hem of his sweatpants, tugging it low, beneath his balls. “god, i’d have you sit on my face for hours.” 

he’s going to kill you. 

he’s going to fucking kill you. 

at his words, your cunt pulsates and clenches tightly, hole glistening as you moan. you hope he doesn’t notice, but he does, somehow, and he laughs, too fucking loud. “you liked that, hm? bet you’d look so cute,” he spurs you on, and your entire body trembles. 

you wish to say something, to find the courage to belittle him, degrade him, remind him that if you’re in the wrong for wanting this then so is he, but it’s so hard to find your voice. it’s like he’s stupefied you completely, reduced you to this dumb, wordless, horny mess. god, fuck, it’s embarrassing. you can only watch with wide, tearful eyes and quivering lips and trembling legs as he spits on his hand and fists his cock, quickly, getting himself all nice and slick for you. his cock is— he’s so big, fuck. if you’d been shocked feeling him beneath his sweats, well, your entire body’s rigid with anticipation now. 

just as promised, suna’s quick. with one hand pressing and steadying firmly at your lower stomach, right by your hip, he guides his cock to your cunt with the other, wasting no time by pushing in. no way, no way, no fucking way. 

how is he fitting? 

“ease up,” he orders sharply, forcing more of himself inside of you.

in response, you bring both hands up to your mouth, clasping them tightly above your lips. you remaining quiet is as impossible as ever, with the way he’s stretching you so wide for him, so you press down harder with your hands and throw your head back as he sinks in deeper, and deeper. 

“aren’t a good girl?” he praises sweetly, his other hand mirroring the one on your hip. he watches as you lower your head again, lifting it up slightly to look between the two of you at where he’s fully bottomed out, buried deep inside of you. “feel good?” he wonders, even if he knows the answer. your head falls back again and you nod with your eyes squeezing shut. “feel so full, yeah?”  you’re glad he’s speaking for you, because you doubt you could find your voice at the moment, even if you tried. 

you nod again instead, urgently, just as he pulls out until only his tip remains inside of you, before pressing back in quickly, thrusting into you suddenly. the sight of him above you is better than anything your mind has ever made up, hands squeezing at your hips tightly, both ensuring you keep your legs spread for him and keeping himself up, steadying himself as he fucks into you. his arms bulge and the muscles in his abdomen tighten and tense with every thrust. his chest, so flushed red; his hair, a little sweaty, a little messy; his brows, furrowed deep in concentration; his lips, wet and red, so fucking red, his tongue jutting out slightly as he picks up the pace, as he thrusts faster, harder. 

and best of all: the noises he makes. he’s shameless, fucking into you with abandon, moaning and grunting and whining for you, like he’d been the one yearning, pining, and not you. and, you suppose, with the way he’s fucking into you right now, that there might’ve been some truth in his words, that he’s wanted you just as bad, that this wasn’t some pity fuck— poor little girl, his best friend’s sister, sending him lewd and inappropriate photos because she’s so desperate, she can’t help but lust after him, every single day. 

his hands squeeze even tighter and he grunts, gritting his teeth sharply. “fuck, m’already close,” he grunts, and somehow, that makes your heart swell, pride deepening. “cunt’s so fucking tight, shit.” you’re making him say those words, you’re going to make him cum so quick, it’s you. you. 

when his hands crawl up to your breasts, squeezing and kneading through the bra, your hands fall to his forearms, gripping so tightly and digging your nails into his skin. “please, please, please, cum inside,” you beg, trying to be as quiet as you can. “please rin, please.” 

the bed creaks with the effort and speed of his thrusts, your body bouncing as his cock fucks deep into your cunt. his head bows in, smooth hair swinging forward as he curses. “are you— hm..hngh—sure?” he asks, and you nod so rapidly you feel dizzy, arching your back as much as you can to get him deeper inside of you. he’s a mess of curses and pants as he fucks you even faster, one hand remaining at your breast, grasping tightly, the other lowering to your wet clit, rubbing furiously, messily, clumsily. 

no words are exchanged as he desperately circles your clit with the rough pads of his fingers, squeezing and kneading your breast as he angles his hips, trying to get you to cum before he does. and just as as before, just as he’d caught you earlier, your body starts to tense up, shaking in anticipation as your orgasm draws closer and closer.

but there’s something— different. 

“rin!” you yell out, still half-whispering in an attempt to keep quiet. your eyes well up as you call out for him again, your orgasm unbearably close. “rin, feels weird— oh m—”

he only just barely manages to shove his hand against your face before you’re screaming, throat aching and scratching as you thrash beneath him. around his cock, your cunt spams and clenches down tightly, cum splashing and spraying all over his lower stomach and past his cock to his balls. you’re still thrashing, still squealing and screaming, and he’s spilling inside of you, filling you up impossibly, his cum splashing and dripping as it mixes with yours. 

“holy shit,” he breathlessly marvels, hips still rocking and grinding against yours as he helps the both of you ride out your highs. “you ever—“ he steals in a breath, steadying himself slightly, “—cum this hard?”

you’re sobbing, hiccuping and mewling and whining and crying, your body impossibly sensitive. tears stream freely down your cheeks as you sink into the mattress, feeling quite literally like jelly. slowly, suna pulls his cock out, trying not to get distracted by the way your cunt squeezes out some of his cum, and instead focuses on you, his hands cupping your cheeks softly. 

“hey, hey, eyes on me,” he encourages, kneeling above you as his thumbs brush at your tears. 

“m’sorry, ri— suna,” you heave, hands grasping his as your eyes water again, fresh tears joining ones that are yet to dry. 

“what for, sweet thing?” he asks gently. when you start to lift yourself up, he leans back, sitting on your bed, giving you space to get comfortable. he watches with worried eyes as you furiously rub at your eyes with your palms and the back of your hands, as the tears never stop flowing. shit, did he fuck up somehow? he calls your name again, cautiously reaching out for you. when you don’t reject his touch, his heart settles, just a little. “tell me what’s wrong?” he offers again, and you sniffle. 

“are you not disgusted?” you ask, voice wobbly and cracking. 

his brows furrow, and he cocks his head. “because you... squirted?”

you slap at his arm with a roll of your eyes. “no, suna.” 

“when did i lose my first name privileges?” he asks, dramatically shocked. again, you roll your eyes. well, at least the tears have ceased. softening slightly, suna sighs. he’s shit at this. he’s worse than shit at this. talking in general? awful. talking about his or someone else’s feelings? he’s sure the devil would be better comfort. still, he can’t just— leave you. he’s sure that would make things a thousand times worse.

and honestly, neither does he want to leave you. 

“i can’t read your mind, pretty girl,” he reminds you, and momentarily, you look away. 

until you inhale sharply, and meet his eyes again. “it’s okay...” you begin, trailing off as you attempt to gather your words, before continuing, “that i feel this way for you?” 

at your words, at the much needed clarity, suna sighs in relief. so that was it. “more than okay,” he promises you. 

you nod in understanding, before prodding further, “not weird?” 

he thinks it over, before answering. if he’s honest with himself, the most he’d felt with you was sexual attraction. he liked the way your tits bounced when you ran to greet him or the press of your ass against his crotch when you passed by him to get somewhere. he liked— he liked thinking about your body, your lips, your hands. it’s why he sent you that lingerie set, the one that sits so pretty on your body right now. not that he’d been expecting you to send him anything, and he’d even anticipated that you might feel disgusted, might throw it in his face and slap him too. but he knew you better. suna was observant. he knew more than he let on, more than anyone could imagine. if he hadn’t realized your eyes on him in the past years, he must be blind.

still, he’s not sure if it was ever more, or if it is more. but, he supposes, it’s not an unimaginable feat. he thinks that maybe, there is a chance. he likes you, sure; you make his belly twist and his heart jump. but is he going to risk leading you on? 

he doesn’t know. 

he settles for, “good weird.” 

your face is the definition of a question mark. “what the hell is good weird?” 

“your face is good weird,” he retorts. it’s a bad comeback, terrible actually, but his face is flushing a dark red, and he needs to get away. you’re flustering him and it’s pissing him off. 

“that’s so mean!” 

yeah, the devil would’ve been better comfort. he wasn’t around though, so he made sure suna had been sleeping over that night instead. 

worked in your favor didn’t it? 

end note; my godddddfhksfhbskjbsb ,,, sorry if you found mistakes this took me all day and im not assed to proofread <//3 but i hope you liked regardless!! 

[tiptapricot]

I’ve been having a lot of Evil Robo BnT thoughts recently, so here’s a bunch of them! This ended up pretty long just as a forwarning djjdjd

Post DeNomolos, Evil BnT are forced to do a lot of self exploration and discovery

They’re two robots from the far future, stuck in the past with each other and the two humongously important historical figures they were not only sent back to kill, but also physically made to look and sound exactly like, with no way back to their own time and no further reason to carry out the mission they were created for

It’s a lot to adjust to

(Three uses of the f-slur near the end in a canon compliant/reclaimed usage context, and implied sexual content, but extremely mild)

It still doesn’t have much of an impact on them at first though, besides some anger and annoyance. They don’t feel emotions in the same way or to the same depth that humans do, so they kind of fall back on: this sucks and that guy was a dick, guess we have to live in the stupid past now, and that’s the extent of it

But they’re also AIs, and AIs learn and grow

They hide out in a cheap apartment for the first few months or so back, going out to steal money to pay for rent and to pick up movies and stuff, but it’s exposure to the world, it’s living. And the more they interact with people, the more media they consume, the more the rigid walls of their programming break down and expand

And that’s when things start getting complicated

Because that’s when things like morals, sense of self, purpose in life, and, to their horror, real emotions start coming into play

Their evil edges start corroding, things stop being as straightforward, and they start developing into their own complex people

Being Bill and Ted with a few glorified descriptors stuck on the front starts feeling… weird, especially when they inevitably end up running into them again and being around them more

Because they’re supposed to be Bill and Ted, but they aren’t, and yet they can’t completely deny the parts of themselves that are….. it’s frustrating

As a first step in both asserting and exploring their individuality, they choose their own names

Evil Bill chooses Willis, or Will for short, and Evil Ted goes with Theoneous, Theo for short

It’s different enough to feel like their own thing, while still appeasing the ingrained itch to take BnT’s place

There are gaps like that, a disconnect/mental dissonance between their consciousnesses and the knowledge that they’re robots, circuitboards and wires and code, like a separation between what they feel is them and what they feel is the robot

That’s an experience that continues as they grow, especially as they try and figure out what to do with their lives. It’s tough sometimes, to figure out where the programming ends and where their own wants and drives begin

They’re the only ones familiar enough with future tech to help each other when they experience technical issues or need repairs, and the only ones they feel comfortable being that physically vulnerable with

It leads to them being kind of codependent, but it’s warranted in a lot of ways

They also naturally stick closer to each other, because even though they grow to have emotions and are able to care about people, they aren’t totally mushy

They don’t get as upset about things, or as excited, and while they form their own kind of love for the people they end up caring about (without admitting it), they’re still never able to connect with humans in the same way they connect with each other

It’s this inherent wall, a difference in how they experience the world

Their forms of affection are machine based, just like how humans are human based. They’ll give each other cold packs when it’s hot or they’ve been moving a lot, they’ll do evening maintenance on each other, chatting while one of them has their hand in the other’s chest cavity, and they jump on each other or bang their shoulders together super hard, because they can’t feel a thing and they’re durable enough for it, and that’s fun to them

That doesn’t really carry over to human interaction though, and a lot of times they end up coming across as cold or mean

They generally have a rougher seeming relationship than most humans. There’s a lot of teasing and insults and slapping, which turns most people off from them, but that’s how they show they’re comfortable (it’s also how they show they don’t like people, but there’s a subtle and meaningful difference there, AKA that they won’t purposefully try to harm the former party)

Robots process sound differently too, for them it’s more of a physical experience than just listening

Will’s guilty pleasure is that he likes to listen to piano (secretly), especially Debussy and other classical that sounds similar. Something about it makes his circuitry feel good and fuzzy and calms him down

He doesn’t feel comfortable telling Theo about it, it still feels like a dumb pussweed thing to be into (plus it continues to make him have some most non metal thoughts about kissing and That’s DEFINITELY not something he can share)

They also both really like death metal. Though they were loosely programmed with the knowledge of BnT’s music taste, it’s not quite their style, and they lean towards the more intense stuff

They do that in most fields though, since it usually takes higher energy stuff to get them going/excited/into something

That’s why they roughhouse a lot, and mess things up, and drive recklessly, it forces their mechanics to process more things more quickly, and as a result gives them their own form of dopamine/adrenaline

Sometimes things backfire, they’ve fucked themselves up accidentally on more then one occasion when stuff goes too far or isn’t what they expect, but they’re always there to patch each other up

When their synth skin gets ripped or torn they don’t always bother to repair it, and underneath there’s a layer of see through hard plastic and their bodies look like those clear case electronics that were popular in the 90s (idea cred to @juiceboxfrog !)

They also have inspector gadget-like telescoping stretch arms at their wrist and ankle joints, but they don’t use those much because they’re unsettling to most humans. Definitely a leg up when they want to climb places the shouldn’t, though (idea cred to @showbiz-za !)

Theo is more prone to needing fix ups than Will, since the extra wiring that was installed for the time and space spanning camera DeNomolos gave him made him more susceptible to short circuiting, over heating, and other glitches

After awhile he just takes his left eye out and leaves it like that, keeping his hair in his face to cover it. It doesn’t do anything for the internal parts of it he still has, but it’s not like it’s a loss. The connection port kept sparking, and it was uncomfortable and kept fucking with his vision, so it wasn’t worth it

Plus he didn��t really like that it used to be a camera… or still could be

One of the things Will and Theo both have to get used to is actually valuing their own privacy and autonomy

When DeNomolos was around they were just his tools, tools that he didn’t even like

They honestly grow to resent him pretty fast, both with his treatment of them, and, when their emotions are especially out of control, his creation of them

They don’t talk about it much, or when they do it’s mainly anger, not addressing or showing the more raw parts they do feel, because that’s still foreign to them, and their circuits weren’t designed to process or understand more complex stuff

Complex stuff like how being around Ted more makes Theo develop a certain… insecurity

It’s not like the connections are hard to make: he looks like Ted, he sounds like Ted, he was meant to be Ted, Ted has a dickweed of a dad, and Theo had a dickweed of a creator, Ted has Bill and Theo has Will

But Theo doesn’t have Deacon

And while he doesn’t want to be exactly like Ted, part of him also does (it was made to). Part of him wants to be human, to have those natural connections and someone to watch over

But he doesn’t and it’s weird*

He tries to ignore it, chalks it up to his drive still attempting to put him on his original track of replacing Ted, and therefore making him more aware of the family roles Ted has

For all he knows that is what it is, he’s just a robot after all

Even though they aren’t really ones for mushy love, Will and Theo do love each other

You can’t not when you know the other person inside and out, literally

They joke a lot about that when they’re doing repairs (“Dude you’re holding my heart, pretty faggy of you.”), and though they laugh, there’s an unspoken intimacy to it, something that sits warm in their wires and goes beyond platonic; something (though they would never describe it as such) loving about getting to take care of each other, and getting to get taken care of

The jokes also stop being jokes after awhile and take on a charge, morphing into unofficial flirting

Eventually that charge sparks, and their relationship becomes a different kind of physical. That’s new, too, a type of exploration neither of them are familiar with, but it’s nice, it’s good, and it’s easier to write off as casual and not meaningful than anything else (for the record I do think this works/plays out different for them than it does for humans, but I will nOt get into that here or anywhere lmao)

That arrangement doesn’t last forever, though, because one night Theo has a bad malfunction that cause him to completely power down, and it sends Will into a panic

It takes him almost an hour to fix the problem and for Theo to reboot, and when he comes back Will can’t stop touching him and checking in and it’s weird

“Why are you so worked up dude, this’s happened plenty of times.”

“Yeah I know you just… you fritzed out and went limp and it freaked me out dude.”

“So? You know this is nothing to worry about. I don’t get why you’re kinda acting like such a pussweed dude.”

“I didn’t know what was wrong! That’s plenty of reason to be fucking worried!”

“Not for you! Not for us! Why the hell do you care so much this time?”

“Because I love you, asshole!”

And then there’s silence, and staring, and then Theo cracks a smile

“Heh, fag.”

Kissing after a confession, as it turns out, makes both of them short circuit, and they wake up three days later still tangled up on top of each other, half falling off the apartment couch

“Y’know… I think we’re both fags now dude,” Will whispers, and they chuckle in the space between their mouths. “I did it first though.”

*he does get this later with Billie and Thea, but that’s a whole separate post

(As one last thing wanted to add that Love Came Along by Pansy Division perfectly encapsulates the vibes of Will n Theo’s relationship to me, AKA something casual and almost humorous while still being super intimate and emotional, so def check it out if you’re ok with suuuuper explicitly sexual lyrics bfgjgfdfg)

Headcanons masterpost

[roachsource]

𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐦'𝐬 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐩𝐨𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐭 :  𝐞𝐩. 𝟔𝟑𝟒  as always, some of them might’ve been tweaked for writing purposes, but always feel free to fuck around with them as you see fit for your needs x

❛ i can’t get over how bad your [language] is. ❜

❛ it’s because of all that inner fucking. ❜

❛ english food? not very good. ❜

❛ her health is failing. her pussy’s failing too. ❜

❛ why couldn’t you be called king? you’re fucking the queen all the time and you’re not the king? ❜

❛ i’m so happy to be finally discussing this with somebody! ❜

❛ so this is really just a thing for show? ❜

❛ well, it’s very managed. it’s a business. ❜

❛ as somebody who has queefed, it’s like a fart. ❜

❛ i’m so sweaty. ❜

❛ you got very 420-69 vibes today, huh? ❜

❛ guess what time it is, bros! ❜

❛ how would i guess? ❜

❛ that’s really nice of you. ❜

❛ it’s a hot item. ❜

❛ i bet there’s some locals that are not too fond of that. ❜

❛ it’s fun to watch them walk around. ❜

❛ believe whatever you wanna believe. ❜

❛ he’s clearly following orders. ❜

❛ well, yeah, i mean, how are you gonna cum? ❜

❛ i don’t even know what we saw. ❜

❛ that was actually a really funny thing to watch. ❜

❛ never let your friend yak alone. ❜

❛ it was pretty gay. ❜

❛ it was so gay. ❜

❛ i’m thankful for my ass. ❜

❛ i’m thankful for my big stupid tits. ❜

❛ i’m thankful for this blue jacket that is super nice. ❜

❛ you DIDN’T say that you were thankful for your big stupid tits. ❜

❛ thankful for this designer jacket that i’m wearing, and my cars. ❜

❛ this is the fucking best thing i’ve ever driven. ❜

❛ the 5k run was a warmup for tennis. ❜

❛ [hums circus music.] ❜

❛ that’s how i can be normal. ❜

❛ did you get your steak? ❜

❛ this is like the first time i’ve ever enjoyed turkey. ❜

❛ it wasn’t a dry pussy. ❜

❛ it wasn’t the queen’s pussy. it was a fresh from [place] pussy. ❜

❛ please don’t let them put me in a morgue before i’m actually dead. ❜

❛ make SURE i’m dead. ❜

❛ you can’t fuck up your own spouse’s dead body? we’re married. ❜

❛ talk about bad luck. ❜

❛ imagine the claustrophobia you’d feel in a morgue fridge... ❜

❛ how cold is it in a morgue freezer? ❜

❛ a morgue freezer is good enough to sleep in. ❜

❛ yeah, i’d be a little pissed. ❜

❛ fuck you, i need cops here right now! ❜

❛ is that how mad you get when they get your order wrong at starbucks? ❜

❛ he was looking for the fight. he was setting himself up. ❜

❛ the mcdonald’s icecream machine is broken. ❜

❛ this is your one job. ❜

❛ if you have lukewarm fries, you’re not getting any business from me. ❜

❛ it makes your car smell like farts. ❜

❛ you’re a fart detective. ❜

❛ you’re held captive, essentially. ❜

❛ i’m just supposed to not eat? ❜

❛  i came in his dumb mouth. ❜

❛ it’s the city that’s always up all the time! ❜

❛ he is posting at a Frantic pace. ❜

❛ he does like thirty posts in a day. ❜

❛ i don’t even know how to protest. ❜

❛ let me set this up. ❜

❛ what HE’S doing is fucking offensive. ❜

❛ i think this guy needs to teach a class. ❜

❛ this asshole isn’t banned? ❜

❛ you and i feed off of each other. ❜

❛ that’s what they call a happy accident. ❜

❛ me and you are living dangerously. we’re doing dangerous stuff. ❜

❛ they’re out to get me. ❜

❛ you gotta enjoy these dick sucking clips while you can. ❜

❛ yeah, stay in school. jesus. ❜

❛ we appreciate the sentiment. ❜

❛ you fucking shit-ass! ❜

❛ i realize that knife could've landed on your foot. ❜

❛ i married you, and all the flags were there. ❜

❛ that was. fantastic. ❜

❛ that’s cool. i mean. stupid. ❜

❛ i’d like to smash a tv with a baseball bat. ❜

❛ wouldn’t that be kind of cool? to go break stuff? ❜

❛ did you know that nuts grow on trees? holy shit, dude, they grow on fucking trees! ❜

❛ have you ever seen a pistachio tree in your life? ❜

❛ i feel like i should’ve learned that in school. ❜

❛ so that was pretty cool. ❜

❛ let’s dare each other to say food items incorrectly to the waiter. ❜

❛ we should start doing this game together. ❜

❛ i have to bow to you. ❜

❛ i do what i can. ❜

❛ there’s a bunch of these fucking round-earthers out here. ❜

❛ that’s the wildest shit i’ve ever heard. ❜

❛ that was fucking cool! ❜

❛ that was fucking rad. ❜

❛ he really never backs the fuck down. ❜

❛ that’s kind of amazing, though. ❜

❛ she’s so great... ❜

❛ we’re here. we’re not leaving. ❜

❛ it’s [person’s] fault that you got injured. ❜

❛ alright, we gotta go. ❜

❛ see you next week! ❜

[queenjunoking]

Wolf Taming Pt 49

CW: Noncon - Petplay

I heard the whir of the gears as the arm started to move. Despite my convention, I didn't move. It wasn’t the gear that solidified my status. It wasn’t even being locked in this device or giving up the hopeless attempt at running a few moments ago.

It was taking this first step. Taking this step meant that I was willingly going along with what they wanted. I had made compromises with Z, but this was different.

Unfortunately my first step was taken against my will as the arm yanked me a few feet forward before the machine stopped. I heard the door swing open and Clarity walked into my view.

“What was that about?” She asked, her big sad eyes staring right at me.. “You need to walk with the arm, Callidora. Aren’t you going to be good?”

I tried not to sigh as I decided on what to say. Clarity seemed strict but she could be sympathetic. Despite what she did, she also seemed a bit sad about doing it. I decided to try honesty to see if it would score some sympathy points.

“This is the first thing I’ve had to do on my own since I was taken and it is… difficult.” It wasn’t the full truth. Part of my pride was still getting in the way. But admitting that would probably get me worked twice as hard.

She stroked my face again and nodded. “Taking the first step is hard, but you have to take it. This is your place now. If you don’t walk the next time I turn on the machine, I will punish Lucky and Clover.”

I felt my heart jump into my throat. “Wait! Why them? I’d be the one not listening.”

Clarity gave me a look that was somehow sadder than usual. “You’re useful, Callidora. A race horse is valuable to Mistress Eos and her farm. We don’t want to hurt you if we don’t have to hurt you. Hurting you is a last resort. Instead others will be punished in your place.”

The weight of Clarity’s words pulled her down. What she was saying seemed so stupid, but it made sense to her. Eos obviously wanted someone like me to do some kind of race. If I got hurt then I couldn’t race. She was hoping that the threat of other people getting hurt would keep me in line. Something I hadn’t fully expected.

I was strong. The shock collar Z had placed me in had hurt. It could be debilitating. But I could take it. I was sure I could take whatever punishment they wanted to inflict on me.

But could Lucky and Clover?

Who else might be punished for any slight these monsters saw?

“I’m starting up the machine, Callidora.” Clarity’s voice broke through the thoughts swirling around her head.

I heard the machine start back up. I felt it pull forward. I took a deep breath and, with some hesitation, I stepped forward.

Giving in almost hurt. I felt like I was pounding a nail into my coffin with each step I took. The exercise felt unnatural. The arm kept me moving in a perfect circle around the pen, there was no room for deviation.

Clarity was silent for the first few rotations. I was only able to see her when the rotation brought her within my limited field of vision. I could see the other woman in the pen next to me after I passed by Clarity. She avoided making eye-contact. I wasn’t sure why specifically, maybe it was shame?

After I finished the forth rotation Clarity stopped the machine. I came to a stop in front of her. She said something to another one of the stablehands and they ran off. I had no choice but to stand there and wait. It wasn’t until then that I really felt a new kind of helplessness. The cage in Z’s basement was one thing, I could move around in that. I was strapped to a chair in the stable last night, but it didn’t feel like helplessness.

This did, My arms were tightly bound behind me. I was outside, but the machine kept me in place. The chains attaching me to the arm kept me standing straight, forcing me to present my body to the woman in front of me. I knew any wrong move was going to get people punished in my place.

“I’m proud of your first few steps as a true race horse, Callidora.” Clarity gave me a gentle smile, but her eyes still looked sad. “You can probably imagine what racing will be like. You’ll be in a pretty similar outfit, the only difference is it’ll be designed to show you off. Frosthoof, for example, was in her new racing attire. Mistress Eos will be commissioning some for you as well.”

“Aren’t I lucky.” I couldn’t swallow the sarcastic remark. But if Clarity picked it up, she didn’t show it.

“You definitely are.” She paused as the stablehand came back with a small bag. She rifled through it and took out a brush and began to use it on my hair as she continued to talk, much to my annoyance. “We both have high hopes for you. Someday you’ll be on the track, racing against the other race horses. Society members of course place bets on the different horses. Doing well will earn Mistress Eos a lot of renown. She is a very important person in the Society and serving her is an honor.”

“So why am I walking in circles instead of running.” I asked as I tried to pull away, not that there was much space to move.

Clarity sighed and put the brush down. “You will race on those specially made hoof heels. You did well on your marathon, but you’ll need to get used to them enough that you may as well have been born with them. Tripping or mistepping can hurt you very badly.”

“I could just walk up and down the road out there to get used to them.” I said as I gestured to the path outside the pen with my head.

“Maybe. But this pen serves two purposes. I can set this to keep going. I could leave you in here for hours with no choice to walk forward. Something that’ll probably happen as part of your training.” I grit my teeth as Clarity casually told me about the hours I’d spend everyday walking in circles.

“So what’s the other reason?”

Clarity reached into the back and pulled out a crop before entering the pen. “Mistress Eos requires all her ponies to learn how to walk correctly. Back straight. Knees up high. Looking straight forward.” She harshly corrected my posture as she talked, poking me with the crop. “This is something important for show ponies, incorrect posture deducts points. Race horses are expected to walk correctly when entering the track though.”

“So there’s no real reason to learn this aside from Eos wanting to make this as humiliating as possible.” I couldn’t choke back the bitterness. “Why do w- OW!”

My question was interrupted by Clarity hitting me on the ass with her crop. “You do it because Mistress Eos tells you to do it.” Clarity’s voice had developed a dangerous edge to it. “You do not need any other reason to do it. A pony does not question their owner’s decisions.”

I felt some kind of mix of rage and pity. There was obviously something wrong with Clarity. She always looked sad, she had emotions and seemed to have some kind of twisted empathy for the slaves forced to be ponies. But questioning Eos like that set her off. I couldn’t imagine why she would care so much about someone questioning Eos, it was like she was brainwashed or something.

“Fine.” It was all I could manage to say without risking getting into more trouble.

Before Clarity could continue another stablehand walked up with an arm full of what I could only think of as belts. “Thank you, you may go now.” Clarity’s voice returned to it’s sorrowful tone as she took the belts from the other slave and sent her on her way.

“New fashion accessories?” I asked, unsure what else they could be for.

“If you want to think of them that way.” Clarity knelt next to my feet and placed one on each of my ankles, then another one just below my knees. “There are sensors on the posts around the pen. They’ve been calibrated to your height. When you walk your knee has to go a certain height. Those things I just put on you will be able to tell how far away they are from each other and using that information they can tell if you’re lifting your leg high enough.”

My eyes widened when she showed me the next thing.

A phone.

“I can keep track of how many correct steps you take out of how many total steps you take.” Clarity left the pen and went back over to the machine controls. “We’re going to start with two hundred correct steps before you can take a short break.”

Without warning I felt the machine start back up and drag me forward. My mind should have been on the task. I didn’t want to get in trouble this soon. But all I could think of was the phone. Clarity was trusted, it could be a real phone with the ability to call people.

Which meant I might be able to call for help.

Eos

“What do you mean my ownership is being contested.” I asked Morton as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

The little worm had come onto my farm uninvited. He said he was afraid of discussing it on the phone, or even calling to warn me he was coming. I could see why, but it didn’t make me any happier.

“W-well, Mistress E-Eos.” He stuttered. “I was given a tip by someone close to the council that someone was pushing back against your ownership claim of your new pony.”

“Who would push back against me!” I slammed my hand against the desk and watched Morton jump. “Who gives a fuck about Z? Who would help her file a claim against me?”

“M-master Rayne and Lady Flora. She seems to have enlisted their help and they’ve hired Molly DuBois’s group to fight against your claim of ownership.” Every word out of his mouth spiked my blood pressure.

Of course Rayne and Flora wouldn’t just be satisfied with sinking one of my own family members. They also needed to interfere in a matter that didn’t even concern them.

Which meant I also had Z to blame for what happened to Rhiannon.

“Morton. Get out of my sight. If I ever see you again I will make sure that no one in your family ever achieves membership again. I think your daughter would make a wonderful statue on my lawn.” I watched his eyes go wide and he sprinted out of the room.

I felt a little better after Morton left, but my problem remained. Rayne and Flora weren’t a group I could simply fight against. They were powerful. They were someone who were regarded as being on the same level that I was. Some idiots thought they were more important.

I couldn’t simply brush them aside. I needed to take a different tactic.

There was a loud screeching sound as Morton peeled out of my driveway and down the road. I turned around and looked towards the pens. I could see Clarity standing outside one, watching Callidora walk in circles on the inside.

I smiled as I realized what I needed to do. The trick to rebuffing Z’s attempt at getting her slave back wasn’t to fight her, Rayne or Flora.

No, the path to winning was through Callidora.

[adultswim2021]

Sealab 2021 #47: “Monkey Banana Raffle” | March 21, 2005 – 12:15AM | S05E03

I literally just watched this and I can’t remember the name of the guy in it, so I’m calling him Max Power.

Here’s another one I didn’t remember at all. Sealab is now spinning it’s wheels in a more honed fashion. I would say that previous seasons saw the writers go from caring, to not caring as much, to literally crapping out scripts in a cynical attempt to see just how negligent they can be without getting cancelled. They are still operating within that mindset for this season, but the writing is actually getting a little better. Like they hit rock bottom and stayed there and actually learned to craft slightly more coherent stories while still residing at rock bottom. It results in a pathetically unfunny episode, but it’s simply mediocre and not insultingly  bad.

In this one an eccentric trillionaire (Max Power) shows up to Sealab and buys it on a whim. Surprisingly things start running very smoothly, a fact that Quinn rejects, assuming things will start going comically wrong any second now. To be fair, Max Power does do some erratic things like freeze Tornado Shanks in carbonite (who can still jump around and eventually gets pinned under a vending machine - like father, like son?) and fire hundreds of crew members. The title of the episode comes from his catchphrase, by the way, and doesn’t really describe the episode at all. He says it like, twice, in case you were wondering. Things do eventually go wrong at the end with a final gag that amounts to a stupid visual pun.

Notable things about this one: Debbie is still evangelical from the last episode, acting as a missionary in Max Power’s center-of-the-earth gold mine. She is there to convert troglodytes to Christianity. There is a WILDLY gross photograph of the Sealab Crew during the credits. It looks like a Something Awful meetup or something.

Honestly, the only difference between Sealab and Robot Chicken is that Robot Chicken was never good, and Sealab was. The first season had a handful of GREAT episodes, and only a couple of truly pathetic ones. Since I’m doing strict chronology here and alternating between Robot Chicken and Sealab 2021 episodes, I’m noting that neither of them  make me laugh almost at all. Robot Chicken could be considered technically better show at this point. But I hate them both, so why split hairs?

EPHEMERA CORNER

American Dad (February 13, 2005 – 11:30PM)

I don’t care that the above image isn’t displaying properly! Fuck YOU!

American Dad is Seth MacFarlane’s second show after Family Guy. If I remember correctly, it was created in the wake of Family Guy getting cancelled. When Family Guy was revived I assumed American Dad would fade away. But, it didn’t. In fact, it’s... (gulp) still on.

American Dad always came off as a pathetic attempt to recapture Family Guy’s cult popularity in a more mainstream way. The premise was to be more satirical and straight-forwardly sitcommy. The drawing style is almost exactly the same as Family Guy, but 20% more realistic (the head-to-body proportions are notably skewed). American Dad himself was a CIA Agent for Bush’s white house. Francine Dad seemed to be inspired by Edith Bunker (but hot), and the liberal feminist daughter Haley Dad was also meant to evoke All in the Family’s Gloria. Add Steve Dad, the horny teen son because it’s Fox, and a Stewie/Brian in the form of an alien and a fish with the mind of a German skier. I’m going off memories from watching the pilot way back when it first debuted, so please don’t ding me on details. But he IS German, right?

I’ve seen probably a couple dozen American Dad episodes in my life, either accidentally or on purpose. I’ve not seen anything from the TBS run, but I think I can safely say that American Dad is an awful show. I truly despise it and find nearly every aspect of it grating. It’s longevity is enormously weird to me. The voice acting, the writing, the design, and animation all hint at some kind of desperate attempt to recapture Family Guy’s charms. Everything about it seems dashed off. I picture a lot of shrugging in the writer’s room, who all seem to love writing visual gags that are funny on paper but bad on screen. Visual gags that would be impressive if they pulled them off in live-action, but in a lifeless cartoon they look like shit. Everything about it seems remarkably less-inspired than Family Guy.

The big thing I need to address here: Yes, I know Family Guy is generally hated by many people who like to think of themselves as having a superior sense of humor. I have been a Family Guy hater myself. While I don’t typically count Family Guy among my favorite shows, I do feel compelled to defend it to a certain degree. The gags in Family Guy are often very funny, and it doesn’t make you smart to deem the “cutaway” conceit of the show as bad writing. If you don’t like it, that’s fine! But the fact that many people will call Family Guy bad and American Dad good simply because American Dad doesn’t do cutaways has always been preposterous to me. How do you not see that American Dad is so much worse than Family Guy? In short - if you hate Family Guy, you better fucking hate American Dad even more.

American Dad, if I remember correctly, had a similar deal with Adult Swim as they did with Family Guy, which is that American Dad premiers on Fox and then a little later the episode debuts on Adult Swim. I remember it being a week later for Family Guy, but I don’t feel like looking it up to make sure, or assuming it was exactly the same with American Dad. But Adult Swim got in early with American Dad. TBS purchased American Dad from Fox a few years ago, fleeing the grasp of Disney’s Fox takeover, so it’ll likely be a staple on Adult Swim for the foreseeable future, unlike Family Guy which got yanked earlier this year. So, for better or for worse, we are stuck with it.* *I wrote this before I was aware of the revelation that Futurama was coming back to Adult Swim, but instead of editing what I wrote I am adding this. Also, I forgot about King of the Hill also being back. No such excuse. I’m bad!

MAIL BAG

I have a theory that the worst thing about the way Robot Chicken looks is the faces: The South Park-esque mouths mixed with either beady action figure eyes or big exaggerated bug eyes. I don't know if that's the main problem but I don't know what else to single out. Maybe action figures are just bad for comedy

I’m not wild about this either. I’d prefer Clutch Cargo mouths, so we can see Seth’s cool pierced lip he probably has.

[blake-belladonna-defence-force]

Ink Master AU

God help me, I came up with another au.

This one is based on Ink Master, the show where tattoo artist compete against each other.

Yang’s spent years studying and perfecting her craft, attending college art courses and spending years as an apprentice.

Blake... basically grew up with the wrong crowd and began stick and poking at the age of 14 and has been tattooing ever since.

Let’s see what sort of dynamic we can make.

///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Yang rolled her shoulders out as she walked through the Ink Master house, a content smirk on her face. She was damn proud of her work today And hopefully, she had pulled through with a win.

She knew she was a good artist. She was 30 years old and held multiple degrees in art throughout her life. She had been tattooing since she was 20. She was damn good and she knew it. Even her own tattoos were held up to a high standard and only ever done by people that she knew and trusted to give her what she paid for.

The dragon across her back, the series of golden mechanics going down her right arm and the heart with a mum banner on her left were all pieces that she was proud to wear on her body. They were art. They had taken time and skill.

Which is probably why Blake Belladonna pissed Yang right the fuck off.

Whereas Yang and the other artists were well known in the tattooing community, Blake had almost seemed to pop up from nowhere, with tattoos that ranged from stick and pokes to professional grade tats. Her tattoos weren’t placed with purpose and neatness like Yang’s were. No, Blake Belladonna’s were as chaotic as she, herself, was. A series of Belladonna flowers lacing down her left forearm, threading through a wolf skull with glowing red eyes. A woman wielding a katana on her right. Small tattoos that didn’t belong with either in the clear space on her arms. And the amount of stick and poke tattoos the woman had infuriated Yang beyond belief. A lot of her business was covering up shitty, home made tattoos and here Blake was, toting them around like they were something to be proud of?

And that wasn’t even mentioning the fact that Blake Belladonna did not get along with anybody in the house. She’d place a sly, sharp word and quickly and effectively get onto people’s nerves and when they snapped, she’d watch the fallout with a calm smirk on her face, infuriating them even further.

Yang hated her… it was just unfortunate that she was hot.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake! You’re a 30 year old artist! With a functioning tattoo machine! Why are you giving yourself a stick and poke?!”

Yang snapped as she walked into the living room and saw Blake sitting at the coffee table, now covered by sterile pads, with a needle in one hand and a bottle of black ink setting on said table. Her long black hair was pulled back into a low ponytail, short curls framing her face perfectly as she paused in her work to look up at Yang and quirk a pierced brow. Her lips curled into a smile, her tongue flicking out to toy with her lip piercing as she chuckled. She shifted in her seat, her black tank top slipping off of her right shoulder slightly.

It wasn’t distracting at all. Nor did Yang care about how well her ripped jeans fit her. Nope.

“Hey, Art Major.” Blake smirked, her eyes darting behind Yang and spotting the cameras, her amber eyes gleaming. The woman lived for drama, that was for certain. Yang knew that she was up to something. “I think that it’s important to never forget your roots, you know?”

“...but why stick and poke? Do you have any idea how- how dangerous that is? You realise there are kids watching, right?” Yang sighed, feeling all of her art teachers and tattooing mentors screaming. She doubted that any of them would get along with Blake.

“What’s wrong? A little salty that my stick and pokes look better that the shit you do?” Blake said slyly as she turned back to her wrist and continued with her work. “I guess degrees don’t make the artist after all.”

“My degrees are what make me a better artist.”

“Your degrees don’t mean shit. It’s experience that makes the artist. Go back to the paper canvas, little girl. Leave the skin to those who actually know what they’re doing.”

“You use stick and poke!” Yang snapped, her blood slowly boiling as she glowered at Blake. A part of her knew that Blake was purposely riling her up for a fight. But another part of her wanted to fight just as badly. “You take no pride in your own tattoos and have the most shit poor attitude. You don’t give a flying fuck about anything or anyone, do you?!”

“Why should I?” Blake shrugged, apathetic as ever. “Caring leads to hurt and disappointment. I care about my work. I make sure my clients walk away happy. What else is there to care about?”

“Oh my God… you’re a miserable bastard, you know that?” Yang growled in frustration. She could tell by the way Blake’s cat ears flicked that she was pleased to be getting a reaction out of Yang, enjoying the fact that she was getting under her skin. She watched as Blake almost carelessly wiped at her wrist and grinned down at it before looking up at Yang, a dangerous smirk on her face as she turned it around to show it off…

And revealed a small, Chinese dragon curled up on the inside of her wrist.

“What do you think, Little Sun Dragon?” Blake practically purred as she threw her gear into a small bag, supposedly for disposal after the fact.

“... you gave yourself… a fucking dragon?” Yang said quietly, narrowing her eyes suspiciously at Blake. She ignored the way the camera man snickered under his breath. They all knew that the audience was going to eat this up like candy. “Why?”

“Because fuck you. That’s why.” Blake shrugged as she stood and calmly examined it before looking up at Yang through her lashes slyly. “Damn. I’m pretty good. It’s just like yours.”

“Just like- you-“ Yang sputtered angrily as Blake walked up and stood in front of her, a pleased smirk in her face. “I spent weeks perfecting my design! My artist spent hours tattooing it on me! Your little stick and poke is nothing, Scratcher!”

“You see… that’s your problem…” Blake sighed as she reached out and lazily traced the golden gears in Yang’s left arm, grinning slyly as a shiver ran through Yang’s body. “You’ve never given yourself a tattoo. Sorry, Yang, but until you can work while dealing with pain… I’m better than you’ll ever be.”

And with that, Blake ducked around Yang and sauntered to her room, a purposeful sway to her hips as Yang stared after her, lips lifting into a silent snarl.

She really hated Blake Belladonna… but goddamn, if she wasn’t exactly Yang’s type.

[harcourtholmesii]

Unintended Purpose (Part III)

Pairings: As Of Yet; Unknown

Warnings: - Swearing - Slavery (Whether Characters Realise It Or Not) - Physical Abuse / Manipulation

Words: 2018

Enjoy!

SMACK!

 Hank’s head was whipped to one side, his mind reeling for a few short seconds as he comprehended the blow to his cheek. A sting had begun to blossom there, the feeling of heat welling up on the right side of his face a minor physical pain.

 It hurt more to see Renee so close to crying.

 ‘Are you kidding me, Hank?’ Her hazel eyes were blinking back tears, her face as red as his felt, gritting her teeth as if to keep herself from screaming. Hank had never seen her in such a state before; nothing had come this close.

 ‘I’m sorry.’ He stepped closer to her, hands raised to rest on her arms or shoulders. Anywhere he might touch and hold her. He didn’t want her upset; he hated seeing her hurt. ‘I didn’t know.’

 ‘Well, you should have!’ She shirked his hands away, putting a few feet between herself and him. Her chest was heaving, the finest traces of her makeup running down from her eyes. The waterworks had broken.

 ‘You should have let me come with you! Not bought some homicidal android and allowed it into our home!’

 ‘Hon, I didn’t know. I thought you would be happy with the surprise; I wasn’t expecting it to have done something… like that.’ Admittedly, Hank was less furious or even upset by the discovery. He knew that machines could miscalculate; he saw it all the time at the precinct.

 They would occasionally have issues with motor control and drop papers, coffee cups and, on the rare occasions, guns. Then, there were those that calculated how best to file or archive evidence, without consulting the officers first. Sometimes, there were others who were given conflicting orders between two sources, and had to determine who best to listen to. Often, those kinds of fuck-ups were the most damning; he had seen a number of assistance androids disappear out of the doors of the precinct and never come back.

 ‘Connor’, however, was a different case entirely.

 Hank had heard the rumours of CyberLife creating police detectives and riot officer androids, but he had ignored it for the most part; secure with his own position. After all, for androids to take such an active role in the police force, it seemed a little too endangering. As if humans didn’t already trust androids enough to care for their young and sick, now they would be forced to trust them with their safety and lives.

 Hank knew too many people that would have rioted for that. Gavin Reed came to mind.

 However, ‘Connor’ had been given an active role by CyberLife, and had caused irreversible damage. He had his mind wiped and his programming for police work overridden with housekeeping duties. But, as ‘Connor’ had proven to them in the car ride home, he was not entirely clean of his previous coding.

 Renee’s lips tightened, forming a thin, trembling line as she kept herself from shouting further. Both she and Hank wanted to avoid upsetting Cole, who Renee had ordered to his room so she could have a private conversation with Hank.

 ‘It’s not safe.’ She huffed, pushing strands of her black hair from her face. ‘I trusted you to buy a simple, housekeeping android. I didn’t much care about the price, so long as it was safe and… And not anything like that… Thing in the kitchen.’ She spat out those words, as if they were poison on her tongue.

 ‘I… I wanted to get someo- Something Cole would like. I let him choose, within reason. Or, at least, I thought it was. I figured, perhaps having an ex-police android would be an extra security measure; something else to keep Cole safe.’ He said, hoping to reason with her. Anything to calm her down even a little.

 ‘You were mistaken, Hank Anderson!’

 Ouch. Never a good sign when she used his name like that. She had pulled away as far as she could from him and turned her back on him, leaving Hank just beside the bedroom door.

 ‘It’s hideous…’ She muttered.

 ‘What?’

 ‘It’s hideous too. You know, I thought we might get something that at least looked human too. How much did you pay for that doll out there?’ He opened his mouth to respond. ‘D-Don’t! Don’t answer that, Hank…’

 ‘Well, what do you want me to do?’

 She turned to face him fully, sniffling a bit. Finally, she approached him. She moved forward until she could rest the crown of her head against his shoulder. He raised his arms again, wrapping them around her body and pulling her close. She was shaking.

 ‘Just tell me what you want me to do.’ His words were soft.

 ‘Get rid of it.’ She looked up at him with wide, wet eyes. She stood up on the tips of her toes, pressing a kiss to the underside of Hank’s jaw. ‘I want it out of our house. Go back to the CyberLife store and replace it. I don’t care what you replace it with, but don’t leave it here, Hank.’

 He let out a breath, nodding his head. A small, sad smile pulled at the corners of her lips. She stepped away and took a seat on the bed, gesturing for him to leave.

 And leave he did.

 He opened the door to the bedroom, turned, and very nearly tripped over Cole. The boy was stood outside, Sumo hoisted up by Cole’s arms under his front legs, both of them looking up at Hank with wide eyes.

 ‘We’re not really getting rid of him, Dad. Are we?’

 Shit.

 Hank knelt down in front of them both, petting Sumo’s brown fur gently, and offering Cole an apologetic look.

 ‘I’m sorry, Cole.’ He felt his heart break when Cole’s lower lip trembled and his eyes filled with tears. ‘Your mom and I- We don’t think ‘Connor’ is… Was a good choice. I’m taking him back to CyberLife.’

 ‘No! Dad, please! Don’t do that.’ Cole pleaded with him. Sumo was gently dropped onto all fours as Cole leaned in to hug tightly to Hank. ‘I don’t want ‘Connor’ gone. I want to keep him!’

 ‘We can’t do that.’

 ‘Why not?!’ He nearly shrieked. ‘Is it something he did? Is- Is it something I did?’

 ‘No!’ Hank pulled Cole’s head to his chest, nearly encompassing him entirely in his arms. ‘You did nothing wrong, Cole. Nothing… But… Your mom and I think that the android you chose may not be safe.’

 ‘But he was a police android…’

 ‘Yes.’

 ‘And police androids protect people…?’ Hank knew where this was going. He lowered his gaze, curtains of silver hiding his eyes from Cole. He couldn’t look him in the eye anymore without caving. Cole had always been very good at getting him to crack under pressure.

 ‘Yes, Cole. But this one didn’t. It hurt someone. Badly.’ His arms tightened around Cole and then released him. Sumo was pawing at the leather of his shoes, whining quietly. ‘The android needs to be returned. If not for your safety, then for your mother’s peace of mind.’

 ‘But I want to keep him.’

 ‘And do you want your mom happy?’ It was a low blow, Hank knew, but he needed to convince Cole to let this thing go. There was a sniffle, and then Cole slowly backed up, picking up Sumo in his arms once more, and began his defeated march back to his room.

 Hank watched him go; watched how he practically slunk inside and shut the graffitied wood behind him, pencil sketches of superhero dad seemingly mocking Hank.

 He stood, turning his eyes down the hall, landing on the problematic android in question, that stood stock-still where they had left him. Those brown eyes turned away from him; it had been watching them both. Hands behind its back, it seemed the part of an innocent bystander, unaware of the goings on at the far end of the hall.

 Hank moved closer to it, standing before the android. In a way, what Renee said rang true; this thing looked much more machine-like than most androids. It seemed almost an amalgamation of shapes that created an uncanny valley look to it. A strong, square jaw, but offset by artificial baby fat in the cheeks. Wide, innocent, brown eyes, but with a furrowed brow, creating half a frown of sorts. The work of a police detective, but not with an athletic body for police chases or self-defence.

 Its design simply didn’t make sense.

 ‘Connor.’ The android just looked at him, eyes flicking about his face as if he was judging Hank just like Hank did him. He stopped. ‘It’s time to go.’

 ‘Back to CyberLife?’

 Hank simply nodded, gesturing to the front door. There was a minor, yellow blink in the LED, but the android simply turned on its heel and headed to the door. It even opened it up for Hank and gestured him out first, like the obedient machine it was made to be.

 Hank had begun to follow it when he heard one of the bedroom doors open and Cole come sprinting back down the hall. He stepped between Hank and the door, holding his arms out wide in a defiant little stance, Sumo yapping up at the three of them.

 ‘Wait! Dad…’ He turned back to ‘Connor’, having tilted its head in curiosity once more. His eyes rested on Hank’s again. ‘Please! Can’t we keep him?’

 Hank rolled his eyes a little, but knelt down before him once more. He rested a hand on Cole’s shoulder, shaking his head.

 ‘No. Cole, now, we just talked about this. I’m taking him back to CyberLife. Today.’ He had to remain firm. Cole shook his head violently, remaining where he was, hands outstretched.

 ‘Don’t take him, Dad!’ Hank heard another pair of feet, peering over his shoulder to see Renee in the hall, watching him. Cole looked between them for a moment, before running backwards and taking a grip on ‘Connor’s’ trouser leg. The android stumbled slightly, but did not otherwise move.

 ‘Please, Dad! Mom! Just…’ His hazel eyes were all over the place, thinking of excuses; any reason he might have to keep ‘Connor’ around.

 ‘No, Cole. That is final.’ Hank rumbled, a little frustrated. He stood once more, and pulled Cole away from ‘Connor’s’ leg, grabbing a hold of it by the lapel of its CyberLife uniform and beginning to drag it to the car.

 Cole had begun to cry again.

 ‘Wait, Dad!’ Hank stopped, just to let Cole know he was listening. The chill of Autumn’s last days stung the skin of his hands and face. He had made up his mind. The android was going back to CyberLife, and nothing Cole said would change that.

 ‘C-Can’t we… Can’t we just keep him until my birthday is over?’ Hank cocked an eyebrow, turning back to look at his son. ‘Connor’ peered between the two of them, eyes locked on Cole’s tiny, trembling form.

 ‘Please! Just until my birthday is done!’ Hank peered between Cole on the doorstep, ‘Connor’s’ curious face, and Renee’s disapproving look. He felt a headache beginning to come on.

 ‘Once your birthday is over?’

 ‘Yes.’

 ‘No more excuses after that, right Cole?’ Cole shook his head again, practically bouncing on his feet; impatient. Hank looked up to Renee, who was giving him a heated look.

 What are you doing? Her lips formed around the silent words with some anger, glaring daggers at Hank. Get rid of it!

 Hank sighed. He would regret his decision either way.

 ‘Once your birthday is over, it’s going back. No more complaints, understand?’ Cole’s face broke into a wide smile as he raced across the icy pavement and hugged tight to Hank’s leg. Hank smiled down at him as Cole pulled away and, with an excited Sumo leaping up at the android, both boy and his dog guided ‘Connor’ back into the house.

 Renee stepped away from the door, arms crossed and in a huff.

 They could live with it for just a week.

 And then it would be gone.

[iatasbcl]

I just wanted to be sure to not make you uncomfortable! Can i request an oneshot with connor and his s.o self harming/having depression? If you dont want to so it it's fine with me either!! 🥀

Rain Clouds

Pairing: Connor RK800 x GN Reader

A/N: Thank you for asking beforehand! it’s been a hot minute since I wrote for my boy, also a quick reminder: requests are open!

I didn’t write the self-harming part because I’m not very comfortable with that. The portrayal of depression here is based on my personal experience since you did not specify a scenario. It does not represent everyone’s experiences.

Warnings: Depression, minor?? panic attack, overall it just has sensitive subjects,,, please don’t read if it makes you uncomfortable 

W.C: 1.8K

Connor wasn’t ever designed for this. He wasn’t created to show any empathy or sympathy, he wasn’t made to bring anyone comfort.

Yet here he was, in a dim room with a very, very distraught human. You, to be exact. You were sobbing, your hands covered your face as tears continued to wet your face. He didn’t expect this to happen when he chose to visit you after you didn’t show up at work for a few days.

He had known you for about half a year now. You were one of the few people at the precinct to welcome when he first joined as a machine. You only grew closer and closer after that, with you and Hank helping him realize he is deviant and guide through the mess that was humanity and emotions. He… liked being around you.

He was admittedly worried, you acted different prior to today. Your usual cheery self had gradually morphed into a quiet, distant one. You didn’t laugh at Gavin’s attempts to make you chuckle, you didn’t smile while greeting him, you didn’t even pet Sumo when Hank brought him to the precinct. You’d fall behind on work, barely eat and quick diagnoses showed that your stress level was constantly high.

Something was wrong, and he needed to make sure you were alright. He’d seen patterns similar to yours in Hank before and he didn’t want to even think about things escalating that far.

“I’m fine, you shouldn’t worry about me.”

Your words lacked sincerity as your neglected appearance contrasted them. The dark circles around your eyes got heavier, your hair looked as if it was left uncared for, you were severally dehydrated and probably hadn’t eaten a sufficient meal in a while. You didn’t like it when he questioned you on it.

“I said I’m fine, just been too lazy to cook anything.”

In retrospect, he should’ve given you the space you needed. He should’ve known persisting on the matter would only cause your stress to get worse. But he didn’t, he just wanted to help. He cared for you too much, he couldn’t handle it if something had happened to you.

“Stop analyzing me!”

Your burst was justified, but he truly did not know how to react to it.

“God, do you think that’s all that life is? You will just go around scan whatever you like and give back some diagnostic that nobody asked for? Are you just a fucking machine, Connor?”

You immediately froze after saying that, your breathing was heavy, and tears started to trickle down your face. Connor didn’t know what to say. Just a machine. He was acting like a machine. Your words stung but he pushed that aside.

“Fuck… I’m so sorry I didn’t – I didn’t –”

A sob interrupted your apology and you moved your hands to cover your face again. Your body slowly descended, and you sat on the floor. Connor could feel his own stress level increase as he stood upon your shaky form, not knowing what he is supposed to do. The storm overrunning his mind was kept at bay, though. Showing you that he too was afraid would not make things better.

Your breathing started quickening and getting heavier when you finally faced him. A quick scan showed that your heart was racing abnormally. Contemplations filled his mind, should he call an ambulance?

He moved closer to you but stopped when you immediately moved back, “Don’t, don’t come close.” You stammered in a trembling voice.

“Okay. Okay, I’m sorry. Uh - what do you need? What can I do?”

You shook your head,” I dunno, fuck-” your choked voice only got croaker as you tried to speak, “It’s okay… just, just focus on your breathing.” Connor was only doing what he felt might help you and getting your breathing to stabilize became his current objective.

“…trying,” you closed your eyes and Connor continued to stare at you as you struggled. “water, need water.”

He nodded and got up. With hurried footsteps, he went into your kitchen and brought you a glass of water. He came back to you and stood still for a second. Should he get closer? Should he help you drink it?

“Con. Help.” That was his cue. He kneeled next to you and held the glass to your lips. You drank it steadily, as much as you could. The glass was lowered, and he was ready to back off, to give you your space. But you reached out to him and held his hand. He could feel the pressure of it as you squeezed it tightly.

The pattern of your breathing started to follow a consistent pattern after that and as time went on your trembles began to decline but you still shuddered.

+

Carrying you to bed was an easy task. He’d done so as per your dizzy self’s request and helped you lay down and made sure you were adequately hydrated. 

He glanced over you and saw how drained you looked. The idea of you, the one he cared about so much, being so broken hurt him. He wanted to ask, to know how long you’d suffered in silence without him noticing a thing. He wanted to know how to help.

Now wasn’t the time, though.

“You shouldn’t waste your time here.” Your croaky voice snapped him out of his train of thoughts. “You can go Connor; I will be fine.”

“Can I stay? I want to be with you.” he pleaded.

Your vision once fixated on the wall now focused on him, hollowness seeped through your eyes, a sharp contrast to how they looked the first time he met you.

“Connor…”

“Please. Please, don’t push me away.”

You blinked and bit your dry lip. After thinking for a few minutes, you said, “Okay. Okay, you can stay.”

+

The following day he’d made you breakfast, or at least tried. The food looked nice since he’d followed an online tutorial, but he wasn’t sure about the taste.

You didn’t look happy nor sad about him cooking for you but barely ate half of what he made.

“Fucking hell.” You said under your breath, he didn’t know if it was because of what he made or because of how physically and mentally tired you look.

Last night wasn’t mentioned. He didn’t say anything, and you didn’t bring it up, so he thought you didn’t want to talk about it.

“Thanks.” You said suddenly after you finished eating, “For, for looking out for me, I mean.”

He nodded, “You don’t have to thank me. I only wanted to make sure you were okay, I’m sorry for pressuring you.”

He had done his research as you begrudgingly slept, understood that what happened to you was known as a panic attack. He’d delved deeper into it to understand what caused the shift in your personality, but he still was not a licensed therapist or the kind of android made for that purpose and thus he didn’t want to make assumptions.

You scoffed, “No, it was my fault. I… usually get snappy when this happens. I still shouldn’t have said what I said. I’m sorry. Just don’t scan me all the time, okay?” “Okay.”

He tilted his head after a while, “Is it okay if I ask you a personal question?”

“Sure.”

“Has this happened before?”

You froze. “Does it matter?”

The way you spoke was rather deadpan, “Well, yes. But if you don’t wish to talk about it, it’s fine.”

“I’d like that. I don’t… I’m not ready to talk about it.”

Connor put his hand on yours and rubbed it, “It’s okay.”

+

Day by day he’d try to show you that he appreciated you. That he did not see you as a burden. That you mattered to him. It was hard, your self-doubt and lack of any sense of personal worth created a wall that he had to carefully try to breakdown. He did want to advise you to seek professional help, but you seemed defensive when he suggested it the first time.

You started showing up to work again after a while, you still did not show much passion for it and looked incredibly uncomfortable when someone would question you about it. So, he’d try his best to push people off your back, as awkward as it was. 

+

Rain was pouring outside. Connor could hear splashes and vehicles passing by every second. It was rather peaceful. Your head rested on his thigh as he hummed a tune he recalled hearing you sing a few months ago.

“Connor.”

“Hm?”

“What’s wrong with me?”

Your question made him pause, you sounded almost… empty. Devoid of any actual emotion like someone who was internally defeated.

“I kept denying it for so long. Kept telling myself that today was just a bad day, tomorrow will be better,” you let out an unsteady breath, “But it never did. Everything became so… joyless? I couldn’t enjoy things, couldn’t enjoy work, couldn’t enjoy any shows, couldn’t enjoy speaking to anyone.”

Connor slowly realized that you were opening up to him, so he listened thoroughly and stayed quiet.

“Things only got worse. I didn’t have it in me to do anything anymore. I didn’t keep up with work, didn’t clean my apartment, didn’t cook, didn’t eat, didn’t do anything. I felt gross.”

 You sniffled and lifted your head, “I didn’t want to bother anyone with it. Thought It would go away, that nobody deserved to be forced to help someone like me. didn’t want them to see me any differently.”

“I am just so fuckin’ tired, ya know? It’s like I am running in a circle. I’m tired of being so worthless. I’m tired, Con. I just want it to stop.”

You looked down at your lap while Connor started to comprehend what you were saying. His LED spun and circled until it settled on yellow. “This does not make me view you any differently. You are still the person who helped me when I deviated,”

He held your hand and you latched on to him, letting out soft whimpers as he rubbed your back. “I might not completely understand what you are going through, but I still care about you and I want to help.”

“But I am not the crucial help you need.” You stopped crying into his chest and looked up at him in confusion. “I know you think it might be useless but please consider attending therapy. I will tag along if it will make it more comfortable for you.”

You stayed quiet, this time actually considering what he offered. “what if they didn’t care?”

“Then we will look for the right person. Together.”

You bit your lower lip and hesitantly nodded, “You will be with me, Con?” your fingers intertwined, and he pressed his forehead against yours.

 “Yes. Every step of the way.”

[joshslater]

Grimsby pt. 6

Similar stories and bonus material on my Patreon.

I think I surprised myself more than anyone else that I was early for work. Peter put me to work right away with ice and boxes. Not much different than yesterday, and quickly became a mindless routine. If I had started off the day as a zombie, I soon wished I was one. Or on drugs, still. It would be helpful to block all the muscle ache if nothing else. There was quite a lot of fish coming in compared with yesterday. Since it was a Friday restaurants stocked up for the weekend, and the ordinary shoppers came by for their Friday evening projects. But as I was in so early I kept up with work, and by lunch Jamie sent me home early with full pay.

“Real good work today. Rest up for Monday. You look like shit.”

I grabbed a mis-shapen fried cod on my way out and ate by the bus stop. I decided to do as suggested and get back home as fast as possible and take a nap. Then perhaps I could deal with cleaning out the kitchen, or even laundry if I woke up in time. I had just finished the fish when the bus arrived, and this time I actually paid the proper £1.80. Again I opted for a seat in the back, by the window, though there wasn’t many people on the bus.

Two stops later a teenager, probably younger than he tried to look, swaggered on and went straight to sit next to me. All blue and grey adidas joggers and sweatshirt, Nike shoes and a buzzed head. He sat down with one foot on the seat, legs wide. He effectively blocked me in my seat, but he didn’t do it in a threatening way. It was like someone getting comfortable next to someone they knew.

“Oi. Got fag?” 

My instinct was to not give any of my cigarettes to him, but then were they really mine? I was still working my way through the 200 pack Declan bought me. I suppose once it was gone I would have to buy a new one, but it didn’t feel like it was my money. As long as I’m pretending for Butcher Jones I don’t have to be too careful with money.

“Hey. Sure.”

I got one of the last ones out of the box and handed it to him. He lit it and started to smoke, in the bus.

“Thanks mate”

Almost instantly I was jealous of him. I so craved a smoke. Sure, it was on the bus, but I wasn’t the one who had lit it. I held out my hand towards him. He looked up and handed me the lit cigarette. I made a few deep drags and handed it back to him. Some stops later he got off the bus with a “cheers”. It felt like I had passed a test of some sort. That I was convincingly playing my part. It felt both reassuring and unsettling at the same time. I couldn’t see my reflection in the window, but I could kind of imagine what I looked like now. I touched my head, and it still felt alien to me, with the smooth skin on the sides and the island of stubble up top. I almost missed my stop, lost in thought. I was so tired, and walked on autopilot from the bus stop to my bed. I did greet someone from yesterday’s party, but instantly forgot who. I kicked off my shoes and lied down on the bed.

“I said yous ready to go?”

My wheels were spinning wildly with poor traction in my sleep drunk state. I didn’t understand what was happening. I wasn’t drunk or high, was I? No, I hadn’t had any all day? Big Jace was only inches from my face, one hand on each of my shoulders. Damn, how sore my entire body was.

“G...*cough* go where?” “The club. Imma beat you in boxing like FIFA.”

He reached out and grabbed me in that way where the thumbs interlock and your fingers grab the outside of the hand. Instinctively I grabbed his hand as well, and he pulled me out of bed. “There’s plenty of napping once we get the gloves on.” I was still too disoriented from having been waken up mid REM sleep to realize what he meant. As I stumbled down the stairs after Jace, I managed to grab a new pack, get a cigarette in and light it before we were out the door. Why did I agree to do this again? Right. I was high. Where was Declan?

Jace turned the other way down the street, not saying a word as usual, with me following him. He had a black Nike duffle bag over his shoulder. Despite his height it was hanging below his hip, swinging more than I would have had patience for. It was mesmerizing to look at, as I worked on my Richmond Blue King and tried to not wake up properly. By the time we reached the end of the street I felt like I was hypnotized, and was jolted back to sentience as he walked straight through a bush and across the lawn of however lived there. I followed him. Right, I remembered. Declan had left. I took a few faster steps to walk up beside Jace, and not behind him.

He led me over some public and private properties in the confident manner of someone who had long ago worked out the best shortcut to something they attended often. He wasn’t rushing, though, and despite my overall soreness and fatigue it felt refreshing. About 15 minutes later we entered the Grimbsy Adrenaline Club building, a large free standing brick building designed by someone without any aesthetic sense at all. I wouldn’t be able to tell anyone how we got there if I wanted. As soon as Jace opened the front door and I saw the locker room signs I realized I had nothing with me to change into. A home full of athletic clothes, in a sense, and nothing with me. Though I guess the adidas outfit I had on was as good as anything, and it was about time to throw that in the theoretical laundry basket.

Jace tossed the bag on a bench as soon as we entered the locker room. It landed with a loud thud that startled the only other guy in the room. Jace smiled a wry smile, like scaring the guy was the best thing that could have happened. Like the exterior, the room was well worn with furniture crafted in place. It smelled of sweat and mildew. Jace sauntered to the bag, unzipped it and pulled out a pair of old boxing gloves. They looked just as I imagined boxing gloves should look like, rounded, as inflated balloons, orange-red leather with yellow-white trim and long, white laces. They were really worn, and a bit frayed in the lining. The laces looked brand new, and just about long enough to lace them up. Someone had probably replaced the original string with laces from a pair of sneakers. He held one up, opening towards me.

“Hand.”

I put my hand in the glove, and he pushed it in place. He quickly tightened the lace, told me to push, and tied some sort of knot. He then grabbed a roll of duct tape from the bag and put a wide strip over the knot, and around the glove, almost two turns.

“Shit gloves innit. Should hold.”

We did the same with the other glove. He then picked a black piece of rubbery plastic, a bulky mouth guard, out of the bag and inserted it in his mouth. Finally he picked up a pair of much more modern gloves from the bag, red and black in some synthetic leather, put them on and velcroed them tight. He did two rapid fistbumps, making a bright thuds.

“Come. I’ll show you the basics.”

I could barely make out the words for the mouthguard. I followed Jace through the building. It was almost deserted, with a few people in the machine room doing their work out. I realized I had no idea what the time was, but early afternoon on a Friday was obviously not peak hour. We ended up in a large room with different punching bags along one wall. He stopped in a cleared area.

“Now hit me.”

I punched him softly in the chest.

“OK, that one’s free. Hit my head.”

I made an attempt and he easily danced away. He spurred me on to continue and to make better and faster attacks. He clearly enjoyed his superiority, dodging everything with ease. He was starting to mock punch me, missing on purpose. “Faster, or I’ll hit you for real” I was tired and sore, and I had no idea what I was doing. We were going faster and a faster, my heart was racing and I was sweating, but my arms moved sloppier and sloppier. Somehow I was getting angry that I didn’t hit him, and got more and more determined to actually hit something other than his blocking gloves.

Suddenly he stepped back, giving me a big, black rubber smile. How long had we been at it? Five minutes? Fifteen? He opened a glove, took it off, removed the mouth guard and held it out in front of him, offering it to me. “Bite this. I’ll show you the punches.” Without thinking I stepped forward, leaned down to where he held the mouth guard and bit into it. Exactly when I closed my mouth it hit my how off the cliff I was. I was exhausted on every level, sure, but I was just blindly doing whatever this younger, rude, drug dealing chav told me to do. How had he conditioned me so quickly? At the beginning of the week I wouldn’t even touch something dripping in someone else’s saliva. Now I put it in my mouth before I even realized anything wrong with that. I was desensitized.

“This is a jab.” Jace said with no emotion and punched me straight in the face. I was totally unprepared and fell back on the padded floor. I managed to break the fall a little with my gloved hands, and ended up on my ass. My nose hurt. I tried to feel it, and check if it was bleeding, and manged to punch myself in the face, if ever so softly. “Wa a uh!” was my rendering of “what the fuck”, but the mouth guard was clearly not fitted for me. If anything Jace was enjoying this more than sidestepping my blows, and spent seconds just observing me on the floor before he stepped in and lifted me with one glove in each armpit.

I felt light headed and steadied myself on Jace before regaining balance. “Hits can come from front, sides and below” he explained. “Jab is from the front.” I didn’t feel it mattered much what it was called when you beat someone up. “This is a hook” he said and hit my head from the side. This time I was more prepared and managed to lean away. It still connected, but wasn’t as bad. I avoided his other hook even better. The uppercut however connected with my chin properly and I lost consciousness for a few seconds and woke up looking up at Jace.

“You need to block”

He then appeared to hold back, and went through all the punches, telling me how I could attempt to block them. I got punched plenty more, but nothing that knocked me out. He then placed me in front of one of the punching bags and told me to repeat a motion, while he went on to do his exercises. Occasionally he would change my exercise or adjust me technique. All I could do was to grunt “ae!” with the mouth guard in.

“Fifteen more”

I was really emptying whatever energy reserves I had left, and I knew I was doing really shitty work, but I did as Jace told me and hit the punching bag with fifteen more left hooks. He had taken off his gloves, and was just watching me. As I did the last punch, he tapped my shoulder with one of his gloves.

“Solid work, mate. I’m chuffed.”

He walked towards the locker room. I trailed him, exhausted. My body must have glistened in sweat, had it not been for the adidas set, which clung to the body. I was breathing heavily through the nose. Well ahead of me I saw him toss his gloves into the bag, then turned and waited for me.

“Footwork next time. Tuesday.”

He wasn’t asking. He then ripped the tape off my gloves, and undid the knots. As soon as I got a hand free I removed the mouth guard. Jace looked at it as if surprised I still had it. “Toss in the bag”. I sat down on the bench to catch my breath.

Jace stood still and just looked at me for a moment, then he reach down inside his polo shirt neck, undid a brass looking chain necklace. He stepped forward and clutched it around my neck. I looked at him in surprise.

“There. You’re family.”

[70ships-moved]

untitled | honeymoon suite

very brief summary: patrick can’t sleep. his solution? interview your boyfriend.

pairing: malcolm (oc) / patrick (s/i) | honeymoon suite

words: 2088 (yikes!)

notes: this is the very first fic i wrote about malcolm and it turned a year old like two months ago (wow! i didn’t even know that until now), i didn’t want to change or edit too much because this holds a special place in my non existent heart :), written in the pov of my s/i (first person)

   Today I found a magazine with one of my idols (and celebrity crushes) on the cover in my nightstand drawer stashed away like a porno magazine. I remember the exact day I bought it too. I was at a bookstore and I saw it in the checkout area and the moment I saw who was on the cover, I made a mad dash for the checkout area. I did contemplate it though; the magazine was like twelve bucks which is stupid for something no one really buys but skims through and puts back. (When was the last time you bought a magazine? Man, wait until you hear about the internet.) But for who was on the cover, I was more than willing to pay the stupid twelve dollars.

    Like any child that picks up a book, I looked at the pictures and read some of the interview. My only takeaway from the interview was that he liked this Bolognese recipe he found- or made himself. I didn’t read it all. He puts bacon bits in it, and he says it’s even good when cold. I took this magazine with me to school almost every day. I really liked the guy, okay? I’d show it to my best and only friend at school at the time who hated my obsession with him. It was weird because she was one of those friends who would always get an ugly boyfriend and would force you to compliment him- no matter how ugly you thought he was but proceeded to get mad at you when you were being honest about his looks. I could handle her opinions about this man I claimed to love but have never met in my life.

    Four years later and I finally read the interview. It was a good read. The interviewer had nothing but nice things to say about him, mainly because he was and still is a sweetheart. And he only had nice things to say about the people he talked about. After reading the interview, I had something other than his good looks to admire. As far as I know, there isn’t a hateful bone in his body. When talking about his controversial relationship with his ex (long story short, the public wasn’t buying it), he said he only knew the girl he fell in love with and that’s saying something for a relationship that felt like it only lasted a week.

    It inspired me to conduct my own interview with someone who I love just as much, my partner Malcolm. I’ve interviewed other people before rather awkwardly but this is Malcolm we’re talking about. He has walls. We all do. He's a bit on the reserved side but with the time I’ve spent with him, I’ve seen these walls come down. These demolished walls are my favorite part of him. I even went out of the way and got a recording device from a buddy who works in film. I like being extra.  

    It’s about 2 am. There’s this thing my body does where I just have to wake up at this time. It’s every day too. When this happens, I wake Malcolm up. He encourages me to do so because it is incredibly difficult for me to go back to sleep once awake. Also, it’s kind of boring being awake all by yourself. In these hours, I learned how to call from a private number (*67, for prank call purposes), learned useless but interesting facts about space and how sex can be one hell of a sleeping pill. Tonight, I wanted to do something different.

    We’re sat in the kitchen area of the suite. The only thing separating us is the kitchen island. My recording device sits in the middle of us. Are you ready? “Mhm.” Great, I start with an over-the-top introduction of him. Ladies, guys, and people who don’t care what’s between their thighs, it’s two in the fucking morning and I can’t sleep but the man I’m sitting across from makes it all worth it. He’s got great hair and even great taste in men. He’s dating me! The man, the myth, future astronaut, and legend: Malcolm Hall! I feel like a podcast host. It’s a good feeling. “You’re so annoying.” That’s why he loves me.

    I have a list of questions I wrote down in less than five minutes. They’re nothing special and I want this to be fun and not so serious. This man constantly throws himself at his work- spending endless hours at a desk. Serious is his middle name. When he’s not in his office, he’s at the bar talking to you about a film he saw with a margarita in front of him or playing blackjack with you and your coworkers. Maybe he’s in suite 505 kicking it with yours truly, telling me about his day while I struggle to put a face mask on his moving face. How are you doing? He chuckles. That fucking chuckle. “Tired. But I’m with you, so I can’t complain. How are you?” I’m not so tired but I can’t complain. You’re here.

    I see you’re well-dressed for our interview. A bit too casual but you look good regardless. “Fuck off.” He says this in a whisper but it’s almost too quiet, it almost looks like he’s mouthing it. He’s in a bathrobe, his hair tossed from sleep; strands of it falling into his face. His face is resting in his palm as he looks at me with a tired smile, his eyes struggling to stay open. This is all unintentional, but I think this is extremely sexy of him. These small things have such a tremendous effect on me. They light the pit in my stomach and make me squirm in my seat a little. I’m messing. You look great as always. “You’re not looking too bad yourself.” I know. If I ever die in my sleep, I want to be in the best damn pair of silk pajamas there is.

    The coffee machine makes a noise indicating that it’s done brewing his cup of caffeine. That’s a nice coffee maker. When did you get it? I’m going off-script. “This thing?” He taps the machine like the hood of a car. “It came with the room. The interior design people take care of that. I just run the place, so I don’t really know when it got here. But I do know that the other machines were really fucking old.” Oh, interesting. “Not really. You know, I was expecting you to give me much harder questions.” Really? Well, it’s important to expect the unexpected. “Now you’re scaring me.” Good. Part of me can’t tell if he knows I’m teasing him.

    I’m not a coffee drinker like him but if it tasted as good as it smelt, then I could be. It’s a hazelnut blend. He mixes it with half-and-half and three scoops of sugar. His sips are slow and cautious. He seems to have bad luck with hot objects. He burnt his hand in a waffle iron one time and a dozen more times while preparing dinner. Maybe a hot object, liquid, or thing is the reason for the tape on his right hand. What happened to your hand? He looks up at me through his mug. “Masturbation incident.” By the way, I am madly in love with this man.

    Do you remember when we met? This is a weird transition because it was on my list of questions and my timing couldn’t be any worse considering moments ago, I asked a question and the answer I received was masturbation. The question makes him smile though. He either remembers or he’s pretending to remember. “Yeah. Of course I do.” He takes both my hands, gliding his thumbs across my knuckles. I want dates, times, names, everything. “I don’t remember the exact date, but I believe it was March.” He’s correct. “It was at the hair salon and I booked an appointment with you.” He’s correct again. I cut his hair for free now- well, unless he’s pissed me off. Then, I charge him ten bucks. Twenty if I’m really upset.

     Do you remember what time you showed up for your appointment? “Late. Very late.” He came in about two and a half hours late. I was pissed. “You were pissed.” He apologized profusely, and I still cut his hair. I remember it being soft and full. It still is. That's just one of the perks of having a hairstylist as a boyfriend. “I remember when you washed my hair. It’s my favorite part of you doing my hair.” I remember that too. The shampoo had a minty menthol smell. When it was on your head, it added a cooling factor and when you inhaled it, your lungs felt like winter. Basically, vapor rub for your hair.

    He got lost in the way I massaged his scalp, his eyes closed and smiling. I can still hear his Yorkshire accent telling me “Tha’ feels good.” After I washed it, I blew it out and started cutting it. That’s when I told him his hair was soft. “Looking back on it, you kept your hands in my hair way too long.” It’s part of the job. “That’s what they all say.” He takes a long sip from his mug, his eyes not leaving mine. “Your hair was...interesting as well.” Interesting, in the way he’s using it, is slang for saying you don’t know whether you should like something because you’ve never seen it before. Back in the day, I’d dye my hair all types of colors. Shit, I thought I looked good. ��

    “The Smiths played on the stereo and your singing was terrible.” That’s a lie. I’m not Morrissey but I try to stay on key. “I’m kidding. But when you moved around the shop, you were always swaying to the music. You were fun to watch.” He winks at me and my face heats up at the memory. I danced like no one was watching. “We talked and talked and next thing I knew, I was asking you out on a date.” The first date was meant to be memorable but due to one incident, I feel like our date was memorable for the wrong reasons. “We went bowling. I’ll never forget it.” I know why. “You slipped and fell in the aisle.” I was so embarrassed. Is that the only thing you remember? Whenever we talk about it, you always bring it up. “That’s how I break the ice. ‘My boyfriend and I went bowling and he fell in the aisle. It was our first date. It's nice to meet you.'" 

    I’m a little tired now, my eyes a bit heavy and my voice softening. He answered the first date question I had prepared, so I decided to move on to my last one. Have you ever been in love? “Yes. I’d say so. Are you or have you ever been in love?” I’m supposed to be asking the questions, but I answer anyway. Yeah. I am right now. It’s a funny feeling because I’ve never been in love before. “Really? Who with?” You. My eyes can’t take the weight and close. “Good answer.” I can hear the smile in his voice.

    It’s a few minutes to 4 now. Our interview is done, and we’re ready for bed. We don’t go straight to sleep though. I listen to him talk some more with my head on his chest, his little chest hairs tickling my cheek. I begin to absently trace patterns across his chest. He says it tickles. His hand goes up my shirt, moving his hand up and down my back almost in a soothing rhythm. Sometimes, he stops, and I think he’s asleep, but I get the feeling that he realizes that I sensed he’s stopped and keeps going until I’m asleep. The hum of his chest when he speaks, combined with his hand and heartbeat is enough for me to call it a night.  

    His skin radiates a warmth that can’t be duplicated. His hands have a pattern like no other, each touch raising the hairs on my body. Despite it being hours since he’s showered, I can smell the scent of my cherry soap on him. This moment is something I never knew I needed and if it were to be taken away, I would be devastated. I close my eyes. I cannot think of any other place I’d rather be than here.

[fandom-will-be-my-fall]

Spill your heart out about Walter.

Okay so I basically got this question in what, January?? but I’m answering it now since I just rewatched the movie and have inspiration, sorry for the late reply Anon

Okay so, to start off this post with some keyboard smashing because that my primary go-to for expressing my emotions

sgklhfsgjksdlgdghkjlgjhOHUFLUSKHDGSLIDRGKJGKFSDHGlhjglksdhkglshglllllfa. knjcthxiudhusmnvsoidhéytbvonjyxclkkvbr. haeylicfvshdkgikc

HANDSOME BOY. HANDSOME. ‘NUFF SAID.

I could legit stare all day at his beautiful face… look at him. Enchanting sky blue eyes… fluffy, wavy brown hair, cute round cheeks, lovely smile… those hidden freckles that you can hardly spot and only in certain screenshots but nevertheless they’re there to raise the cuteness factor… ALSO HIS LASHES. MAYBE IT’S NATURAL?? MAYBE IT’S MAYBELLINE?? WE SHALL NEVER KNOW

Here you may be able to spot the freckles if you squint hard enough. I have 77 screenshots but this is the best example I could find.

Secondly… well, he’s a sticc. A short sticc at that (though still slightly taller than me bc I’m smol), but a sticc regardless! And that seems to be the most attractive cartoon body type for me. Don’t judge me, I just have a thing for twinks, I’m… twinksexual or whatever.

Look at him! He would fit through my doorcrack.

(Maaaybe the reason for me liking sticcs so much is partially the fact that I like the idea of a boyfriend I can protect and support, physically and emotionally. I’m mad at the universe for not letting me scoop him up in my arms bridal style and smooch the HECK outta him.)

I’ve encountered a few posts that claimed he’s got cake but, come on. That concept has canonically been proven to be false, even by Lance. This man is flat and you can pry this opinion off my cold, dead hands.

Speaking of hands! I like his big ol hands. Nice shape. They look soft. I wanna hold them.

According to a DVD commentary, and the visual facts, he has no shoulders whatsoever. Back in Venice Killian was able to restrain him effortlessly with only one foot on his chest, even as he kept struggling ans squirming and generally put in as much effort as he possibly could. Before then, he claimed the database was the first thing he has ever caught in his life.

Conclusion, our boi’s very much NOT athletic. Which makes sense for a scientist, braining all day and stuff, and because he probably barely even eats, or sleeps which are by the way both pretty concerning implications but anyway.

STOP BEATING UP THIS POOR FRAGILE LAD FOR GOD’S SAKE. Makes me want to protect him even more. That’s not necessarily a bad thing, but you get what I mean.

Now, on to the actual reason I’m so head over heels for him, a.k.a his personality.

He is one of the sweetest, kindest, purest boy characters I have ever seen in fiction, if not THE number one himself. (All my other cinnamon roll crushes are, or have been a villain at some point and WILL resort to violence if provoked.) Look at him, his pacifism… is unbreakable. He’s dead set on making the world a better place, by peaceful ways, and helping humanity. If that’s not a quality to be cherished then IDK what is.

And he’s just such a refreshing character. He likes pink, K-dramas, glitter, kittens, things that aren’t traditionally “masculine” (but is never made fun of those things in particular in the movie) and I love that. Nothing’s sexier than a man who’s, despite society’s shitty standards, openly and unashamedly himself!

His femininity is, if anything, just another turn-on. (This didn’t intend to sound sexual… but oh well.) I love his little hand gestures and mannerisms, dorky ramblings, the way he says “yep” popping the “p” at the end, all the small yet significant traits that were incorporated into his character. Bless you, SiD creators, bless you.

Have I said that he’s a genius?? Which is pretty obvious but c’mon, he graduated at 15!! He can modify human genes!! He successfully turned a man into a pigeon on the first try!! (The serum wasn’t the first prototype but we can assume he didn’t experiment on living humans with the previous ones.) And he’s still just 20!! Like what is that if not hella fucking impressive???!??

His inventions, to the untrained eye, may seem “stupid” or “childish” but alas! The observer couldn’t be more wrong! Because despite the odd designs and themes they’re all highly effective, as we have witnessed in the battle against Killian. And he is extremely creative for coming up with such ideas! Told you he’s brilliant!!

Which makes me all the sadder about how much they underappreciated him at the agency. In his words, nobody ever listened to him, or gave him a chance. They just left him and his “weird” ideas next to the men’s bathroom and called it a day. How could they be so blind? Didn’t they see the potential in his inventions? Oh well. Maybe I’m just being a smartass bc I have more knowledge, living outside that universe. But I’m totally right.

And I was honestly ready to throw hands with Lance for hurting the boi even further. (I’d stand no chance whatsoever, but still.)

Oh no baby please don’t cry.

He did cry in that scene though… you could see a tear rolling down his cheek and if it wasn’t for the machine beeping… He did have a pretty rough day afterall. But HEY, if we dwell on it too much the scene loses its comedic effect!! A guy gets sad over a stupid soap opera, har har har!! Now let’s move on, keep it fast and snappy for the kids, don’t let them overthink it!! Can’t have any emotional breakdowns onscreen. Keep it lighthearted y’know. Then let’s kill a random side character and have our dear protagonist almost die twice.

(Well jokes on you Blue Sky! I’m no kid, but a devoted fangirl who can and will overthink any material of my fictional faves at any given opportunity.)

You know what else I love about him though?? His love for animals!! And pigeons, especially Lovey!! He loves her so much, gives her gluten free breadcrumbs, nuzzles her, the first thing he does when he finds out Lance can talk to the pigeons is ask if she loves him too!! Like… That’s so pure and wholesome.

This here. THIS RIGHT HERE. BROTP forever.

(Not gonna lie, I used to be crazy for pigeons for like, an entire year or something. Not as in looking up all the facts there are about pigeons as I do nowadays with cartoons, but I’d feed them regularly and write my little observations on their behaviors. Did you know they sometimes scratch their neck with their leggies like dogs do?)

I think I’ve summed up mostly everything I love about this nerd. Oh wait, almost forgot the sass!! I love how sassy and smug he can be sometimes, in like, a really harmless way but it’s still a very nice characteristic.

Since I’ve ran out of coherent things to say, here’s an incomplete list of things I want to do to Walter Beckett. Put at the end of this post so those of you who were only here for the analysis part and not the selfshippy gushing don’t have to read further:

kiss he

like seriously

just kiss he a whole lot

cover his whole face in kisses

one kiss for each of his freckles. a finishing kiss onto the tip of his nose. then repeat the cycle

hug him. hug him like the world is ending. hug him so tight he can barely breathe

then ofc let go and apologize bc I would never hurt him on purpose

cuddle him

hold him close, let him lay his head on my chest

run my fingers through his hair

listen to his breathing

discover that he’s fallen asleep on me and smile fondly, then soon drift off to sleep myself so we can wake up entangled in eachother the next morning

fuck he

pin him to a wall and snog he

make him go cherry red

fluster he

compliment him. praise him. appreciate him. he’s a prince, a hero, an angel, a wonderful human being and he needs to know this

feed pigeons together

listen to his scientific ramblings and bird facts

write him love letters and give them to him. maybe read it aloud myself if I’m feeling brave so I can see his reaction in real time

serenade he

be the love of his life, and have him be mine

just… soft things, man

cook something for this malnourished sticc

make him small handmade gifts

they’re nothing like his gadgets but I tried

draw he

have him be my muse in general

not like he isn’t now but it would be lovely if he was real too

carry him bridal style

be the feral cryptid that lurks in his house when he isn’t around

sing along to cheesy pop-song together really badly

watch cheesy rom coms

flirt with eachother clumsily until we’re both laughing at our awkwardness

or, alternatively, shower him with compliments until he literally cannot handle it

have sleepovers together

give him hand kisses

be of emotional support

[andrea-lyn]

Okay, so hear me out. I've been having a whole ass moment over some of my 80's faves and would probably die of glee if I can get a terminator style prevent the apocalypse by saving your life fic where Alex is the battle hardened soldier sent back in time to save the clueless dumbass who is also brilliant enough to save the world scientist Michael.

Man, I knew this one was gonna be long, but I did not have any idea. Probably going to end up writing more out of this one, because I’m predictable.

**

He is Alex Manes.

Months ago, he had been nothing more than a T-1001 model that had been sitting in Dr. Guerin’s lab, awaiting upgrades. Dr. Guerin had installed him with a chip and explained that he would continue to adapt and learn. He had accepted this, confirming his understanding, and then had accepted his purpose to learn, adapt, and exist in this small bunker.

Skynet is still out there, and they want Dr. Guerin dealt with, because he’s the only mind that can develop something that could bring them to their knees.

Michael Guerin. His creator.

He had been given the choice of many names and of those options, had selected this one for himself. He’s to be called Alex Manes, and it’s his choice. Michael had pat him on the back, brushing his thumb against the line of his shoulder blades, and Alex thought to himself that humanity’s need for affection is a simple thing, but one he can learn.

He grows and learns more.

He learns to seek out those touches. He assists Dr. Guerin in his experiments and allows him to run baseline tests. They take meals together, even though Alex doesn’t require sustenance. They indulge in late night conversations while they play chess together.

Alex grows fond of Michael Guerin, at the same time as his software adapts and develops to become more sentient and human-like.

“What’s it like?”

Michael looks up from where he’s working on a new model, though it doesn’t look similar to Alex. Michael’s designs all have a unique body and face, because he wants to give them personalities and sentience, to allow them to be without having to look at a clone of one’s self. “Gotta be a lot more specific here, Alex.”

“Falling in love.”

Alex is sure that he’s experiencing new amorous emotions towards Michael. His software changes and adapts by the day, but what he finds is that there’s something new developing that he can’t put a name to.

When Michael looks up at him in the middle of his experiments and smiles, a warmth overcomes him. The confident touch of Michael’s fingers through his grey curls as he settles in with a drink for the night coaxes fondness in Alex, and a desire to settle in with him, on his lap. The way he says Alex’s name, the way he trusts him with his secrets, and the simple fact that he’d given him life are all things that tangle together like a Gordian knot that only grows with each passing day.

There is a truth hiding within it that Alex is finally beginning to comprehend: Alex is a machine in love with his creator.

Michael looks fascinated by the concept. “You think you could fall in love?”

“I don’t think it.” Alex is sure of that much. He holds Michael’s gaze, allowing the unspoken implication to carry between them.

Michael looks away, clearing his throat. “I’m sure you’re misinterpreting the signals coming from your processing chip.”

It’s a long-winded way of Michael trying to rationalize away Alex’s feelings, but Alex knows better than to argue. Michael doesn’t believe him, but love isn’t about belief. Even though he’s only beginning to understand it, he knows this much.

The topic isn’t brought up again.

Michael continues to educate him about world history and what happened to make it come crumbling to its knees. Alex learns about Skynet and Michael’s history with them, when he’s not learning about early 1980’s rock music, glam-rock-punk, scientific theories, and Michael’s own brand of odd hobbies, like collecting old vintage model cars and putting them together.

Alex lifts up an old Ford Coupe and gives him an amused smile. “Is this what you do when the machines are too complicated?” he teases.

Michael rolls his eyes, but snatches the model car out of his hand. “You tease, but it’s a good way to destress, like programmers have a rubber duck.”

Alex’s informational banks have nothing on that, which is why Michael launches into yet another story.

He learns in leaps and bounds. Within months, Alex is nothing like the machine that had first been given consciousness. He feels more human than machine, even if there are parts of him that are still being developed. Michael’s only just installed his contacts so his eyes don’t glow red, and because they can’t go out into the world freely, the skin grafts Michael has been working on don’t cover his whole body.

Yet, this little existence is hardly one that Alex minds.

He’s here with the man he loves. There’s nothing about it that Alex would trade.

Then, one day, the sky falls down.

Alex had been in the middle of rearranging Michael’s model cars, making sure they’re in the right order when he hears the whistle from above. “Michael!” he shouts. “Down!”

It’s too late. His warning hadn’t been early enough before the bunker crumbles with the force of a missile from the sky.

It’s the invasion they’ve been wary of. Out there in the world, the machines that Michael has been making are trying to stand up against the enemy, but their resistance is small and futile. They’re no match for the onslaught of the force that Skynet is bringing to bear. Within hours, everything beneath their feet will be reduced to rubble.

Someone out there has turned on them and given up their location.

While Alex has been learning about love and fondness and trust, some of Michael’s other creations must have discovered cowardice.  

“Alex, run,” Michael insists, his eyes panicked. His grey curls fall in his eyes, and Alex looks upon his creator with confusion. He’s a machine. Despite their conversations about love and what Alex might feel, Michael must know that deep down, he’s still only a machine and will survive the bunker falling in on them.

Yet, he wants Alex to survive and intends to put his own life before Alex’s. Alex strides forward, intent on getting them both out of there. He reaches for Michael to pick him up and take him out of there when his hand slides through a sticky substance.

Blood.

Michael’s chest is covered in blood, and when he looks down, he sees a bullet-wound that’s entered his chest. Skynet hadn’t been content to simply crash in the bunker, they’d made sure to take Michael out with a single shot during the chaos, so that Alex couldn’t stand between the rifle and Michael’s body.

“Michael,” Alex exhales his name, his chest aching like it, too, might cave in.

It’s a terrible time for him to learn about grief.

“Alex, please. Go. Escape. You need to save the world.”

It’s the last thing he says before Michael Guerin’s heart stops, the blood from his body beginning to sluggishly slow, no longer coating any more of the remaining pieces of the bunker.

Collecting Michael’s body into his arms, Alex collapses on the ground and rocks back and forth, his cheeks wet with a strange substance. It’s only later that he realizes that he’s crying for the first time, and that it’s a symptom of his grief. He knows that he’d been in love, but to lose Michael when the entire world could have been theirs to save is an awful thing.

Alex doesn’t go anywhere. He doesn’t escape. He doesn’t even think about saving the world, because if he’s not doing it with Michael, then what’s the point of doing it at all?

He spends the next few weeks inside Michael’s bunker evaluating his options. Michael’s last wish had been immensely clear. He wants Alex to escape and to avenge his death. Michael Guerin had been the world’s foremost mind in strategy and evaluating the best steps forward for the future. He’d invented numerous weapons and machines to fight Skynet. He’d also invented something smarter than him, then given him emotions.

Alex doesn’t want to avenge Michael’s death.

He wants to prevent it.

Three weeks after the bunker came crashing down, Alex amasses all the supplies he needs. He puts on Michael’s leather jacket and sunglasses, equips himself with as many weapons as he can possibly put on his body, and then cobbles together Michael’s technology to send him back thirty years in the past, just as Skynet made their first assault.

He needs to go back to before Michael had invented any of his robots, and before Alex Manes fell in love with his creator and all the equipment he requires is within this bunker.

Michael wants him to protect the world, but as far as Alex is concerned, there is no world without Michael for him.

It takes him one more week, but then Alex has cracked it.

The portal that stands between him and the past glows furiously bright amidst the wreckage of their old lab. Dressed in Michael’s clothes, ready for a war, Alex steps towards it with a singular goal in mind.

Go back in time, find Michael Guerin, and make sure he lives.

Right now, with nothing left but a mission, Alex can allow himself to be more a machine than a human. Until he’s sure that Michael is safe, he locks away any shred of humanity that might be lingering, knowing that it’s a liability. It had allowed him to grow complacent in the future and had brought the sky falling down around them.

He won’t make that mistake again.

*

The machine in front of Michael collapses, dies in a shower of sparks, and confirms his fears that prototype five isn’t going to work.

“Fuck,” he says, because he’s starting to lose hope when it comes to his designs.

At twenty-seven, he’s beginning to think that he’s chosen the wrong path and that for all his mechanical engineering genius, it won’t matter if he can’t even assemble a simple machine. He sweeps at the parts with his foot to get them out of the way, glumly staring at the empty table in front of him as he decides what he’s going to try next.

He should give up.

That’s the message, right?

If at first you don’t succeed, try and try again. If by the twentieth time, you don’t succeed, then you should give the fuck up.  

Michael collapses back into a chair, grabbing a bottle of beer so he can stare at the screws and bolts, wondering if he’s ever going to figure it out. He finishes the beer and doesn’t have an answer, so instead, he throws it into the nearby can and starts the next, because it’s easier than actually facing the existential question of what he’s doing with his life.

He’s three beers in when things get weird.

There’s a spark nearby, then a portal seems to come out of nowhere, and all of a sudden, Michael’s not alone.

He jumps to his feet in a haphazard, clumsy way, eyes widening as he looks at the other man, who turns to dismantle the portal, all those sparks of lightning and energy vanishing.

“How,” starts Michael. “What…? Who?”

“Doctor,” says the attractive man standing in front of his Airstream.

Michael gapes, not sure what the hell is going on. For one, he’s not even halfway through his doctorate. Secondly, where the hell did this guy come from, if not his dreams? He’s wearing sunglasses and a leather jacket, looking effortlessly cool and calm, and hot. Fuck, the guy is hot. His hair is artfully mussed, almost like it had been arranged that way with careful precision, and he stands with confidence, head tipped to the side to study him.

Man, he really needs to lay off the booze in the middle of the day.

It’s almost a shame he’s definitely got the wrong place. “Sorry,” he says, turning to lock up the lab behind him, in the abandoned storage container, because he might be hot, but he’s still a stranger and he doesn’t want to invite any trouble to his work. “No doctors here.”

“Dr. Michael Guerin,” the man says, a little sharper. “Born in Roswell, New Mexico. Adopted from the group home at seven, nine, ten, and thirteen by different families. IQ of 187,” he lists, “former relationships with Maria DeLuca, Andrew Epps, and Catarina Cortez.” There’s something in his voice that sounds brittle and annoyed, almost like jealousy, which is wild considering Michael would remember if he’d somehow ensnared a male model like this.

“Look, buddy,” Michael says, heatedly, because he doesn’t like the presumptuous tone that he should know him. “I’m in the middle of my doctorate, and I don’t know you, so you can stop the stalker act anytime.”

“My name is Alex Manes. I’m from the future,” he says, “and I’m here to save your life, Doctor.” As he speaks, he’s wandering around the scrapyard like he’s checking for traps, but comes to a stop near Michael’s Airstream, almost like he’s been shot.

Michael frowns, not sure what it is that could’ve made him stop like that, but when he approaches, he can see that Alex is looking at Michael’s measly little model car collection. Right now, there’s some glue on the table next to a Porsche, and a half-finished Ford Coupe. “They’re just toys,” he says dismissively.

“Can I hold this one?” he asks, holding up the Ford.

Michael waves a hand, not caring. “I can glue it back together, just don’t smash it to pieces.”

“I’d never,” Alex vows softly.

Michael’s not sure why these cars have got Alex so emotional, but hey, who the hell is he to know about people from the future? He shakes his head dismissively, crossing his arms as he decides that he needs to go back to what he’d said earlier.

“Go back to the save my life part,” he says. “What, do I eat too many burgers and my cholesterol gives me a heart attack?” There are so many other questions he wants to ask, namely about the technology that allowed Alex to come back in time, and who he is that he would come back for him. “Or was it an old boyfriend or girlfriend? I knew my talents in the bedroom would come back to haunt me someday.”

Alex isn’t laughing at any of it.

Tough crowd.

“There’s an organization that becomes sentient, around this time,” he says. “Skynet.”

“Never heard of it. You sure Google didn’t just develop feelings?”

“You need to stop joking about this,” Alex says sharply.

Michael raises both hands to show that he’s done joking around, even if he’s not sure that he believes any of this just yet. “Okay,” he says. “Then how about you tell me why I need to be worried about these guys?

He settles back in the chair, but doesn’t grab another beer.

Alex pushes the sunglasses to the top of his head and stands in front of Michael in a soldier-like stance as he begins to detail a horrific-sounding history about the end of the world, with nuclear missiles sending them back into the dark ages, allowing a new strain of sentient technology to rise to rule. It sounds barbaric and awful, especially the loss of life levels that Alex is talking about.

By the end, Michael’s stomach is sick with the thought of that world, and he’s not sure what he’s supposed to do about any of this.

“So why me? Why do they want me?”

“Because you’re the only man that can stop them, now or then. I suspect you’re already being watched,” Alex says. “You need to come with me, if you want to live. Grab your things, pack a bag, and we need to go.”

“What?” Michael sputters. “My inventions are here, I have whole labs and research, I have people in Roswell that I care about! I can’t just go!”

“You have to,” Alex insists, an edge of panic in his voice. “Michael, if I don’t protect you now, then the future won’t change. Then you’re going to…”

Oh.

Michael is beginning to understand this. He’s even beginning to understand the panic in Alex’s voice. Whatever reason he might have come back for, he cares about Michael’s well-being, even if he’s not framing it like that. He glances to the lab, then to his Airstream. He’s always thought that he’s done a decent job keeping himself off the grid, but if he’d been found by Alex, then who’s to say that those other things aren’t hot on his tail.

“How long can I have to pack up?”

“Thirty minutes. I’ll help,” Alex says evenly, and the sunglasses slide back into place. “Take only what you need. I’ll make sure that we find a place where you can continue your projects.”

Michael nods and heads inside to grab two duffel bags. He shoves in a few clothes, but his project materials far outweigh anything else. He adds in some water, a few pieces of food, but locks away the chips, materials, and technology that he needs the most if he’s still going to create the incredible things that he wants to.

“Okay, I’m ready,” Michael says, locking down his last box of things.

Alex lifts his hand, the model car still in it. “Almost ready,” he corrects.

Michael reaches out for it, his fingers brushing against Alex’s, feeling the warmth there. “Right,” he says, not sure why this means so much to Alex, but it is another piece of evidence in the mounting pile of it, as to why Alex cares so much. He unzips his bag and carefully puts the models in, along with the glue in case he wants to keep building them.

“Phone,” Alex says, when Michael finishes up.

Michael absolutely doesn’t want to give it up, but he does as he’s told.

Unsurprisingly, Alex pries out the SIM card and then smashes it to bits on the ground. “Anything they can use to track you needs to be left behind. Is there anything else that will send them after us?”

“No,” Michael guarantees. “But someone’s going to check on me eventually. They’ll raise the alarm, and then more people will come looking.”

“We’ll leave a message on the way, tell them you’ve gone on vacation somewhere East.”

“And where are we actually going?”

Alex grabs hold of Michael’s duffels like they weigh nothing at all. “Anywhere else,” he says. “Come on. I’ll load your truck. We need to get moving before they notice that we’re going and put eyes on us.”

Michael watches him go, not sure what the hell to make of this. Somehow, in the future, he’s the man inventing machines that can stop a sentient program ruling the world from completely taking over. Now, someone’s decided to come back for him.

Who the hell is Alex Manes, he wonders, and why does Michael have the strangest feeling about him, almost like he knows him already?

He’s in the driver’s seat of Michael’s truck, waiting for him, and that means that any theories and hypotheses are going to have to wait. Alex leans heavily on the horn, his impatience practically radiating off him, and Michael doesn’t need to see behind the sunglasses to know that he needs Michael to move his ass.

“Coming!” he promises.

Whoever Alex Manes is, he’ll have to figure it out on the move.

This could be a huge mistake, but Michael’s taken smaller leaps of faith for less. If Alex really is here to save his life, Michael intends to give him the benefit of the doubt until proven otherwise.

*

Alex drives them to a shitty motel twenty miles outside of Roswell. He makes Michael wait in the car while he checks in, nodding towards the room once he’s got the key, then unpacks swiftly before removing the license plates from the truck. Once inside, Michael settles on the creaky bed, bouncing a few times to test it out, all while Alex stands by the door like a watchdog.

“Is that what you’re gonna do all night?” he quips.

“No,” Alex replies calmly. “I’ll be sleeping in bed with you once you’re tired.”

There is only the one bed in the room, but that seems a little forward. “You will, huh?”

“I’m your security. Don’t question me, Doctor, your life depends on it.”

“It’s Michael,” he insists, again, because he’s not a doctor. Not yet. “Call me Michael.”

“I don’t think I can do that, Doctor.”

Is that sarcasm and teasing that Michael hears in his voice? He rolls his eyes, gesturing towards Alex. “If you’re gonna lurk in here, can you at least take the sunglasses off? You’re making me wanna hum a really old song, and I’m not sure how I feel about that.”

Alex scowls, but he removes the sunglasses. “Happy?”

“Sometimes,” Michael quips in return. He doesn’t ask about the jacket, but he kind of likes it. It looks like the kind of thing Michael would wear, his type of fashion. Michael grabs his bag and digs into it for a new shirt. He’s still wearing the one from earlier in the day, but he gestures to it, just to make sure his babysitter is okay with the sudden movement. “I’m allowed, right?” he can’t help sarcastically commenting. As he strips off his shirt, he notices a nervous tic as Alex looks away, almost like he’s embarrassed.

He doesn’t flush, though.

The man is practically impenetrable, Michael thinks. He tugs on a sweater and shoves the dirty t-shirt in another part of his bag, shoving the whole thing on the floor so he can sit on the edge of the bed, eyeing the room and their current situation.

His bag of clothes it at his feet, there’s a man standing guard near the door, and the rest of his things are stacked up in the corner of the motel room, brought in by Alex.

Eventually, he’ll dig into them and start tinkering again to see if he can somehow bridge the gap between his unsuccessful experiments and whatever breakthrough he has to make him a successful inventor in the future. Right now, he leans over for his notebook, frowning when the pencil in the binding rolls to the ground in the process.

“Here,” Alex says, from where it’s rolled over to him, bending to pick it up at the same time as Michael leans down to grab it.

When he’s down there, he sees a glint of something at Alex’s ankle. He moves, cautiously, and falls to his knees to gently tug up the pants, revealing inch by inch of metal on his right leg. It’s not a prosthetic. It’s as if someone had taken the elements of muscle, skin, and bone and broken it into metal and hydraulics, an operating system that allows a machine to move like a human.

“Your leg…” Michael says, not sure what to make of it.

His heart stops in his chest. This is what he’s been working on, but he hasn’t been able to crack. It’s a machine. More than that, Michael is fairly sure that it’s his machine, because even though he hasn’t been able to make it happen in the lab, he recognizes his design. He reaches out tentatively to slide his fingers along the place where human skin is grafted with metal near the knee.

Alex pulls back instinctively, tugging down his pants.

“Why is there nothing covering that?”

“You ran out of materials and it was unsafe to find more,” Alex says calmly.

Michael eases back onto his feet, planting himself on the edge of the bed as he works to process what it is he’s seen, what he’s hearing.

The fact that Alex is a machine is a secondary fact that he’s not paying much mind to. Somehow, that’s not bugging Michael, though he knows he’s going to have a thousand questions about how that can be possible. Alex clearly feels emotion. He’s driven by his own selfish desires. While he’s obviously mechanical with his emotions, he has them.

Whatever genius ideas his future self had, Michael is nowhere near those capabilities, and he finds himself oddly jealous of himself, if such a thing is possible.

“I made you?”

He’s not sure that he needs to ask the question. Alex has come right out and said that. Given the earlier failure, it’s something that seems impossible. Alex is whole and human in a way that Michael can’t even begin to understand. This goes beyond his skills with engineering and broaches into something incredible.

Whatever happens between now and the future, he’s definitely picked up a few new skills.

Alex nods, but he looks reverent and appreciative. There’s something in Michael’s chest bursting to try and get out, and he thinks it’s a combination of elation and pride and relief. He’s not a failure, not if he’s made someone so incredible. Michael had genuinely been fooled until he’d seen the leg.

He’d done that.

How the hell he did, that’s the next question. Instead of focusing on that dilemma, Michael chooses to pick the more short-term problem.

“So, what next?” he asks.

Alex almost looks surprised that Michael’s changed the subject, but the relief is short lived. The steely, neutral expression returns to his face and Michael can only assume he’s running through his database of what needs to happen in order to keep them safe.

“I’m going to use the lobby’s phone to call a few of your contacts,” he says. “Give me their names, I’ll let them know that you’re going on a long vacation.”

“…how?” Michael asks suspiciously.

Then, Alex opens his mouth and without moving, Michael’s voice comes out. “…oh, come on, Alex, you can’t tell me that you’re planning to beat me at chess again.” Michael’s taken aback, blinking, and without pausing, Michael’s voice coming out of Alex’s mouth shifts to something more subdued and serious, continuing: “Hey, it’s me. It’s been hell at work and I know I’ve been stressed, so I thought I’d take some time and disconnect up in Maine, maybe get fresh eyes on my projects.”

Michael’s never said any of that, but it’s coming out of Alex’s mouth like a recording.

“Okay,” Michael finally says, a touch paler for the proof that Alex is absolutely a machine. “You can definitely tell them I’m on vacation,” he says, reaching for a notepad to scribble down Isobel, Max, Liz, and Maria’s names. Between the four of them, he can convince them that he’s gone off the grid to play at being a man of nature.

Sure, it will only work for a while before the alarm is raised, but he suspects that Alex only needs a few days to really get them protected.

“Be careful,” Michael warns when Alex opens the door to leave.

“I’ll be fine, Doctor,” he reassures, adjusting his sunglasses. “Don’t go anywhere.”

Michael scoffs. “What, and leave these fancy digs?” he jokes, pressing his hands into the mattress to bounce a few times, highlighting the squeaky springs on the bed that might just collapse under his weight. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Alex closes the door behind him and Michael breathes out slowly as he paces for a while, trying to calm his racing mind.

There’s so much to process and he doesn’t know where to start. His gaze slides to the model cars, then to his notebook, and while his fingers fidget for something to do, he knows he shouldn’t waste all the ideas rattling around in his mind.

Alex comes back while Michael is in the middle of making notations in his book. Even being around Alex for a few hours has given him an onslaught of ideas the likes of which he’s never had before. “We good?” he checks.

“All the messages have been delivered,” Alex confirms. “Your family and friends sounded relieved. I think they’re under the impression that you’re a workaholic.”

“They’re not wrong,” Michael concedes. “It’s less about the work and more about my stubborn inability to let myself fail. Every time I run up against a wall, I keep going, because no one’s gonna push me down and make me a failure, not even my own brain.”

“You’re incredible, Doctor.”

“Michael,” he insists again.

Alex shakes his head, as if he’s not going to give in that easily, and Michael decides that he’s only going to drive himself crazy if he keeps insisting. Maybe it’s best to drop it. If a super-hot self-professed man from the future wants to be kinky and call him by a title he doesn’t have, then so be it.

The day’s been long and truthfully, Michael’s not tired, but if he doesn’t lie down, he’ll never get near sleep. Despite the shitty motel cover, the creaky bedsprings, he’s going to try and go to bed.

Eyeing Alex warily from where he’s sitting, he thinks there’s one last thing he needs to know before he tries.

“Do you sleep?”

“I can mimic it,” Alex confirms. “If that’s what you’d like.”

Michael’s not sure what he wants. “Hey, you do you,” he insists. “But I’m exhausted. I don’t know if you noticed, but it’s been kind of a crazy day with this robot coming back from the future and telling me that he needs to save my life.”

He pulls at the covers, shifting underneath them.

Alex follows, which is strange, and then lies down on the bed as well. When Michael is done getting comfortable, he turns over to find Alex is there too, lying practically on top of him. It’s not that Michael’s never been with anyone, but this is definitely jumping from zero to sixty, even for him. “Hi,” he deadpans.

“Yes?”

“You’re uh, a little close,” Michael feels inclined to point out, because it’s not like there isn’t space. They have a whole queen bed for Alex to sprawl out on, but he’s elected to burrow in this close to Michael, leaving a precise three inches between them.

“It’s for your own safety,” Alex replies calmly.

“So you’re not gonna sleep.”

“I don’t require it. When I replace my battery, I’ll gain all the energy I need.”

“And how often do you do that?”

“You built me with a new, heretofore undiscovered element. It will keep me charged for ten years before it requires a replacement.”

Michael wonders how many replacements he created, his eyes sliding to the bag that Alex had brought back with him.

“There are three in there.”

“And when’s that element get discovered?” he asks.

“You never told me,” Alex says. “I’ll be fine, Doctor. Please. Sleep. You need your rest. There’s much for you to do, even if we are to be trapped here together for the time being.”

Michael lets his gaze slide over Alex’s handsome face. Without the sunglasses on, he can see that he looks so human. There even appear to be wrinkles near his eyes, and there’s a scar on his forehead. Michael wonders if that’s from battle or if he was built that way, but he doesn’t ask.

He brushes his thumb over the scar, holding in his breath, and lets his gaze flicker down to Alex’s lips. There’s a million and one questions he wants to ask about Alex’s programming, his makeup, his system, but for now, Michael slides his thumb down Alex’s temple, and presses his other hand over the space where his heart belongs.

There’s a dull heartbeat, which means he’s given Alex some form of circulatory system, and honestly, his future self seems incredible to Michael. He’s trapped in his own shadow, feeling like he’s drowning in it.

“Go to sleep, Michael,” Alex breathes out.

“That’s my name,” Michael agrees, wildly proud that Alex has actually used it. “And I will. Don’t go anywhere.”

“I wouldn’t.”

Michael closes his eyes, his hand remaining on Alex’s heart as he allows himself to drift off into a half-asleep trance, where he doesn’t dream and he’s not awake, but he’s not entirely sure that he’s anything but paralyzed with exhaustion.

He’s safe. He’s secure.

He’s with Alex.

*

Waiting with no prospect of a plan has got to be one of the worst forms of torture that Michael’s ever experienced. Alex goes out to get them food and report on the latest news, but he’s been wary about his trips, citing satellite imagery and that once they find him, it’s all over.

“I can’t stay here forever,” Michael complains, when a week has passed in the motel. “If Skynet doesn’t kill me, the shitty drink selection from the pop machine will.”

Alex has been sitting on the bed for the last four hours. He’s been staring at Michael unflinchingly, which has been its own kind of unnerving.

“Can you at least blink?” he demands.

Alex, very pointedly, takes off his sunglasses enough that Michael can see his eyes, and then blinks twice with very slow, deliberate motions. Michael rolls his eyes, wondering why the hell his future self had allowed his machine to have such a personality, especially when it has so much sass filling up one body.

That does bring up a lot more questions.

“What was the deal between us?”

“You’re my creator. You gave me sentience via my chip,” Alex explains.

“Great, cool, but what’s the deal between us?” Michael reiterates, when it’s clear that Alex didn’t answer the question that he’s actually asking. “You came back in time to save my life. And you say it’s to save the world, but I don’t know that it is. Because we’re not out there on the offensive. I’m pretty sure the only thing sitting in this motel room is doing is making sure that I don’t die.”

He should feel guilty that he’s tearing down Alex’s emotional blockade, but he needs answers.

“You’re here for me. Why?”

“You’re my creator,” says Alex again, but it’s feeble this time, weaker. “You gave me…”

“What did I do for you?” Michael interrupts, shouting at him. He wants to steal his jacket and run. He wants to get the hell out of there, because he’s going stir-crazy.

“You’re my creator,” Alex repeats, his voice soft, his gaze fixed on Michael, “and I’m in love with you.”

“You’re a machine, Alex,” Michael says, as gently as he can.

He wants to ask if he even understands love, but he can’t bring himself to say the words.

“You’re a genius,” Alex counters. “Are you telling me that you couldn’t build something that developed its own personality, its own mind, their own feelings?”

“Then why’d you go and fall for an idiot like me?”

Alex slowly rises to his feet and approaches Michael, cupping his cheek in his hand. “You’ve told me multiple times how high your intellect is rated. Your passion, your determination, your mind, your looks,” he lists. “They’re all appealing. You’re appealing. You didn’t have to be my creator for me to fall in love with you, but knowing that you gave me the heart I needed to do it, it makes me feel like we’re…”

“Connected,” Michael fills in the blank for him.

Michael gave him the means to fall in love. Why’s he arguing so passionately against the fact that Alex went and did?

“You never let us talk about this in the future,” Alex says quietly. “You didn’t believe me. You said that my programming was erroneous, that I couldn’t fall in love, but you never doubted that I felt other emotions. You never questioned my sympathy when I had to help you when your hands trembled. You never doubted my happiness when we solved a problem together. You even acknowledged my frustration and anger with the state of the world.”

His future self sounds cold, almost distant.

“I don’t understand why I wouldn’t trust your belief that you fell for me.”

“I suspect that you did believe me,” Alex admits. “And you lied in order to protect yourself. You didn’t think that you were worthy of affection. I suspect that you also saw yourself as old, perhaps not suitable for a model of my appearance.”

Michael’s not surprised that his future self has some weird self-esteem issues, so he guesses that means he never got over that fun little souvenir from the group home.

“You’re back in time to save my life, so I’m dead there. Right? I can’t imagine you’d leave me for any other reason.”

Alex doesn’t respond, but his jaw clicks and he averts his gaze.

It’s exactly the kind of awkward reaction that confirms Michael’s suspicions. “Okay,” he says, because Alex is from a far point in the future. Honestly, Michael’s a little surprised that he doesn’t go out sooner, so maybe he should be proud of how far he made it. “Did I ever let on what I felt about you?”

“You always welcomed my companionship,” Alex says. “You didn’t want me to get hurt, and you would play me music that you liked, often inviting me to dance. You treated me with compassion and respect and love. You showed me kindness. You allowed me to learn about my humanity.”

So how could his future self be surprised when Alex developed the ability to love?

“Do you still love me?” Michael asks. “I’m not the same man.”

“You’re more stubborn,” Alex concedes. “Far more brash. I believe your sense of humor has become much pithier. Your ability to hone your talents and focus on your work has clearly developed over time. Yet, you’re as handsome as when I first opened my eyes and looked at you. You’re brilliant. You’re kind. And you trust with all your heart, allowing me your loyalty despite only knowing me for hours.”

Michael’s not sure if that’s a yes or not.

He’s not sure why he cares so much, especially when it’s a minefield of complicated emotions the way he’s looking at it.

“I’m a person, as much as anyone,” Alex says in his own quiet defense. “I may not have red blood and my heart may not beat naturally, but you allowed me sentience. You gave me the ability to feel, to grieve, to ache, and to rejoice. With that, I choose to love, and I choose to love you.”

No one’s ever chosen Michael before, not like this.

“So that’s the deal between us, huh?”

Alex gives him a rueful smile. “You want me to take any of it back?”

Michael shakes his head. “Fuck, no, not a single word,” he breathes out, a little stunned by how much he wants to cling to Alex’s words, relishing the fact that someone wants him as much as Alex does.

He could tell himself that it’s all fake. Maybe he put in a line of programming that made Alex love him, but hearing that his future self had been trying to deny this makes him think that’s not the case.

Whatever comes next, wherever they do go, Michael basks in the knowledge that for once, he had someone who wants him for who he is, past and present and future.

*

Another week passes in the same holding pattern.

Michael has little more to do than to go over his sketches and plans, but he’s also taken to running all the possible scenarios when it comes to the doomsday scene that Alex has painted.

One thing has become imminently and utterly clear.

“We can’t stop them,” Michael admits. “Skynet. These assholes. We can’t stop them, can we?”

He’s gone over all the possibilities and the plans. They don’t have the weapons to mount a strike, they don’t have the allies to start a war, and they absolutely don’t have any leverage to be able to get what they want. All they have is a brain – his brain – and if they can’t stop them, they can do one thing.

They can make sure that Skynet doesn’t win.

It’s not going to be an exciting life. There won’t be battles and epic fights. Michael knows the only way to win this war is to take himself off the board.

“Then what do we do?” Alex asks.

Michael gives Alex a fond smile, because he knows he’s being humored. He knows that Alex already knows exactly what has to happen.

“I have to disappear,” Michael admits. “But you already knew that.”

“I did,” Alex confirms. “It was best if you reached the conclusion on your own time.”

“So that’s my life, huh?” Michael scoffs. “I guess it’s not that different from the way I was living. I was already locked away with my own research most of the time. This time, I’m doing it knowing that I’m protecting an asset. This big ol’ brain of mine might actually do something.” He shakes his head, pressing his lips together, as it hits him that he’s doing this.  

The thing is, Michael has to disappear.

Alex doesn’t.

“You could go back to the future, can’t you?” Michael says. “I saw the device you used to activate it. It’s probably able to be recharged with something like a solar power source, which we have in abundance.”

Alex doesn’t say anything, his gaze fixed on Michael.

“How come you haven’t gone back? If this works, then I should be there, right? I’ll be alive, well, and the world will be saved. It’ll be different.”

“If I go back, then you’ll be alone.”

Michael manages a weary smile, because he also knows that. He’s wondering if Alex has been waiting for him to reach that conclusion too. He’s been alone before. He’d spent his childhood alone, all those teen years learning about who he was and what he could do. Loneliness isn’t a new thing for him, and from the sounds of the future, it keeps happening until he creates Alex.

“You don’t have to be alone, Michael,” Alex says. “My purpose is to serve you and save the world. I’ve done that. I could go back,” he allows. “But you’ll have spent the years leading up to it alone. Maybe you won’t even remember me, maybe you won’t be there. Or I could stay here, if you’d let me. If you wanted me.”

Michael can feel his breath catching in his throat.

“And if I go back, then I’ll also be alone in a different way. If this works, you and I won’t be alone in a bunker together, playing chess, making model cars. You’ll have a life. There’ll be a world. You won’t be dead, but you won’t only be mine.”

It’s the first that he’s come out and admitted out loud that Michael’s not there in the future, though it hadn’t been hard to guess.

He wants to ask Alex to stay, he just doesn’t know how to do that without putting the fate of the world on the backburner. It feels like he’s demanding Alex’s presence because he might be lonely.

“I don’t want you go back,” he confesses. “I don’t wanna be alone in this, Alex. I don’t want to be so lonely that I invent my friends,” he protests, even though he can’t say he’d done the wrong thing, if it’s given him Alex. “I don’t know how I feel about you, yet. I don’t even know the ins and outs of how you work, not really. I just know that I don’t want you to go back to the future.”

There’s no response from Alex, which stings and makes Michael worried that he’s said the wrong thing.

“Alex,” he pleads.

“I’ll pack the bags,” Alex says. “Come on, Michael,” he adds, casually dropping his name as if he hasn’t been using ‘Doctor’ as a barrier between them, that’s suddenly come plummeting down. “We need to leave here soon.”

We, he said. Michael can’t help the way he tips his head to the side, overwhelmed with relief for the fact that he won’t be alone.

“The motel will be compromised soon. There’s a cabin that you told me about near here. It’s disconnected from the world and has a bunker system for you to practice your work in.” Michael wonders if it’s the same one they had in the future or another, but it doesn’t matter. “It won’t be a happy life, Michael. You’ll be saving the world, but in order to do that, I need to keep you off the grid.”

“The first time, I invented all this, but I was alone. Right?”

“My records show that your casual relationships stopped in 2020,” Alex confirms. “From now until the day I am created, you didn’t have any long-term friendships or relationships. You became a hermit, devoted to your work, but unfortunately you also allowed yourself to be an easy target.”

“So there you go,” Michael says, like it’s as easy as that. “This time, I’ve got you.”

“You’ll always have me, Michael.”

He’d created Alex. It only seems right that he’ll be there to see him at the end.

Maybe this time, they can make it a better one, on their terms.

This time, maybe Michael gets to save the whole damn world.

“All right,” he says. “Daylight’s burning and the apocalypse is on its way. No time to spare.”

[morsking]

Got around to starting and finishing Old World Blues in the past couple of days. I think it’s the strongest of the game’s DLC I’ve played so far.

At first, it feels like you’re in for some wacky science fiction b-movie shenanigans once you’re introduced to the Think Tank. They’re all whimsical idiots who forget what words are, repeat themselves to elongate their sentences to look smart, and even one of them is bizarrely horny and has a fetish for... innocuous human behavior? Stretching? Yawning? They are neurotic brains in machines who take stuff apart and break it without really creating anything with it, just replicating the same results over and over and none of them seem to notice how stupid they are and it’s amazing. They took your brain, spine, and heart out of your body in an attempt to turn you into a walking vegetable, only for them to become so fascinated with the damage you took from Benny’s bullet that they fuck up the surgery and end up finding a way to keep your intelligence about you with a remote device that connects your brain to the tesla coils in your skull. Their biggest scientific discovery since... who knows how fucking long, was an absolute accident. It could only come about by chance, because you, as an existence alien to the static Big MT, shook things up tremendously. 

But as funny and baffling as all these things could be, the more you explore Big MT, the more apparent it is that for all their quirks the Think Tank are also responsible for some of the most heinous crimes against humanity you can witness in Fallout: New Vegas. They experimented with carnivorous, parasitic plants on human beings, spliced humans, dogs, and robots together, developed nightstalkers and cazadores you see in the base game, used the Sierra Madre casino and its inhabitants as a petri dish for holograms, the claustrophobic hazmat suits, and the poisonous Cloud that killed everyone and turned them into zombies. Their experiments killed all their staff, and not one of them batted an eye to what they did. And their most shocking crime is the repetition of Japanese internment with Chinese hostages, who you can find ghoulified from radiation and are forced to kill them. These prisoners can’t be reasoned with or saved because the Think Tank stripped them from their humanity long ago along with any humanity or rationality that was left in the Big Empty. The only thing they can do as being robbed of their humanity is lash out at anything that still looks human. All throughout the DLC, you are subjected to displays of the Think Tank’s obsessions and cruelties and aimless ambitions, and you wonder why. How did things get this twisted and distortioned? And then you meet Dr. Mobius, and you find out why.

In his introductory segment when you start the DLC, he seems like the parody of the crazed mad scientist terrorizing the slightly less crazy eccentric scientists and the bastard who kidnapped your brain. But when you meet him, he’s like a sweet, confused, senile old man. He’s got an endearing if a little weird addiction to radioactive snacks despite him being a brain in a machine who has no mouth to eat them. He forgets he keeps a giant killer robot scorpion with a OHKO death laser of infinite... death powered on and sucking up energy all the time and that’s why his shit never works. He uses the wrong words on his sentences because they sound like the actual words he means to use. He didn’t just steal your brain, he kept it safe for you. And also, he’s the one who lobotomized the Think Tank into the witless abominations they are now. 

Dr. Mobius witnessed his co-workers, his friends, pushing the boundaries of science further and further into dark places. Terrified for what they might do, he robbed them of their sanity and created an army not to terrorize them, but to keep them busy and from getting out. Dr. Mobius feared for the world, that it might be subjected to one new horror after another. There is great compassion in his actions but also great cruelty. He was so afraid of his friends the new world he trapped them in the old one. That’s where obsession and abhorrence belong, in the big emptiness of the past. It’s so appropriate, that Big MT is misread as “the Big Empty”. Because obsession and madness are an abyss, and also because everything that happened there was meaningless and hollow. There was no purpose to the Think Tank repeating its process of lobotomizing and observing the lobotomites. The great irony is that. That they don’t realize that what they do to human beings is what’s been done to them. Like the nature of all their names, their actions and their philosophies are cyclical and self-consuming. (Ouro)Borous. Zero. (Man)Dala (circle in Sanskrit), 8, Klein and Mobius. They are concepts that loop into themselves, symbolic of the futility of holding on to the grudges and ambitions of the Old World, a world that new only conflict and supremacy and paranoia and hostility. The fact that Mobius had to resort to brainwashing his own colleagues itself is evident even he didn’t know how to let go of the brutal utilitarian methods of the Old World in an effort to save the New One.

And what’s even worse is that didn’t matter anyway, because the mutated abominations that Borous created still found their way into the Mojave anyway. Are we supposed to accept that as a mercy that night stalkers, spores, and cazadores are the only things that slipped through the crater into the desert and be thankful for it? The only thing you can do about it now is say “Enough.” Enough of the Old World and its curses. It has no right to turn this world into a graveyard with it. It has no write to take from it and toy with it. Many times that attachment is played for laughs in Old World Blues, particularly Borous’s anti-communist fixation and enactments of his high school trauma being the basis for a training operation. But when you truly look at it it really feels like gallows humor. How many people do you reckon died in those tests at Lab X-8 because he used the test subjects as a means of catharsis? What was the human cost of that myopic insecurity and resentment? You only have to look around you. The facility is littered with guts. And it’s not the only one that looks like that. Not by a longshot.

So it came my time to also say enough to the Think Tank. I chose to kill them (more like stumbled my way into killing them because you have to thematically cycle through speech and skill checks for Mobius to give you the option of sparing everyone). It was both a roleplay gesture of revenge as much as it was a choice from me as a player to put the Big Empty out of its misery. It was already a graveyard in concept, it had to be made a graveyard in reality.

So that’s it for my review of the story. As for the more physical aspects of the DLC, I’ll say the Big Empty is probably the most interestingly designed setting I’ve ever seen. From the moment I woke up at the top of the Sink’s balcony I fell in love with what I was seeing. The layout includes some interesting platforming and traversal of the terrain from labs to cliffs to caves. Every laboratory houses something useful for you or relevant to the story and it’s easy to circle around the entire map and unlock everything as you go. The exploration comes naturally and you’re always encouraged to go back and look to see if you missed something (which you probably did, because it sure happened to me). One of the best things I found was the stealth suit. I’ve written about it already, but it is simply adorable, quirky, and also very helpful. Getting all its upgrades is worth it and not all that difficult even if it looks like a case of trial and error. There are some neat unlockables in terms of weapons as well like the stuff Elijah and Christine left behind, and lore that elaborates on their time there and Christine’s chase of Elijah to make him pay for his crimes. There is also the excellent set-up of your encounter with Ulysses in Lonesome Road, since he’s left his mark everywhere for you to see, as if luring you and taunting you. The dialogue is some of the wittiest and funniest Fallout’s ever been. The personalities in the Sink’s assistant appliances are so varied and interesting. You have the weirdly horny and seductive seed processor, the germaphobic water sink, the pessimistic and exhausted Muggy mini securitron, the jealous bickering light switches, the radio man juke box, the brave little toaster that could (murder everything), the ultra-patriotic and self-unaware book chute, the compassionate level-headed Auto-Doc, and finally the neutral, loyal, and polite Central Intelligence Monitor. Old World Blues had such an interesting and loveable cast. There is not a single human character in the entirety of the DLC, yet all of those feel vivid and alive. 

Those are my two cents on Old World Blues. A beautifully written, poignant, and entertaining piece of gaming. Now, we move on to Lonesome Road.