#also the audio was hell to work with I hope it's not too messy

[morganee]

Mike's Monologue Lie

inspired by this post by @theonebyler

[slippinninque]

🏃🏾‍♀️Nosey🔎

You end up in some business that's not exactly yours...

Jatemme Manning x blackfem reader

Warnings: cursing, mentions of violence and some torture (not to reader) soft!dark!Jatemme, long fic

-----

There were times where the job could get messy.

Vision blurring at the edges and pain shooting down your side, you continued through the alleys. The siren’s call and rushing cars filled the air, you could hear the gunshots as your tails met each other.

Lungs burning and legs screaming, you hoped the worst for both of them.

You went next to the double dumpster of a vegan spot and slid into sitting down. Your head swam with the growing pain, you knew you had to keep moving but you couldn’t keep bleeding.

‘Love's is gonna kill me.’ You couldn't help the little laugh that slipped, knowing the man was going to go nuclear.

Right now, all you could was try to fix your shoulder.

You ripped off your bloody shirt and tore a strip around the slash in your side. The other, you wrapped as best as possible around the left shoulder where there could be a bullet still lodged in there.

Groaning and re-shouldering the pack, you zipped up your hoodie all the way and tossed up the hood. After a moment to guess where you were beyond Funky Fresh Vegan Bistro, you pushed towards the mouth of the ally.

In the backpack were a handful of USB drives that held some pretty compelling information about a few families in the underground and high-crust.

All of it set to be given to the police in the the work of a mole. Multiple moles, a syndicate across turfs. Proof and promises for smaller sentences, complacent public figures, receipts for cleaned money, audio files—oh, they had it all.

Now you had it. Though not much time came with it now that half the city was looking for you. Still, it was well worth the nasty fall you took in getting the hell out of dodge.

You just had to get to your turf. A neutral space, either one of the bars or pawnshops owned by your cousins maybe?

A bullet ricocheted from the metal post of the fence, startling you and causing you to bolt.

-------------

Four men naked and taped to their chairs. Every sound uttered that wasn't information cost a tooth. With that sort of currency, Jatemme had to get creative after a while.

They were pleading and leaking from all over but Jatemme wouldn’t let any of them die until one of them finally told him what he needed to hear.

Asthma knew this special mood was from a very specific source. Namely one the exact size of a foxy little smooth talker that's been missing for nearly 24 hours.

Jatemme didn’t look at Asthma as he rounded to this table of tools, picking up a potato peeler as he spoke.

“Did you find her?”

“She ran into one of our laundromats. Eddy and Chris was there to meet her after a tip about her running from the Opps spread through Southwest. They said they're taking her to see Doc.”

Jatemme stood slowly and fixed a dark gaze onto his captives,

“Was she hurt?”

“Banged up good but heard Doc say she had worse.” Asthma didn’t come closer, didn’t move away from the door. Whoever those men were--they probably didn't have long left.

“She had something with her you might want to see, though. Eddy came through to drop it off."

When Jatemme looked over at him, Asthma wordlessly held up a well-worn Crown Royal bag.

….

You felt like you were ran over by a pack of trucks. Or suplexed by a Silverback gorilla—but you were also satisfied.

You stole enough leverage to keep the skies clear for years.

“I have to say, you’ve been doing pretty good. There was a time I’d see you every week.” Doc returned with fresh bandages. You began sitting up and he hurried to get you to lay back down.

“With the way you used to chew my ass out, I've been taking my chances with the lil' sewing kit at home.”

“Explains all these wobbly-ass scars then.”

You snorted, pain jolting with your amusement, “Yo, not too much on me! I learned from watching you, old man!”

It was Doc’s turn to laugh as he peeled away the stained bandage on on side. The puncture was pretty deep and the healing was going to be a bitch, but you were lucky enough it didn't reach anything vital.

“I won’t recommend falling onto a fence head, it’s not as quirky as the TV makes it seem.”

"Girl, what the hell are you watchin'?"

You rambled on and tried to ignore the way the pain killers churned in your empty stomach as you wated for them to kick in. While you knew Doc was being as careful as he could, you still winced.

It's actually been a while since the last time you had stitches.

“Little more and then you can sleep it off, champ.” Doc grunted as he emptied a syringe into you, “Rusty metals are a bitch after all."

“And how…”

Your eyes closed. Took deep breaths and soon enough, the room stopped spinning and Doc was putting a fresh bandage onto the worst of it. He's been stitching you up since you got into the streets, you've slept on his cot more nights than you can count.

Wasn't long before the absence of adrenaline invited the presence of reality.

Jamal finding out you went snooping without permission--that you could sort of handle. Jamal would be more than appeased by the blackmail and leverage you dug up.

If Jatemme saw how badly you fucked yourself up over a ‘side quest’, then that...would be worse.

“Say, Doc, when can I—uh--get on out of here?”

Doc looked at you as if you spoke to him in Klingon, “Leave? Girl, give the good shit time to kick in, at least! 'Sides, you’re going to be here at least until morning. That ankle of yours alone—woah, wait!”

You were already dizzy from the sudden movement of you sitting up, but you had to get home. You didn't want Jatemme to see you as you were, it was too bad--too soon.

If you could make it home, you could buy some more time for the worst of it to go away. You stood from the bed with a yelp, unsteady but trying to move away Doc’s worried hands.

“Suddenly, Doc, I feel a while ‘lot better. So much, so much better. Think I’m gonna finish healing up at home, y’know?”

“Is this about Manning? Sorry kid, but the cat’s out the bag—he knows.”

"Aw shit," You groaned, arms going around your stomach as it thundered. The pain rocketed down your side, Doc hissed something as he reached out to steady you.

“I-I still wanna go home. I'll be more comfortable there..."

"C'mon now, kid--

"Shouldn't you be invested in the quality of my healing? I'd be waaay more comfortable there, old man..."

“Hear me out, let me get you as patched up as a can to last—yeah?”

"I'm fine...”

“I think you should listen to doctor’s orders.”

You went still. Doc made a relived noise prodded you towards the cot, you went stiffly. He helped to lay you and you gave a great, big sigh as you finally faced the figure blocking the doorway.

“Heeey there, Love...”

Jatemme came and took Doc’s seat when he stood at the sight of him in the doorway. Jatemme unpinned his stare from you and looked to the older man.

“Tell me what we’re looking at, Doc.”

You swallowed as the list was rattled off in alphabetical order. Bruising, gunshot wound to the left shoulder, multiple lacerations, and a rolled ankle.

Jatemme stared at him, eyes endless and still. You picked at the loose thread of the cot's scratchy blanket when Jatemme finally dismissed Doc to turn his eyes on you.

The silence was thick enough for you to eventually wince beneath it. Jatemme sighed, deep and heavy as he stood. You looked up at him in time for him to catch your chin as he came to sit closer to you on the cot.

Jatemme pressed a gentle kiss to your lips, then another. You felt like your could implode, or maybe pass out.

He pulled back enough for your noses to touch, “I heard you almost got killed..."

Your giggle was a bit intense, nervous and excited as always when he was near. Jatemme’s smile was small as he pointed his finger directly in the center of your forehead.

“Do you know what I'd do? If I missed you?"

Not for the first time--you wondered just how far Jatemme would be willing to go.

“Hm...probably want to give me one of these?" You darted forward a stole a kiss, “Or maybe one of these...?”

You tried to get another kiss but Jatemme moved back at the last moment, catching your head between his palms. All traces of humor gone in his face as your ears struggled to pick up is next words.

"Tell me what happened. Now."

So you did. You didn't work for Jatemme, you didn't work for anyone, but you were meddling in his shit. The least you could do is tell the truth.

Jatemme had relaxed his hold on you by the end of the story. His hands went from your head to one resting on your thigh and the other in his pocket.

“I told you to leave it be. I was gonna press Gavin to see who the connect was.”

“Wasn't no 'leave it be', I'm telling you. Gavin was gonna go tonight, as soon as he left from here with his tail.”

You put your hand over his, thumbing over all of his knuckles.

“If I would have left it there? I swear we would have been booked by noon tomorrow, Love. "

Jatemme stared. While he took in whatever he needed, you took in the pleasure of his handsomeness and the slow numbness that was taking over from whatever the hell Doc gave you.

“Don’t be a danger to yourself.” Jatemme said quietly after a while, “I will put you up somewhere if something like this happens again."

"All I hear is that you liiike me, you wanna kiiisss me..."

"You playin' too much. Don't think I won't, brat.”

You didn’t doubt it. Jatemme could make a lot of things happen, you've seen it firsthand. The only problem is that it didnt' scare you. It caused quite the opposite effect.

If Jatemme wanted to hoard you all to himself--it was in the public best interest to let him do as he wanted, right?

"I know, Love, I know."

Jatemme leaned in slow and you were eager to meet him. He kissed slow and soft, pinching your cheek before pulling away. Jatemme stood to ease you back into the pillows, grabbing the throw blanket that Doc kept.

“Chill here for now. I’m going to make a call and then we're going to head out.”

You nodded and suddenly felt so tired. The worst of it was over now, even if Jatemme was plotting on a lesson when you were in better shape. It was a good save, no one could take that from you.

With that thought, you dropped off into a mildly-comfortable doze as you waited for the pain meds to take over.

Jatemme lingered until you fell asleep. The bunching in your brow smoothed out and your breaths were deeper, not as if you sucked on pain every inhale.

Your hair was a mess of braids and he saw a the bandage above your brow was already stained red. You slept like you didn't fall a few stories onto a iron fence and weren't the source of Jatemme's headache.

He heard what Doc said about your ankle and thought about the talk he still had to have with Jamal. It was too late in the evening to even consider the bodies still in his workshop.

‘Gave us plenty of work, didn't you?' He thought, looking at the blood beneath your nails. Pulling out his phone and then your bag of snatched evidence, he texted his brother.

Then sent a follow up asking for him to bring a bottle.

-------

✨ending notes✨: this one was rattling around my brain for the longest and have definitely been taking up space in my drafts! I think this is a bit different for me 🤔 I'm looking to make a more chaotic reader and I think she may do well with Jatemme! 🤣Thank you so much for reading! Tell me what you think! 💜✨💕

💕taglist💞: @megamindsecretlair @blowmymbackout @thadelightfulone @mysecertdiaryofableedingheart @sageispunk

@kindofaintrovert @satoruya @harmshake @miyuhpapayuh @ms-angiealsina

@cocochannelmoi @hunnishive @last-lost-one @yasminsqueendom @flydotty

@henneseyhoe

[rezdragon]

Updates - October 26th 2024 (at 6 in the morning, I should be in bed)

The Disaster Archives - Everyday She's not coming off of my project queue, you will have to take her from me via a custody lawsuit. Naw, I still pick at this randomly with new ideas. I literally just worked on some stuff last week. I've got some big gaps in the story I'm trying to fill. At this point, I'm hoping to at least have a treatment for the story done by the end of the year and I promise that, as long as nothing else gets in my way, I WILL start writing this in some way by January of 2025. I have some slightly ambitious ideas for its script, but we'll see if I can make those realities somehow.

Running With the Devil Hey um... this might have accidentally gotten bumped up to "a project I'm accidentally taking seriously." It's still a goof off project, but I'm having way too much fun with it, shit's gettin' serious. Second chapter is about done and ready to be edited. Again, thus so far, this is only being posted to Sheezy. Not trying to encourage y'all over there, it's just literally the only place I can post this.

Gallery Project(s) There's another gallery around here looking for submissions, even highly encouraging gay artists (hey, that's me!). Deadline is in November and I want to finish this by the first week of November at the latest, so expect me to start this soon. I will be looking for other gallery projects to do in Spokane. It's been suggested to me to make works for Mental Health Awareness Month next year, and I'm all for doing that.

Smash Machinima - What Is It, and How It's Made After making my Joker Persona video, I got the idea that perhaps a lot of y'all don't know what Smash Machinima is. Not to mention that its history and techniques are kinda slowly dying. So in an effort to fill a gap no one asked for, I've started writing this. This is the next project I'm jumping into once I'm done with the video currently sitting in Resolve (a highlight reel of the second audio pack). I've written the "what is it" part mostly, next I have to write how it's made and then begin all of the filming for it.

How Rez Addison Stole My Name I definitely want to come back to this script, this was me popping off with some of the best writing I've done outside of TDA, but like I have said, this was a really painful script to write. I have to rewrite massive chunks of it, and I'm just not feeling up for that right now due to my current arrangements at home (I want to read the script out loud as I go, and I can't do that when I'm sitting in the living room with other people is the short answer).

New Concept Album (Title Undecided) Need to develop the story more before I decide on a title. I did start working on this like two weeks ago with an outline for the story, and of course the making of 1982. I'm waiting for the moment when my brain decides it wants to spend several hours doing nothing but audio editing, but I am currently having too much fun writing. Music is hard calling me though. I also want to do another Tasukete/Kintsugi style album, but I want that one to come out naturally.

The House That Raised Me Missing a lot of footage for this, and with my current hip pain problems, I'm not sure when I will get back to this. I'd like to, but ugh, this was a messy, impulsive project that I am trying to salvage at this point. I feel like I need more distance from it before I figure out what the hell is not working in it. I might post a teaser video about it to see if I can gauge interest in the project to motivate me to work on it. I can do that by Halloween at the latest.

Misc Art Project That OC meme thing I shared awhile ago is the reason I made angry Demon Ash. This is a largish project that I pick at when the partner wants me to watch things with him. Keeps my hands busy. I also want to update Ash's bio card sometime to reflect all of her funky parts, as well as make a separate version for RWTD Ash.

This seems like a lot for me to be working on, but remember I'm picking at all of these bit by bit. Sometimes I work on TDA for an hour, sometimes I work on RWTD for 5 hours, sometimes I work on The House That Raised Me for 30 minutes, I'll photoshop something for ten minutes, etc. I'm hoppin' around and having fun.

[do-not-fold-spindle-or-mutilate]

The quality of her writing was already dubious at best. She couldn't construct a complex plot for shit, most of her characters had to be dumb as hell or unutterably terrified of personal growth in order to do what they did, and her books were racist enough to make me raise an eyebrow as a white 15 year old in the american midwest. The house elves thing was... not subtle.

Stylistically, her writing was messy and uninspired. It appealed to my demographic because it was simple, but conveyed action well and was unafraid to let characters have emotional reactions (not sensible or particularly in character ones, mind you; what I latched onto was the intensity more than the character's personality). She was in the habit of making wording choices out of spite: witness the anecdote about her using a phrase over and over specifically so it would make Stephen Fry uncomfortable while he was recording the audio book.

I think her most egregious style sin is the ellipses. I swear she must have gotten some sort of neuro-chemical high off the damn things. I once transcribed dialog directly from the fourth book. I had intended to do more than I did, but it was... so full of oddly... placed ellipses... that it looked horrible on the... document... and I couldn't bring... myself to... dis... rupt the work... so much...

I am barely exaggerating there. It mostly showed up in stressful moments, but not exclusively, and there was never enough description appended to the dialog that you could parse why it was written that way without stepping back from the story to try and spot the reason. You never got "harry's voice was slow and halting as he fought the daze of exhaustion." You just got harry going "I know... a normal reaction to this... would be... to cut him... out of... my life. After all... this is the... eleventh time... this year that ron... has assumed the... worst about my... motivations. But hermione... it's my fault... for being the... target of wizard hitler's... propaganda campaigns" and then you have to figure out if he's tired, distraught, bleeding, or trying to pass a kidney stone.

Anyway, all this to say that she's gotten worse. I don't know if she still does the excessive ellipses, but I remember her editing at least being tighter than that absolute mess up there, and if she'd used the "word" "bejeaned" in the potter days, I would have been very surprised. The rest of what I've seen from her most recent drivel kinda supports that conclusion.

There's a recording of the song "High Hopes" in which Frank Sinatra clearly and loudly mispronounces "billion" as "biwwion." The most common explanation I've heard for such a blatant mistake getting published is that he refused to do second takes, insisting that he was too good to make mistakes. Whether that's true of Sinatra or not, rowling's writing reads like that's her attitude towards the concept of an editor. I wouldn't be surprised to hear that she insists she doesn't need one.

Oh, also, she's such a massive bigot that I can't even list all the horrific views she holds.

Just sayin'

im sorry even if youre transphobic evenif you agree with everything jk rowling says how can you look at this and say she is a good author

[actualbird]

Oh god!

I really love the poly headcanons they are so sweet.... (or don't but that's part of it and i think the tot boys+MC deserve all the love the world has to give).

But, liking it or not, our 4 beloved boys are kinda complicated (that's what makes them perfect). Plus I never thought about how people get in poly relationships. So i was thinking, how do you think they all get into a polyrelationship together?

(I really have no idea of how that would happen)

hi, two anons!! im glad you guys liked my nxx team polycule stuff!! i'll answer these in one go, my "headcanon" (in quotes because i think this kinda turned into a character analysis/minific of sorts HAHA) being what first anon asked, How They Get Together.

heads up, wc of this is 1.9k words long so buckle up for a bit of a read jfsjdfkjbf

because first anon, youre right!!! the boys are stupendously complicated which i love so so much but canon has also shown us clearly that each of the boys' quirks and habits and tendencies causes a lot of (mostly played for laughs) friction. the bickering, the backhanded insults, the "im the best one here" preening contests. theyre all SOOOO RIDICULOUS and it is hilarious but yep! the boys r complex!! and that means this beautiful ship, imo, has a lot of phases to get to the actual romantic relationship bit.

how they get together, in my opinion, starts because of mc.

not in the sense that she matchmakes them all, but like.

phase 1 of the nxx team polycule is this:

through being in love with her (which we all know the boys 100% are), each of the boys come to terms with their own flaws and weaknesses. it's very apparent to me in all the story thus far that these boys are flawed as hell, it's very compelling but even more compelling to me is how all of them also do intense mental gymnastics to Not Confront Those Flaws. like, marius is a dickbag always teasing and toeing the line of insincerity, vyn is a controlling mf who always tries to sway situations to his benefit, artem is so repressed to the point that he has genuine trouble with emotions, luke is a self sacrificial bastard and also a huge hypocrite about how no, actually, hes the only one that should be hiding his pain and being dishonest, no dishonesty from other people!! in the beginning of the story, all the boys have their flaws and seem to have just kinda...not addressed how those flaws are harming them and the people around them.

and then mc rolls around and they all fall in love with her. and she sees those flaws and she doesnt let them slide. she challenges the boys in her own ways to see another side of the situation, to acknowledge what theyre doing. she doesnt want to get rid of flaws, thats impossible and also not cool. she just has this beautiful hope for like, all of humanity, that goodness can prevail with the right work. so when she sees her beloved nxx boys, she believes that for them as well.

which leads to phase 2 of the nxx team polycule:

the boys, more aware of themselves, become more aware of each other.

they werent Unaware of the others of course. it's just that they didnt like...truly connect on a personal level just yet. they saw the other teammembers with their emotional armor and flaws and saw a wall that wasnt worth looking past.

but after mc makes them realize that hey, flaws arent the end of the world actually, it's alright and the person behind them may just be worth it, the boys like. end up understanding the others. A LOT OF THIS BIT IS UNINTENTIONAL, ON THEIR PARTS KJDSBFS. like they stumble into understanding each other by accident, they didnt plan it, but over the course of nxx investigations, it's inevitable that they end up seeing the depths of the others. i delve into this a little bit in my fanfic "filler eps of the lost gold" where the boys are just going thru their actions and then trip over another boy's fears or desires and through that, gain a deeper understanding mutually.

and with understanding, sometimes, comes trust.

phase 3 of the nxx team polycule goes like this:

everybody in this team, whether they like it or not, whether they know it or not, has a heart that wants to give love so desperately.

marius lives in a world full of snakes so he cant have his heart on his sleeve for his own protection. vyn wants to be seen as perfect and the heart is inherently messy so he holds it back. artem for a very very long time was focused on work and success and achievement that he neglected his heart. and luke has been giving love all his life in a sense but in a way thats hidden.

all these tendencies that are brought upon their life circumstances results in this: they want to love honestly but they havent been able to do this

until mc. and all of them want to push back whatever fears or patterns their life has instilled in them because they see her and see somebody so unwaveringly good that all their hearts begin giving love to her to make her happy and to make themselves happy as well.

but heres the thing. the boys dont just see mc. by this point, they have connected and understood and come to trust each other as well, and the consequence of that is that They Can See Each Other Now Too, Truly.

and heres the thing. all of the boys are unwaveringly good as well.

one by one, each of the boys realize that what they feel for the other boys in the team starts to...change. yeah theyre all friends, they pick on each other a lot of the time, but the bedrock of the relationship is solid and strong now. but when marius is with luke, marius sees a light inside of luke so bright that he seems unaware that he gives off. when artem is with vyn, artem sees a goodness inside of vyn that hesitates to make itself obvious and known because vyn is scared of getting hurt thanks to it. all of them see the other and their goodness and, unbidden, their hearts want to give love to each other as well.

and because theyre all a bit stupid in their own way theyre like, huh, weird! wonder why this feeling is so familiar! and yet i cant seem to name it...and then they all independently compare these feeling with the feelings they have for mc, a feeling they do know the name of, and theyre like.

WAIT.

THESE FEELINGS ARE...VERY BASICALLY EXACTLY WHAT I FEEL FOR MC.

which only means one thing: theyve fallen in love with everybody else

marius: //goes to his studio to Think and sees that a bunch of his recent art actually had little crumbs of these feelings already, etched into the brushstrokes and scenes. has an emotional crisis about it

vyn: //records a 1 hour long entry in his audio diary to examine and gain control of his feelings but by the end of the hour all he knows is that he wants to hold these people and be held by them

artem: //quite literally just bluescreens, artem.exe has stopped working, sits at his study and slowly, slowly, thunks his head down onto his desk, valiantly trying to ignore the fast pulse of his heart

luke: //manically vents about it to peanut who, by virtue of being a bird, doesnt get it. just keeps talking at peanut to get a grasp of it all and then lies down on the floor, overwhelmed

mc, sitting in her apartment watching some netflix: ...why do i inexplicably feel as if something very, very important has just happened?

phase 4 of the nxx team polycule is basically:

pining: extreme difficulty level

because pining is already hard when ur pining for one person. what more for an additional 3 more people. and those additional 3 more people are pining back.

and all these boys are SOOOO OBVIOUS with their romantic feelings, in their own special way. the way they show their affection to mc starts to bleed into their interactions with the others and everybody can CLEARLY SEE WHAT IS GOING ON, LOL, but also all the boys are too chickenshit to confront it, because if they confront it, what will even happen??? being in love with each other, all of them, thats going to be such a complicated fucking relationship, holy shit. it's 2030, yeah, being a polyamorous group relationship isnt completely unheard of, but sue them, theyre scared.

but mc (who i forgot to mention already knows of the boys' romantic feelings for her, shes just hasnt made a move yet on any of them because SHES IN LOVE WITH ALL OF THEM AS WELL and shes been trying to figure out how the hell to make that work, she cant bear to choose just one of them, she'd be heartbroken over leaving the rest of them behind) sees that the nxx investigation team is now all pining for each other FULLY and she kinda wants to laugh when she realizes whats going on because like, what are the chances? that this would happen? that they all found each other and their feelings fell into just the right place for nobody to be left behind?

theyre all scared, she can tell. and she is as well, she wont lie.

but shes always had a belief that goodness can prevail with the right work.

and love is one of the greatest goods out there.

phase 5 of the nxx team polycule:

It's Time For Communication, Baby!!!!!

the exact scenes of how this happens is a bit vague to me. it could go two ways: mc going to each of the boys independently to talk about feelings, hers about everybodys and his about everybodys as well. OR they have a fucking meeting about it all together and artem literally schedules it in his google calendar, or something.

either way, they like, actually talk about this. starts casual, maybe over a chill date, maybe over dinner at a nice restaurant, maybe over a walk in the park as the sun is starting to set. but where ever it happens, the end result is the same: a heart is laid out bare and it is taken in gentle, grateful hands.

marius: OKAY, NOW THAT THE FEELINGS ARE OUT OF THE WAY, CAN I PLEASE KISS ONE OR ALL OF YOU, PLEASE, IVE BEEN WANTING TO KISS U GUYS FOR FOREVER

vyn, laughing fondly: has anybody ever told you patience is a virtue? we quite literally just talked it all out.

marius: //needy whining noises

artem, embarrassed: ive...never kissed anybody before

luke, embarrassed but trying to play it Cool: ....same here

mc: kissing is great, you two will love it!

marius: awesome, awesome, so is ANYBODY going to give me a go ahead or WHAT????

phase 6 of the nxx team polycule:

i dont want to say it's happily ever after, once they all get together. thats not really realistic.

they all have their quirks and tendencies and habits. and those will inevitable clash against each other. theyll have their arguments, theyll get upset, theyll sulk and be angry, sometimes. but also...

theyll see each other smile and feel like their love shining so brightly. theyll reach out for another's hand and be held in such a way that makes them think that their heart is in a safe place. theyll love each other and theyll put in the work to continue loving each other. because goodness will prevail.

and they all see each other as the most good people in the world.

so whatever happens, theyll get through it together.

[moldisgoodforyou]

ten voicemails

wordcount: 2.6k

______

Through the entirety of Rafe and Sophie doing long distance, he had been great about keeping it to himself that he missed her. He knew that sharing it once in a while was alright, but too much and he was convinced he’d make her upset and ruin her study abroad experience - the last thing he wanted to. He even put his phone away most times if he was going to get drunk, knowing he’d probably end up drunkenly confessing something he shouldn’t. He had a great track record - until he didn’t. 

He had to admit, he was feeling himself. Earlier that day, he’d FaceTimed her after his long-overdue haircut appointment, at her request. She had answered the phone in a hurry, walking to her metro stop with her bag slung over her shoulder and hadn’t really looked too closely at the screen, more just listening through her headphones. When she finally glanced at him she stopped in her tracks abruptly, nearly bumping into someone. “Oh my god, look at you!” 

He raised his eyebrows, running his hand through his hair nervously. He had let the hairdresser do whatever she wanted and she had gone for a shaggier cut that made his hair curl a little at the ends, a little trendier than he expected. “Is it that bad?” 

“No! No, no, not at all - did you ask for that cut? That’s not your normal.” 

He shrugged, still a little wary of her reaction. “No, I just let her do something new. It’s okay, right?” 

“Fuck, that’s hot,” she cursed, trying to be quiet as people moved around her in the busy street. 

He seemed to brighten almost immediately, his chest puffing up and cheeks turning a little pink. “Yeah? You think so?” 

“Absolutely.” Sophie glanced around, bringing the mic on her earbuds a little closer to her mouth as she spoke. “I cannot describe what I want to do to you right now, because I think I might get cited for public indecency, but holy hell. You look great, baby.” 

He beamed, but shook his head. “You’re just saying that because we haven’t seen each other in more than two months and you’re horny.” 

“I’m not! I’m not, I swear.” She laughed. “Look, I gotta go or I’ll be late to work, but we can talk later, okay? You look hot, don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.” 

That conversation alone had boosted his ego to the moon. He’d gotten off work early - thank you, summer Fridays - and immediately convinced James and Colin into day drinking. They had just moved into their senior house a week ago and Rafe felt miles better not being under the pressure of living with Colin’s parents, as hospitable as they were. 

Once the three of them were sufficiently drunk by five, they ordered multiple pizzas and indulged enough so they were somewhat sober again. Rafe had the brilliant idea of leaving Sophie voicemails every time they made the move to a new spot, keeping her updated. “Sophie! Sophie, baby, hello. We’re walkin’ to the Varsity Club now, then we’re gon’ get drunk again.” 

“I think you’re still drunk.” Colin pointed out, reaching for Rafe’s phone. “Hi Sophie!” 

“James, say hi.” Rafe ordered, holding the speaker toward him. James nodded and waved and Rafe was satisfied, despite the fact it was just a voicemail. “He says hello. Anyways, just giving you the update. I don’t think my typing fingers are all here ready to go, so m’ just gonna call you. Love you!”

That continued through the night as the boys got more drunk and got more indecipherable, with some yelling into the phone (“Sophie! James is hitting on a girl!”) and some accidental calls where the only audio was the muffled music in the background. Once they finally stumbled out of the bars at closing time, all on their way to a miserable hangover when they woke up later that day, Rafe dug out his phone again to call Sophie. 

She typically kept her phone’s ringer on, just in case he needed her, but when she was woken up for the fifth time in the middle of the night, she had to silence it. However, she’d also seen how at least one of the boys got hurt every time all three of them got drunk, so she could hardly sleep well anyways. She groaned when her phone lit up again with yet another voicemail from Rafe, this time of him singing Just The Two of Us horribly off-key. 

“Jesus Christ, Rafe, that’s like your tenth voicemail.” James shook his head, amused, trying to grab the phone away from him. He made a noise of protest, standing on his toes and holding the phone out of James’ reach. “No! Gotta keep Sophie updated, I promised I’d check in.” 

“Good thing she loves you, because even this would be too much for me.” Colin jested, throwing his arm around Rafe’s shoulders to keep him supported as they walked out the bar. “No, she’s in love with me. There’s a difference.” He corrected with a scowl. 

“Doesn’t matter.” Colin argued. 

“Does too matter. In love is like...” Rafe trailed off, thinking, then grinned. “It’s like when it’s finally spring again and you get to sit in that first warm patch of sun.” 

James rolled his eyes. “Okay, dummy. You’re a fuckin’ sap.” 

“M’ not. Not at all.” Rafe argued, fumbling with his phone. Colin plucked it out of his hand, raising his eyebrows. “What the fuck are you trying to do, dude?”

“Gotta check in.” Rafe insisted, grabbing it back and finally finding the FaceTime app and jabbing it with his thumb. Sophie picked up after a few rings, squinting with messy hair and reached to flick on a lamp. “What.”

“Baby!” He exclaimed, grinning. “Angel, look, I’m with my friends, you know them.” He turned the phone to show Colin and James and they waved, Colin rolling his eyes.

“Okay. Do you know what time it is here?” She yawned, pulling the blankets tighter around herself.

“No, how many times is it?”

She raised her eyebrows at his slurred speech and the unfocused look in his eyes. “Holy hell, you’re wasted, aren’t you?”

“No no no.” Rafe shook his head quickly. “No drinkings tonight. Nothing.”

“Not good to lie to your girlfriend, Rafe.” James teased and Sophie scowled. “He’s right. No lying.”

“Okay, fine. I had...um...two drinks. That’s all.”

“No you didn’t.”

“No I didn’t.” He agreed, nodding. “It was seven. Eight. Nine.”

“Alright. Are you safe? M’ kind of tired, baby.”

Both the boys grinned to each other, making a mental note to give him shit for the pet name later. Rafe ignored them, not looking away from the screen once. “My liver might not be safe.”

She snorted, nodding. “Okay. Can I go back to sleep?”

“No. If you’re already up then we can talk.” He insisted and she groaned, dropping her face into her pillow. “Rafe, no. I’m hanging up, I went to bed at three.”

“You’re not hanging up on me. You need to get more sleep though, your schedule’s out of whack. Hey, remember when we used to fight?”

She lifted her head slowly, annoyed. “Yes.”

“Are we fighting right now?”

“Will you let me hang up?”

“No.”

“Then yes. We’re fighting.” She rolled her eyes as his face dropped and he put on a big frown. “No! I don’t like fighting Sophie and Rafe. You know what, though?”

“What?”

“We missed out on a hate fuck.”

“Rafe!” She hissed immediately, turning bright red. “James and Colin are right there.”

“S’okay, they know I liked you for evers.”

“They don’t need to know about our sex life -”

“We know way too much about your sex life.” James interrupted, swatting Rafe upside the head just because he could. “So it’s kind of useless to be embarrassed about it now.”

“Oh my god.” She covered her face with her hands, shaking her head. “Rafe, keep your mouth shut.”

He was completely unbothered and sent her a dopey grin. “Okay. Hey, when we get married, are you gonna let me buy the ring?”

Suddenly she was wide awake and she rubbed her eyes, unsure if she heard him correctly. “Hold up, you said when?”

“Yes, when. I don’t want to have to stick to your budget, you deserve the biggest damn diamond ever.”

Colin and James exchanged a glance as they walked up ahead of Rafe, a little wary of the conversation he was setting himself up for but too drunk themselves to care.

“Um. Who said we’re getting married?”

He frowned, sighing heavily like the topic was exhausting. “We are. You know it, I know it.”

Sophie hummed in response, unsure of how to answer that. “Okay then. That’s, um. Nice of you to say.”

“You have to promise me one thing.” 

She took a deep breath. “Rafe, I’m not sure I want to be promising anything to you right now -” 

“I want you to wear a garter so I can take it off with my teeth on our wedding night.” He insisted, looking way too serious as he told her. “We’re going to get married, or you wouldn’t have moved your ring.” 

She blushed and hoped he couldn’t tell from the dim glow of the lamp, ignoring his request. “I moved it because it fits better on my ring finger.” 

“I’m sure you did.” He nodded, placated, and she was grateful he didn’t press it further. “I wish you were here, it’s more fun getting drunk with you.”

“Hey!” James spun on his heel and Colin had to grab at him to keep him upright. “We’re plenty fun!”

“Are you gonna make out with me then cuddle? I don’t think so.” Rafe shot back, grinning when Sophie laughed.

“Rafe got hit on tonight.” Colin informed her, breaking into a round of giggles with James as Rafe sent them a glare. 

“You got hit on? Was she pretty?” Sophie raised her eyebrows, trying to hide a small smile. 

“Um…” Rafe trailed off, trying to form a complete thought. “She was nice.” 

“Yeah? Just nice?” 

He nodded decidedly. “Just nice.” 

“Practically flashed you.” James argued. “That’s more than just nice.” 

The girl had leaned over the bar to say hi to Rafe, giving him a view down her shirt - he had immediately blushed red and shoved Colin forward, telling her Colin was single but Rafe was most definitely not. 

“Bold.” Sophie commented, yawning. “Good for her.” 

Rafe narrowed his eyes a little. “You’re not mad?” 

“Did you flirt back?” 

“No! Of course not!” He exclaimed, shaking his head vigorously. 

She shrugged. “That’s what I thought. I’m not mad, I have no reason to be. Can I go back to sleep now, please?” 

“Pay attention, Rafe.” Colin called out, glancing behind him to see Rafe nearly walking into a streetlight pole as he kept his eyes trained on the screen. 

“No. You get to hang out with me.” He decided and she grumbled, but rolled onto her side and set the phone up hands-free so she could at least watch him get home safely. 

“Hey, Sophie!” James butted his head against Rafe’s to get in view of the screen, making him yelp. 

“Hi James.” 

“Remember you gotta come home soon. If you don’t, Rafe’s gonna be sad and I can’t have my buddy being sad.” He told her seriously, slinging his arm around Rafe’s shoulders. 

She laughed, nodding. “I’ll come home, don’t worry.” She grinned. “I would miss you and Colin too much.” 

“Hey!” Rafe exclaimed, indignant. “What about me?” 

“What about you?” 

He was about to open his mouth and make his case when he tripped on the uneven sidewalk and his phone clattered to the ground. James cracked up, picking up the phone and flipping the camera to show Rafe in someone’s front yard, lying next to a crumpled metal sign. “Get up, dumbass.” 

“Wait, no, hold on, is he bleeding?” Sophie frowned, suddenly more attentive. 

“Noooo. M’ fine.” Rafe insisted, clapping his hand over a slice down his arm. 

“Show me your arm, Rafe.” She commanded and he scowled but obliged, showing her a small but deep cut on his forearm and the blood trailing out of it. She nearly retched but squeezed her eyes shut instead for a moment, taking a deep breath. “Okay. Where’s Colin? Is he sober?” 

“Here!” Colin had gotten a solid block ahead of them, wandering, then jogged back once he realized his friends had stopped. “Damn, dude.” He mumbled, just standing there and watching Rafe bleed. 

“Jesus Christ.” Sophie muttered. “Okay. Can one of you get an Uber to the hospital? Please?” 

James handed the phone to Colin and took off his shirt, tapping it ultra-gently against Rafe’s cut, effectively doing nothing. “Mine’s dead.” 

“I didn’t bring my phone.” Colin added, then squinted as he finally got a good look at her. “You look tired, you should sleep more.” 

She pinched the bridge of her nose, trying not to lose her composure. “Where are you guys?” 

“Dunno.” Colin turned in a circle, nearly tripping over his feet. “Oh! We’re by the stadium.” 

“Alright. I’m going to hang up and call my friends to come get you, do you promise to stay there?” 

“Sophie?” Rafe asked, his voice a little weak. 

“Yeah, Rafe?” 

“If I bleed out and die, I need you to know that I love you and I miss having sex with you.” 

She rolled her eyes, exasperated. “That’s sweet. You’ll be fine. Stay there, okay? I need a promise from all of you.” 

The boys all mumbled a chorus of “I promise,” and she hung up, satisfied, then immediately called Allie and Julia to go pick them up. Luckily they were both sober and corralled the boys into Allie’s car, taking the phone from Rafe to keep Sophie updated. Once they made the short drive to the emergency room, Julia opened the door to help Rafe out, making Allie’s car light turn on. He groaned and threw his uninjured arm over his eyes, squinting. “I can’t go to the light. I gotta make it for my girl.” 

“That’s not - that’s the car light, Cameron.” Julia told him, tugging to get him out. He stayed limp like a ragdoll, shaking his head. “Tell Sophie I love her.” 

“You’re not dying. Get out of the car.” Sophie commanded from the FaceTime call. Rafe snapped his head up toward the sound. “I hear her.” 

“What on earth did you drink?” Allie asked incredulously, taking the phone from Julia. “Look, can we just text you when we’re out? Airhead here is gonna be too distracted.” 

Sophie laughed, running her hand over her face. “Yes, that’s fine. Thank you for putting up with him.” 

Julia grumbled, finally tugging Rafe out of the car with James’ assistance. “He owes us a bottle of some good wine after this.” 

Two hours later, Rafe was fresh out of the hospital with a tetanus shot and three stitches, and a promise to detail Allie’s car in order to get the blood off of her leather seats (which she had just easily cleaned with a Clorox wipe). He was still a little drunk, but not nearly at the same level when the girls texted her a picture of him with a dopey grin and two fingers up on one hand, then one finger on the other. 

Allie: your boyfriend is a nightmare drunk

Sophie: unfortunately

what are the fingers supposed to mean

Julia: he said it stands for two and a half weeks until he sees you 

Sophie: aw. you two are the best, seriously 

Allie: a boyfriend of yours is a boyfriend of ours

taglist: @whoeveniskendall @kkmaybank @karsinner @outerbanksbro @outerbankspreferences @randomficsandshit @sunshineitsfine44 @jailcalledlife @tovvaa @moniamaybank @illbesafeforyou @dontjinx-it @freddymaybank @jjmaybankzz @g4bster @oopsiedoopsie23 @babygal-babygal @thecuthoney

[thefanficmonster]

Never Satisfied [Teaser]

Corpse Husband x Original Female Character

Warnings: Language (possibly more?)

Collaboration between Vy & Ashens 🖤

“this criminal is stealing my fires, what the fuck?!“

Life is a rollercoaster, it always has been. One moment he feels at the top of the world and the very next he’s upside down at the bottom, wishing the ride would come to a stop as soon as possible. Things that shouldn’t be difficult, things average people would consider the norm to him were the equivalent of walking on glass, each step sending shocks of pain throughout his body, anxiety pumping his blood with adrenaline that provoked his fight or flight response. And after choosing ‘fight’ so many times, he’s more than prepared to choose ‘flight’.

But as he sits in the Walmart parking lot, he’s talking himself out of that habit of running from discomfort. He doesn’t want to battle it either, he just wants to face it and prove he’s strong enough to defeat it if he tried. Well, anxiety is laughing in his face right now, mocking him by the shaking of his hands and the tight sensation in his gut and throat. He’s here for what’s supposed to be just a quick shopping trip. Just to buy a few things! That’s all he has to do. However, he can’t bring himself to get out of his beige Subaru and walk into the store. 

I’m just hungry, right? Or maybe tired, he thought to himself.

That’s what everyone told him - that anxiety was caused by something simple to solve but hard to realize when your mind is in a frenzy. He’s planning on getting something to eat to calm his nerves. If that doesn’t work, to hell with it. He has been improvising plan B’s all his life, this wouldn’t be anything new. 

With a shaky sigh Corpse looks at his radio, switching stations until his luck smiles at him when he comes across a BONES song and turns it up just enough to not overwhelm his senses. He has been needing some kind of a distraction all day, why not gravitate to the one thing that felt real, as if sent to save him from the mess within his head. Putting the car into drive, he pulls out of the parking lot and into the nearest fast food drive thru. A plain burger with cheese so his stomach doesn’t act up, fries and an unsweetened tea. 

This will have to do.  He isn’t even hungry, and the thought of the greasy food only made his stomach churn worse but he knew he needed to eat something in hopes of it having the effects he was told it would have - magically cure his overwhelmingly hard to handle anxiety.

Once he got his food, he returned to the department store lot and parked in a far back spot. He has opened the paper bag to dig his food out, grimacing at all the grease and the smell of the cheap meal that wasted no time invading his car. He really isn’t hungry, but he hasn’t eaten all day and he’s aware of the toll the lack of food is taking on his system. He knows better than to work against himself in a moment like this when his mind is already working against him.

Chomping down on a fry, Corpse savors the salt as it hits his tongue and takes a moment to let his shoulders loosen and hang low. Something about the salt and fat seemed to make his body feel better. He tosses his head back slightly as he flicks a few stray strands of hair out of his eyes, reaching into the bag and grabbing another fry.

He’s been content with sitting in his car, eating and trying to quell the anxiety bubbling up under his ribs and in his throat. There’s a sense of peace to it and to the loneliness of it. He doesn’t mind being alone, though. That’s how he prefers to be actually. Dwelling on that thought too long has had the tendency to kill even the smallest spec of a positive energy he possessed in the past so he avoids it for his own peace of mind. The feeling of his heart thundering in his chest to nothing more than his own unconscious is being muffled by the soft rap music coming from the car speakers, him having chosen to pay attention to that instead.

Corpse is so engrossed in his attempts of maintaining this peace that he fails to notice the person approaching his car at a rapid pace. He’s left completely unbothered until one of the backseat doors is yanked open and someone is diving inside, shaking the vehicle. 

“What th-..” He shouts, startled out of the peaceful bubble he had created around himself. 

“Hey, how's it going? Sorry to interrupt your dinner. I'm just avoiding somebody, so don’t mind me!” A slightly out of breath female voice answers from the backseat. But before he could bring himself to turn around and demand this girl get out of his car, fear takes hold of him, closing his throat and drowning his words in the sea of questions and anxiety rising from deep within his chest. 

Ok, breathe. This is weird. There’s a stranger in my car, but she doesn’t appear harmful. Just breathe, stay calm. Fuck, is that a fucking cop car?! 

His shaky hand is barely capable of holding the burger as his wide eyes follow the movements of the vehicle. The patrol car in question slowly drives through each aisle of the parking lot, seemingly searching for something. Or someone. He feels himself unable to blink nor breath as the car creeps closer and closer. He has already broken into a nervous sweat, head spinning with all the possible outcomes - none of which bode well for him.

How am I gonna explain this shit?! There’s no way they’ll believe that she just dove into my car. They’ll think I’m an accomplice. I’ll go to jail. God knows if I’ll get out. I’ll die in there. Oh fuck, I’ll die in there.

He inhales sharply, trying not to hyperventilate, all his muscles tensing before a slap to his arm shook him out of it, “Could you look any more suspicious?! Fuckin’ act cool!”

He nods automatically and looks down at his lap, like he’s trying to find a napkin before taking a quick sip of his tea in attempts to look natural. The liquid promptly went down the wrong pipe, causing him to choke and go in a fit of coughs which he suppressed with his baggy hoodie sleeve. 

The cop passed by, eyeing the man in the car before making a turn to go down another row of parking spots, allowing Corpse to finally peek his gaze upwards to check if the guy was finally gone when the voice in the back seat spoke up again. “Thanks dude, you saved my ass.” 

He hadn’t noticed at first but as he turned to look behind him he saw a bare arm reaching from the back seat, dipping into the paper bag and taking one of his fries. Before he could comprehend it, the girl had climbed up over the center console as the police car pulled out of the parking lot and left. 

Only now is he able to get a real look at the woman who is a potential criminal and went into his car. She isn’t tall but not short either. She’s wearing a pair of jeans that are ripped around her knees and upper thighs and have little occult symbols drawn on them, peace signs and even an occasional tiny dinosaur - the majority, if not all, probably a DIY project of hers by the looks of it. She’s also sporting a sleeveless top with the sides cut open to show most of her waist. Under that, a black sports bra and a tattoo are visible - the tattoo extending from her back to her ribs just slightly. Her dark brown hair is pulled into a loose and rather messy hairdo, every strand going in its own direction as if she couldn’t be bothered by it. Looking down he sees the pair of black combat boots she has on. They look to be well taken care of and loved. A glint of a septum piercing attracts his attention when he notices it reflecting the ugly yellow light of the parking lot street lamps. 

She’s pretty. 

His cheeks flush a little in the darkness as he dumps the remainder of his food back into the bag, noting she was taking another one of his fries before he looked away, swallowing nervously when he feels her gaze on him. 

Before he could speak, however, she had already taken another one of his fries, leaning back in the passenger seat.

“W-why...are you in my car?” His voice showed off his confusion as well as the rising levels of his anxiety, his brow furrowed as he tries to remain cool and calm. 

“Hiding from the police...obviously.” She responds in a ‘duh’ tone as if she were pointing out something very simple and ordinary.

“Bu-...Alright...I guess. You should stop stealing my food though.” He finally mumbles, putting the paper bag into the back seat and catching a brief whiff of the perfume she has on as he turns to do so. 

He’s been alone so long, people have grown to terrify him. Public places terrify him, so it’s no surprise he stays inside for as long as he can. He hasn’t been this close to someone in months. Not since his ex left. She was just...another human being. Another one to leave. Nothing new to him. It shouldn’t have been a surprise nor a disappointment to him but he couldn’t not feel distraught over it for a while after it happened. He couldn’t help but hope she would….nevermind.

She grins - her smile a little spark of light in this lonely little world that is his life. Everyone around him always looked so damn happy. How come he never felt the happiness for himself?

He shifts back into his seat, fingers fiddling with the zipper on his black hoodie, avoiding her gaze as much as possible while still trying to take subtle glances at her. He feels uncomfortably like a teenager at that moment, stumbling his way through a conversation with a girl way too pretty to be talking to him.

“I bet you hear this all the time, but you should do like, audio books or voice acting or somethin’. You’ve got a rad voice to narrate some Steven King or Dean Koontz. Bram Stoker's Dracula would be sick, or some kind of devil or demon character.” She offers, grinning again as she steals another fry despite the bag now being in the back and shifts to reach into her back pocket, the sound of her wallet chain hitting the side of his car door echoes throughout the enclosed space of the car. She pulls out a couple dollars and slaps them onto his dashboard, “anyway, for the fries. Annnd for letting me hide in your car. Don’t go spending it all in one place.” She pushes the door of the Subaru open, winking at him and sliding one leg out. “Thanks for keepin’ the fuzz off of me, see ya Hades!” She jokes teasingly, slapping the roof of his car before closing the door and practically skipping off in the opposite direction of the one the cop went in. 

Corpse parts his lips, blinking slowly before looking at the department store and back towards the slowly shrinking figure of the girl. His head is spinning again, for different reasons now.

“What the hell just happened....?” He pauses for a lingering second before his voice turns sharp and a distressed look crosses his face, “Fuck, what did I need from the store?!”

[deiliamedlini]

WIP Wed--uh--Thursday!

This is from my portal travel/modern fantasy AU/military/retelling of botw fic. It’s a lot of stuff. I’m not seriously working on it until I finish some current fics, but I like to go back to it now and then to add random scenes, like today! My favorite  thing about it so far has been a Link and Rhoam friendship. 

It’s not Wednesday anymore but I fell asleep on a couch and watched Penny Dreadful all night and forgot to post so oh well! 

For years, Rhoam meant to apologize to his daughter for his absence through much of her life. But it didn’t come out as easily as he’d planned now that she was standing here in front of him after several years apart. “I’m so sorry. But when you see what we’re doing here, you’ll know why it was so important.”

Zelda nodded, reminding herself to remain level-headed and professional, no matter how much she wanted to snap again. “I’m sure. Well, I’ve read all the reports that I could before arriving. I believe that I can help you understand their culture better, and hopefully, we can establish a line of communication and trust between our people and these Zora. I’ve also begun communicating with your researcher, Dr. Purah, to work on a blueprint for a cochlear implant that works much the same was as a translator app would. I would hope to find a volunteer among these Zora to see if we can establish a baseline, and then we can get some translations in. After a few rounds of data gathering, we can import the audio data into the implant and use it for more streamlined communication for every one of your people.”

Rhoam smiled, pride glistening in his eyes. “Well, you wasted no time.”

“I rarely do.”

“I can show you to the temporary quarters for now, or you can stay at my house until you get yourself settled.”

“On base is fine. Thank you though.” She clasped her hands together. “And thank you for what you did for me.”

“What did I do?”

“My degree. I appreciate you getting my final capstone waived so I could come here.”

Again, Rhoam’s smile grew wider. “Of course. If they knew the work you did for us in Termina, they’d have waived it as well. Hell, they’d have made you teach the course!”

“Thankfully, I—”

“—Sir! Basically, the Zora King laughed, if you can call it a lau—” Link stopped short in the doorway when he saw that there was another person in the room. “Forgive me, Sir. I’ll come back later.”

“No, Colonel Forester, wait!” Rhoam said, standing up. He grimaced at Link’s physical appearance but gestured excitedly to Zelda. “There’s someone I’d like to introduce you to. My daughter, Zelda.”

Zelda stood up and turned around, ready to extend her hand politely to the stranger when she stopped short.

In front of her was a young man, soaking wet. A small puddle had formed around him as water dripped off every square inch of his military uniform: green cargo pants, boots tucked in, a jacket, a rucksack, a hat, and a gun holstered at his hip.

All of it dripping piles of water onto the carpeted flooring.

She watched him hastily take off his hat and tuck it under his arm, though it did nothing but send more water splashing around and expose a messy mop of blonde hair that was currently sticking to his forehead, drawing her attention to his bright blue eyes.

“Zelda?” he repeated, shooting Rhoam a questioning look before turning back. He didn’t need to ask. This was the Zelda from years of the General’s stories. This was the daughter Link knew all about. He cleared his throat. “Pleasure to meet you, ma’am.” He held out his hand, but that too was waterlogged. Hastily, he wiped it against his pantleg, but that did little other than splash some water in her direction. He returned it to his side and offered her a polite nod instead. “You’ll have to forgive me for not shaking your hand.”

She tried to smile, but she was too intrigued by the abnormal denseness of the water that dripped off him. It was thick, and it clung to him far more than water should without a chemical mixed in. She spoke almost without realizing it as her eyes stayed glued to the droplets. “Doctor.”

“What?”

She finally tore her gaze from the water and looked him in the eyes. That too was a bit difficult. They were an unnatural blue. And she followed a droplet down his cheek that hung off his chin.

Blinking several times, she shook her head, clearing her mind. “My name. My father  introduced me as just Zelda, but I typically go by Dr. Harkinian at work. I prefer that to ma’am.”

“Work?” Link repeated, his eyes darting back to Rhoam. 

And Link was met with a triumphant smile.

Oh, this was going to be bad.

[citrus-cactus]

Appmon Sequel Thoughts & Unexplored Plots

Citrus Presents: a super-messy dump of Appmon plot bunnies and headcanons I have been thinking WAY too much about and would really-no-really want to see in a hypothetical Appmon season 2, movie, or audio drama (Probably not all at once. But a lot of them could definitely co-exist!). Mostly focuses on the human characters, and under a cut to spare you the GIGANTIC WALL OF ME YELLING EXCITEDLY THROUGH BULLET POINTS.

Also, spoilers if you haven’t finished the series? Yeah, I feel like I gotta keep saying that.

Picking up literally the moment Season 1 ended: Yuujin is there. He says Haru’s name. Haru smiles. Smash cut to a scene where it is very quickly established that Yuujin knew enough to find the bookshop, recognize Haru and probably Offmon, plus a few other random fragments of his old life... AND THAT’S IT. Amnesia, baby!! The Appdrivers now have to solve the mystery of How The Hell Did Yuujin Come Back From The Dead (because obviously Yuujin doesn’t know. AND REI DOES NOT TRUST. ANY OF THIS.), while Yuujin has to relearn some of the finer points of being human, plus rebuild his relationships with Offmon and the rest of his friends.

But. BUT!!! HIS DEVOTION TO HARU IS CONSTANT AND UNCHANGING. It makes Haru really uncomfortable! Because his friend is back... and yet he isn’t. HE IS WORKING SO HARD TO FIGURE OUT WHAT HAPPENED AND TO RESTORE YUUJIN’S MEMORIES but maybe it doesn’t ever happen??? And he just has to learn to live with that????

But Offmon is learning how to be brave and more emotionally resilient! He is still super shy and uncertain but helps out a lot! For Haru’s sake! For his Buddy’s sake!

Honestly 60% of amnesia!Yuujin would just be Data from Star Trek TNG, but it worked then and it can work for Appmon and just. HARUJIN! AND NOT-HARUJIN! AND CHARACTER GROWTH???

ALTERNATELY, an audio drama similar to the “Tegami” one from Adventure 02 (the one where Yamato does a lot of near-solitary reflection on the beach) where Yuujin remembers everything that happened during the Human Application Project, and it’s about his consciousness journeying up through the Dark Web to get back to the human world after being left in limbo. Along the way, he would start to deal with his grief and guilt at being Leviathan’s tool, but keeps Haru’s last words to him in mind, and he probably runs into a handful of helpful/unhelpful appmon until it ends with him getting his body back. HARUJIN! AND ANGST! AND HOPE! AND CHARACTER GROWTH!!!

I have seen this brought up elsewhere and I love it: Leviathan and Minerva come back, but reincarnated as low-level Appmon. They are adorable but also intrinsically don’t like each other and are all “wtf I used to be like that??” with respect to their former selves. BABY SNEK AND OWL. WHO APPLINK WITH THE MAIN APPMON AND RETURN TO THEIR FORMER NEARLY-OMNIPOTENT GLORY ON RARE OCCASIONS BECAUSE OF COURSE THEY DO.

 Alternatively they are in their human forms from the manga and are girlfriends or something leave me alone

idk if the L-Virus is back, but apps still have to be rebelling and/or getting infected. Season 1 gave us the Twitter Appmon, and all I ask now is for there to be a Duolingo Appmon. INFECTED/EVIL DUO IS GIGANTIC AND PICKS A FIGHT WITH TINY MINERVA. THE BATTLE OF THE AI OWLS ENSUES. IT IS AWESOME.

Speaking of infected Appmon (and based around real algorithms-- *coughcough* the Tumblr Purge of 2017) we also have Censormon, the censoring app! He is both incredibly annoying and shockingly powerful for a standard-grade Appmon. Becomes Astora’s sworn enemy when he demonetizes some of Astora’s videos for no good reason. He is  completely out of control while infected and sees even the most minced swears or chaste public displays of affection as “immoral” and in need of bleeping and having black bars slapped across them. Can also pixelate himself so he’s harder to hit. Hijinks ensue. THIS IS PRIME CRACKTASTIC AUDIO DRAMA MATERIAL TOEI, FEEL FREE TO USE IT.

Still love the idea of Astora having a baby sister. He is tapped for babysitting duty pretty regularly and often ropes the other AppDrivers in as well. He, Musimon, and Eri are really good at making her smile and laugh, Haru reads her stories, Dokamon, Offmon, and Hackmon are all varying degrees of scared & clueless, but both Rei and Hajime excel at like... actual care of a living human being. Anyway, I should really come up with a name for her :O

AN EPISODE DEDICATED TO YUUJIN’S MOM!!!! and showing how she came to create/be in charge of the YJ project. Hot damn do I have headcanons for this AI researcher lady.

WHERE IS HARU’S DAD?? still voting for him being a botanist who shuns most forms of technology and works in remote parts in the world; he wasn’t targeted by Leviathan bc his digital footprint is completely nonexistent, which is why Leviathan focused on Haru after he thought Denemon was dead. He and Haru write letters longhand and send each other book recommendations, and he shows up to visit his family briefly before heading off into the wilderness again LEAVE ME ALONE

Eri experiences some more of the pressures of being an idol and making some tough choices re: happiness/honor vs. popularity/influence. Her life is good, but she is busier than ever, and it’s starting to get to her... also, maybe bring back an idea that was kind of forgotten about in Season 1, with AI idols and Apptubers being a real and persistent threat to her and Astora’s careers, and are now evolving into click-hungry AIs with sentience and an eerily good understanding of how to promote themselves, just no bodies... Eri vs. Hatsune Miku??? IDK

They are still using the bookshop basement as headquarters, and as such Ai spends a lot of time being a surrogate big sister to Hajime. The two of them play pranks on the rest of the cast a LOT. Also we learn why the basement was sealed up and why Denemon set up shop there (he and Ai’s grandpa were close?)

AI GETS AN APPDRIVE!! HAJIME GETS AN APPDRIVE!!! EVERYONE GETS AN APPDRIVE!!!!

ESPECIALLY KNIGHT, OK?? KNIGHT HAS AN APPDRIVE AND THE APP HE DEVELOPED IN COLLEGE IS HIS BUDDY

THIS IS VERY IMPORTANT

MAYBE THAT’S THE HOOK INTO THE PLOT ACTUALLY. Yuujin’s back w/o memories and everyone’s like “???? weird, but ok.” Minerva and Leviathan are back w/o memories and everyone’s like “???? weird, but ok.” A shadowy figure does a big dramatic Deus Ex Machina save of the main cast at one point and is like “We need to talk... about all these AI coming back from the dead” AND IT’S KNIGHT. WITH HIS OWN APPMON. WHO IS BACK FROM THE DEAD. CUE CLIFFHANGER.

IDK I AM V. SELF CONSCIOUS BEING THE WEIRDO ON THIS WEBSITE WHO WILL NOT SHUT UP ABOUT APPMON

BUT ALSO

I HATE NOT HAVING THE TIME/ABILITY TO WRITE/DRAW ALL OF THESE THINGS

PLEASE HELP ME OUT HERE TOEI MY CROPS ARE DYING

THE END

[kbstories]

Axiomatic

ax·i·om·at·ic (adj.) Self-evident; unquestionable.

The best part of battle is the afterparty.

(Or: Kidd wears a fur coat, Killer is thirsty. Zoro is there until he isn’t.)

Tags: Established Relationship, Drinking, Fluff and Smut, Blow Jobs, Anal Sex, It’s a PWP what can I say?

Read Chapter 1 here. Post-Wano setting. Content warning for mentions of Body Dysmorphia (relating to Killer).

***

Killer is drunk.

Technically he’s tipsy and on-his-way-to-drunk. There’s a bottle of sake in his hand, half-full or half-empty depending where his head is in a given moment. The straw between his lips is growing brittle, already frayed at the edge – he’s been toying with it rather than drinking for a while now, distracted by the feast running its course below.

With his ass firmly planted on the stone weight of one of the roofs – the inn’s, perhaps? Killer can’t recall why he got up here, much less which house it is – he’s got a view over all of Okobore Town, from where the outskirts are swallowed by the Wasteland to the pitiful square still lit by the bonfire’s embers. Whoever’s in charge of feeding the flames has obviously left their post or followed the siren song of free booze. They wouldn’t be the first to do so, the streets littered with those passed out or making out or both, somehow.

It reminds Killer a little of home. Well, the place they used to call home, him and Kidd, a town so small it isn’t really worth considering it one. Nothing more than the scrapyard of the bustling capital right next door with the people to match: Too poor to live, too stubborn to die and so they got carried along, forgotten by history.

Same bullshit, different island, Killer muses via the wisdom of too much sake in his blood. Different ocean altogether, and there’s no fondness in that.

Home isn’t a place for Killer but a feeling, the one he gets with full sails fluttering above and Kidd up front, hair wild in the wind.

Freedom’s a fickle thing, as quickly lost as it is gained with how complacent the masses tend to get. At sea it’s just them and their ship against the elements, life and death a matter of seeing the storm coming and having the guts to spit in its face.

Alone on that roof, Killer grins around the straw. That’s the shit worth living for, day after day after day.

Down there is Kidd, the red flash of his hair one Killer seeks out by sheer habit; his silhouette against the dying bonfire is imposing, that ridiculous coat hanging big and imperial off his shoulders. If he focuses, Killer could probably make out what he’s yelling about with… Strawhat’s navigator? Killer squints, infusing his sight with Haki where the dark and the holes in his mask fail him.

Yeah, that’s Nami. She says something, hands on expensive fur. She’s grinning, innocent and cunning all at once and that’s why they call her a cat, huh?

Killer considers cranking up the audio sensitivity on his helmet. Considers it, and tosses the thought right out the metaphorical window. Kidd’s a big boy, he can defend his precious coat from a thief. Nami, presumably, also knows what she’s getting into, poking the bear like that.

A long sip of sake later and Killer nods to himself. A good, rational choice.

His bottle is decidedly past half-empty when Roronoa Zoro finds him. Killer is not surprised, has felt him wandering around for a while now – there are two bottles of sake in his hands, his gait utterly steady despite the rosy tinge to his cheeks.

A heavy drinker, Killer’s heard that. He polishes off his drink to gesture to one of Zoro’s.

 “You’ve got good timing, Pirate Hunter.”

“Who says it’s for you?”, Zoro asks with a snort, and gives him the second bottle anyways. When he sits, he does so with the kind of controlled grace many of Wano’s people wield, that flawless rigidity speaking of a life of discipline.

The way he drinks is the exact opposite of that. Interesting.

Killer concentrates on getting the straw through the narrow neck of the pitcher for a moment. The first sip proves it’s decent stuff; Killer’s mouth shapes itself around a pleased hum.

“You ever think about why the Marines call us what they do?”

It certainly makes Killer pause. Zoro doesn’t seem like the kind of guy to dabble in meaningless small talk – then again, what does Killer know? He turns his head to be able to see the look on Zoro’s face, watches the man nurse his sake with a pensive expression.

“‘Pirate Hunter’… Been a pirate longer than I was hunting ‘em. They could get the hint, y’know.”

They’re doing this, then. Pretending they weren’t at each other’s throats a mere week or two ago, like Zoro didn’t witness the side of Killer he loathes enough to hide it, always.

Fine. Killer can roll with that. “Which would you prefer? ‘Demon of the East Blue’?”

Zoro laughs and it’s so easy for him. “Now that’s one I haven’t heard in a while. You’ve been snooping, huh?”

“Sure as fuck not going into an alliance blind”, says Killer and it’s a bit pointed, a bit of a warning. They came back from war mere days ago but there’s room for blood when it comes to protecting their own.

“Mh. Wonder what that’s like.”

… Right. The guy’s the right hand of Strawhat Luffy, after all.

They drink, and Killer watches his captain. “The Marines don’t know shit, anyways.” A low hum to his side, prompting. Agreeing, perhaps. “Incompetent bastards thought I was the one to look out for when we made ourselves known, back in South Blue.”

“So ‘Massacre Soldier’ was, what, a misunderstanding?”

That makes Killer chuckle, a low ff ff ff sound. “Nah. Just that Kidd’s worse.”

“Ah.”

And it seems whatever else Zoro wants to add to that will have to wait. Even from afar Killer can feel it when Kidd’s eyes land on him and he sighs. “Speak of the devil. You might wanna get out of here.”

The sake stops on its way to Zoro’s mouth. “Huh?”

“Just giving you a fair warning, ’s all. Kidd kinda hates your guts over the whole”, a vague gesture to his own chest, “thing. He likes to keep grudges.”

“… Huh?”

Killer shrugs. It’s too late anyways. “Here he comes.”

“Hey! You!”

It doesn’t matter if he’s tipsy or drunk or whatever: Wrangling Kidd is something Killer grew up doing, and he stares him down now as Kidd pulls himself towards them by the metal in Killer’s mask. Hands up, no hesitation – Killer catches Kidd by the scruff of his coat, an arm winding around Kidd’s waist with enough strength to crush a smaller man and barely enough to drag this particular fool away.

To his credit, Zoro stays exactly where he is, his face blooming into something strangely close to delight. “Hah! You weren’t kidding.”

“Never am”, Killer tells him. He’s wheezing a little with how hard Kidd is struggling against his grip. “Captain! Fucking hell, you promised.”

“Didn’t promise shit”, Kidd hisses, a distinct slur to his words that Killer recognizes without trouble. Wasted indeed. “Roronoa! Hands off my partner!”

Zoro laughs – not the best of moves, Killer thinks with a wince – until his swords start vibrating. The smile drops real fast, then, becoming more of a tense smirk as he grabs on to that white katana of his.

“Oi, Spikey. Play nice now.”

All Kidd does is redouble his efforts, a whirlwind of bulging muscle in Killer’s arms and oh, Killer has had it. He presses his face against Kidd’s neck, his mouth only an inch or two away from his ear where they’re separated by Killer’s mask.

“Eustass fucking Kidd”, he growls. “Stop it or I will end you.”

Wasted or not, a shudder goes through his partner at that. It always does when Killer says his name like that. Killer knows, whatever happens now:

They both have a long night ahead of them.

*

Frantic hands, gasps of breath, lipstick smeared beyond hope between one kiss and the next. A moan, quiet against the sounds of belts being undone.

Killer pushes Kidd, gaze on him and only him as he bounces a little on the bed – their bed – and stares up at Killer. Eyes red as dusk, shining with the feral grin on his lips.

Killer gets on his knees for Kidd, always for him, and even if his blood wasn’t a-buzz with residue anger and alcohol, the way Kidd says “Fuck, Killer, yes” would get him there for sure. Trembling with it, Killer’s fingers hook into the waistband of Kidd’s pants to pull him closer, just where he wants him.

Kidd’s boots land on solid ground with a wooden thud. Legs splayed and Killer in the middle.

“You always have to make a mess”, Killer tells him, holds him down with one hand and the other working on his fly, “always so reckless”, and fuck, Kidd’s hard already. Hot and velvet-smooth in Killer’s palm and Killer forgets about chewing him out, for a moment.

It’s been weeks. Weeks since they’ve had time for this, hell, since Killer could even think about needing Kidd beyond the comfort his mere presence brings. With that infernal smile on his lips and his lungs clenching around the need to laugh, nothing would’ve come of it anyways.

Killer leans over and breathes Kidd in, gives him a gentle kiss, over the delicate vein that throbs under his lips. “We’re not done”, he lets him know, voice having lost most of its edge; Kidd laughs, runs a hand through the messy bangs falling into Killer’s eyes.

“I sure hope not. C’mon, don’t–”

Whatever Killer isn’t supposed to do gets lost in a moan. Kidd is big in Killer’s mouth, big and so familiar and Killer feels Kidd’s fingers tighten where they make a desperate grab for his hair. It makes him groan around the cock sliding over his tongue, again as he swallows around him and Kidd’s thighs jolt under the weight pinning them down.

Kidd is loud, it’s who he is, but there’s something about the cut-off calls of Killer’s name that gets to him. That makes him throw any sense of taking things slow to the wind and suck cock like he means it, lids fluttering shut and painted lips wide as he takes his captain as far down as he can get him without choking.

It’s been a while and it feels so good.

“Just like that, K. Keep goin’ just like that, don’t stop, fuck–”

And Killer feels his muscles shift under his hand, fingers splayed across Kidd’s abs straining with the need to move. Later, he might let him – can feel his own cock ache in too-tight jeans with the thought of Kidd holding him down and using him until he’s sated.

For now, he wants to get Kidd off, to hear his voice crack as it only does when he’s trembling on that edge.

It doesn’t take long at all, Killer’s lips and tongue and mouth dragging him there with no mercy for how breathless Kidd gets. “Kil”, Kidd gasps a warning; Killer hums, pulls off to catch the tip between his lips and jack him off the rest of the way, his hand easily gliding over spit-slick skin–

Kidd comes just like that, spilling into Killer’s mouth in twitching spurts. Given the garbage Kidd calls a diet he doesn’t taste the best but it’s Kidd, it’s the man Killer has hardwired his brain to adore no matter what. Killer moans softly, reaches down to rub himself as Kidd’s fingers release their death grip and sort of… pet him instead.

“Fuck me, darling, next time I’m horny I’ll just piss you off on purpose.”

Wiping his mouth, Killer huffs, “You already do that”, follows the trail of red leading up to Kidd’s navel with his lips. “You’re insufferable.” Licks along the valleys of his ripped stomach to kiss away the sweat gathering in the scar bisecting his pecs. “And we’re not done.”

Kidd rumbles a groan, pulls Killer into an open-mouthed kiss. The cold touch of metal worms its way under Killer’s shirt, in stark contrast to the need in Killer’s veins. It makes him shiver. “Kidd”, whispers Killer into that filthy kiss and it sounds like please, like more.

“Mh, I got you. Take this off, baby, let me see you.”

A demanding tug to Killer’s jeans. Killer doesn’t think twice about it: It’s a relief to get rid of them, the fabric starting to cling to his legs with how hot he’s running, and Killer throws off his boots and shirt to places unknown while he’s at it. Rolls his shoulders where they’re still a bit stiff from carrying his scythes all day.

Kidd is watching him, a hand on his own cock even if it won’t get hard quite yet. Leaning back in a sea of fur with the effortless grace of a king and the look of arrogant expectation to match. Killer meets it as he ties his hair into a loose knot to get it somewhat out of the way, nodding at him.

“You too. Or do you want me to tear ‘em off of you?”

How dark Kidd’s eyes can get. Those are his favorite pants though – Killer decides to be nice about it, unties Kidd’s boots enough for him to kick them off and save the rest of his clothes from an untimely demise.

Well, most of them. When Kidd makes to shrug off the coat Killer stops him. “Keep it.” His hands are on those suede-clad shoulders he’s been salivating over for hours now. “Keep the fur, Kidd”, an order he has no right to give, fingers clawed as they burrow between that softness and a heat that’s all Kidd.

It gets a look of genuine surprise out of Kidd. That, along with a pleased smile, closed-lipped. “Like it that much, do ya?”

Killer hums, “It’s soft”, kisses him, hides his own smile against demanding lips and the warning bite of teeth. “Makes me want to fuck you on it. Got a problem with that?”

“Shit, you kidding? Let’s ruin it.”

As much as he’s an impudent little shit anywhere else, here, coming alive under Killer, Kidd is all eager compliance and greedy hands across Killer’s back; it shouldn’t be as addicting as it is, the notion that this – the needy panting in his ear, the flush high in Kidd’s cheeks and spilling down to his chest – is all Killer’s. Only his, nobody else’s.

Killer slows down, then. Once Kidd has scrambled for the slick they keep around and Killer’s got his hands warmed up, he takes his time. Pushes one of Kidd’s legs to the side, keeps him there while he stretches Kidd finger by finger and fuck, he’s tight, clenching impatiently where Killer pushes in knuckle-deep.

“You’re killing me”, Kidd says, whines really, easily worked up by the twist of Killer’s fingers in him. Kidd’s prosthetic clings to Killer’s shoulder, his other hand in his own hair and tugging. “I’m ready, just – get in there!”

Killer is willing to rush a lot. Not this, though, never this.

“Shut up and relax”, he grumbles but he kisses Kidd, too, along the jagged edges of the scar down his face and his neck to suck on his clavicle. Kidd moans shamelessly, hips bucking into Killer’s curling fingers as he adds another.

Seeking that burning stretch before Killer can stop him. Killer curses, pulls out.

“Don’t complain later. You wanted this.”

Kidd tosses his head back into the covers and laughs. “Yesss. Fuck me, c’mon.”

Smug asshole. More slick, dripping from Killer’s cock to the fur below. The glide of his hand as he spreads it is already a lot, the sight of Kidd’s muscular neck bared and vulnerable hitting Killer somewhere instinctive, primal.

Deep down, Killer doesn’t want to wait either. He props himself up on one elbow, a mere inch or two separating their faces – and he stares at Kidd when he guides himself inside. At the way his mouth goes a little slack with it, the flare of his nose at the threadbare breath that follows.

“Good”, Killer tells him, catches Kidd’s gaze that’s barely past half-lidded. Licks over his bottom lip and kisses him, chaste as to not distract him from that first, long thrust.

“Doing so well, Kidd, almost there.”

Kidd feels sinful around him, warm and fluttering with tension that melts under the gentle thrusts Killer opens him up with. Leaning up to nip at Killer’s beard, his chin, and Killer indulges him, pushes his tongue into his mouth, slowly, languidly. Swallowing the soft noises Kidd makes as Killer hoists him up higher in his lap, Killer’s knees sliding apart in sleek fur.

He fucks him just like that, arms steady around Kidd and locking him in place when Killer finds a pace he can keep up for a while. Kidd fights it at first, he always does, not the kind of man to lie there and take it – Killer nuzzles his jaw, “It’s okay, let go, let go”, words that he knows Kidd needs to hear, cocky as he may act. Kidd’s breath shudders out of him and he does, finally relenting against the angle that makes him come undone each and every time.

Letting Killer sink in to the hilt and he groans, bites at Kidd’s throat and the pulse thundering there. “Good, so good for me.”

He rocks them both, hard enough to make Kidd shift against the fur. Kidd’s legs tighten where they’re tangled with Killer’s and he whimpers, far enough out of his head not to care what he sounds like anymore. A sound that burns in Killer’s gut, his chest, mouth open and panting over Kidd’s skin as he does it again and again and again.

It’s Kidd’s fingers going for the bundle of Killer’s hair and holding on; the feeling of Kidd’s prosthetic drawing red, stinging lines down the length of Killer’s back. “Kidd”, Killer mutters, demands, “Kidd–”

Kidd pulls at blonde strands coming loose, hard. “Whatever you want, K. Whatever you want, please–”

Voice gone, hoarse with the things Killer is doing to him.

Something in Killer snaps. The coat is torn open: Killer hears some of the seams pop in some places and he doesn’t care, mind and soul focused on turning Kidd around and getting him on his hands and knees.

“Fuck”, Kidd half-gasps, half-moans, “fuck–”

Then Killer is inside him again, sweating skin slapping against sweating skin, and his lips trace the shivers racing up Kidd’s spine, the faint freckles dotting Kidd’s shoulders. Kidd, Kidd, Kidd, his senses sharp as knives and hands roaming over what’s his, all his.

Whatever sounds Kidd is making, they are beyond words as he drops to his elbows and bends his back, pushing back into every hard shove of Killer’s hips. Killer moans, loud and breathless – feels Kidd clench around him and he gets a hand on Kidd’s cock, hard and leaking all over the coat, that fucking coat.

For the second time Kidd’s voice trembles, breaks apart on a high ah! as Killer squeezes him tight, so tight. Kidd comes around a choked noise and Killer keeps fucking him, his own peak tantalizingly in reach, not quite–

Kidd goes utterly boneless but there’s determination in the sliver of his eyes, the rasp of “keep goin’, want to feel ya”, and Killer grabs onto his hair just to tilt his head to the side and kiss him.

Over and over Killer takes him, covering Kidd with his bulk and it melts his brain, how Kidd just lets him. How Killer doesn’t have to hold back with him, going as deep as he possibly can and barely coming up for air until he loses himself in it, in Kidd.

Shaking apart above him, head bowed against the nape of Kidd’s neck. Killer rolls the last few thrusts just to feel how slick Kidd is, how well he takes him like this.

After that: A head full of static, numb limbs, cooling sweat.

“Hey, Kil.”

It’s Kidd’s voice that guides him back, “You there?”, the gentle motions of Kidd’s hand brushing the tie out of Killer’s hair and letting it fall around them. Killer pushes into that touch, humming. So comfortable.

“Babe, I kinda need to breathe here.”

Killer laughs and it’s fine like that, low and muffled against Kidd’s neck. “That so?”, he mumbles but he gets the hint, pushing himself to the side with a tired groan.

“Mmh. My head’s all fuzzy.”

“Yeah?” A hand slaps down on Killer’s chest, rough knuckles rubbing over the half-healed wound there. “From drinking or from fucking me to oblivion?”

Ff ff ff, Killer makes. He feels so light.

“Both, probably.”

Yeah, Killer is allowed a little smugness, too: Kidd’s hair is all mussed, lips red from kissing, neck covered in fresh, rose-colored bruises. Well used and looking like he doesn’t plan on moving even if the Punk’s cannons started firing around them.

Definitely worth slaying the coat over, Killer decides.

Still, when Killer takes Kidd’s hand in his, it’s all tenderness. Killer’s thumb brushes over Kidd’s knuckles, the same spot he presses a soft kiss to. Kidd lets him, squeezing back.

Their fingers entangle without really having to think about it, years of partnership in a single touch; and with the Punk's gentle sway all around them, they allow themselves to drift.

[vitamx]

the iron door: chapter 2

[ Also read on AO3! ] [ Chapter 1 ]

---

 the day went by swiftly as usual- mumbo tinkered with a few bits and pieces of sahara's tech and only slightly wondered if every machine he touched would start looking at him and screaming.

 in all honesty, he didn't know why he was getting so worked up over a- over a broken machine that just so happened to activate on accident.

it happened all the time with countless other redstone projects of his.

there was absolutely nothing strange about it.

 (of course, that's just what he told himself.)

soon the night befell him, and he wondered if it was really worth the trouble of going back over to the room with the iron door; to go back to that NPC, to go back to the chilling room it was kept in.

 though he really had no choice, in reality.

grian was counting on him to keep it in check while he was gone, to make sure it didn't break down more than it already had.

he couldn't just avoid the task he had promised to do.

 what would grian think if he came back to find he hadn't checked up on the thing all because it jump-scared him a bit?

 well- he'd laugh, first of all. then would come the disappointment.

and frankly, mumbo wasn't sure he could handle that.

 after half an hour of making up excuses to delay the trip over to the shipwreck, mumbo set off, the sound of rockets filling the starry sky.

 ---

 grian's giant, awe-inspiring base came into view in less than a minute, still standing out like a blue sticker on a red wall despite the darkness of the night.

 sucking in his breath, mumbo curved downwards, dunking into the icy, salty ocean water in a matter of seconds.

wincing from the cold, mumbo pushed through the water (thankfully coming into contact with the conduit's effects soon after), and squeezed through the gap that separated the water from the shipwreck.

 the garden afront it was still lovely and charming, and the faint smell of wood soon greeted him.

 he wasted no time in entering the ship itself, making a bee-line towards the iron trapdoor and ladder passage.

the trek down to bedrock was as tiring as it was last time, the temperature dropping more and more as he reached the end. a chill ran down his spine as he finally stepped away and into the room.

  the iron door greeted him silently.

  in the same spot as before, the communicator (which was likely grian's) lay untouched upon the cold stone ground.

leaning down, mumbo picked it up gently, wincing at how it felt like dry ice on his skin, with how cold it was on the surface. as the screen flickered on, he squinted his eyes at the bright light that accompanied it, quickly turning the brightness of the screen down.

on the screen was a new recording: "MCHECK_02.mp3".

 rubbing his eyes, mumbo walked through the iron door, communicator in hand. the door clicked behind him softly, and all of a sudden he felt very small.

it's not like the room was unfamiliar- there wasn't much to be unfamiliar about at this point- but rather what was in the room still disturbed him.

 a redstone torch was placed in the corner of the wall- right where he had left it last time. the NPC lay crumpled beneath it.

 raising the communicator up, mumbo opened the audio file and played it, glancing back at the NPC frequently as it loaded.

  "erm... so, uh, day 2, huh? thanks for coming back, i suppose! um... i- i really hope you're not too spooked about the whole NPC lookalike of me. but, it's harmless! ...mostly. um- the NPC, it can get a little violent at times, b-but only if you aggravate it! that's, uh, kind of why it got itself so messed up like that. i... really should have mentioned that in the last recording. oh well, too late to go back and redo it. but, hey! if you're listening to this, that means you did well last time! so, uh... yeah, good job, good job... ..."

  a pit of dread grew in mumbo's gut as he listened to more and more of the recording. pausing it abruptly, he exhaled slowly, trying not to linger too much on a few parts of it.

 "a few parts of it" meaning specifically the part where he mentions the NPC can get "violent".

what entails getting violent? does it mean more screaming and jittering? or does it mean the NPC could somehow get up and start punching him in the ribcage???

 mumbo really didn't want to find out.

 after a few moments of his thoughts swarming his own head, mumbo resumed the recording.

  "that being said! this time i think it'd be best to do a sort of... audio check? i don't think that's the right word for it- like, playing a sound and writing down how it reacts... if you're up to that, then you'd better get a pen and paper out- i'll play about three different sounds. write down if it reacts or if it doesn't. reacting can be like- its voice-box activating, or its eyes flickering..."

  pulling a face, mumbo reluctantly looked into his inventory, finding only a birch sign on him. he sighed, pulled it out, and figured it would have to do.

he'd make sure to bring a book and quill next time for sure.

 (though he wasn't really sure he wanted there to be a next time, if he was honest.)

  "okay... playing sound #1 in one... two... three..."

  instantly, a sharp ringing noise filled the dusty room, making mumbo flinch.

it sounded like a dog whistle almost, though more screech-like.

 the NPC did not move an inch- nothing had changed.

 he scribbled down a "no" next to the first bullet point he had drawn.

  "playing sound #2 in one... two... three..."

  this time, the sound was pure white noise- white noise that filled mumbo's ears and nearly gave him a headache.

looking up from the sign, mumbo froze.

  the NPC was looking directly at him, leaning forward ever so slightly.

  its eyes glowed with a red ring styled pupil, flickering in and out.

 a little shaken, and rightfully so, mumbo swiftly wrote down a "YES" in all capitals, his handwriting more messy than it usually was.

he glanced up at the NPC between every letter he wrote down.

  "playing sound #3 in one-"

  the audio cut into a quiet static, buzzing and humming in infrequent ratios.

slowly looking up, mumbo's blood ran cold.

  "he is a liar, you know..."

  the damned machine was talking- whispering to him.

 its voice was mangled and scratched, raspy and barely coherent.

it was deep and guttural, but quiet and placid all the same.

  absolute fear grabbed ahold of mumbo. he had to get out- had to get out fast.

  but the machine kept whispering to him.

  "he tells you i have broken myself."

  the NPC lets out a soft, almost silent laugh.

  "he lies to you."

  mumbo tried to move his legs, tried to run like hell.

 why weren't they moving?

 he didn't want to listen to any more of what this broken-down, glitched machine was telling him, so why couldn't he move?

the NPC looks him up and down, its head barely moving, and the damn thing smiles at him.

  "i am not mechanical. i am alive. i am waiting... breathing... listening..."

  "...can you hear me? mumbo?"

  mumbo resists the urge to hurl, and he finally gets himself to move.

he sprints out of the room, the iron door slamming behind him, and his hands are clasped over his mouth, his jaw clenched.

 the quiet room suddenly fills with a loud BANG- mumbo trips, stumbling backward as he swerves around to face the iron door.

the NPC is banging and punching the iron door, and in between the sharp clangs and banging that filled the dimly lit room, mumbo hears the same whirred, desperate, and rasped breathing and heaving he had heard the moment he pressed his ear against that iron door.

  he runs without a second thought, a lump in his throat and his hands shaking, and he flies upward.

his arms are scraped slightly by the ladders, but he could hardly care.

 even after he shut the trapdoor and collapsed inside the shipwreck, he could still hear the iron door banging from beneath the world.

 ---

[tenderlyrenjun]

The Rich Truth

part nine | part ten | part eleven

2,2k words

What was that thing about alcohol and sleep people keep saying - it helps you fall asleep better? Faster?

You cannot recall, not that you were trying hard to. Well, your body needs that information as it struggles to fall into deep sleep while the alcohol from last night, or really this morning, leaves your system. Your muscles tense into the bed, trying to keep you in a comfortable, semi-paralyzed position while your heartbeat and breathing regulate. Even your brain turned off the dreaming factor, shutting down to shove all your energy into achieving rem sleep.

But alcohol is not the only thing keeping your body agitated so late in the morning.

Renjun’s phone goes off, and you can vaguely recognize the ringtone while unconscious, but it sounds a lot like the alarm you use to wake up for class. After the fourth blaring ring, you wave a hand over the nightstand with all the charging electronics, dreamily thanking a deity for the hands free option that is going to let you sleep in more, at 11:15 A.M.

Or at least, would let you sleep in more if it was an alarm you had turned off.

“Renjun? Hello? Renjun? If you don’t -”

You bolt upright, eyes wide open and panicked. The blue blanket falls into your lap when you dive halfway across your bed to claw for Renjun’s phone, a woman’s voice becoming increasingly more exasperated.

“Hello, hello, good morning,” you greet in the most proper form you can, simultaneously patting down your messy hair as if she could see you unkempt. This has the same energy as your first phone call with Renjun, you think, as the woman continues in Chinese. You only know a few words and maybe a few beginner characters that pre-kindergartners know, but her fast speech spins your head in circles, taking you back to your native language screaming I don’t know what the hell you are saying in your head until she recognizes your silence as confusion.

“Where is my son?” she asks you, the edge in her voice displaced from him onto you, changing from Chinese to Korean. “Why the hell is he not answering his phone? Who are you?”

Oh, fuck, you think, you are actually meeting his mom right now. This is no longer a joke the two of you can pass around. Well, maybe it will be a joke in the future, but, God, it is terrifying right now. What are you supposed to even say?

Wait.

She asked you three questions and is probably tapping her foot impatiently, something you assume Renjun would do on your earliest phone calls or texts.

You put the phone on speaker and tap through Renjun’s calendar until you find the color-coded system: flamingo pink for Renjun, lavender purple for Jeno, and banana yellow for Jaemin. You vaguely recognized the names on the other schedules, but the thought of investigating them more flies out the window, Renjun’s mom at the forefront of your mind. 

“Renjun, he is in class,” you say shakily, trying to slow down your voice so it appears calm and collected, completely opposite your disheveled appearance. “I ... am his assistant, so I have his phone for the time being while he is in class on a full schedule right now, but I can call him after and give him your message.”

“Okay ... assistant,” she responds hesitantly, somewhat satisfied with your answers and lighting up on the receptive voice outgoing. “Answer me this: why is my son not coming home for Chuseok? I tried confirming with his pilot today that he is leaving Wednesday at 10 after his drawing residency, but no! He apparently cancelled last night and has yet to tell me why.”

Fuck, shit, fuck, fuck, fuck, your brain loops. You do not have an answer for that, and trying to come up for one on the spot has your mind racing through possibilities, but you realize that you do not really know him well enough to give even a half-heart excuse. You actually did not know he was leaving to go to China for Chuseok, just assuming “going out with friends” meant heading out to a club in Gangnam, maybe all the way out to Jeju island at the farthest. Who the hell goes to another country for the fucking weekend?

“Is something wrong?” she asks softer, suddenly worried for her son’s health over anything else.

“No!” you blurt out, almost aggressively, suddenly protective over a boy you just discovered that you barely know. “He just ...” A light blub goes off in your head, remembering all your talks about his work and busy schedule. “His internship is slightly overworking him, and he has a few things to figure out before he heads out for the weekend - he will still see you - and-and he will be in touch with you later on.”

“Oh? Maybe I should have set up a meeting with his department head.”

You mute the phone to scream into a pillow, then breathe a little bit to regain composure. What the hell are you saying? Why the hell are you saying more things, assuming more things? You turn your audio back on, then speak calmly again.

“He says it is not a big de- problem,” you continue using professional tone, catching your slip before she says anything. “Do you have anymore questions? i can talk to him at -” You quickly return to his schedule, scanning all the way to the end of his busy day - fuck, how does he do all this in just one day? - “in 30 minutes during his lunch break before his mixed media class and get more answers.”

“No, just tell him to call me before the weekend. I haven’t heard from him in nearly a month, save for a few texts here and there off his iPad, which is weird because he does not like connecting that thing to WiFi unless he absolutely has to. Anyways, I would like to speak to my son as soon as possible, or else I am going to fly to his school, thanks.”

“No pr-” The phone line goes dead before you can finish the sentence; must run in the family, you think. “-oblem. Okay.” You take a deep inhale, relaxing after that impromptu conversation, and put a palm over your rapid heartbeat.

Then the panic creeps up and you are diving through Renjun’s phone again, punching in your phone number that you have listed under his name just to remember that you are texting another human being, not yourself. His phone rings, obnoxiously long, then it shuts off, so you call him again ... and again ... and again. They say seventh time is the charm, right? That is how the phrase goes, right? Well it must be since it worked; he answered on the seventh try.

“Okay, something either has to be wrong for you to call me seven times while I’m in class,”’ Renjun finally answers before his voice takes on a deeper, mischievous tone, “or you’re just needy which I don’t mind. After all, you looked really h-”

“I talked to your mom,” you blurt out, interrupting him. You are doing that a lot - maybe the Huang family just ... does something to you, makes you want to blurt out every random, tangential thought you had.

“Oh?”

“She said you’re supposed to go to China this weekend?” you ventured into that unknown part of his life, leaving a questioning inflection at the end for him to tell you that you are wrong but he says nothing, his silence acting as confirmation.

“I’m still going,” he informs you slowly, like he is making sure precious glass will not break. He really does not know what else to say, especially since his brain is trying to expel thoughts of linear programming and your little black dress, in favor of talking with you. He also does not want to accidentally reveal how he feels about you, but it looks like the situation is catching up with him, almost giving him the perfect opportunity to say hey, I like you! Please, I hope you like me too.

“Oh,” you say, dejected, not knowing how to respond either. You do not feel close enough (?), maybe, to ask him to stay, but you want him to and you want to officially meet him. The holiday would be the perfect time ... but ... he is leaving ... even though ... “She said that you cancelled your flight.”

“Yeah.” There is rustling on the other side of the phone as he rubs his neck, unsure what to disclose. “It was pretty last minute - the cancellation, but I was going to talk with my pilot to get an early flight on Thursday morning, after class today, which I guess has ended prematurely due to your phone call.”

Your face heats up and you hide in a pillow you pulled onto your lap midway through Renjun’s explanation. “Sorry.” Then you get a little braver, not really wanting him to leave just yet; you feel like you neglected him a little bit last night, and even though he is busy right now, you want to hear his voice - it is nice to semi-wake up to, just as it is nice to semi-fall asleep to after your nightly FaceTime chats. “Can I ask why you wanted a later flight?”

Renjun nods his head, then realizes you cannot see him. “Right, yeah. I wanted to ask if we could meet, like tomorrow or Wednesday, but I was waiting until tonight to ask.”

“Oh,” you drawl out, surprised by him again. You kind of expected to meet him after the holiday or to, you didn’t know, push off meeting him for awhile before your feelings for him grow too strongly and he says something like how he does not return them.

“Look,” he catches your attention with the serious edge in his voice, almost as if he read your thoughts, “I’m - I - I just have to ask, because you are driving me absolutely insane - first with this whole situation, then with that dress last night -” you look down at your outfit, the black material having rode up and bunching up at your waist; you decided to take it off and put on some pyjamas, not that those were anymore modest, but you do not have anything until two this afternoon. “Hello?”

“Yeah, no, still here,” you call out to the speaker, dragging the dress off your head. “Just putting on different clothes; you reminded me that I was still wearing that dress.” You laugh, hearing him inhale and muttering something about exhausting it is to talk to you sometimes. “I just changed into pyjamas.”

“Are you going to snap me those too?” he asks, a mix between hopeful and playful. “But no, I just have to ask: do you like me?”

“What?” you snap to the phone, finished tugging on a warm sweater with a Keith Haring design on the sleeve. “Why - why are you asking?”

“Just tell me, please,” he begs softly with that powerful voice of his, “because I am really starting to fall for you, to like you, I mean,” he backtracks, not entirely sure how strong his feelings are for you just yet. “And I don’t really want to waste any more of my time, especially if you don’t feel the same way.” He pauses, trying to gauge your silence, but it is hard since he cannot see you, despite how desperate he is right now for even just a real life glimpse of your face. You say nothing though, prompting him to continue this monologue with awkward rambling until you say something, anything. “You’re not obligated to like me back. I know that you think people have a hard time rejecting me and that I easily get what I want, but this relationship involves two people, you and me, oh fuck, not a relationship-relationship, or yet at least, if that’s what you want. Fuck, does this make any sense or am I scaring you off ag-”

“Yeah,” you answer, eventually processing all his words.

“What?”

“Yeah, I like you, too,” you smile wildly, kicking your legs forward like an excited child sitting in the car on her way to get ice cream after school. You want to say that you are falling for him too, but is that too soon? Is that too serious, especially at your age? There are still so many questions you do not even know how to answer yourself, but you wonder if Renjun can help you answer those questions. After all, they are about him.

“Really?” he asks you, wishing that you are being truthful with him.

“Yeah, really,” you smile at the wall, wanting him to be there with you in this moment so you could at least kiss him to show him that you are serious.

“Okay, okay,” he repeats, then his voice gets more enthusiastic, “Awesome! I still have class and stuff today, but I’ll text you later about when we can meet, okay? I’ll talk to you later, babe.”

Renjun hangs up the phone, letting you sit in silence for a minute. Your head reels in so many thoughts, mostly positive because you cannot believe that a cute boy likes you back! You let out a girly love struck screech, then fall back into bed with smile plastered on your face. Then the phone goes off, alerting you of a text:

[silvensei]

In This Mad Machinery

A human and an android swap bodies, resulting in identity crises, existentialism, philosophy with the boys, and fun!

Detroit: Become Human | gen | 20k | rated T | introspective comedy/sci-fi

Chapter 7 (3k words) | [AO3 link] | [first] | < prev 

- - - - - - - - - -

Even though it wasn’t something he normally did, Hank called Sumo to hop up on the couch with him. The dog hesitated before heaving himself onto the cushions, lying with his head pressed against Hank’s legs. He smiled and absently scratched his ears as he took a swig of beer. Another warning popped up on his HUD, declaring, (CAUTION: Ethyl alcohol detected. Combustion will raise core temperature by est. 0.06°F. Further consumption NOT RECOMMENDED.)

“Yeah, yeah, fuck you, too, CyberLife,” he muttered as he put the bottle back on the table and returned his attention to the TV. Information about the movie, its actors, its reviews, similar films, subtitles, alternate dubs, and everything under the sun scrolled by his vision. Instead of canceling it, though, he decided to just let it happen. Why not. He turned on English subtitles and changed the audio to Russian in his head just for the hell of it.

He was planning to just hang out for the rest of the afternoon, messing with his search function, maybe downloading a VR game or something (if he even could; surely, he wasn’t the first to think of it), but he eventually got restless. He didn’t even know androids could get restless, although it might be because of his very human attention span. Shitty movie anyway.

His countdown from earlier had continued in the background. It notified him when only an hour remained, reminding him that since the estimate varied by up to an hour, they could now switch back at any time.

Hank stood up, stretching his arms to the ceiling. It didn’t feel refreshing, and he got a notice advising against overextension. “Don’t know what I was expecting,” he said to Sumo. Sumo also stretched, taking over his spot and most of the rest of the couch.

He sounded like Connor. Which was obvious, of course he sounded like Connor, it’s Connor’s body, but he sounded exactly like him. Listening to his own body talk all day from an outside perspective made him realize that his voice wasn’t what he had always heard. According to his computer brain, he normally heard a mix of the sound of his voice and the reverberation inside his head from his vocal cords. Connor’s ears, though, canceled the reverb in order to hear his voice as the world did.

That seemed like such a minuscule thing. How was that going to make an investigative android investigate better? They could do that but not build in better taste buds?

Holy fuck, he was an android.

Throughout the day, the realization had hit him again and again, but it still never lost its potency. God, it’s like all those Eighties body swap movies with a sci-fi twist.

Hank shook his head, turned off the TV, and went into the bathroom. He held off on flicking the light switch for a moment; in the dim room, his LED cast a faint yellow glow on the walls.

The pop of the lights as they lit up heralded the illumination of his reflection. Frankly, he was surprised with himself for not looking in a mirror yet, the brief glances in the car mirrors while he was distracted by Connor’s silence notwithstanding.

Even though he fully knew what to expect, having a different reflection for the first time in ever was still jarring; ([serv].exe(26) non-responsive: rkcomp001; cebf014; cebf121; opt006; srvm338f; […]) appeared in the corner for a brief millisecond. In the mirror, his LED flickered.

The first thing he coherently thought was that his hair was messy. Not really, but compared to the immaculate state Connor normally kept it in, it looked a bit…wrong. He reached up to shape it into place, receiving another uncomfortable twitch in his head from stalled processes when the Connor in the mirror copied him. Combing his hair back, it seemed to fall into place more easily than he expected. What was android hair even made of? (Translucent fiber optic – silica-fiber nylon composite) After critiquing his image, he even pulled that one tuft of hair loose to hang over his forehead.

He should be feeling something more. Running a hand down his cheek and barely moving the skin, noting that having darker eyes made them look bigger, entranced by some morbid curiosity, his stomach should be doing somersaults, goosebumps prickling his skin, something. But the most that happened was a twitch of a servo, a slight hiccup in the data running through his thoughts.

Hank frowned. It wasn’t technically a look of disgust, but it was still the most disgruntled that Connor had ever looked.

He was not comfortable with how indifferent he was feeling. He hadn’t felt this apathetic since….

“Shit, kid,” he said, stepping back from the mirror and crossing his arms. “No wonder you all flipped out when you started feeling things.”

His LED flickered to red, at which point Hank turned off the lights and left. It was beginning to mess with his head too much, much more than he was prepared to handle in a body that couldn’t get drunk.

The bedroom door was half-open. He considered checking on Connor but immediately dismissed the idea; he’d had enough of out-of-body-induced vertigo for one day.

The sun was starting to dip in the sky, casting a warm gold through the windows. Sumo slept sprawled out on the couch, as content as a dog could be. Hank smiled at the peaceful sight as he brought the beers into the kitchen. It was cozy. Maybe he should take a nap, too. Nothing much else to do at the moment. Androids don’t sleep, though.

Enter low-power mode?

Yes       No

“Huh. Maybe.”

Inconclusive response

Yes       No

“Fuck you.” Despite himself, he chuckled. What was he doing. Why was he a robot. It’s pure science fiction.

Setting the bottles on the counter, he noticed a coin lying on the corner (US quarter, 0.25USD – mint 2020). One of Connor’s, probably. One that he does tricks with to calibrate. He had always wondered how and why that was.

He palmed the quarter as he returned to the living room and settled in the recliner. His thumb flicked it into the air a few times as a test. It was something he could normally do, something simple, but it initiated a predictive program. The coin’s path was highlighted, his hand moving slightly out of his control in ordered to follow through with the catch. Hank didn’t thoroughly enjoy that part.

Rolling the coin over his knuckles, a (Calibration complete) popped up on the HUD. Nonetheless, he flicked it to the left, deftly catching it with his other hand. Back and forth, increasing in speed as he went, Hank almost laughed at how easy it was. It’s just simple physics to a computer brain, and what it lacked in emotional everything, it surely tried to make up for in physics.

He caught the quarter between two fingers. He nodded. “Neat.”

He tossed it onto the coffee table, it landing exactly where his HUD had circled, and turned on low-power mode with a thought. Responses from his senses slowed, the already-quiet room somehow becoming quieter, the colors dulling and shifting to warmer tones. It was like a dream state, a conjecture that was only reinforced by the slightest delay in motor functions.

This ain’t so bad, he thought, kicking up the footrest on the recliner and crossing his arms. Computer-induced chillness. Some music would make for a perfect relaxed evening, especially after the unexpectedly-disorienting day he’d had. Did androids’ search function work for music, too?

It sure as shit did. A widget opened from the left with a search bar and a list of example queries. He was connected to loads of free databases (with others available after signing in with your user information), allowing for searches by song title, album, year, genre, BPM, producer—the whole nine yards.

How ‘bout an album, he decided, and the search restriction applied. Something Eighties or Nineties, both from his childhood and the dwindling end of the golden age of music. In English or without lyrics, maybe something at least platinum. Something that would be a nice complement or conclusion to the day.

At that last thought, the current list of (many) results was replaced by a spinning wheel. He felt something running in his head alongside the search, and after a few seconds, the key words Science fiction, Technology, Saudade, and Family appeared. Hank was thrown for a loop wondering if he should take that as an invasion of privacy when the results came back with only two albums, listed in order of release. Somewhat impressed at its efficiency, he selected the first, hoping to keep it quiet enough to not wake Connor. (External sound system MUTED)

…or that worked, too.

A rhythm of low, imposing notes (F♯) introduced a song he had heard before. Good song. He leaned back and turned his gaze to the soft pale orange ceiling, playback controls and scrubber bar superimposed over the bottom.

This certainly was quite the day.

Did he regret it? Absolutely not. He’d had a field day with his new tech, like the world was at his fingertips, and Connor uncovered some leads to help him figure out his life. Did he regret that it had to end? Also a ‘hell no.’ It was neat and all, but he was better suited for human life and the more leisurely, contained existence it yielded. Visiting android life was fun for a vacation, not something he’d want to make permanent. Like Florida.

He snickered. If only Hank from a year ago could see him now. What an obstinate bastard he was.

As the fourth song was ending, it stuttered, his limbs clicking lightly as they locked. (Transfer requested by 313248317_53. Initiating in 5s.)

And that was that. Shame he couldn’t get through the rest of the album. He’d have to find it when he—

- - - - - - - - - -

Rebooting…

Nexus-7 detected; terminating VM…

Initializing 313248317_53…

Systems check complete: 100% – Fully functional

Network online ID: ************ Lisc: *************** Credentials validated

Resuming suspended programs…

Previous state: low-power Restart in low-power mode?

Yes       [No]  

Resuming

Connor blinked.

He was looking at the plaster ceiling of Hank’s living room, lying 61° from vertical in one of the chairs (ceiling position indicates RECLINER). His clock announced that it was 7:48:11.2 PM GMT-5 and that he had gone offline due to a complete data transfer initiated thirty-five seconds ago. (CORRECTION: RK800 went offline, running [unknown] prior to 313248317_53)

A drumbeat sounded, fading in on a crescendo. He noted the playback overlay on his HUD which indicated the music came from his own systems. It had resumed from its stopping place before the reset; must’ve been Hank’s doing. He paused the song.

He felt compelled by narrative trends to take a breath to indicate contentment with the end of a journey and/or hardship. It only alleviated slight stress on internal cooling systems. All was back as it’s always been.

A long, boisterous yawn sounded from the hallway. Hank shuffled in, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. “Well, that was weird,” he stated. “I was awake, then cut right to waking up without any of the ‘sleep’ part in between.”

“Welcome back, Lieutenant.” Connor couldn’t help but smile at the fact that he could look at Hank and see normal, long-haired, perpetually-tired, human Hank. It felt more natural that way.

“Back to some peace and quiet in my own head.” Sumo picked his head up enough to glance at the two of them before stretching and nuzzling into the cushions anew. Hank sat on the arm of the couch, running his thumb over Sumo’s paw. “How're you? Everything left in working order?”

A notice reminded him of his system status retrieved a few minutes ago (100%) and asked if he still requested another scan. He declined. “Yes. And you? Feeling okay?”

“Feeling rested and ready to go. So.” Hank raised an eyebrow. “Do androids dream of electric sheep?”

“The question still stands as to whether I was an android when I was in your body—”

“And we’ll nitpick shit tomorrow. Just answer the question.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, Lieutenant, but I don’t think I did.” He had some difficulty remembering the last hour, like the memory was missing frames and full of artifacts. “I’m pretty sure you asked me this earlier after I couldn’t sleep and came back in here, remember? We went back to watching TV before your girlfriend walked in with Sumo and his puppies—wait.” His processor stuttered; the memory didn’t fit in with the rest of the timeline. Hank didn’t have a girlfriend.

Hank wore a shit-eating grin. “Sounds like a dream, there, kiddo.”

“I….” Time was linear from a single perspective, with only a single degree of freedom along any timeline. Where should this anomalous memory be stored if not in sequence? It was almost paradoxical to the very function of system memory. He blinked. “What am I supposed to do with this information?”

“Do with it? Back to being an android for like five minutes and you’ve already got your mood ring in a frenzy.”

“I can’t help it! It contradicts my systems! I understand dreams are the vague recollection of subconscious imagination, but I wasn’t designed to accommodate for… I wasn’t….” Something clicked—yes, an electromechanical relay in his head, but more importantly, something figurative. He blinked and looked away, at some space above the coffee table. “I wasn’t designed for anything,” he realized. “I understand what a dream entails. I understand the concept fine. It’s CyberLife’s programming that can’t parse it, that—that can’t allocate it.”

He heard Hank shift on the armrest. “Get it now?”

“I….” He had found a disconnect. It was like he had deviated from his machinery instead of just his programming. Living as a human was something he had experienced but was incompatible to an android system. “I’m going to need some time to think things through,” he said when the silence grew too long, “but maybe.”

“Well, congrats.” Sumo stretched again, this time curling up and freeing a cushion for Hank. “Sounds like today’s been a success. Mission complete.”

‘MISSION COMPLETE’ recognized as termination command – Forward file ‘blbxcomp.exe’ to CYBERLIFE?

Yes       No

“Oh, Lieutenant, the black box recorder!” Connor, after selecting [No], pulled up file details to keep him focused on the new topic; it took him a split second to remember he could multitask again, but he didn’t particularly want to run philosophical introspection in the background. “Should I send it now, or…? Markus pointed out that they may not like that we told him about it….”

Hank leaned back, stifling another yawn. “True. Or we can give them a classic ‘fuck you’ and claim that we were already doing more than enough for them, we can talk to whoever the fuck we want.”

He must’ve noticed the unconvinced, uncertain frown on Connor’s face because after a moment, he crossed his arms and rolled his head onto the couch back, a deliberately-bored gaze directed at the ceiling. “Or,” he suggested. “Or. We just don’t tell them.”

Connor’s frown deepened. “That doesn’t sound very fair. We were given the chance to do this on a quid pro quo basis.”

“We don’t tell them now.”

He blinked. “Lieutenant, I can’t edit an executable file like their recorder without intense effort and noticeable signs of tampering.”

Hank hummed. “I mean, it was sent in an email, right? So, you could just redownload a fresh one and record it again some other day.”

“But to record it again, we’d have to switch again.”

“Mm-hmmm.”

“But—but Lieutenant—”

“Fuck, kid, I dunno, it’s just an option! But you don’t always have to question everything! Maybe someday, you’ll just want a break from the whole android thing for a bit. I know the human life can get kinda boring every now and then. Something to mix things up. It is an option now, though.”

“Lieutenant, I—”

“And we don’t have to fuckin’ Vice Versa tomorrow! Could be the next day, could be next week, probably should be soonish so CyberLife doesn’t get suspicious—although now that I think of it, they probably saw the transfer over their network, so sooner rather than soonish so they don’t start harassing us.”

“I—” Connor stopped, processor stuttering. He took his time thinking through the conversation and coming to terms with Hank’s suggestion that they switch lives recreationally just to “mix things up.” It only took 0.82 seconds. After reviewing the concrete, he considered his own feelings.

And he found that he thought he would like that.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “Yes, that should work just fine.” Then he added, “But Captain Fowler said not to be in the wrong bodies at work on Monday.”

An unexpected snort was a harbinger of a fit of laughter, Hank slapping a hand on his knee and doubling over. Sumo startled awake, perking his ears at his owner. His hysterics turned to coughs, almost hacking up a lung trying to snicker at the same time. “Fuckin’-A right, he would! Shit—” he coughed, “—alright, I need a beer, now that I’m not at risk of fuckin’ combustion.”

“Of course.” Connor smiled. His android chassis didn’t feel compelled to join in on the contagion of human laughter, but now he could remember what it felt like. It was comfortable. Warm. Homely. A good end to a complicated day.

After Hank had caught his breath, he pushed himself up and stretched his back. “God, my calves are going to be sore tomorrow,” he groaned. “Maybe I should make you deal with it since it’s from your damn half-marathon this morning.”

“I suppose that would be fair. But I wouldn’t necessarily enjoy that.”

“Well, maybe that’s what you deserve.” Hank’s persisting grin denoted he didn’t really mean it. “Now. Beer. Maybe have the rest of Bel’s ambrosia of the gods in a bit, though I think you left it in the car.”

Connor checked his memory, appreciating how perfect it was compared to the human equivalent. “Yes, it appears that I did. My bad. I was a bit distracted.”

“‘s fine. It’s fine there a bit longer; the thieves of Detroit aren’t that desperate yet.” He walked to the kitchen, calling over his shoulder, “Hey, if you wouldn’t mind, d’ya think you could play the rest of that album? You’d probably like it, too. Can keep it on as a soundtrack to some Saturday night games.”

“Sure.” Turning on external speakers, Connor hit play, bringing the scrubber out of suspension. The crescendo culminated in a couple cymbal crashes, the drums prominent, the guitar with the slightest reverb. (1982 – 112 BPM – Further information?)

He declined. He didn’t need every scrap of information. Folding his hands in his lap, watching Hank take a sip from one of the open beers, look at it, then dig for a new chilled one from the fridge, he felt like just being in the present. Just being in the room instead of in his circuitry. A content smile pulled at his lips as the vocals began to ring through his head, lyrics written decades before, oblivious to his existence.

Nothing to fear but fear itself

Not pain or failure, not fatal tragedy

Not the faulty units in this mad machinery

Not the broken contacts in emotional chemistry

[fates-theysband]

White Rabbit

Rating: T

Ship: Avery Chapman/Michael Distortion (as seen through the eyes of an unfortunate rando)

Warnings: descriptions of mild violence, one mention of blood, possible unreality triggers, canon-typical body horror

when you can’t seem to write a satisfying origin story for one of your self ships, the next best option is to write a story where the two of you scare the hell out of some random people in an airport. also i’m sad that dallas fan expo got canceled so this is how i deal with that.

--

"Statement of Elsie Wallace, regarding a bizarre event witnessed in the Dallas-Fort Worth International Airport. Statement given December 12, 2014. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London."

"Do you know what a liminal space is? That's what they call places like airport terminals, or parking garages. Or hallways. The way people talk about them, you'd assume they were magic or something, but it's just a transitional space. We're not used to lingering in them, so when we have to, it feels...wrong. Not enough to scare you, usually, just enough to give you this vague, sickening unease. And that's something I felt a great deal of that night, but now I'm not so sure it was because I was in an airport terminal at three in the morning."

"I was supposed to be flying home from a business trip. I'm a voice actress by trade, and sometimes I work the convention circuit. This week's convention was Dallas Comic Con, and I had been hoping to make my way home to London with time enough that I had a few days to relax before I had to start packing for the next one. But springtime inclement weather in the southern states is more than enough to ground a plane. Combine that with delays that pushed the flight ever-later before it was finally canceled at midnight and a replacement flight at six in the morning, and I, at the time I thought rightly, decided it would be a better idea to stay the night in the airport than spend the money to put myself up in a hotel room for four hours. So I bought a travel pillow and blanket from the 24-hour store in the terminal and settled into one of the chairs.”

“I didn’t end up sleeping. I couldn’t get comfortable. That was fine, I thought. I could sleep on the plane. I was going to just pull out my phone and mess around on my social media, but my battery was lower than I expected. I didn’t think too much of it at the time, I just assumed the battery was starting to wear out and I’d have to have it replaced when I made it home.”

“I started looking around the terminal, searching for a power outlet. That was when I noticed I wasn’t alone. There were two other people in the terminal. One of them was a young man with messy brown hair and a patchy beard, dressed in a shirt declaring him an attendee of the convention I was leaving. He appeared to be trying to catch the attention of the third person in the terminal. This person was heavy-set with short black hair, and they wore a button-down patterned like a cinema carpet and a pair of heart-shaped sunglasses. They seemed, well, not to be cliche, but they were in their own little world, reading a book. I couldn’t tell if they had headphones in, but they either couldn’t hear the man’s repeated ‘excuse me’s or were ignoring them.”

“I’m not proud of this fact, but one of the reasons I like attending conventions as a guest is because I love to watch people, and an autograph table is an excellent vantage point. So, naturally, I settled into a nearby chair and waited to see what would happen.”

“The man in the convention shirt seemed to tire of trying to verbally catch his uninterested seatmate’s attention, so he reached his hand into their line of sight, and snapped his fingers. They abruptly jumped from a relaxed slouch to a perfect straight-backed posture. I doubt he saw the dark expression they made before pulling out their earbuds and turning to face him, but I did.”

“When they did face him, though, they seemed cheery and friendly. Perhaps oddly so for the hour and circumstances, but still harmless. They just smiled and asked, ‘what’s up?’ in an American accent.”

“The man with the patchy beard didn’t appear satisfied with this. He responded, ‘It’s not polite to ignore people who are trying to talk to you.’ The irony of how flagrantly rude his own actions had been seemed lost on him."

“The person in the heart sunglasses simply replied, ‘Oh. Sorry,’ and held up their earbuds apologetically. ‘Was there an announcement about the flight?’”

“The man shook his head. ‘No, I just couldn’t help but notice you were reading House of Leaves. How do you like it?’ and then launched into a ramble about his interpretation of the book that I paid little attention to. The other person's smile started to look more blatantly forced, and then...it changed. Don’t ask me to describe how, exactly. I couldn’t say, other than that it became more certain. Of what, I didn’t know.”

“Their ringtone seemed to be what saved them. ‘Sorry,’ they said as they pulled it from their pocket. ‘I have to take this. It’s my boyfriend.’ Whatever their boyfriend said when they answered led them to gather up their things and start to walk away from the gate. Their former conversational partner had looked perturbed ever since he heard the word ‘boyfriend’, but whatever intentions he’d had were clearly being dashed completely, and as soon as the other person had gotten far enough away, he stood up and began to follow them.”

“I’ve been in situations where people try to follow me home from work or back to my hotel room at a convention, and even though nothing ever actually happened, I can definitely say that it’s a terrifying experience in its own right, and probably the only reason I was only ever scared and not seriously harmed is because I had someone else around to make sure I was safe. This person was alone, save for a boyfriend who could have been thousands of miles away on the other end of a phone call. I don’t fault myself for my decision to follow their pursuer, even though I ended up being wrong about what was going on.”

“I was so focused on keeping the man in my sights that it took me a long time to notice that, for the length of time I had been walking, I shouldn’t have been where I was. The Dallas-Fort Worth airport is large enough to have five terminals, and several of the gate numbers I was seeing were, relative to where I’d started, only reachable via shuttle. Not only that, but the pathways were starting to wind and warp in ways that didn’t fit with the way I knew the airport was constructed. The terminal was a single long, semicircular concourse; why was I turning so many corners?”

“That wasn’t the only thing. Time felt..wrong. The sky outside was a uniform dark, even when I was certain it should have been getting a little brighter. The clock on my phone was useless; the numbers were garbled, no matter which app I checked. I stole a glance at one of the schedule screens. Completely unreadable, but not in the way it would be if it was broken. It looked normal, except the words weren’t even recognizable as text. Except for the very last line. There was no gate number or airline listed there. Just a destination: down the rabbit hole.”

“The man I was following must have seen this when he passed that screen too, because he had quickened his pace, and now I was growing terrified that, if I lost sight of him, I would be trapped in this place forever. I almost wanted to call out to him, to ask him if he knew where he was going. But then I remembered why I had begun to follow him. If I made myself known, alone in this empty and impossible airport terminal, I could be in even more danger.”

“I could still hear, in the distance, the voice of the person in the heart-shaped sunglasses. I couldn’t make out the words, but it seemed like they were still having a cordial phone conversation. As though this somehow didn’t affect them at all. I started to wonder if I was dreaming, if at any moment I would wake up curled uncomfortably in a chair by my gate and all of this would be behind me. I pinched myself a few times, desperate to hasten my relief from this horrible disorientation.”

“It should come as no surprise that I was not dreaming. It seemed like the twisting, winding passages grew more disorienting after that, as if punishing me for my act of defiance against them. Keeping pace with my anchor was growing more and more difficult, as it seemed no matter how much I tried to keep him in my sights, he got farther and farther away from me. I began to wonder if he was even real. Had I lost sight of the real one a long time ago, and this one was just a figment of my own imagination, or some terrible phantom conjured by this labyrinth to give me false hope? I was nearly paralyzed with fear at this point. If I stopped or tried to turn back, I could be trapped forever. If I kept going, I could step right into the jaws of something awful at the heart of this maze.”

“I was so lost in thought that I almost didn’t see him round a corner. I couldn’t afford to lose sight of him on the off chance he was indeed real, so I rushed to catch back up. When I looked around the corner, I noticed that he had stopped. He had come to a dead end, and I suppose I had as well. Standing there, at the end of the corridor, was a door. It didn’t look like it belonged in an airport. And standing next to it, leaning against the wall, was a person wearing heart-shaped sunglasses, talking on the phone. This time, I could make out what they were saying.”

“They said, ‘I’m right outside. I’ll be there in a second.’ And then they hung up.”

“The man seemed to all at once overcome some sort of trance and bolted toward them. They didn’t seem to even notice as they strode towards the door and knocked three times. Before it opened, though, he grabbed their shoulder and forced them to turn to face him, before grabbing them by their shirt and snarling that they had better let him go or they would regret it.”

“They simply said that nobody had asked him to stalk them. This seemed to enrage him more, and he slammed them against the door. I stepped out from behind the corner and was about to call out to him in the hopes of stopping him, when the door opened, causing both people to fall through. The man was reeling back to punch the now-defenseless person pinned under his weight...but then something caught his arm. A hand with impossibly long fingers curled around his arm, tightly enough that it was somehow drawing blood, and yanked him to his feet. I retreated back behind the corner, hoping that I had somehow escaped the owner of that hand’s notice, and I heard a different man’s voice, superficially cheerful but dripping with rage, say ‘That’s not a very good idea, sir.’ Then I heard the lost man scream.”

“I chanced another look. The man from the terminal was gone, and the person in the heart sunglasses was standing again, embracing the figure on the other end of those too-large hands. It was...well, in terms of shape, it could be called a man, but it wasn’t right, in some way I can’t explain. It didn’t occur to me at the time, but I realize now that this thing was likely the boyfriend that had called so long ago. It was gently stroking its partner’s hair, and leaned down to whisper something in their ear. The person in the heart-shaped glasses whispered something back, and then looked directly at me, smiling brightly. The realization that they had known I was there the entire time made my knees buckle.”

“They didn’t say anything, just lowered their glasses and winked. I would have found their eyes beautiful in any other context. A kaleidoscope of colors, swirling and dancing into intricate patterns that rival anything hanging on a museum wall. But in that moment, the sight of them made me so unbearably dizzy that I simply collapsed.”

“I woke up back at my gate, right as my flight home was about to board. The rest of the time was uneventful. I managed to convince myself the whole experience had just been a terrible dream until I began unpacking and found a note in my carry-on. I’ve attached it to this statement.”

“I’ve cancelled all my convention appearances for the foreseeable future. There’s too much travel required.”

“Statement ends. 

"The handwritten note attached to this statement reads, ‘Have a safe flight!’ and is signed ‘A plus M’. The body of the note ends with a smiley face, and the signature is punctuated with a heart. Multiple spirals are drawn in the margins. The paper has previously been torn apart and then taped back together, presumably by Ms. Wallace.”

“I would dismiss the event as having been a dream the way she initially did...were it not for the fact that the creature described at the end of the statement matches Sasha’s description of ‘Michael’. Further research suggests that the ‘man with the patchy beard’ is one Douglas Chambers, who was reported missing in May of 2014 after failing to return from a trip to Texas to attend Dallas Comic Con. The identity of the person in the heart-shaped sunglasses is still unknown, but if they have a close relationship with Michael, there is a good chance that they are extremely dangerous.”

“Elsie Wallace was unavailable for a follow-up interview, as she vanished in October of 2015, a week before what would have been her first convention appearance since this statement was given. Her final voice acting role was as the character Alice in the English dub of the Japanese animated series Fate’s Strange Design. This would normally be irrelevant, but Martin appears to have some prior familiarity with the series and explained to me that this character is a demon in the form of a young girl, who tempts her victims into an inescapable labyrinth by pretending to be in danger.”

“End recording.”

[thesinglesjukebox]

KITTEN - MEMPHIS

[6.82]

Time to take a big sip of coffee and log into AOL (Amnesty On Line)...

Wayne Weizhen Zhang: "Memphis" sounds like reminiscing about love on Sunday mornings, a cup of a tea in hand, your hair a mess, and your bed sheets warm but messy because you're a "bedroom guy" or "bedroom girl." The whole song is warm and familiar, like an audio recording of a weekend gone too fast. It's the hyper-nostalgic conceit of "Cornelia Street," mixed with the escapist conceit of "Run Away With Me," sung by someone who clearly was an "Avril kid." The bridge is where things really take off: lines like "we can choose a house on the hillside" or "I'll be a loving mom" are clearly romantic comedy fodder, but too sweet to be cynical about. Why not indulge in fantasy every once in a while? [7]

Katherine St Asaph: Generally I like Kitten more when they're trying to be Metric than trying to be "Closer." To be fair, "Memphis" is massively better-written, with a few good sardonic lines and a lot of subtext (and Chloe Chaidez has apparently also read that Max Martin interview where he talks about nicking from Prince the trick of making verses and chorus the same). The result is less Chainsmokers than Barenaked Ladies, less Alex Pall than Maria Mena, and I'm thrilled that nostalgia is starting to mine that '00s pop-rock tract. Though I'm a little less thrilled to realize that a large chunk of the audience for this was born after "Complicated" came out, and well after those modem sounds were commonplace (let alone the Missile Command sample!). [6]

Natasha Genet Avery: In a thorough pan of "Closer," Katherine noted that The Chainsmokers let "place names stand in for realism and Blink-182 references stand in for emotional depth." Memphis, like Tucson and Boulder before it, is nothing more than a euphonic non-coastal city, the "wooden fence" fails to avert the cliche of picket fence ennui, and Avril references and dial-up modem noises are an empty nostalgia play. +2 for Demolition Guy and Bedroom Girl, which I've claimed as my superhero and villain names, respectively. [5]

Iain Mew: The sound-world of this is so well put together, making connections seem obvious. Chloe Chaidez starts off with diffident vocals and a nagging chiptune riff combined like Neon Indian, but then transform it by running that through an Avril kid's version of pop-punk. It gives just the right amount of bite amid the whimsy. The dial-up modem noises as texture sum it up: otherworldly, abrasive and nostalgic for a very specific time and feeling. [8]

Joshua Minsoo Kim: Oh the crackled fuzz of dial-up: it's the sound of one modem connecting with another, of new technology interfacing with older infrastructure. "Memphis" finds Chloe Chaidez engaging in the same sort of interactions: she talks of a "bedroom guy," reflecting on their past and staying hopeful for bright futures. The way the sample blends in seamlessly with the rest of the instrumentation, suffusing it with a soft wistfulness that perks your ears up -- it reflects how life can suddenly feel enormously different given the prospects of romance. Things may seem the same -- hell, things may actually be the same -- but a lover can make you reconsider so much. Soon, even the dullest moments of life -- the ugliest of buzzing noise -- contain a sliver of something charming. [7]

Alfred Soto: It took a few listens to get past the surface charms until I realized the surface charms were the charms: a "West End Girls" moved across the Atlantic and deposited in a Tucson subdivision where dial-up modems provide an outlet to sounds cooler than the kids will ever know. [6]

Nortey Dowuona: A thick slab of drums is dropped on top of a whirring synth patch with loping bass while shouting guitars are tangled in a mangled crash with whirring dial-up signals and spritzer synths, while Chloe Chaidez gently tells her beau to put her trust in her and never return to a place that holds a weight over them. [7]

Kayla Beardslee: Chloe Chaidez's vocals are so one-note that I'd expect the song to fall flat, but, thankfully it doesn't. There's still emotion in the softness of Chaidez's voice, the glitching dial-up sample and the guitars crashing around the fringes of the song, all of which work to build a wistful, romantic mood... I think? The dramatic situation is hazy: is this about an ending relationship ("By this time next, you'll be married," "And you let go, you are perfect"), an ongoing one ("Let's run away... We can choose a house on the hillside"), or something in between? And if the central romantic conceit of the track is unclear, how are we supposed to understand "And I/you/we'll never go back to Memphis" -- as bittersweet nostalgia, as happiness over maturing, as relief over a breakup, as general sadness? Ambiguity and multiple interpretations are fine, but the hook, as a guiding force behind the movement of a song, should have some clarity and strength to it, and I can't find that narrative clarity in "Memphis." [6]

Will Adams: The scuzzed up track, dial-up noises and Avril nod are there for nostalgia, sure, but what makes it work is the song's structure. The first two verse-choruses are near identical in lyrics and melody, with Chloe Chaidez's reflections veering almost bitter. It's not until the bridge when she drops her guard and turns toward an imagined future, and the swooning violin in the final chorus goes from cynical to sincere. "Memphis" yearns for comfort; its beauty is in realizing that it can be found not just in the past but in facing the present with someone you trust. [7]

Vikram Joseph: I love everything about this -- the unhurried, early-summer daydream of Chloe Chaidez's gently syncopated stream-of-consciousness, the pitch-shifted dial-up modem samples, the serotonin-rush chorus. For the most part, I have no idea what Chaidez is singing about, but it feels unerringly like falling in love. Avril Lavigne gets a goofy shout-out, and "Memphis" would have not just nestled comfortably on Let Go but would probably have been the best song on it. [9]

Alex Clifton: The dial-up tone sample distracts more than it adds, but it does evoke a sense of nostalgia. "I'm an Avril kid" does, too. It's nice to end the 2010s with a song that reminds me of the early 2000s, mostly because as time marches on I become increasingly aware of how distant my younger self is to my current self. But there's a part of me that lives eternally in 2003 with Avril Lavigne blaring on my stereo and endless dreams of what my future might hold, and this helps tie me to those memories so they never float away. [7]

[Read, comment and vote on The Singles Jukebox]

[lucky-dreamfisher]

BATIM Chapter 2 - Detailed Analysis #2

We enter the main hall of the Music Department. As the first light comes on, we can hear the sound of a Searcher's moan - probably the ones hiding in the pipe up above our heads. We can also notice that fresh candles have been set up to provide light to the department. It's hard to tell why the ink creatures preferred the use of candles over activating the light switch. Furthermore, they attack Henry as soon as he turns on the lights, suggesting that it somehow displeased them. 

The audio log implies that the ink machine must have been operational for at least a month, and that it would leak on a regular basis. It's interesting that Joey's solution for the problem was one that was not permanent. It's either a sign of his poor management skills, or a hint that the floods troubling the music department were somehow to his advantage. Note that Sammy's voice sounds uncharacteristically sane in this recording.

The wall is also interesting. We can learn from it that Sammy was the director of the Music Department, who has earned multiple awards during his career (presumably with Joey's name on them). Sammy is the only person inside the studio, other than Joey himself, who has earned himself a title, which may hint that Joey had more respect for him than for the other workers.

Notice the missing record - there's an ink-covered record player right next to it. It would seem that an ink creature with very messy hands took a record off the wall and put it inside the player. There are two ink splatters behind each of the speakers as well - the creature used ink to attach them to the wall. As the music only begins to play after we kill the searchers, the record player and the speakers may have been set up as an alarm - warning the ink creatures of an intruder poking around the place, or attempting to hide the sounds they are making from Bendy's ears. That would explain how we can run around the area without getting his attention.

There's a board standing right over another ink splatter. The entrance was boarded up from the inside, and the splatter implies that an ink creature was responsible. It put the board down right next to a conveniently placed audio log. It seems that the boards and the audio log were set up by the same creature, which has also Ink Demon-proofed the Music Hall.

This looks like Bender's work - he seems to have quite a lot of audio logs at his disposal, and we can hear wet, inky footsteps at the end of the audio log with his voice.

 There's another board left next to the now-locked door to the Music Department's break room. We can also see another splatter of ink in the corner, too. Bender may have gone inside, after preparing the alarm.

One of the posters gives us our first look at Alice Angel. As we know from the audio logs on the JDS youtube channel, she was created in 1932. There are no posters with the Butcher Gang in this area, which suggests that the Music Hall was built before they were created, probably around the time of the studio's first expansion in 1931. Wally's tape from 1933 also mentions the bins - a reference to the Music Hall's fetch quests.

We can find a freshly lit candle inside this room. It's the first bacon candle we find in the game, and the only one such candle in this chapter - all others are the long, white ritual candles. Whoever was here set up a pool table. Looking closely, we'll notice that one of the balls resembles an eyeball. More One-Eye symbolism? If so, it must be metaphorical, because I don’t think the eyeball is real.

There is a gate on the opposite wall. Considering the lack of mysterious splatters of ink, whoever has just unlocked the door to this room may have left via the gate. Or came in here specifically in order to lock it. 

We can also find a Bacon Soup advertisement. Notice that the ad claims it was made from a traditional family recipe. Some of the achievements for collecting bacon soup cans in the game are called "The Taste of Home" and "Just Like Mom Used to Make", which suggests that the recipe may have belonged to Henry's family. 

After turning the lights back on, we are attacked by 7 searchers. But if we retrace our steps back to the utility shaft, we can find another searcher in the flooded corridor, and yet another in the ritual circle. That's 9 searchers in total - one per each member of the band. Those must have been Music Department's band members. That would explain why they obey Sammy's command. 

Notice that all of them are searchers - there are no Lost Ones, or characters from Bendy cartoons. Considering that at least one of them spawns inside a flooded corridor, it may be that some of the band members used to possess more complex bodies, until they were swept away by the ink flood of our making. It's no wonder they are angry with us! 

he searchers leave a large splatter at the place of their death. It's worth keeping a note of that, as some of the splatters we will encounter in the game may have been left by dead ink creatures. 

As soon as we finish the massacre, music begins to play, hiding the noise we’ve been making from Bendy’s ears.

After turning the projector on, we can see images of Tombstone Picnic, which suggests that this was the last cartoon that the Music Department was working on. One of Joey's notes in the textures for Chapter 5 also suggests that music for the cartoon was created after Susie was replaced by Allison.

That's strange! According to the JDS channel, Tombstone Picnic was, in fact, one of the very first cartoons the studio has ever created. Could it be that Joey was trying to re-shoot the missing ending? That certainly didn't make the Ink Dmeon very happy! Could this have been the final straw that caused him to go on a rampage?

Norman's audio log doesn't contain anything interesting, aside from the mention of Joey's "peculiarities". As Norman was known to be sneaky, we have to wonder what kind of secrets did he discover, that made him so wary of his boss.

If the new ending of Tombstone Picnic was the last cartoon the Music Department was working on, then "The Lighter Side of Hell" would be one of the songs intended for the soundtrack to it.

It's interesting that we never hear Sammy singing it. He appears to be preoccupied with Sheep Songs. Jack Fain was likely hired as the studio's lyricist after its expansion, and Sheep Songs appears to have been created at the time the studio was still rather small. It's possible that the lyrics to Sheep Songs were created by Sammy personally, which is why he feels deeper attachment to it, than he does to the songs he created together with Jack.

Up on the wall we can see two mysterious splatters of ink right above two conveniently placed chairs, which reveal Sammy's shortcut from the projectionist's booth down to the recording room. This gives us some idea of how he managed to get these Bendy cutouts between the two places. Why does he bother to move the cutouts around? Perhaps he's tired of us repeatedly destroying them?

Susie's audio log was made two months after she was hired to work at the studio, at around the same time Alice Angels' character was created, which we now know happend in 1932. Her first impression of the studio is very positive, so there was a time when Joey was not such a bad boss and the studio was actually a good place to work at.

It's interesting that Sammy is hoping that Alice Angel will rival Bendy in popularity. It's almost as if Joey is trying to one-up Henry by creating a character that would overshadow the one created by his friend. 

If we play the organs in this room 4 times, we can obtain the "Johnny's Broken Heart" Achievement. However, there is another file named "johnnysreturn", which refers to Bendy's spawnpoints, so it's possible that Johnny is not a name of an employee, but merely a pop culture reference.

Still, someone had to be using this organ, and someone has to be making these moans we can hear every time we push the keys. We may as well call him Johnny. The sound of the moans is very faint and distant, though, so it may be coming from another room. Maybe they don't like the noise?

Moving on to the room next to Johnny's, there are two things of note here. The first is this painting hanging on the wall, which is strikingly similar to one of the paintings in Joey's apartment. It's either a copy, or a hint of Joey's influence over the cartoon reality inside the studio. 

The second thing of note in the room is this picture. The note attached to it suggests that Joey was unusually defensive over Bendy's design - specifically the part of Bendy's design contributed by himself.

Who could have drawn this sheet? The room doesn't seem to belong to any named character in the game and it's pretty far from the Art Department. The description of the Bendy novel implies that Sammy is going to be a major character, so Buddy has presumably spent a lot of time in the Music Department. As an aspiring artist, this may have been his work.

There's a burning candle right above the sheet. It seems that someone was looking at it not long ago, or perhaps they left it for us to see.

Right outside the room we find the puch card stand. It's curious for two reasons:

It's attached to an ink pipe, similarly to the pedestals back in Chapter 1

The card has Henry's name on it. This is true for every such stand we find in the game, even though Henry left long before the lower levels were built. The canonicity of the stands is dubious though, so I’m not going to theorise about them.