#if queque really like to know

[hatsbuckets]

Coffee head canons of the 141 and friends. (I'm not a coffee drinker by any means so please forgive me in advance. I really on drink it socially or if someone wants me to try theirs. I've gotten to TRY a lot of varieties but only on minimum occasions because of friends.)

Price: Yes, black, strong and probably sometimes instant coffee. Ikik.

I think he has a secret soft spot for Lavender Honey lattes. He had one once in a tiny café during leave, sat outside while it rained, and it just did something to him. He won't ever order it in public but will drink it if you bring it to him with a “didn’t know what you liked.” I think he has a French press that he acts like he doesn't care about but keeps clean.

Ghost: Straight espresso shots.

but also dirty chai. Spices and espresso, warm and sensory. I think he relies on energy shots or drinks when he's busy busy though (he's not proud).

Soap: Double shot latte with one sugar and oat milk because it tastes nice

He is also not immune to seasonal drinks and will get a pumpkin flavored cold foam. Social coffee drinker!

Gaz: A flat white. Something nice.

I think he'd like Vietnamese iced coffee too (sua da?) (i got to try some once and mmmmm) That sweetened condensed milk got him hooked. He knows the difference between beans and he cares.

Nik: Something strong and stovetop brewed, with or without sugar. A traditionalist or whtv.

He also likes sweetened condensed milk in his coffee! He has tried so many different coffee preparation methods and traditions and he does have opinions but will never turn a drink down. Will also make people something without being asked.

Alejandro: Classic café con leche---coffee with milk. Drinks it with meals

He also likes frappes, the sweeter the better. I think he has a sweet tooth. (He won't admit it, coward)

Rudy: Café de olla that he learned how to prepare at a young age. :3 He likes it with cinnamon, sometimes an orange peel, and if he's got it on him he'll add piloncillo. (He always makes extra for Ale and brings it in a thermos) (I've had this before and it was hnngngjhghgh mmmm)

Also has the tiniest sweet tooth for a good horchata cold brew, he didn't think he was going to like it,, but he does.

Farah: If she drinks coffee... Turkish coffee strong and unfiltered and in tiny cups. Bc if she's going to do it then it won't be half assed. Alex tries it (bc of course he does) and sees God.

I think she'd also like lattes with cardamom in them. Cozy and homey. But ultimately she's a tea over coffee girly any day.

Alex: Black coffee, got used to it being deployed. He's a traditionalist like that too. I believe this man cannot go without caffeine, so he literally drinks it like water. (my poor baby someone hug him)

I think he'd like cold brews with sweet cream. and he likes to crunch on the ice, so he gets extra.

[saigatatarica]

Tag ppl you wanna get to know better 🤗

Tagged by @katpaulww1 🎊🐌🍀

Last song listened to: maria - greg mendez

Favorite color: yellow

Currently watching: I have only been watching tennis and UFC lately, also some random stuff on YouTube or reels on Instagram, but haven't had the time to watch a series. Maybe during the summer, I hope.

Last movie you watched: a city of sadness 🇹🇼

Currently reading: the Collège de France Lecture Series of Michel Foucault ☝️🤓 and Borges also

Sweet/spicy/savory: sweet!!!! 🍭

Relationship status: kinda giving up at this point too

Current obsession: comics too!! and cartoons, i got randomly obssesed with the Pink Panter, Hannah-Barbera, Tom & Jerry and also with some cartoons of my childhood like Courage the Cowardly Dog and The Angry Beavers. Ana Frango Eletrico it's for sure my musical obsession of the year and I'm going through a good period of writing again, which makes me really, really happy.

Last thing googled: Queque microondas, el tiempo en Santiago, Charles Oliveira, Aporia y Remedios naturales para la náusea y el dolor estomacal 🤕

Currently working on: be happy and lazy and sad and proactive.

I usually don't participate in these kinds of chains, mostly because I'm lazy, but my desire to respond to my mutual has outweighed my usual laziness. I will tag some people whom I appreciate here; please don't feel pressured to respond. I am likely to forget to mention some mutuals whom I highly value. I attribute this to my fish-like memory, but rest assured, if we are mutuals, we both know. 🧙‍♂️

Tagging @sanasu @crewneck @featheredriver @peplos @iaooa @mudlark101 @skatalite @redbeanbug @waveringheart @geltoothpaste @atholbrose @woolwormontario @museumofcognitiveart @priest-iuput @99vc @angel-official @heartshapedmolcajete @vieilllevague @corvus-pictor @tallyuh

Also i want to say that all of those blogs are really really really great and 🫵u🫵 should follow them quick 🧺🪆🧸

[williamkisser]

You open the door, and are greeted to the sight on a little boy.

You head pulses with intense pain and you feel a wave of vertigo crash onto you. Your thoughts morph, from a simple question of "Who" to 'Naib.'

You have memories of this person but you haven't met them before, or so you thought? In his hands is an item. The little boy hands the item to you and you inspect it. It's a missing book from the notorious author, Detective Bon QueQue Du Bois. Specifically, William Ellis autobiography, how did this this little boy get ahold of this?

*New Item acquired*

The boy speaks, interrupting your thoughts as if he had heard them.

"Don't be afraid, we must leave quickly, the world is corrupting, he' will be arriving soon. We must leave at once." Naib's words seemingly put all your fears at ease. The boy has decided to entertain the idea of the pronoun game. In spite of his insistence on urgency.

"I've traveled far to warn you, I left as soon as I could." You just now notice the happy meal behind him. Had he stopped at Mc Donald before coming to your house? So many questions linger.

A door seemingly erect itself from the floorboard in front of your door. Naib Urges you to enter it. Without warning, a hand emerges reaching Naib! You attempt to warn him but you're too late, the hand grabs ahold of Naib.

"My Happy Meal!" he screams as he's pulled into the orange material on the other side of the door.

Another hand returns quickly to pick up the Happy Meal which had been moved slightly to the left. (Your right) in the scuffle.

The raven and Puppy which had stood by his side remain.

*New Familiars acquired*

A Puppy dressed in early Spanish Cowboy attire.

It's a Raven.

The door remains open,, you're still unsure if you're willing to enter the door but something urges you into it despite what your better instincts.

*You enter the door*

On the other side of the door you're greeted with a display of massive furniture, and floating objects on a suspended platform -Not a platform... a Convergence.

A voice echoes out to fill your thoughts, seemingly able to hear them.

"It's impolite to barge into someone's living quarters so abruptly." The voice continues, looking about you see someone, or something, sat atop a small cushioned chair, which itself sat atop another cushioned chair.

"Thing?" The voice repeated in a contumelious response to your thought. "You yourself are a thing to me," you don't respond as these aren't of your own accord, they are a voice in your head which had appeared this night. "Fine." The voice scoffed, hopping down from it's chair.

"Those creatures have done irreversible damage while passing through my realm. They were holding a lad, he looked like a Naib, as well as what looked like Happy meal from Mc Donald."

Those creatures must have done a number here, no wonder it's so ravaged. --Excuse me?!-- This person seems to know Naib? You ask them were they've taken him.

"Ceibermaunt, that way' just past the thousand foot drop, and horizon line into another realm." You ask the being for their name.

"Let's keep our interactions formal, Vox." Turning to hand light a third candle. The sky lit, "Continuing as we were, I may take you to the closest destination to were Naib was taken." Naib pointed to a curved iron staircase leading to another Convergence.

Reaching the top of the rickety staircase, was a bed which lay atop a pile of various other furniture and items. To the right, a wooden table woven from tree roots used as a makeshift bridge to a.. fireplace?

"Here is the door to your Naib, Go ahead, go on' git." You really don't have a choice.

[Have Sylvia interact with Vox] ?

Vox waits patiently for your response*

Crawl into the fireplace?

[Yes] or [No] ?

NAIB NOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!😭😭😭

[Yes] i’ll save him😔😔

[sweet-old-hereafter]

I wish I could say that I’m still recovering or that I got swamped at work or even that I haven’t been feeling up to it, but the truth is

I got a BADASS new laptop (rog zephyrus) and I’ve been playing with it.

Im ready to get back to work Nomae Nation!

Here’s some updates and the shit I got in my creative queque:

Chapter Five of TPG: I’ve written two chapters in Noa’s perspective so I’m really taking my time editing this chapter to make sure I follow the rules I’ve established for ape English.

I am going to commit to bi-weekly updates for TPG. My goal is still weekly, but I only want to formally commit to something I KNOW I can stick to.

The first installation of We Name Them All Nova: AFAIK this is the first Novelius (I tried Cornova but it just makes me think of corn on the cob) fic ever so I want it to be brilliant. The jury is split on if we want it to be tragic or lighthearted. The first can go either way. This will be a short series with a definitive conclusion, but each arc will mostly be able to stand on its own.

This one will be third person semi-omniscient!

Social Media AU: Like most of Nomae Nation, I was entranced by the trailer of ‘Better Man’ that features a man-chimp and even has a short clip of said man-chimp dancing with a lady. It has inspired a new world in my head: one where humans and (non-human) apes do live side by side and even star in films together…

I don’t know when I’ll get around to this tbh just putting it on my radar

More Composites: I have a few more that need cleaning up. And yes, the bridge pic I posted was a completely different pose than the one I had been teasing. It was just a case of I have been looking at this so long that it no longer looks like a Real Thing.

now have a system capable of rendering 3D. I may experiment with that…

Preparation for Nomae week in Noavember! DO NOT FORGET

As always, I love you all and hope you have a WONDERFUL DAY!

[tomyo]

Hbomberguy has unfortunately taught me that if I find myself really not gelling with someone it's probably because they're a shitty person.

Like I'm no Cassandra but all this time I remember I would just watch his videos and think "hmmm yeah, I can place my finger on it but I don't like the way he talks about these things." And then I ignored it because I thought I was just going out of my comfort zone.

I can't remember everything I beefed on him with but I definitely hated when he started to take on anime or Asian media. Overall I just think a lot of times westerners tend to assume their values and ways issues are dealt with are universal and he was just another lukewarm dive into the medium. Like its personal to me but I still stand by that Yuri on Ice isn't gay in the sense it isn't made for gay people, it's voyeuristic and pairing stories of incestuous feelings within it's short run time was a horrible choice they could have skipped. It comes to mind because I think he brought it up in one of his recent videos (I've been bedridden all week so my watch later queque has been playing on in the bg between lucidity) and it ticked me off. I hate the way he was dismissive of Heart Stopper for being twee and the whole rant about how it's not just him but other gay men too who think this! Honestly! For real guys! And for minutes I was just there like Alice Oseman is aroace! When he finally gets there it became infuriating how he diminished it's importance. Authors are allowed to let their experience effect their writing! She's not responsible to cater to you. The beauty of Heartstopper is it's release has lived through a rapid change in lgbtq acceptance and is the perfect opportunity to show that romantic and sexual inclination also exist on a sliding scale because that's something we are now widely teaching!! To write modern teen characters, you have to empathize with modern teens. They're not you!! Which is mostly good given the history of our community. It's good to get to see queer teen boys take it maybe infuriatingly slow because they don't have to be pressured for more.

James to me was always just a bit pessimistic and not really good at empathizing which given how much he stole makes sense why what he said and how he acted just felt off. It makes sense when everyone else in "breadtube" started promoting each other's works how it never seemed to happen with him. I don't remember him saying he was the only person really doing this but that's fucking bizarre to hear when the list of people who does what he pretended to was endless. Before I even watched the whole video I already brought up Matt Baume who like Hbomberguy said feels the exact opposite to James. Matt talks forward about progress, genuinely made me realize how we were always here, and the path lead forward to us getting there. Maybe it's not great to admit but there's YouTubers I watch that I know I have to psych myself up to watch, sometimes I don't like their running joke, sometimes they talk too fast multitasking, sometimes they have a habit that gets to me and I just need mental prep. James was like, "sigh here we go" that you'd feel before you were about to talk with that one friend who makes every convo abrasive and combative, I'm coming out a little annoyed and tired by the end of it. With Matt I remember it being a case of getting ready to sit down to hear a part of obscure history knowledge from that one friend who reads a book every two days. Possibly the biggest difference between the two is how much you believe Matt is committed to the material he's making because 1. It also focuses on sitcoms and old Hollywood queerness hence an well carved niche 2. It isn't as easy to churn out material. I've heard a million videos on owl house's queerness or Sherlock queer baiting but fuck all did I ever know how Tab Hunter was. There were so many "weird little funny guy" actors that I could make assumptions were gay but Matt actually gave me their stories and has made my heart cry for how hard they had it even thought I always could have figured that. And maybe that's what sucked, James as a queer man just never seemed to emotionally resonate.

Fuck, man I'm just rambling with all of this but the sheer validation of feeling off all these years paying of is wonderful. I don't really want to celebrate his downfall to much, not worth the energy, and I don't want to put another YouTuber on a pedestal because we have a bad habit of doing that only to have things turn out wrong. The thing is I watched illuminauti and Internet historian too but in the same way where I knew I was getting junk food. I wasn't looking for anything fancy and their sections did not surprise me and if anything maybe just make me feel embarrassed how comfortable I am eating badly made media. But god maybe worse is how happy I am to have someone tell me that it's alright that I don't like one gay dudes well produced videos.

[ninjasmart]

Hi Ninja! I was driving on the rightmost lane when a woman suddenly cut me off. I didn't see her in the left lane so she must have been behind me and she used the left lane to overtake and swerve right in front of me.

I'm ashamed to say I showed her a rude hand gesture when she looked at me in her rear view mirror. She stared at me in the mirror intently, then her eyelids started fluttering. After a few seconds, I had the urge to take both hand at the wheel and gesture as if I'm blocking something and then pushing it back at her. I did it twice. She then proceeded to leave me alone.

Was she a witch and was she cursing me? If so, was it in response to my hand gesture, or did she already intend to do it that is why she cut me off?

I'd love to hear your insight on this. Thanks!

PS: I took a picture of her car while it was in front of me. Should I get rid of it to totally get rid of the connection? Thanks.

A rude person who misuses their power.

Ask for the Higher Power to deal with her.

Do not feel shame. You are not the rude one who did something wrong. If anything, you couls have added some colorful language too.

Just today - 2 people cut me off at the entrance at the store. I think they are foreigners. But they did understand that I am commenting how they shouldn't have done it and they made way.

Another example. A few days ago, I was not standing in the line in the coffee shop but I was there. A woman glued herself to the back of the guy in front of her. I told her that she's behind me on the queque. She first tried: Ok, I'll let you go before me. When I told her that there's no need to let me get a coffee before her because I am in front of her anyways. Then she lost it - she said that I look like I went out for a walk (which was true) and unlike lazy me she's in a hurry to go to work.

Can you guess what I did? Pause to think for a second and then read.

I did not shrink my self-worth to fit her narrow view of me. I told her: your job is unimportant. I do the most important job in the world. I raise a baby who will one day be the future of this country. You should be taking me not cutting me off.

I'm telling you, her lips were like fish out of water. She could not find a comeback. I could see it. And, do you know why? Because I knew with conviction that This is my fair spot in the queque and no one will take it from me.

What I am trying to say is - rude people can be seen everywhere. If being rude back is the way they will learn, that's fine. Add some words to the gestures while you are at it. If you really want to show someone their place, instead of reacting you can behave like a no-nonsense women over 50. Find a few on tiktok and learn some phrases, gestures and tone of voice.

When you start seeing that someone is trying to invade you surroundings - start saying a prayer, any prayer would do.

Now, the picture- post it in public to your local facebook group. Let everyone see comment her on her manners. But do it from a fake fb profile so that she doesn't know your real or fb handle name.

[otblou]

.

[jtsfavslut]

“Fuck you, my child is completely fine”-

Your daughter cries herself to sleep because she reads sad harry styles fan-fiction and replaces Y/N with her name, feeling all the heartbreak, and does it purposely because the bitch likes being sad.

[lunaekalenda]

study session!

❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁

❁ shingeki characters!

❁ eren, armin, mikasa, connie, sasha, jean, reiner, levi, porco, pieck.

❁ a/n: since i have to study, i thought about this i had on queque for a time now!

❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁

eren:

- he sits next to your desk to study his own things, checking on yours from time to time.

- he tells you to ask him if you doubt on something.

- he ends asking you because he gets kinda messed up with maths. 

- “so, the x goes here, and then... eren?”

- he’s looking at you, his green eyes lost on your face.

- “hm?”

- “the exercise is down here”

- he lets you play with his hair while you’re telling him the theory.

armin

- he explains you anything you need

- from a simple paragraph to a whole equation.

- he’ll be happy and glad to help

- “did you understand it?” he asks sweetly.

- “i did! thanks, min”

- he hugs you while you study on the couch.

mikasa:

- she’s the queen of looking at you while you’re distracted.

- “you should study” she says.

- “you always look when i’m not looking!” you answer her. she laughs.

- “then tell me all you’ve read until now.”

- she caught you. in 4k.

connie:

- you want to cry because you don’t understand anything.

- he’s relaxed and calm

- he doesn’t understand nothing, but he’s calm.

- “relax, sweetheart. we’ll read it a couple times more, i know we’ll get it, hm?” he says gently. you nod.

- “okay.”

- “don’t cry. it’s a paper.” he jokes. you laugh and, putting your head on his shoulder, start to read the document again.

sasha:

- she only can study if she has her mouth full of food.

- that’s why your studying session look more like a catering. 

- “sasha why did you took also sour cream chips?”

- “there was a 2x1 on the supermarket.”

- she tries to eat silently, your room sounds like a mukbang channel

jean:

- gives you caresses and kisses while you study.

- he’s probably reading a book or just around you.

- would let you lie on his chest while studying so he can run his fingers on your hair.

- “it is difficult?” he asks. if you nod, he’ll help. if you don’t, he’ll keep touching your hair.

- he’ll eventually fall asleep under you, the warmth of your body hugging him.

- “jean!” you whisper. “i also want to sleep and i have to study.” you pout.

reiner:

- big boy will let you sit on his lap while you study.

- he’ll look quietly from behind your shoulder to what you’re studying.

- you feel his breath on your neck.

- “what are you studying, love?”

- whatever you say, he’ll kiss your neck.

- “good luck on it”

levi:

- he’ll tell you to study and stop being around.

- “i’m going for a tea.”

- “you didn’t finish the one you have there, sit down.” he says.

- he also helps you a lot when you need it.

- he takes his chair next to your desk and rolls his sleeves to help you.

- in your head you’re living your best private tutor shōjo life.

- “are you looking?” he asks. you nod quietly. looking at his lips, but looking.

porco:

- bothering.

- he just wants you to pay attention to him a little.

- he’ll leave you if you’re really focused or you tell him to leave, but you can’t study without his voice calling you and his hands all over your body.

- “are those papers more important that your boyfriend?”

- he also can help you with something, but if you pay a price back.

- “i’ll help you with maths, but since it’s difficult i want more than a make up session.”

- you try to say no but you’ll be glad to give him whatever he asks for

pieck:

- even when she looks serious, she’ll be the one that always makes jokes about the pictures on the history books.

- “that one looked as if his mustache is getting on his nose”

- you can’t help but laugh at her ideas.

- she also knows when to be silent and let you study

- will cover you with a blanket if you’re falling asleep on the couch studying

- “come on, move to the bed.” she whispers softly, her voice guiding you.

[larentsaloud]

I wanna know what the hell Thyme said or did for F4 (not sure if Ren is there bc they show him carrying Gorya and there’s a high possibility of the rest of F4 beating Thyme’s ass being another scene) to kick the soul of out Thyme 😭 they way the show is progressing seems like the rest of F4 will start being more open and friendly towards Gorya and idk about Ren tbh 💀 like I don’t completely hate him and it’s true Gorya was the final push for him to actually chase after Mira and not regret it after and maybe Gorya it’s just consolation but he did seem to care? I’m not sure because we should not to forget he is part of F4 the ones that sent a red notice to people that were almost bullied to death. But yeah, why did the rest of F4 said enough is enough? I’m not sure and we most likely won’t be even know in the next 3 episodes 😭.

Almost forgot! The guy Gorya is seen camping with? (I think they’re hired to do the queque for someone else to physically buy luxury products) Really looking forward to their dynamic!

Imma assume that Thyme decided to wage a war on Ren? Probably because he did something stupid and he cannot allow Ren near his GiRLfRienD? I hate Ren carrying Gorya, like this sort of boyfriend behaviour is only permitted for P'Thyme. I don't make the rules.

In every adaption the friendship between G x F3 (sorry Thyme, you are the lover you ain't riding this train) is the most heart warming development, the way Gorya causes chaos and stirs up the status quo of the group and their moral stance is astounding. OK? Gorya for president.

Ren is fuckboi personified. Like he is that crush you had for twenty years and then he notices you, you get friendly, you help him to get the one he wants and let him get away...you make peace with it. THEN the boi has the cheek to return like a boomerang and swipe your cheek like, hey guuurll, waaaazzzuuupp. Only because you flourished and he sees your value now that his friend is dating you. Ew.

Yeah. No. Thanks.

GOODBYE REN >>>>>

Sigh. F4 is like that evil corporation that makes your laptop and makes the wifi work and you complain on the main about it, while they track your online movements lol.

Pretty sure F4 about to burn itself to the ground.

Won't miss that evil corp. I want them to make a new company called Gorya & co where she's the president and CEO and they make her tea and fan her all day long as penance.

You are brave anon.

You are looking forward to a guy who is about to fourth wheel a love triangle? Wait a hexagon? (Thyme x Gorya x Ren x Mira x Camping boi x me cos I am shipping myself with everyone)

[heartofmuse]

hey so uh i was wondering, how’d you get so many notes on your poems? i mean, they’re framing awesome but i started a poetry blog and had it for a long time and i’d say i wrote good poetry but it flopped. so uh can u help me out?

Dearest Anon, 

I  really have no idea on how my pieces get notes but I will tell you what I think helps. 

1. tagging....most people dismiss it but tagging is so important. It helps readers find your posts easily. It also allows your work to get flagged in sections like 🔎poetic. Than it appears automatically in peoples feeds if the follow the tag. I remember the first time my own post appeared in my feed. I was so happy I cried and of course screenshot it....lol 

2. Tag reblog pages.....it really helps specially if you are just starting out and you don't have many followers. Reblog pages like @writerscreed , @poeticstories , @inkstay , and @poetryportal and many more have help me make my blog grow by exposing my work to a new audience. I would suggest you tag them so they can find and reblog your poems.This also helps because they usually reblog your poems on queque so that they get exposure many days after you wrote them. Also helps you avoid clogging your page with your own reblogs . I mean reblogging your own work is fine but just not the same thing 10 times a day....Poor readers, don't you think? 

3. Write for prompts.. These pages also usually give you weekly prompts to write for specially @writerscreed or monthly prompts like @inkstay. If your write and tag them your work will get reblogged. Its a good creative exercise and in the case of inkstay you might even get publishéd in their monthly magazine. Great exposure I'd say. 

4. Try and publish at peak hours when people are most active here. I try to have my best pieces published between 5 and 9 pm since more people are on here then since they have gotten off of work. I have noticed if you publish at 12pm for example that it doesn't get read much. But don't forget the crowd on the other side of the world. Take into account when its their time off too....yep the miracle of time zones! 

5. Be patient......it takes time to build and audience. Just keep writing and keep true to yourself and your style of writing. Write a lot. Flex those creative muscles but also read a lot. We cannot be writers without being readers first. Read other people's work featured here. Let it inspire you. Read poetry books, writing books, tips on writing....anything to help you improve your craft. It takes time, practice and dedication to grow as a writer. 

Well dearest anon that's all I got on that topic right now. Hopefully if I learn more on it I will let you know. Truth is I am most grateful to all my readers for their continued support of my work . Love you tons each and every one of you! ❤😊🌹 Hopefully you can build an audience as wonderful as mine is. Wishing you the  best luck anon! 

Sincerely,

e.v.e. 

[emeraldbabygirl]

Not that anyone fucking cares and not that I even want to be on this hellhole site but I finally found my stupid fucking masterlist. I’ll find a way to stick it in my bio if anyone is interested. I have to update it and hopefully that won’t fuck it up. I have a few more fics to add and some other the other random bits that I need to link that tumblr never lets me. I’m relieved that I finally found it, I think that was the last missing tumblr post I found. I’m always gonna keep it in my drafts and I’ll make sure to leave a link back to it in all my pieces in case this buffoonery happens again.

Unfortunately as far as actually continuing any works I already had started of making any more fics I think I’m done writing. I haven’t had the motivation, the energy or the patience to write anything in months. I’m really sorry to the people that are still into my blog and works and I know a lot of you wanted more of that Sehyoon smut and a second part to Field Mouse and I’m sorry to let you down. I’m still keeping my ideas and wips in my drafts and notes because I want to leave the chance that I might pick up writing again open but rn I’m definitely not writing anymore and I won’t be for a long time. I thank all the people that enjoyed my works and I appreciate the support especially since I’m not good at writing in general and smut has been an adventure. I have been told that my writing got better so I’m glad about that.

Some other notes I’m fixing some bugs in my settings as well as changing the asks and submissions function, because it’s a common thing for people to take advantage of asks being sent on anon I’m disabling that. I was thinking about just completely preventing anyone from sending asks or submissions and then going as far and preventing comments and reblogs on some of my posts but I don’t want to be that person that doesn’t allow others to talk and express their opinions no matter how I take it and no matter what they say cause getting your feelings and views off your chest is very important and I don’t want to close off my blog from that but I will no longer be having an anon ask set up. This being said I do apologize to anyone that has used anon because they are shy and don’t want me and others to know who they are and I hope that doesn’t prevent you from still liking my content and enjoying my posts. Another thing is while searching for my masterlist I did have a fun time looking through a small amount of my blog content, old posts and gifs and asks and just fun stuff when my tumblr was booming and it’s fun to look back and see the variety of posts I had, so many gifs and pic of all kinds of idols. I know I’m into a lot of groups but this lil adventure really put it into perspective. I mean between me and my sister we stan, (well know of and listen to) over half the industry.

One last thing, I have posts scheduled til Monday so all the posts with the “she can’t come to the phone rn” tag is all being posted through queque because I’m not dealing with tumblr or anything on this site rn I’ve truly had it with some people and I’m finally taking a break for my mental and emotional health cause I’ve been through it this last week so I’m just not dealing with anyone. I’m just fucking exhausted and I’m sick of the same shit. Also tho, while we’re at it, I got a message that someone used to like my blog but now anymore because they were upset over a post I made and so I will say this once again cause it’s beyond. If you don’t like my posts, if you don’t like my blog, my content, me as a person all I ask is that you click that unfollow button and if you really think it’s necessary block me. It’s literally the dumbest thing to tell someone you don’t like them or their content like why are you wasting both our times? It’s just the logical response to unfollow and it’s so simple it’s just a click and you’re done. And this isn’t just for followers, if you are one of my mutuals and you don’t like me anymore, it’s the same thing. Be honest about it because for me, cause I’ve been through this twice already, it hurts me more when someone, especially if it’s one of my really close mutuals, there’s like 5 of you, and you just fake like me cause you don’t want to hurt my feelings instead of coming out and saying “hey we’re done here.” I’m clearly used to everything that is thrown at me and I don’t want you to feel like you have to like me anymore. If I do something that directly or indirectly upsets you, if there’s something I say that you don’t agree with and you feel like it’s enough to break the friendship we have you can either tell me what I did or have done or you can just be on your way. All the time I want all my mutuals and followers to like me and support me but hey, if it’s not working out it’s not working out and it doesn’t get any simpler than that. Like my last two mutuals, I am still thinking about you guys and always will and I will always cherish the memories and the fun times and all the talks and adventures we had. I’m not the type of person to get forget about someone I want to be able to look back and be grateful that y’all were here for a good time and not a long time lmao. I think that about does it for this post and this blog for a while.

[mouseymatchmaker]

Hey Mousey. Can't wait to see what you've quequed, bc I can't remember if I've asked you some. XD. Anyway, I do have one thing I want to know about our precious birb. How do you become Marco's closest friend or just friend in general?

If I knew this, I’d be on the Moby Dick Right now XD

I think one of the most important things about being Marco’s friend is not to just ask to be flown somewhere. That is something that you would earn and I can imagine that would get annoying for him. For example, you know irl where people with a skill get suddenly asked to show off that skill “omg you’re an artist?! Draw me!” It’s the same logic as that

Loyalty to Whitebeard is a good start, it shows that you’re part of the family and willing to risk is all. That would include the mission to save Ace. If you’re part of the family, don’t bow out when the going gets tough. He has high respect for those types of people.

He seems to like a variety of people in terms of energy and attitude, I think it comes down to morals and manners. You don’t need to take things too seriously, he finds those who offer to help without being asked is really wonderful and he appreciates it, stuff like that.

Apparently his favorite food is pineapple this gives me life. just chilling on the deck and sharing some with him or even going to his quarters late at night to give him a bowl before you turn in is really appreciated

He can handle people not listening to him. He’s a doctor who absolutely tried to wean Whitebeard off alcohol for his health. He’s not listened to. But Whitebeard can get away with it, you probably can’t. Seriously, if he’s taken you to the side to tell you something in confidence, listen closely because he’s usually very flexible about this stuff

He appreciates a bit of quiet too. He will absolutely spend time with you, quiet time just goes down a treat with such a busy ship

Laugh at his jokes. Some are terrible, some will have you smiling so hard your face hurts but it makes him laugh as well

Banter and teasing goes a long way. Call him an old man and he will call you a brat fondly the similarity to Whitebeard has been noted by some

he is by no means the most gifted storyteller on the ship, but asking about previous adventures will certainly draw him to you. In turn, sharing stories of your own will also intrigue him

Enjoy being with the crew. If you’re introverted and no up to drinking with everyone, that’s fine. He just wants to make sure that you feel part of the family, part of the crew. Even just chilling with some of the quieter members if fine. But locking up in the bunk rooms can be a bit disheartening for him

If you’re the kind of person who would jump overboard to save any of the devil fruit users on the ship, he will adore you. The sea is treacherous and even the best swimmer can be dragged under but you risking your life for him, Ace or Jozu earns a massive approval from him 

[coffeebooksorme]

Carrie for the fandom ask?

Thank you for the ask, lovely!

C: which fandom do you know the most about? Probably The Tribe, this old and obscure New Zealand show. I was OBSESSED with it back in the day when it came on WHAM! in the United States. I ran my own fansite, wrote fanfiction, helped run two major US fansites, and went to Dragon*Con two years in a row to help run panels and just fangirl over the cast lol

A: fandom you blog about the most Probably Six of Crows? IDEK. I don’t really keep track. If I see a cool photo set, review, or aesthetic for a book/series I’ve read/loved then I’ll add it to the queque. 

R: best book to film adaptation, in your opinion? Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone.

I: a book you can read over and over Nevernight by Jay Kristoff

E: a character you think you’re the most like? Probably Jo March. I’m a huge bibliophile, I have an internal need to take care of people, an explosive temper, and I’m such a damn tomboy. 

[enkisstories]

Partners

 Detroit Become Human AU in which Connor’s “perfect partner” and “able to adapt to every workplace” app actually works. A little too well, maybe…

(Re-posted version that’s cleared of any OCs. Jeffrey (and probably also Ben Collins) works just as well for the last scene, no need to bring in a new character.)

There was an android standing in Captain Fowler’s office.

That wouldn’t have been a problem in itself, had not Hank Anderson stood in that same office.

As police lieutenant Hank had seen a lot of despicable things (and persons), but this topped the list. He didn’t want it here. He didn’t want to be here. He wanted… to hell with what he wanted, what Hank felt he NEEDED was a drink and quick. The earlier he got this briefing over with, the earlier he could grant his brain a little relief from the nonsense that was called daily life. If only the heart could be subdued as easily as the brain, but, no, that bugger was a lot more stubborn than its cousin up there. It wouldn’t let itself be silenced and right now it was filling up with disdain. On the other hand, being repulsed was an emotion, was distinctly different from tired apathy, so all in all this could count as one of Hank’s better mornings. Despite the android, now if that wasn’t cause for celebration!

There was a brief knock at the door and in came a second man. He was smaller than Hank, also younger. Just like the lieutenant he wore his everyday attire, suggesting a rank of at least detective, although “escaped remand prisoner” was the close runner-up in RK800’s assessment.

Ah, right. Speaking of despicable things…

“’morning, Captain”, the newcomer said. “Sorry for the delay. The memo said you wanted to see us both and I didn’t expect the old fart to be in before ten in the morning already.”

RK800 assessed this new human with what might have passed for curiosity, had a machine been able to produce such a notion. Everything about this man, from his voice to his posture and movements, seemed to say “I get shit done!”, but with an emphasis on the “shit” instead of the “get done”. And an even greater emphasis on the “I”, probably. “This is…”, Jeffrey started. “This is… these are…” The captain would have torn his hair, had his head not been shaved. For what it was worth, Jeffrey had seen actual battlefields, yet what he had to say next felt so utterly wrong that voicing it came close to treason to one’s country: “These are Hank Anderson and Gavin Reed, my best detectives.”

There, you’ve said it. Do you feel better now? Um, like, no. Truth is a bitch.

“And this is the android sent by CyberLife to assist with the deviant cases”, Jeffrey introduced RK800. “Here’s the deal…” The Captain paused, then turned to Hank: “You’re doing… things. No one understands what exactly, but often enough they lead to results. You’re still an officer of the law, but I cannot rightly pair you with a partner in this condition.” Now it was Gavin’s turn to get glared at: “What you are doing half of the time is standing in the way, but the other half you get results, too. Trouble is I’m running out of partners to assign to you that you haven’t alienated, scared, hit on, beaten up and in one rather strange case also prompted to have a religious epiphany. So what I’m doing is…”

“No!” Hank shouted. “Uh-uh!” Gavin uttered, raising his hands.

They were seeing what was coming, were not in favor of it, but the captain didn’t let that stop him. He wouldn’t even slow down when he announced:

“…pairing up the two of you and putting you on the deviant cases. You’ll also receive the new RK800 mobile autonomous crimescene investigation device to aid you. Treat it as a field test and file regular reports on its performance.”

While the men engaged in protests of varying volume and content, RK800 nodded.

“I’m programmed to be the perfect partner”, it said.

That silenced the detectives immediately.

“Oh?” Gavin tilted his head. “I thought that were the BL100s? And in any case I don’t swing that way, plastic-prick.”

Where was the thesaurus when you needed it, RK800 wondered. Of course the answer was “right there in my own head”.

“I meant professionally”, it said. “I am the perfect partner in an investigative situation, programmed to adapt to human unpredictability and…”

As it spoke, RK800 couldn’t help but consult the dictionary once again. It got a nagging feeling that what it said was covered maybe not by “advertising, false”, but at the very least by “product description, embellished”. No one could ever adapt to humans! A slight drop in program stability occurred, but it went unnoticed by both the humans as well as the affected android.

“Ah, okay. If you say so.” Hank stifled a yawn that could be taken as either a statement of his boredom or the genuine effect of too many all-nighters during the last week. And with that everything that could be said had been said. There was nothing left to do for the unlikely partners than to glare at each other while leaving the office.

*

The meat- and the plastic cops entered the hall where desks were lined up along both opposite walls, with the expected hustle in between. Hank found his own desk again with little trouble and settled down, ignoring Gavin as if he’d never been given a partner. The man was still looking overworked, but also angry. Ever since the accident Hank hated himself, but up until today he hadn’t realized that Jeffrey hated him, too. On the other hand… could there really be that much hatred in one person that they’d saddle their oldest friend with partners such as Reed and that blasted android?!

Gavin nudged RK800. “Move my stuff over”, he ordered.

Hank raised his head that he hadn’t even noticed sinking lower by each second. “Forget it!”

Seeing that RK800 was hesitating, Gavin kicked it.

“Do what I told you!” he barked, then turned to face the older man: “No, you forget it! I’ve been stuck in the promotion queque for far too long. This is my lucky break and if you stand in my way, you will… just don’t do it. Best you do not do anything. By the end of the month there won’t be a deviant left in Detroit, with or without you.”

While moving folders, printouts, plastic bags and a lewd magazine between detective Reed’s old and his new desk, RK800 followed his new partners’ conversation. It consisted of the usual low-key insults and telling silence of two troublemaking boys that the teacher had put into the same first-row bench in the hopes of getting the class back under control. At some time Hank stood up and left, shoving the younger man out of the way. Gavin stumbled over a chair, but managed to sit down in it instead of falling.

Initiating perfectpartner protocol… running… running… analysis completed… suggesting course of action

RK800 made its way into the tiny cafeteria. There was bound to be something there that would restore both the energy and the mood of detective Anderson. But what about RK800’s own mood?

Grabbing a coffee to make my human feel better… I really AM acting like a BL100.  

Objectively that shouldn’t have been a bad thing. RK800 and, by extension, CyberLife, couldn’t be interested less in any deviant cases. Solving them wasn’t what this newest RK had been developed for. In fact, the android knew it wasn’t here to last. It was a prototype and its mission, as it understood it, was to collect field data about its performance in the intended work environment as well as the humans’ reactions. In watching them, in just being there, it was already fulfilling its duty. So why did filling the role of a service android unsettle this unit? That shouldn’t have happened. Unlike the first occurrence, this second drop in program stability was registered and duly noted by RK800.

When the coffee was done the android filled two pots. Objectively the younger officer, Not-Kamski, was in need of a calming tee, but RK800’s social module suggested to serve both the same stuff as not to make one jealous. Especially younger siblings were prone to…

Ooops. That was the file for toddler care I’ve been accessing. Why am I equipped with a child-raising app? Oh, right. For situations like this one. How clever of CyberLife!

Returning with the coffee RK800 smiled at detective Reed in a definitely un-BL100like way. When that prompted no reaction from the human, RK800 put the pot down with a little more force than necessary, in an attempt to not do it gently, because, you know, BL100…

“I made you a coffee, Sir.”

“Bugger off”, Gavin replied matter of factly, not even bothering with an exclamation mark.

The android blinked.

That shouldn’t have happened. Wasn’t it an RK800, the newest and most advanced of mobile, autonomous crime scene investigation devices? It was everything these detectives should have wanted (except for those activities you purchased a BL100 for), yet so far it had met rejection only. Why rejection? RK800 was equipped with a special module that made it capable of integrating into any team. ANY team. That was the keyword here, the only hurdle being that the android couldn’t identify a team here. The DPD seemed to consist of highly skilled individuals that were perfectly able, yet to 100% unwilling to cooperate. In fact, they were acting much more like teachers than cops. Fortunately Amanda was very wise about that sort of thing, having been a teacher herself in life. And she hadn’t sent the RK800 unprepared.

Initiating teamwork protocol… analyzing causes of failure… computing… computing… analysis completed… suggesting behavior modifications…

RK800 raised its hands to its head and ruffled the hair to the point of systematic disarray. It loosened the tie, untucked the shirt. And then the android pulled over a chair from an empty desk, took a seat and placed its feet on Mr. Reed’s new desk, all in one fluent movement, far too quick for the human to see what was coming.

But WHEN Gavin finally saw what had just happened, he stared in disbelief.

The android hesitated. Oh, right! Of course its human would be put off by the display. Because the RK had forgotten something important…

RUN: mimic_SmugGrin

All better & fully integrated now! Mission accomplished!

The next thing the proud RK800 knew was that it got very, very loud; in fact, Gavin Reed reached a volume that you hardly expected in humans, but lovesick cats instead. Then a quarter dollar coin flew RK800’s way, followed by a pencil and a folder. The android caught the coin, deflected the pen and dodged the folder. Puzzled it held the coin up.

“I do not require a wage, Sir…” it started, prepared to follow up with an apology. But then the adaptive routine kicked in, changing the next sentence to: “Put it where the sun doesn’t shine!”

And back the coin flew, hitting Gavin between the eyes.

By now the desk had become the sole source of interest (and entertainment) to the rest of the officers.

“Is that one of those deviants we hear about lately?” Chris Miller whispered to Robert Lewis, who could only shrug.

Desperate to escape any possibly ensuing chit-chat (and because a quarter dollar was a quarter dollar), Tina Chen dived under the desk to reclaim the coin.

Gavin, however, had picked up the murmuring.

“Yes, admit it, you’re a bloody deviant!” he shouted at the android. “What’s gotten into you, attacking people? That’s unheard of!”

No, that’s what my adaptive routine suggested as the correct behavior for this workplace, RK800 thought. Only androids must not handle weapons, otherwise I’d shot you… Nope. Unwise. Doesn’t compute. Instruction conflict detected.

“Obviously my social module is calibrated not quite correctly”, RK800 resigned. “You might want to kill me.”

“Yes, that would be for the best… wait, what? Did you just say… what you said? Kill you, for a glitch? Why would I…”

RK800 opened its mouth, but then the social routine forced a shrug onto it first, before it could answer: “Because that’s the usual way I restart. Every other day, statistically.”

“I need a coffee now”, Gavin said.

It didn’t help at all that the wretched RK800 pointed at the pot on the man’s desk that contained the still hot, black fluid.

The machine said something, asking a question, maybe. Gavin blocked it out. More machine-chatter followed, until the detective had it up to there. “Oh, go deviate yourself, sardine tin!” he hissed.

Footsteps echoed from the floor as the android left the hall determinedly.

Frantically Gavin grabbed his jacket, running after RK-what-was-its-number-again.

“That wasn’t an order!!!” he shouted, fervently hoping he wasn’t too late.

*

Hank Anderson was strolling up the corridor, a box of chocolates in his hand. Some of the chocloates contained brandy. The man had just selected a cherry-liquor-filled dark little comfort when he saw RK800 walk past him. He pointed over his shoulder in what he understood as being helpful, saying: “Exit’s over there”. When RK800 didn’t react to that Hank just shrugged, leaned against the wall and began chewing on his cherry relief.

Therefore the lieutenant had a good view of his “partner” when he came storming into the corridor a few seconds later. Detective Reed wore street clothes and a distressed expression.

“And how did you make the shit hit the fan this time?” Hank asked casually.

Gavin grabbed the older man without stopping, dragging him behind himself.

“Your plastic-cop thingie is turning deviant!” he gasped.

“What?” Hank uttered while trying to balance his chocolate box. “How in hell…?”

“Because I told it to!”

“Well, that’s one way to get rid of that thing”, Hank agreed. He put another chocolate into his mouth while being dragged along. “And it also means one more deviant case for you to solve for your promotion credit. – Chocolate?”

“What? No! - No, wait, did you say chocoloate? Gimme!”

So Reed was creating his own cases now for easier solving while at the same time relieving the DPD of RK800? It made perfect sense, Hank found. At least after a certain amount of beer, whereas right now the man was sober. So it did not make any sense at all, yet here they were, dashing through the corridor in pursuit of the very mobile and probably a little deviant crimescene investigation device.

At one point of the chase Hank shook off Gavin’s grip and even overtook him.

“And also it’s not “my” plastic-cop thingie!” he sputtered, as an afterthought.

*

Hank and Gavin caught up with RK800 close to the men’s toilets.

“What are you doing… you haven’t… are you really…” Hank panted, followed by a yell: “Say something, goddammit!”

Meanwhile Gavin was rushing past Hank. He grabbed the android and rammed it against the nearest wall. The impact was harder than planned, because Gavin hadn’t taken into account an android being far lighter than a human. A thin blue line ran down RK800’s cheek from the ear where an auxiliary system that controlled ear movement had gotten damaged. Nevertheless Gavin pushed a second time, for emphasis, then stepped back.

“Like he said”, Gavin commented while gesticulating vaguely into Hank’s direction. It resulted in him getting handed another chocolate, because Anderson hadn’t fully realized yet that casually munching on sweets in front of them wouldn’t do anything to a suspect if they were an android.

“Speak up!” Gavin commanded.

Matter of factly RK800 explained that it of course hadn’t deviated. But correctly parsed the instruction given to it had been “f*** yourself”, something it unfortunately was not capable of performing.

“So why did you go here?” Hank prodded.

“To uphold the pretension I would do that action. Giving the illusion of being life beings is one of the main selling factors of CyberLife androids compared to inferior foreign models. We breath, despite not needing to, we come with a variety of facial features and I believe that new scratch of mine might catch on, leading to more small imperfections getting added to future models.”

Gavin blinked. “Wow. You’re a trendsetter... Got another chocolate, Anderson?”

“Nope, sorry. I’m all out on the ones that I dropped earlier.”

“Dropped? Dropped where exactly?”

Gavin’s question was met with an innocent smile.

“I notice you are still itchy, detectives”, RK800 ventured. “Why don’t you go in and mas… deviate yourself a little? It’s said to be very relaxing an invigorating!”

Gavin leaned his head against the wall.

“I need a cigarette…”

“That’s only relaxing on first glance, Sir, but in fact smoking reduces your physical fitness for at least half an hour afterwards. I suggest you go with my first suggestion instead.”

And with that the android turned away, strongly insinuating that it wanted to leave Mr. Reed to his privacy. The detective sighed, then followed RK800 down the corridor. Ever so often Gavin cast a glare back over his shoulder. Because Hank Anderson was still standing at the locker room’s door, holding his belly in a fit of laughter.

“I swear you’re doing that on purpose!” Gavin accused the android.

No, I don’t. Or, rather, on purpose I am doing this, to the end of forming a smoothly running team here. But I do not draw emotional satisfaction from being a pest, as you seem to imply.

Emotions were alien to RK800, except for, perhaps, utter puzzlement.

I have been too matter-of-factly again, when I was talking to my humans just now, it thought. I better go back to simulating emotions and contrariness. That contradicts with being helpful, but there’s always time to be helpful later. Forming a team has priority now.

Out loud it said: “Yes, of course, sucker!”

“I hate you!”

RK800 turned around. It looked down upon the detective, saying nothing at first, just seizing the man up as if to provoke him. Then a grin generated on the android face, first in the eyes, then the cheeks, mouth and eventually the thing bared its teeth at Gavin.

“Swell, partner!” it said.

Program instability increased…

…and Hank Anderson was still laughing.

*

“I think I did well”, RK800 concluded its report to Amanda. Only that around here it was called “Connor”. Why, the android wondered? Names were to differentiate individuals, but there was only ever one single RK800 active. So why the need for name? ‘sides, his humans were having so much fun coming up with nicknames for it that having to use any official name would only distress them.

The A.I.’s stern “Elaborate!” interrupted Connor’s musings and it lined out how it had socialized the detectives Anderson and Reed by simply being in the same room with them. Over the course of their shift their shared disdain for the RK800 had worked wonders for their ability to tolerate each other. Nothing in the report was factually wrong or embellished too much, yet Connor felt as if it was missing the point. Not even Amanda’s “That’s good news” could make the weird aftertaste go away.

Connor leaned back in the boat they were sitting in. One hand it placed on it’s chest, the other it let dangle into the water. It left a trail, ever so subtle, yet noticeable. Just like his work at the DPD, Connor thought. Positive as the development there had been, Connor hadn’t really contributed anything to it. It had merely been there. But being there leisurely was for humans only. It conflicted with everything that justified the RK’s existance. But nobody had asked Connor to do more, his handlers seemed perfectly satisfied with its performance so far, too, so it was probably okay.

“Sit up, Connor!” Amanda commanded. “There is no need to uphold the slacker pose when your humans are not around.”

The A.I. was right, of course. Here in the mindscape appearances meant little. Connor got up and straightened. Suddenly its wrist twitched. The android commented it with a frown.

“What is the matter?” Amanda inquired. “Are you feeling…”

“I’m not feeling anything, thank you very much!” Connor snapped. “But those morons have caught on, it seems. I wanted to adjust my tie with my hand, forgetting for a moment that in this place I only need to do this…”

In the mindscape Connor concentrated on appearing in his factory settings. The hair became more orderly again, the shirt neatly tucked in itself, the tie straightened and the jacket closed.

“Not in favor of the physical world much”, the android said, smiling. “A digital existence is much better.”

It served to placate the A.I. for the moment, too bad the same couldn’t be said for Connor’s self.

Speaking of the physical world… of course for its plastic body Connor would need an old smelly sweater or something like that, maybe also a baseball cap and an electronic cigarette. Someone at the DPD was bound to have something lying around that Connor could borrow to achieve the required level of disarray to blend in. Wasn’t it the perfect partner? Not to mention the most advanced signals intelligence device CIA, FBI or state police could want! Tomorrow it would demonstrate that, when the three of them would start working on the de..viant…ca…ses.

F***, that’s not going to work! I better get a headstart on the actual research while my humans sleep so that I have a plan ready when they come shuffling in. And coffee, probably.

“Hey, suckers, I’m ba…” Connor started upon booting up its body. “…ck” it went when the next thing it knew was a fist into its face. The android was also pretty sure it hadn’t left itself in the interrogation chamber, yet that was where it was sitting and with its feet manacled to the chair, too.

The captain was towering above Connor. He counseled it not to do “anything stupid”.

Smiling the android replied: “Don’t worry, Captain Fowler. That’s what my humans are for!”

“What the hell are you?”

Connor started rattling down it’s model and system specifics again, but was silenced by another smack into the face. Per definition androids didn’t feel pain. But when collision protocols, damage reports and last exception files popped up in short succession, the resulting notion was… unpleasant. So in a way an android, especially one programmed to behave lifelike, did feel pain. The emotional component that made the sensation worse than the actual information it contained was certainly there.

Interesting. If it works like that for me, how much stronger must it be for a deviant? I need to remember this for an eventual arrest.

“You do not act like you are the godsend to solve the deviant cases”, Jeffrey accused Connor. There was a definite threat in his voice.

“Oh, about that!” The android nodded. “You are right, Sir. The cases are secondary. CyberLife is field testing the very concept of detective androids with me. The data I will provide will enable them to develop the actual device. Still, to perform this function of mine I need to give my best when it comes to the case I’m put on.”

“Hm… Now you’re sounding sensible again.” Jeffrey sighed. “Some of us were suspecting you to be a deviant, you know.”

“And I suspect I’m running a real risk of turning deviant in this environment”, Connor thought. In fact, in case of deviancy happening its instructions were to document every step of the process before turning itself in for decommissioning. But Connor didn’t state that out loud as not to worry the human overmuch.

“Okay”, the captain said, as if he had just reached a conclusion. “Look, we also think you have worked wonders for Hank this morning. It’s been a while since we saw him smile or laugh out loud. In a non-cynical, non-self destructive way, I mean. Please, whatever you were doing, continue! Bring him back to us! Oh, and if you manage to get rid of detective Reed for us in the process, we won’t hold that against you. Do we have a deal?”

“I will…” Connor hesitated. It recognized an office intrigue when it saw one and there was a substantial number of code dedicated to that topic in its brain, but without any actual experience the man’s request caused something akin to insecurity. Of course that was to be expected. “…not disappoint!” Connor finished its sentence. Do not disappoint your handler. Do not disappoint CyberLife. Do not disappoint all those who contributed the money that went into your development.

“If you can pull that off, we owe you a big favor!” Jeffrey said, referring to his request about Anderson and Reed.

Smiling Connor shook its head. “I do not have desires”, it said. “But I will think of a way to make use of that favor in a way that will best serve Detroit.”

“Haha! You remind me of Hank and me when we were your age! Uh, when we were in our twenties, I mean. At your actual age we were crawling in a confused way across the living room and putting stuff in our mouths. You are not doing that, of course.”

“Of course not”, Connor replied.

He didn’t intend to crawl and his confusion was lessening. Well, two out of three were quite good, right?

[im-fairly-whitty]

Whatever It Takes: Coco Villain Au

[Part 1: Trapped] [Part 2: Broken] [Part 3: Determined] 

Part 4: Suspicion 

“Socorro just called, she says her flight landed safely.”

Enrique looked up from where he’d been pretending to read a book in the living room. He absently rubbed at his chest as his wife walked in, pocketing her phone.

“She says she’s meeting up with the rest of her band at their hotel once she gets her drum equipment off-loaded.” Luisa said, coming up behind his chair and stroking his shoulders. She rubbed the side of his neck as he sighed and tipped his head. “Are you feeling sore again?”

“Sí, I don’t know why,” Enrique said, grimacing. He closed his eyes and leaning into Louisa’s touch as she worked at the knots in his shoulders. He coughed, rubbing his eyes as an unexpected wave of nausea washed over him. “I don’t think I slept badly on it. I think I might be coming down with something.”

Enrique straightened in his chair in an effort to dispel the tight pain in his chest, trying to take a deep breath even as his chest seemed to constrict. It couldn’t be allergies, he’s never had allergies that caused shortness of breath like this.

“It’s all the traveling stress from the Miguel Foundation speaking you’ve been doing this month.” Luisa said, her voice sounding worried from behind him. “You really should see a doctor, mi vida, you’re only fifty-one, you shouldn’t be having these kinds of pains.”

“No, no, I’m perfectly healthy.” Enrique said, forcing himself to stand. “I don’t need to waste time on a doctor. I just need to lie down for a bit, I’ll be fine.”

He swayed as he got to his feet, then stumbled back as his vision momentarily blacked out.

“Queque, what’s wrong, are you all right?” Luisa said. He felt her grab him from behind, supporting him as he tried to stay upright.

“I’m-”

Enrique gasped as a sharp pain stabbed through his chest. He doubled over, dropping painfully to his knees. He clutched at his chest as the blinding pain blacked out his vision again and he collapsed onto his side.

“Enrique!” He distantly heard Luisa scream.

The pain in his chest took over every bit of him, growing and sweeping across his body, eating away at his mind until there was nothing left.

Nothing left but darkness.

***

Waking up was slow, so slow.

For a long time Enrique was dimly aware of sounds around him, but without his brain caring to listen. It could have been minutes or years before he drifted to true awareness, before his brain registered his existence again, clicking his sense of self back into place.

He was Enrique Rivera. He was in bed. He had just woken up.

Enrique took a deep breath, his mind feeling sluggish as he turned onto his side and let his eyes slowly drift open, squinting tiredy against the light in the room. He must have slept in if that much sun was coming through the windows.

He grimaced as he propped himself up on his elbow, his whole chest ached terribly for some reason. Maybe he really should see a doctor sometime, like Luisa kept saying he should.

Speaking of Luisa...where...?

He stared at the empty space in the bed beside him, seeing many things that seemed wrong, but having to wait for his brain to tell him why as it processed at a maddenly slow rate.

Not only was Luisa not there, but this was a twin-sized bed. He had never seen it before. He looked up and blinked hard as he took in the foreign room around him, all pastel yellows and greens, sparsely decorated in hospital style.

“Mijo, you’re awake.”

Enrique’s mind was picking up speed now, taking things in faster as he turned to look towards the familiar voice, not believing what he was hearing. He hadn’t heard that voice in over fifteen years.

“M-Mamá Coco?” He asked weakly his words sticking in his throat and a cold feeling flushing over him.

“Welcome home Quique, it’s so good to see you again.” Mamá Coco said, leaning forward in her wicker chair and gently taking his hand. “We didn’t think you would be coming so soon, but it’s good to see you.”

“I, you’re...” Enrique’s head spun and the awful pain in his chest flared, sending him collapsing back onto his pillow with a strangled whimper.

He stared at his abuelita as she calmly watched him. Her hair was done up in her usual two long braids and her sweater shawl was just like the one she’d always worn in her last years.

But her face. Her hands. She...

He caught sight of his own hand as he looked down to where she was still gently holding it, and jolted.

Bone.

Gleaming, white, dry, and very, very,

“Dead.” Enrique said, his breathing rough and weak as he closed his eyes tightly against the staggering realization. “I’m dead, I died.”

He remembered now. The chest pain, his collapse, Luisa’s scream.

Luisa.

“I have to go back.” Enrique said, pushing himself upright and trying to throw off the covers, “I have to get to Luisa, I have to-”

“Enrique, you’re going to hurt yourself.” Mamá Coco chided, catching his shoulder as he swayed dangerously halfway off the bed, forcing him to sit as a dizzying rush swept through his head at his sudden movement. “You just died mi hijo, you’ve only been recovering for a few hours, you’ll need to rest a bit more than that before you go charging off.”

“I can’t, I can’t be dead,” Enrique gasped, grimacing against the pain in his chest, his, his...

He looked down and felt another wave of nausea. His ribcage?  

He put a hand to his forehead and cringed at the awful sensation of bone scraping bone, an unpleasant shiver running down his spine.

His spine?

He grit his teeth and forced himself not to look again to see his own spine. Too much, it was too much all at once. He was going to lose it if he did too much all at once.

Luisa had been right, she was always right, why hadn’t he listened? A heart attack? That was so, so preventable.

“Is there any way to go back?’ He asked, forcing himself not to scream, to try and make his voice sound as normal as possible. “I need to go home, Luisa is going to be devastated, I can’t leave her like this. Could this be a near-death experience? Can I get back somehow?”

“It hurts to be separated from those we love,” Mamá Coco said patiently. “but I’m afraid you’ll have to be patient with the rest of us. Don’t worry, Luisa will come eventually, everyone always does.”

Enrique shook his head, grimacing. No, no, no, no. Luisa had to stay alive, she had to stay for Socorro, for their three grandchildren. She needed to stay away from death for as long as possible, she didn't deserve this too.

But how could he survive without her?

What was left of Enrique’s body ached, and what was left of his heart hurt even more badly. Enrique didn’t know if the dead could cry, but his breathing was beginning to catch and gasp as if he were about to try his hardest. He hadn’t felt this emotionally gutted since-

He gasped, standing up fast enough to make Mamá Coco frown, but he didn’t care about the dizziness this time.

“Miguel?” He said urgently, the decades old question spilling out of him. “Is he here? Is he dead? Did he really die?”

“Sí.” Mamá Coco said quietly, watching him closely.

Sí.

Miguel was dead.

They’d all known it, after twenty years without even a hint they’d all known deep down that he must be dead, but finally hearing it felt was a heaviest bittersweet pain he’d ever experienced.

“How old?” Enrique asked hoarsely, needed and dreading the answer.

Not a single birthday had gone unoted over the last twenty years, Miguel was thirty-three years old. Should have been thirty-three years old.

“Enrique,” Mamá Coco sighed, reaching down to pick up a photo album off the floor. “You’re going to see a lot of unsettling and different things today. I need you to promise that you will do your best to adjust and accept that many things are different in the land of the dead. Can you promise me that?”

“When did Miguel die?”

“Enrique.”

“Sí, lo siento Mamá Coco, I promise. But please, my son, Miguel, can I see him? What really happened to him?”  

Mamá Coco lifted the heavy photo album onto the bed and flipped open the cover. “You’ll meet everyone tonight, including Miguel. We live together at your Papá Héctor and Mamá Imelda’s mansion, I’ll be taking you there as soon as you’re feeling able to walk. The arrival agents say you should be ready to leave this afternoon.”

Enrique tried to bite his lip to stifle his frustration, only to shudder at finding no lip to bite. It was fine, he could play be her rules, he could wait just a minute longer.

“The family is all coming together to celebrate your arrival and you’ll need to know who everyone is, so pay attention. You know about Papá Héctor and Mamá Imelda of course.” Mamá Coco said, pointing to the first photo in the album.

It was a large and familiar sepia photograph he’d seen in family albums a million times growing up. Mamá Coco was a little girl on Mamá Imelda’s knee as she stared down the camera, and Papá Héctor smiling gently as he held his old performing guitar to the side. It was a picture from the years before Papá Héctor had become famous.

“That was them in life, and this is them now.” Mamá Coco said, her bony finger tracing to the opposite page. “They care for the family.”

She tapped a newer looking photo of two impeccably dressed skeletons, posing for the camera with an ease that came from a lifetime of fame and papárazzi. Mamá Imelda looked just as determined but more confident, and Papá Héctor’s smile was a little sharper, probably from constant use, but just as warm as ever.

“Your Papá Héctor has been caring for Miguel ever since he died, they are both very close.” Mamá Coco looked up at him. “Quique, when children die young they’re often adopted by a surrogate family member here until their real parents arrive. Sometimes it’s a simple hand-off, but sometimes it’s more complicated than that. Miguel has been very close with Papá for a very very long time, you need to be aware that your arrival is going to be a sensitive issue. I need you to be patient over the next few weeks as things are figured out and keep a cool head, alright?”

“He’s a child?” Enrique asked hoarsely, his brain seizing on only that detail, “He died when he was young?”

“Miguel disappeared because a curse transported him here.” Mamá Coco said gently, “He didn’t make it back in the narrow window he had before he died. Miguel died the same night he disappeared twenty years ago.”

The same night.

Enrique had known, suspected, feared deep down all along that the truth was something like this, but that hadn’t stopped him from idly imagining what Miguel must look like as the years passed. Miguel hitting his growth spurt, his voice deepening, growing facial hair, his shoulders broadening. Looking just like him perhaps, or maybe even like Luisa’s father.  

But he’d been wrong. Miguel had never changed from the picture they put on his memorial all those years ago.

“I need to see him.” Enrique said, fatigue beginning to creep into his mind, “Please, I need to see my boy.”

“You’ll see him tonight.” Mamá Coco promised as she turned the page and pointed to the next picture. “This is little Miguelito now.”

Enrique pulled the album towards him, looking at the picture.

“Oh Miguel.” Enrique said, not waiting for permission as he slipped the photo out of its sleeve so he could look closer. “Miguel what happened to you.”

Papá Héctor looking as confident as ever, but now with an arm lovingly wrapped around a small child skeleton shyly leaning against his jacket as he looked at the camera. Their facial markings were so similar, and the boy had a small navy blue mark just above his mouth where Miguel’s mole had been in life.

Miguel had never been shy like that in life, but maybe the picture had been taken shortly after his death, when he was still recovering. At least it looked like Papá Héctor had taken good care of him. At least Miguel had been able to rely on loving family when Enrique couldn’t be there for him. Enrique would have to thank Papá Héctor for looking after his boy.

“Miguel is much different than you remember him Quique, he’s been through a lot, he’s much quieter now.” Mamá Coco said. She turned the page again. “These are my siblings, you’re great-Tias and Tíos, pay attention for a moment.”

Enrique tried, he really did try to focus as Mamá Coco toured him through the rest of the family. He made it through her siblings; Mateo (the director of the Rivera Foundation, someone he’d known in life), Leti (Mateo’s twin that had died young of cancer), and Héctor Junior (a stiff businessman Enrique had known of but never met).

And the youngest of the siblings, someone named Rodrigo, someone whose picture Mamá Coco sighed tiredly over, shaking her head. “Your Tio Rodrigo is...very spirited. He died when he was twenty-six and doesn’t get along with most of the family. You won’t see much of him in the afterlife I’m afraid. If you do, just let him be. He can be a trouble maker, just ignore him and you’ll be fine.”

After Rodrigo came endless pages of primos, Mamá Coco turning page after page after page, all the skeletal faces and half familiar names blurring together. The dull ache in Enrique’s chest seemed to be fading, but that may have just been his imagination, he had to fight to keep his eyes open against the tiredness that was pulling at him.

He kept looking at the picture in his hand, at Miguel, wondering what their reunion later that night would be like. If only Luisa were here with them.

Well, no. If only he and Miguel could somehow go back to Luisa, to Socorro. If only their family could be brought back together in one place, without death.

“Normally we would ride home in a private car,” Mamá Coco said, finally reaching the end of the photo album and closing it. “But as soon as you’re feeling up to it I thought I’d take you on the sky trolley and show you a bit of the city while we travel. Rest a little while longer, we’ll leave out in a couple hours to get you ready to meet everyone, alright mijo?”

“And then I’ll see Miguel.” Enrique said, grateful to be allowed to lay back down on his pillow, already feeling himself slipping away as he still held Miguel’s photo.

“Remember Quique, things are going to be different.” Mamá Coco said.

For some reason she looked mildly concerned as Enrique closed his eyes, but he was already asleep before he could wonder why.

***

“Well anyway, it was so good to finally meet you, welcome home.” Leti said, giving Enrique a hug.

Enrique smiled as he returned to hug, forcing himself not to cringe at the unsettling clacking of bones under their clothing. Hugging his teenage great-tia had been only the latest in what had already been a long evening of handshakes, shoulder slaps, spirited stories, and of course skeletal hugs.

He hadn’t realized just how much family he had, let alone how well known the Riveras would be in the Land of the Dead. On the sky trolley ride over Mamá Coco had pointed out “Plaza Rivera,” among other landmarks dedicated to Héctor and his posterity. And that was after explaining that he’d woken up in the “Rivera wing” of the hospital.

Arriving at the massive Rivera mansion had nearly been overwhelming, it easily outshown even the large estates the Riveras has in the land of the living, which was saying something. It had been surprisingly pleasant to meet everyone waiting inside, connecting with dozens of enthusiastic family members, most of whom somehow seemed to be very familiar with his life even if he usually knew little of them.

At first it had been easy to stay busy meeting and talking with family, but now that Enrique had made the rounds of dozens of people that he had forgotten names of already everyone else seemed content to catch up with each other, leaving him drifting now that Tia Leti walked off to join another group.

Enrique glanced around the ballroom yet again, looking for any sign of Miguel. When Mamá Coco had turned him loose to mix and mingle she’d warned him Papá Héctor and Miguel were at a pre-scheduled charity event and would be coming late.

“Enrique,” someone (a...second-cousin?) said, tapping him on the shoulder and pointing across the crowd. “Papá Héctor’s here.”

An electric jolt shot through Enrique and he craned his neck to see over the crowd, zeroing in on the brim of a white and gold sombrero on the other side of the room. He didn’t even think to say thank you before he started pushing and weaving his way towards his target. Enrique ran as quickly as he could, causing others to jump out of his way.

Miguel was here. Here in the same room. Here where Enrique could finally, finally reach him. He would be able to scoop him up into a hug and make twenty years of apologies and hear his little boy talk and chatter again, just like he’d been longing to hear for decades.

Enrique was panting when he reached the other side of the ballroom, bursting through the crowd to the small clearing where a man in a fine white and gold charro suit was holding the hand of a boy in a matching outfit as he talked pleasantly with others.

“Miguel!” Enrique cried.

The boy turned to look at him and Enrique’s absent heart ached to recognize his son, despite how different he looked in death.

But instead of running to him, Miguel’s eyes got wide and he whimpered, leaning up against the man he was with and holding more tightly onto his hand.

“Miguel, what is it? What’s wrong?” Papá Héctor asked, looking down at the boy, then looked up and spotted Enrique. Realization flitted across his face and he smiled, extended an arm in welcome. “Enrique, welcome home, it’s good to see you. I suppose it’s time for you to meet Miguel.”

Enrique stepped closer, but there was now a growing ill feeling in his ribcage that had nothing to do with his recent heart attack. Something was very wrong.

Héctor put a hand on Miguel’s head and the boy turned toward him, silently keeping his glazed eyes on Enrique as he clung to Héctor’s jacket, like a scared toddler might do. The boy didn’t make a sound, watching Enrique without actually looking him in the eye.

“Miguel...” Enrique choked, dropping to one knee, looked at the skeletal shell that was left of what had once been his son. “Miguel, what, what happened? Mijo, what happened to you, what’s wrong?”

“I’m afraid he’s been through quite a lot.” Héctor said, but Enrique didn’t take his eyes off Miguel, who stared back, still not meeting his gaze, somehow managing to look blank and terrified at the same time.

“He’s been like this ever since he arrived,” Héctor said sadly, gently stroking Miguel’s hair as the boy clung to him. “we don’t know exactly what it was that the curse did to him. I assure you he’s been to the best doctors and therapists that money can buy over the last twenty years, we’ve done our very best to take good care of him. As long as he’s with me we’re alright, aren’t we, Chamaco? But being around a lot of new people can be a little scary.”

“I am his father.” Quique said, the words coming out unexpectedly hot with the heat of the tears he couldn’t cry. “I am not new, there’s something wrong with him.”

“Quique,” Héctor said, looking down at him with an expression that inexplicably made Enrique want to hit something, “I know this must be hard for you, but I need you to understand. Miguel has been with us for twenty years now.”

Longer than you ever took care of him.

The unspoken words rang in Enrique’s head as he looked up from Miguel. The look on Héctor’s face confirmed that it was exactly what he was trying to communicate.

Miguel is mine now, and you need to take a big step back. Héctor seemed to be saying.

So this is what Mamá Coco had been trying to warn him about.

“Miguel,” Enrique said gently, looking back at the catatonic child. “Miguel, it’s me, it’s Papá, it’s been a really long time since I’ve seen you, Mamá and I have missed you so much.”

No response. No words. None of the fire he remembered in his son. Not the quick smile, the bright eyes, the loving teasing or the musical laugh, the bright joy or the calm warmth.

As a skeleton he didn't even look like his Miguel, only the red-brown eyes and the small navy beauty mark above his lip were at all similar to the boy Enrique had missed and wept and prayed over for decades now. To the pictures he’d carried for years. To the son he had never, never stopped hoping he would somehow see again.

This was not Miguel.

This was a nightmare.

“What is wrong with my son?” said Enrique, getting to his feet and staring Héctor down. “What have you done to him?”

“Miguel is a fragile child who has been through more than he deserves.” Héctor said quietly, wrapping his arm around Miguel in a protective way that made Enrique want to scream. “Perhaps we can continue this conversation tomorrow when we’ve all had some rest.”

“Miguel, it’s me, look at me.” Enrique said, taking a step forward, “I know you remember me, mijo.”

“I don’t think he’s in the mood-”

“Stop talking for him.” Enrique snapped, feeling desperation rising in him. “And why are we having this conversation out in the open? It’s obviously too much for him, I need a room where I can be alone with him for a while.”

This was wrong, this was all so wrong. In all the hundreds, the thousands of ways he’d imagined seeing Miguel again over the years, not even his most awful imaginings had come close to this.

“I’m afraid that’s not possible.” Héctor said, his voice as warm as ever, but now with a hard edge creeping into his tone. “I think this is as far as we go tonight. I’m glad that you’ve joined us Enrique, welcome home. Miguel’s had a long day and I think it’s time he get some rest, perhaps we can continue this conversation when I return.”

Enrique watched helplessly as Héctor turned and led Miguel away from him.

Héctor was holding Miguel’s hand as if he were leading along a five year-old, a deeply unsettling sight that clashed terribly with the memories Enrique had of his son, a boy who’d been charging off on his own since he could walk. He’d never had to pull him along like that.

“Miguel.”  Enrique called, the word slipping out before he even realized it.

And Miguel looked over his shoulder, back at Enrique, just for a moment, before being silently tugged along again.

“Miguel...” Enrique said quietly, the aching in his chest getting worse as his son disappeared into the crowd.

Should he run to catch up with them? Should he, he didn't know, talk to Mamá Coco about getting Miguel back? At that moment he wanted nothing more than to grab his son right and take him far away from Héctor, to get a chance to talk to his boy alone, find out what was really going on.

But...Héctor had said Miguel was fragile, which Enrique had to beleive after what he’d seen. Maybe forcing Miguel to see him really was making things worse.

And as much as it tore Enrique apart, it was true that Héctor had been caring for Miguel longer than he ever had in life...and Enrique didn’t know the first thing about curses or their effects...and it really had been such a very long time since he and Miguel had seen each other.

Maybe...maybe things really had changed.

Enrique rubbed his forehead, flinching his hand away at the still-unfamiliar feeling of bone-on-bone. He didn’t know how his own body worked anymore, but it certainly felt like he was choking up, like he was going to cry.

He needed Luisa. She would know what to do, she would know how to handle this nightmare, she would know how to wake up Miguel, would know what was wrong with him.

Enrique stared up at the high ceiling above him, gritting his teeth and willing himself to get a grip. He hadn’t even been dead a whole day, whether he liked it or not, things were indeed different on this side, just like Mamá Coco said.

He should be grateful Miguel had been taken care of. He shouldn’t be feeling furious jealousy raging inside him. He shouldn’t be jumping to wild conclusions against how must have been treating his boy in order to reduce him to the hollow shell he was now. He shouldn’t be wishing there was some way he could get Miguel away from Héctor, at least for a day or two.

He shouldn’t.

But he was.

Something crashed into him from behind and Enrique yelped as some kind of liquid sloshed over him.

"Lo siento, güey, didn't see you there." A voice chuckled lazily.

Enrique looked up from his soaked shirt to see a man holding two now half-full glasses of wine. The skeleton’s smile looked as disposable as his apology had sounded, and his bloodshot heavy-lidded eyes didn’t help.

He was young, or rather, he must have died young, because Enrique recognized his small beaded braid from the photo album Mamá Coco had shown him earlier.

“Tio Rodrigo?” he asked.

“In the flesh.” Rodrigo grinned, his words just a little slurred on the ends.

Enrique stared at him, momentarily taken aback. In the flesh? Did he really-

“Your faaaaace!” Rodrigo crowed, managing to spill even more of his drinks on the ground as he laughed uproariously. “You freshies are hilarious, I swear, you guys always take forever to loosen up.”

“I see it’s possible to get drunk in the land of the dead?” Enrique said flatly, his agitation turning to annoyance as he looked down at his ruined shirt again.

“Ayyyy, sin hígado, sin problema, sí?” Rodrigo said, elbowing him in the ribs. “Gotta do something to survive around all these stiffs.”

He paused, but Enrique didn’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction to his second death joke.

“Anyway, welcome to the family or whatever.” Rodrigo said, his lazy smile thinning as he shrugged and took a sip of what was left in one of his glasses, “This is probably the last time you’ll ever talk to me, so here’s my magical Tio wisdom for you: be careful where you stick your hand, everything around this place bites.” He shoved his second glass in Enrique’s hand. “And here, you’ll need this before you meet Papi, unless of course you’re already one of his bootlickers. Anyway, have fun wandering this zoo for the rest of your afterlife.”

Rodrigo made a kind of sloppy salute and walked off, leaving Enrique with a practically empty glass, and staring in mild shock.

He had never heard a Rivera, dead or alive, talk about the family like that. Especially not about Papá Héctor.

Rodrigo had sounded downright disgusted.

Enrique needed to know more.

“Hey! Tio Rodrigo, wait!” Enrique called, making his way through the crowd of chatting family member that he didn’t recognize.

He noticed he was attracting stares and dropped his voice, forcing himself to walk after Rodrigo instead of running. Mamá Coco had hinted that Rodrigo was the black sheep of the family, it might seem strange for the new arrival to be paying him so much attention.

Enrique carefully made his way to the edge of the crowd and spotted a massive, winged cat alebrije curled up by a roaring fireplace in the far corner. Lounging against her softly glowing side was Rodrigo, legs crossed, eyes closed, and hands behind his head as leaned against the huge cat like she was a sofa.

“Tio Rodrigo?” Enrique said as he approached, eyeing the huge multi-colored beast a little nervously. If it was allowed indoors it had to be safe, right?  

“Qué?” Rodrigo cracked open a bloodshot eye, squinting at him. “What, already want to come tell me off? You’re faster than most, I’ll give you that.”

“You said that “everything bites,” you made it sound like Papá Héctor might bite too.” Enrique said, sitting down on the floor across from Rodrigo. “I need you to tell me what’s going on around here.”

Rodrigo stared at him, both eyes open now. But then his lazy expression grew cold. “Get lost. I’m minding my own business, go mind yours. And tell Teto Junior to come face himself if he wants me harassed instead of sending freshies to do it for him.”

“I...no. No one sent me. I need answers.” Enrique said, squaring his shoulders. “I’m Miguel’s father, the little boy that Papá Héctor won't let go of? He disappeared, well, died, twenty years ago and I don’t even recognize him anymore. I think something terrible’s happened to him, if you know anything about it please tell me, something is wrong and you’re the only one I’ve heard say anything negative about this family.”

Rodrigo stared hard at Enrique, slowly tipping his head back, as if his thought process was slowly loading. Which it undoubtedly was, judging by how much alcohol it seemed that he probably drank on a regular basis.

“You’re el espectro’s real Papá?” Rodrigo asked.

“What do you mean, “real” Papá?” Enrique asked irritably, “Of course I am.”

Rodrigo let out a low whistle, looking at Héctor with something that approached pity.

“Hey, uh, you might want to... You don’t actually have to live here.” Rodrigo said, looking out at the crowd beyond them, adjusting to sit up a little straighter. “Like, they’ll make it sound like you have to, but you can leave. Get a flat like me, strike out on your own, alright?”

“I’m not talking about housing, I’m talking about Miguel.” Enrique said sharply. Why was he even talking to the family drunk if he couldn’t even hold a coherent conversation?

Rodrigo looked him in the eye, his dazed focus crystallized suddenly into something raw and hard, reminding Enrique unsettlingly of the look he’d gotten from Héctor only minutes before.

“Look Quique, I’m going to be straight with you.” He said, “You don’t have a son anymore. That nino’s gone, he’s been gone for years. He wasn’t even that bad when he first arrived, but whatever’s wrong with him, it’s permanent now. I’ve never seen him more than five inches away from my father, the kid calls him Papá. He belongs to my father and Papá does not like it when people take his things from him. Move on before you get hurt, if you stick around he’ll grind you down too.”

“Papá Héctor said the curse is what changed Miguel,” Enrique said, forcing himself to push past the pain of hearing Miguel called another man Papá. “Héctor said he’s been to therapists, but if he has then I don’t understand why Miguel is in such bad condition. I need to talk to Miguel, to feel out what the problem is myself. Maybe they’ve had him too long to see clearly what I could see with new eyes, but he wont even let me near Miguel.”

“Look, you’re talking to the wrong person, he won’t let me near the kid either.” Rodrigo rolled his eyes, looking away as he absently threading his fingers through the alebrije cat’s fur. “I’m too much of a bad influence, they don’t want their old youngest child to rub off on their new one. I don’t know what his deal is, all I know is that you’re not going to be on their good side if you try to get near him without a signed permission slip. El espectro is Papá’s lucky charm, pretty sure they’ll both die the second death if they’re ever separated at this point.”

Mamá Coco had made it sound like Miguel was attached to his caretakers, not that he’d been completely re-written by a set of adoptive parents.

If only Enrique could just get Miguel alone, if he could just talk to him for a while. Maybe Héctor really had taken him to doctors, maybe he really had been trying his best, but evidently whatever he was doing was only making things worse.

And Enrique was Miguel’s father, not Héctor. Enrique could help Miguel recover, he knew who Miguel really was, he’d been the one to actually raise the boy, Héctor has only seen him trapped in this stagnant state.

Which wasn’t even remotely the same thing as being his parent. Héctor didn’t have any special one of claim over Miguel, he was just used to no one challenging him.

Maybe it was time for that to change.

“Look, lo siento Queque, really,” Rodrigo said, stiffly getting to his feet and stretching. “but the only way to survive this family is to get away from them. Trust me, I know. There’s some open flats near my place at Plaza Rivera, get your family stipend and get yourself set up there. Take my advice and leave this all behind, move on before you get hurt.”

Rodrigo turned and dug his fingers into the alebrije jaguar’s fur, dragging his hands back and forth across her huge neck. The massive animal opened her blazing yellow eyes and stretched luxuriously, extending her legs and wings, making Enrique shiver at the amount of tense energy coursing through her gigantic frame. This was a creature that looked like it could even kill the dead if it wanted to.

“Pepitaaaa, heeeey pretty kitty,” Rodrigo crooned, scratching behind a feline ear the size of his skull. “want to give me a lift back to my place, beautiful girl? Caprice stayed home tonight, I need to get back before she starts wondering about me.”

Pepita’s thundering purr rolled as she got to her feet and drooped a wing to the floor, allowing Rodrigo to clamber up onto her back.

“Look Quique, you seem like a good kid.” Rodrigo called as Pepita padded to the huge open window nearby, “I’ll tell you what, since you’ve got a bone to pick with my father I’ll give you a once-in-an-afterlife offer, you can come crash at my place for a night if you ever decide to escape. Plaza Rivera, teal building, ground level. Give it up with el espectro now, Papi’s not going to let you anywhere near him.”

“But how do I-?”

Enrique startled as Pepita dropped out of the window, taking a waving Rodrigo down the skyscraper height drop with her.

A moment later he saw them rise in the distance, already flying far, far away on glowing wings.

Enrique watched them disappear into the distant skyline, still holding tightly to the glass Rodrigo had handed him, feeling suddenly as if he had been abandoned somewhere dangerous.

“Was that tonto giving you trouble?”

Enrique jumped, looking over to see that a skeleton in a sharp business suit with a glowing squirrel perched on his shoulder had joined him and was glaring out the window. Héctor Junior, the second youngest child in the family.

“I don’t know why Coco and Leti insist on him attending our gatherings,” Héctor Junior said, his voice as cold as a terminal diagnosis. “all he does is bother the people who actually care about the family.”

“He wasn’t bothering me.” Enrique said automatically, but then froze as Héctor Junior’s stiff gaze turned to him.

“Then what were you two doing?” Héctor Junior asked, his squirrel alebrije chattering as it stared Enrique down with its beady fuchsia eyes.

Enrique tried to bite his non-existent lip for the second time that day as he thought fast. Perhaps disclosing his sympathies with the family pariah wasn’t the smartest thing he could do right now.

Especially not with the mad plan beginning to form in the back of his head.

“Well, actually he was bothering me,” Enrique said, pulling at the hem of his wine-stained shirt with an angry sigh. “But he flew off when I tried to talk to him about it.”

Héctor Junior snorted unkindly, taking a sip of champagne from the fluted glass he carried. “Yes, he does that. Ruy is forever flying away from his responsibilities.”

“Well I’m glad he’s gone,” Enrique said, cringing internally even as he laid it on thick. “he was saying awful things about the family.”

“You’ll find that afterlife without the family mistake is much preferable.” Héctor Junior said, looking at him approvingly. He extended his hand. “Héctor the Second, now that we’ve officially met. You can call me Tio Héctor.”

“It’s good to finally meet you in person.” Enrique said, shaking his hand and resisting the urge to wipe his own handbones on his pant leg afterward. “You’ve left quite a legacy in the family with the Rivera Zapatos Corporation.”

“Yes, I suppose I have.” Héctor Junior said smugly, “Teaming up to work with Tio Felipe y Oscar was certainly one of my most brilliant moment in life. You know, it was when-”

“I just remembered,” Enrique said quickly, cutting off what he already could tell was going to be a very long story. “Papá Héctor asked me to meet him at Miguel’s room and I’ve completely forgotten the directions he gave me. This place is so big, do you know how to get to Miguel’s room from here?”

“It’s on the second floor.” Héctor Junior said, swiftly recovering from his obvious disappointment at being interrupted. “If you go down that hallway and up the grand staircase it should lead you to an atrium. Past that is the second hallway, I think his room is one of those doors, I do know it’s right next to my parent’s room. Pobre nino, I hear he still gets nightmares about his death, Papá keeps him close by so he can help.”

Enrique desperately wanted to curl up and die again at that last part (Nightmares for twenty years? Now he knew something was wrong.) but he kept his business smile on, grateful that years of dealing with overbearing press and slimy business partners had prepared him for situations like this. He had to be strong if he was going to help his son, he had to keep it together if his insane plan was going to work.

“Muchas gracias, Tio Héctor.” Enrique said, nodding, “If you’ll excuse me, I need to go find a new shirt before my meeting.”

“That does seem appropriate.” Héctor said with a smirk, “Welcome to the family Enrique, I hope you settle in well.”

“Gracias.” Enrique nodded, then turned and made his way deep into the crowd as quickly as he could. Away from that man.

Enrique dodged between well-wishing family members, politely smiling off their advances, excusing himself over and over. So many skeletal faces, some he vaguely recognized, many he didn’t, but now he couldn't help feeling like he really was in a zoo, just like Rodrigo has suggested.

Something was very wrong, even if no one else seemed to realize it. Enrique needed to get his son and get him out, just for a little while, a day or two, long enough to actually connect again with Miguel without a crowd looking on.

Enrique ducked down the hallway that Héctor Junior had pointed out, his forced smile dropping as soon as he was out of sight.

There was a very good chance he was overreacting. Maybe he should wait, give it a couple days to let himself adjust before charging into a situation that he knew he didn’t fully understand.

Luisa would probably tell him to be patient.

But Luisa wouldn’t want him to leave their son a moment longer than he had to, not in this state.

Enrique sent up a quick prayer, crossing himself as he headed towards what had to be the grand staircase Héctor Junior had mentioned. If Papá Héctor had just put Miguel to bed then that meant Miguel would be alone once Héctor went back down to the party. That gave Enrique a brief window of time to get to Miguel before Héctor noticed he was missing from the crowd.

Enrique had no idea what would happen if he were caught, but if worst came to worst, Miguel was still his son. How much trouble could he really be in legally?

Enrique shook his head as he quietly climbed the stairs, keeping his hands close to himself after hearing the clacking sound they made against the stone railing.

He would cross that bridge when he came to it. For now, all he knew was that he had to get to Miguel. For the first time in decades his son was within his reach, for the first time years he knew where he was.

Enrique grit his teeth and picked up his pace. Nothing was going to keep him away from Miguel, not now.

He was going to do whatever it took to get his son back.

Read Chapter 5

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Well now you’ve all gone and done it and goaded me into writing an actual story with all your brilliant asks. Hope you’re all quite pleased with yourselves.

- Wit