#is. its. well its devastating and juicy as Fuck!

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

SO. TO KICK OFF THE WEEK OF SPECULATION BEFORE THE UPDATE DROPS.

last night i had a bit of a Revelation. literally. i borderline woke up in a cold sweat with this realization. the way i lunged for my laptop to scream at friends... ough. lets get into it

so. i do believe I've made a couple of theory posts about Barnaby not being quite as receptive to his and Wally's "forced" best friendship as Wally - since the show wrote them to be friends instead of it happening naturally. i thought it might be a point of tension for Barn. i thought a lot.

YES SO I'M TOSSING (almost) ALL OF THAT OUT THE WINDOW!

the bios state Barnaby as Wally's best friend multiple times over. it had to be regularly reinforced. their colors were chosen to mark them as friends.

but Barnaby - presumably - can't see the bios, he wouldn't know the scripts. the friendship would be natural from his perspective. how would he know otherwise? even if the relationship started out synthetic, i don't doubt that it became genuine. in the context of their world and perceptions, realistically speaking Barnaby probably wouldn't sense anything wrong.

the reminders to be best friends weren't for Barnaby.

they were for Wally.

i'm starting to suspect that Wally is Barnaby's best friend, but Barnaby isn't Wally's. i think that Wally's "best friend" is Home - or at least Wally has a closer connection to them / Home is more important to Wally than anyone else is.

i remember reading this livestream trivia (from theneighborhoodwatch's doc, if you haven't their resources yet what are you even doing?):

and i assumed it was for Barnaby's side of the relationship. but it's not, is it? it's Wally's? and it makes too much fucking Sense! it fits! i can see it perfectly! i can feel things slotting together in my mind due to this shift in perspective, and i'm scared

Barnaby probably thinks the relationship is natural, just like how he thinks he's a real person in a real world. Wally probably knows that the relationship is a role, just like how he knows he's a puppet in a false reality.

that leaves me wondering how much of it is genuine on Wally's side. i don't doubt that they really are friends, but how deep does that connection go? in the interview, Wally sounded excited/proud about having a best friend, but how much came from a place of feeling, and how much came from a place of Fulfilling The Role? how much of it is performative? how much of it is a mask?

i've been seeing everything differently. Barnaby poses for Wally the most because he has good balance and is good at staying still, not because of favoritism or because he's Wally's best friend. in the 14 (15 including the hidden halloween) audios, Barnaby consistently seeks out Wally and checks in on him. Wally seems more casual about their relationship than Barnaby is.

i'm worried that Wally values Home & You/Us over Barnaby. that Barnaby is second or third place in Wally's heart. that Wally means more to Barnaby than he means to Wally. after all, only one of them needed their relationship to be reinforced on a seemingly regular basis.

i'm confident that Wally cares about / loves Barnaby, but the question is how much? to what extent?

[wil-o-wispy]

The Wife, the Lover and the Bastard Son - Part 5

Pairing: Chris Redfield x FEM!Reader

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 (You are here)

Summary: The more hours that pass, the closer he is to finding you.

Content: Canon typical violence/swearing, descriptions of blood, more reader lore drops, references to RE5, brief mentions of vomiting from seasickness, mostly next chapter setup but there's some juiciness in here, brief description of banging a head against a wall. Reader is referred to as 'Doc' and is the wife of (dead?) Albert Wesker and is a former Umbrella scientist.

a/n: That took longer than I thought but here it is. Once again, I appreciate you and thank you for reading!

w/c: 9.4k

It felt like you were running for an eternity after you witnessed Albert breaking out of his experimental confines. You didn’t look back. You didn’t have a plan. You didn’t even think on where to go next. Your only goal was to get as far away from Albert as physically possible.

Years of suppressed trauma from the day Albert died rears its ugly head and everything floods back to you in one overwhelming emotional wave that feeds your adrenaline and keeps your feet moving one in front of the other. Fear. Confusion. Anger. Devastation. Fear. You keep having to wipe away the tears that won’t stop leaking out of your eyes, trying in vain to keep your vision clear as you blindly wind your way through the facility.

But adrenaline highs eventually run out even if paralyzing fear is still present.

Your legs cramp. Your lungs scream for something more than just short puffs of air. Your heart works overtime from the strain of the situation and beats so fast it hurts and black dots the edges of your vision. Blood pumps through your veins so quickly that you can hear it in your ears so you can’t focus on anything else.

The moment you need to place your hand on the wall to keep yourself from collapsing is the second you decide to open whatever door is closest and hide out in whatever room is on the other side of it.

You’ve managed to run from the inner sanctum of the new lab all the way to an older, non-refurbished part. Is this the old lab? What used to be part of the military base? You can’t tell and you don’t care. You push open the door and sink to the floor as soon as you shut it again, trying to gulp some air into your lungs so you don’t keel over and pass out. As you try to slow down your breathing and collect yourself, only one thought is going through your mind.

This isn’t fucking happening he’s supposed to be dead.

There’s a sound that makes you jolt upright and whip your head to the edge of the room.

Whoever was here previously left in a hurry. There are loose DVD’s, clear DVD cases, and cases with DVD’s still in them scattered all over the desk in the back while a projector idly flickers against a white screen against the adjacent wall. The noise is coming from behind the projector.

You cautiously get up from the floor and make your way over to it, still wobbly on your feet but able to keep yourself from toppling over and discover the source of the whirring: a DVD player. The disk holder is trying to retract into the machine, but the machine is askew and miscellaneous office junk is preventing it from closing properly. There’s a date written in Sharpie on the disk: March 19, 2006. The day Albert died.

A note with an official looking letterhead sits next to the machine, partially crumpled up. You pick it up, unfold it, and read its contents.

RE: Wesker Collection: Africa Tanker July 2002 – March 2006.

To Our Most Esteemed Client,

We thank you for entrusting us with this extensive recovery project involving the late Albert Wesker and his surviving wife. It has truly been an honor to observe the infamous scientist in his private life while carrying out these services.

We are happy to report that 93% of the recovered footage provided from the Africa tanker was able to be upgraded to your UHD specifications, as well as remove the most glaring audio anomalies for improved sound quality. Please see the attached inventory sheet for a full breakdown. The full transcripts will become available in the coming weeks as previously discussed.

I would humbly encourage you to reconsider my suggestion regarding upgrading the remaining footage archive. There is much to be learned from his methods in creating the Uroboros virus as well as advancing the gestation of the Plaga parasite. Should you change your mind, we would be elated to welcome you back as a client.

You feel a gentle numbness come over you as you read the note. The DVD player whirs again. Your eyes flick over to it. You absentmindedly put down the paper, reposition the DVD player so it sits properly, and move the junk that’s preventing the disk compartment from closing. The little door finally closes with a soft tapping noise, and the DVD inside it whirs until it emits a soft hum.

The image flickers to life on the projector and you feel a lump in your throat. You recognize the room. It’s CCTV footage a captain’s quarters space with a metal chair in the center with straps to constrain an unlucky subject to it at the wrists, arms, and chest. On the screen, two distant voices outside the room are arguing: a man and a woman. As the voices get closer to the room, you recognize the sound of your own voice even before Albert kicks the door open and drags you into the room by your forearm while you struggle in vain against his grip.

“I’m not like you!” You retort defiantly.

“But you are my dear, in more ways than you care to admit.” Albert replies, clearly getting impatient with how you’re acting.

“Like hell I am! Statistically, I’m gonna end up like any other one of your test subjects!”

“Don’t you dare compare yourself to those weaklings!” Albert spits, incensed at your response and abruptly forcing you in front of him so his angered expression is up close to your nervous one. Albert breathes heavily for a moment, then speaks in a colder, more pragmatic tone that is expected of him.

“You will evolve beyond your limits, and you will thank me for it.”

You watch Albert force you into the chair despite your continued protests. You watch as he straps your wrists to the arms of the chair and your torso to the back of it so quickly that the video appears to buffer on Albert’s main movements while you fail to struggle against him. You know it’s not the video. He was just that fast. You continue to struggle even after Albert takes a step back with an angered look.

“I have a rendezvous with an old colleague that I can’t afford to miss, but when I return-” You watch Albert roughly grasp your chin and turn your face to look up at him and you freeze. Albert’s voice turns into a deadly, low tone.

“I want a satisfactory answer out of you.”

After staring you down for a moment, he releases your chin and walks to the door, intending to close it. You watch him go with a defeated look.

“Please don’t do this.” You beg with a small voice.

You see Albert pause at the door and sigh with his back to the camera. He doesn’t turn to look at you. “It’s happening with or without your participation my dear. I suggest you be in good company when my New World emerges from the embers of humanity.”

Albert slams the door and you jump in your seat. A lock engages, then heavy footsteps quickly get further and further away. Once it’s quiet again, you immediately resume your attempts to wiggle out of the chair.

With no warning, the footage erupts into pixelated static, a slideshow of random frames you can barely make out, then it finally cuts to you later, still strapped to the chair in that room, and screaming at the top of your lungs.

“HELLO? I’M IN HERE! GET ME THE FUCK OUT OF THIS THING!” Your voice is strained from shouting and thick from crying. You remember the ship rocking from side to side so precariously that you thought it was going to flip over and you’d drown in that room. There’s methodical, forceful banging on the door and you can see it straining from the force of your rescuers on the other side of it.

In the real world, you hear heavy footsteps stomping towards the room you’re in and you’re suddenly very aware of how loud the projector is. Whoever heard already knows you’re here, so you just grab the closest thing to a weapon you see, which happens to be a stapler, and crawl under the desk and pull your knees to your chest. All the while, you hear yourself keep screaming for help on the projector.

A moment later, the door to the projector room flies open with so much force that you hear it slam against the wall followed by quick and heavy footsteps rushing into the room.

At the same time on the screen, you hear the door to that room finally break open, and Chris’ words trying to comfort you as Sheva and him undo your binds. Their chorus of ‘It’s okay’s’ and ‘you’re alright’s’ are ignored by you, and you get straight to business as usual, albeit with a rattled voice.

“What was that? Why was everything shaking?”

You can’t see the screen, but you know Sheva and Chris are looking at each other. Sheva finally answers.

“Excella was rejected by Uroboros.”

You’re silent for a moment on the projector. “… I tried to warn her.”

You hear yourself struggling to get to your feet, your seasickness coming back at full force as you struggle to walk in a straight line and you hear Chris grab your arm to steady you.

“Careful!” Chris says with a worried tone.

“Forget about me! We have to hurry we’re running out of time!” Your voice is strained like you’re about to vomit and you hear yourself quickly stumble out of the room while Chris and Sheva hurry after you.

The three sets of voices retreat from the room on the screen and the projector grows silent.

In the newfound silence of the room, you realize your breathing is much too loud so you cover your mouth to silence yourself.

But it’s too late for that.

You hear the footsteps stealthily approach closer.

And closer.

And closer.

You sense the presence stop right outside of your range of vision under the desk.

Albert found you. This is the end.

You yelp in surprise and raise the stapler to bludgeon whatever just discovered your hiding spot, but you freeze like a deer in headlights when you see Jake with his pistol raised.

For a moment, he just stares at you while you try in vain to steady your staccato breathing. You know you look like a mess. Tears streak your terrified face, hair sticks out in every direction, and most notably, there are blood splatters that stain your clothes.

“Doc? Jesus what happened to you?”

Jake holsters his gun and brushes your arms out of the way. He looks closely at your clothes, looking for entry points for injuries.

“It okay it’s… it’s not mine. I-I just can’t get a grip.” Your voice is hoarse and strained. No matter how hard you try you can’t seem to slow your breathing enough to even think about calming down.

Jake stops looking for injuries and directs his icy gaze to your tearful expression. “What happened?”

“He’s-” You take in a deep and shaky breath, “-he’s alive b-but he’s… he’s not himself and I… I don’t know if that’s better or worse-”

“Doc. Take a breath. Who’s alive?” Jake is trying to be the voice of reason in your panicked state, but his tone has an edge of seriousness to it.

“Wesker! These people excavated his fucking corpse and decided it was a genius idea to reanimate him. That director guy took me to the chamber, then he woke up and there was carnage when he heard my voice and… and…I can’t… I can’t do this again Jake!”

You slam down the stapler onto the ground and you put your head in your hands trying to get some sense of comfort. You mumble in your hands, still not wanting to believe your new set of circumstances.

“Why do people keep doing this? This kind of shit never ends well. You’d think people would learn but they just don’t.”

It never ends. People will always think they’re smarter than their predecessors.

Your head is pounding behind your eyes so you move a few fingers to pinch the bridge of your nose for some relief.

“What do you mean?”

You blink. Your hands retreat from your face and your eyes slowly move to Jake’s. “What?”

“You said you couldn’t do this again, what do you mean?”

Right. You did say that. You take a deep breath and finally muster up enough composure to answer.

“I… it’s a long story but to make it brief, I was the one who blew the whistle on the Uroboros project.”

Jake’s serious expression doesn’t change. You look at your hands.

“I finally realized how apocalyptic the project really was and I needed to tell someone. By a stroke of dumb luck I managed to get a B.S.A.A. radio and alert the African division.”

You feel your eyes growing hot again and you blink away the heat.

“Two agents were able to get to me about two weeks later and I told them how to kill him.”

You take another deep breath and continue.

“I told you earlier he needed regular doses of the virus to keep it stable. I knew that giving him too much would cause adverse effects. Or at least slow him down enough so the B.S.A.A. could put him down.”

You swallow the lump in your throat.

“So I showed them where he kept the extra doses. And then I showed them where the virus warheads were.”

You close your eyes and lean your head back against the underside of the desk. Jake doesn’t need to know the rest. He doesn’t need to know that Chris noticed how sickly and scared you were and put his hand on your shoulder to comfort you. He doesn’t need to know that Albert saw his nemesis touching his wife and was seething with barely contained rage because of it. He doesn’t need to know how your heart got caught in your throat when you felt Albert’s inhumanly strong arms wrap around your waist, your body move dizzyingly fast, and before you realized what had even happened, he had your back to his chest and his hand wrapped menacingly tight around your throat as he growled in your ear.

“It’s in your best interest to listen to me dearheart. We wouldn’t want any accidents to happen in front of our guests, would we?”

Jake doesn’t need to know that everything in your body betrayed you at that moment. You should have screamed, you should have thrashed, you should have done quite literally anything to try to escape his grip as futile as it would have been. But you didn’t. Jake doesn’t need to know that you’d seen Albert angry a handful of times but this was the first time you felt that he could actually kill you for going against his wishes. It wouldn’t do anyone any good if he knew it was a thinly veiled threat at best, but it was more than enough to rob you of your voice, freeze in place, and cause tears to prick at the corners of your eyes, just like today.

You don’t tell Jake any of this, but he seems to understand the subtext of your words perfectly anyway. When you feel confident you’re not going to burst into tears again, you look back at Jake.

“Albert saw. He knows what I did. He’s going to kill me for betraying him.”

Silence weighs over the two of you like a thick fog, choking any semblance of hope in the haze of reality.  You sit there wallowing in the harsh reality of your words. You knew in your soul that it was the truth, but it feels so much more real when you hypothesize Albert’s intentions with you out loud. Jake is silent, the wheels turning in his head on what he should say.

“That was a long time ago you can’t know that for sure.”

“He’s not the forgiving type, Jake. He never was.”

You hear a distant clang, and something you could have sworn was a monstrous roar from the direction of where you last saw Albert outside of the room. You freeze. Jake glances outside of your hiding place, then back to you, now aware of how distressed you actually are. Jake holds out his hand to you. He gestures you to come out.

“C’mon. I found someplace safe we can hide out for a while.” He whispers in a confident tone.

You don’t look at him. Your eyes are trained on the open door to the room.

Would Albert inject you with a virus first? Terrorize you? Gloat? Kill you outright?

“Doc, we have to go. You can’t stay here, it’s not secure.”

The ‘not secure’ comment breaks through to you, and you turn your head away from the hallway to nod up at Jake. You let him help you to your feet.

It takes much longer than you would have liked to get to the safe place even though it’s only a few hallways past the room you ran into. You freeze at nearly every distant noise, but Jake is surprisingly patient with you. He gives you incentivizing but firm words to keep your feet moving, occasionally putting his hand on your back to encourage you to keep going.

The ‘safe room’ ends up being a hybrid communications room. One part is dedicated to running the security cameras with over a dozen different monitors flickering to different parts of the facility with an intercom system attached to it. Another computer system close by it has a complex-looking computer system with a microphone attached to it. Yet another part is made up of a large console for computers and a hodgepodge conglomerate of tech for listening to and watching different sorts of media, some storage boxes, as well as a professional assortment of radio equipment. Jake sees your eyes light up upon seeing the radio setup, then shakes his head with a serious expression.

“Don’t get your hopes up yet. It’s busted.”

Your shoulders slump.

“… great.” You utter quietly. You drag your feet over to a table overflowing with scattered papers, a pair of headphones and a personal computer on it, and slump into a chair.

“Hey, we’re not out of options yet. We’ve still got this thing.” Jake says optimistically, lightly smacking his hand on the control panel of the large computer system with the microphone. “All it needs is a key card with enough clearance.”

You sigh, wanting the computer route to work out but also trying not to get too invested in the idea if it doesn’t. “Try this.” You mutter, pulling out Youju’s white keycard and holding it out to Jake. The blood on it has dried to a sickly brown color and has a faint coppery smell. Jake takes it with an eyebrow raised.

You shrug. “It was Youju’s. He won’t miss it.”

“…. I’m sure he won’t. Give me a couple minutes.”

Jake heads over to the computer and you hold your head in your hands, leaning over the table on your elbows trying to process everything that’s just happened.

Albert’s alive.

You destroyed the only Uroboros sample on this godforsaken island.

You’re willing to bet the military part of the facility isn’t stocked up on a convenient rocket launcher to get you out of this mess.

You aren’t one to wallow in self-pity but given the unthinkable circumstances, you can’t help but feel like you’ve already been backed into a corner that you have no hope of escaping.

You take another deep breath and stare absentmindedly at the papers on the table. You weren’t particularly looking for anything, but you can’t help but notice the format of the documents in front of you. All of them are audio transcripts. One of them catches your eye with its title in bold letters at the top of the page. The heading reads WESKER/GIONNE UROBOROS MEETING– JANUARY 18, 2006. A few inches below it, there’s a handwritten note in the right margin: No good. Audio too distorted and she doesn’t say anything we can use. Positive depictions of the wife only.

Positive depictions of you only? That piques your interest.

You think back to what Youju said before you woke Albert up. We’ve tried recordings of your voice and they’ve yielded positive results but not the ones we’re looking for.

You turn your attention to the computer, then eye the headphones. You dig for the mouse under the mountain of papers and wiggle it when you finally find it. The computer monitor hums to life, already logged in. On the screen, there’s a video file already pulled up of the meeting.

Out of curiosity, you put on the headphones and hit play. As the audio recording runs, you alternate between looking at the transcript and watching the footage.

The footage plays and you see a board room with a presentation on a projector. The angle is from above the projector so you can’t see what’s on the screen, but you have a good view of you and Albert sitting on opposite sides of a conference table with a cloaked figure standing not too far from you.

Jill. She deserved a better chance than you to rescue her from hell.

You recognize Excella’s thick Italian accent before you can even see her come into view. You can’t really hear everything Excella is saying due to her being in such close proximity to the camera microphone, but you recognize choice words throughout her presentation.

Tanker.

Uroboros.

Transport.

Warheads.

You remember this presentation. Excella was talking about transport protocols for Uroboros leading up to the actual virus release. Albert insisted on your attendance. While you never gave verbal feedback on his experiments at this time, you eventually figured out that Albert would carefully watch your facial expressions and body language to get your thoughts instead. You perfected your stone-faced expression out of necessity in not accidentally contributing to his plans. You watch yourself paying rapt attention. You have to give yourself credit, your poker face looks good here even though you know you were scared out of your mind. It was finally sinking into your head that the world would end if you didn’t do something to intervene.

While you’re lost in your thoughts, Excella finally finishes her speech and sultrily saunters behind Albert’s chair. Now that Excella is farther away from the microphone, it’s picking up the rest of the audio in the room much better. Even so, the audio still sounds grainy.

“Albert?” Excella croons, putting her hands on Albert’s shoulders and lightly rubbing them. She leans down close to his ear.

“Do you have any contributing thoughts?”

Albert doesn’t even look at Excella. Instead, his sunglasses adorned face turns to you sitting across the table. “I’d like to hear what my wife thinks of this contingency plan of yours.”

Excella’s mouth morphs into a thin line and she straightens her posture, not happy about that request but not saying anything to refute it. She puts on a fake smile but doesn’t take her hands off of Albert’s shoulders. “Of course.”

You don’t look at him. You only stare blankly at the presentation on the projector. You can’t tell from your body language, but you know that in this moment you were already thinking of ways to combat the Uroboros plan. But you also knew that voicing your honest thoughts would throw a wrench in any plan you would make in the future.

“Excella has already outlined the important details and caveats. I have nothing else to add.” You reply politely. Even through the slight graininess of the footage, your stiff posture and unwillingness to look in Albert and Excella’s direction are very noticeable.

Albert grunts with a nearly imperceptible frown, not satisfied with the answer. Or with the fact that you’re refusing to look in his direction. “Very well, but I still want your thoughts on the project.”

“You already have the project in good hands. End of thought.” You finally turn your head away from the screen and gesture to Excella with a neutral expression.

You knew that Excella wanted Albert, but you were almost certain that he didn’t want her. He only mentioned her in passing in whatever limited conversation he had with you, but there was always an underlying message in his choice of words that he thought she was beneath him. A pretty face with brains, a bankroll and resources behind it, but too caught up in wanting to be recognized as a legitimate member of her prestigious family and not having enough self-awareness to know she was in partnership with a viper in the grass that would discard her when it became convenient. You were almost certain because even though you knew this, he never pushed her off or rejected her advances in front of you.

“I feel tired. I’m turning in early.” You get up from your seat and briskly walk to the door.

It would have been easy to miss if you didn’t know Albert’s mannerisms so well, but you see him let out a sharp breath through his nose. He’s miffed by your response. He knew you were growing more distant by the day. He knew you didn’t like his plan. He knew you were slipping through his fingers like grains of sand that he methodically kept trying to contain by constricting his grip even more heavy handedly than he did before.

Any other interaction like this behind closed doors would have progressed to him subtly forcing his proximity to you; following you out like a suffocating shadow and pulling your attention to any mundane conversation that would ultimately lead to him explaining himself with yet another angle that didn’t justify his end goals in the slightest with the intention of you at least understanding why he thought this was the only viable course of action. Saving the known world is an admirable adventure in a number of epics old and new. But saving the world by starting anew? A new world with superhumans could never be justified by sacrificing billions of lives.

On any other day he would have followed you.

Instead, Albert is forced to save face in front of his suffocating business partner.

“Escort her to the suite.” Albert orders the cloaked figure, which follows you right on your heels. His tone is short. Controlled.

As soon as the door shuts behind you, Albert raises from his seat and shrugs off Excella’s wandering hands. Excella has an annoyed look on her face for a moment, but quickly covers it up with an alluring smile.

“You hear that, Albert? The project is in good hands.”

Albert doesn’t even bother to look at her. He only prowls to the front of the projector clasps his hands behind his back. A map of South Africa is reflected in his sunglasses. “Then ensure it stays that way. I won’t tolerate any further delays or incompetence,” Albert replies in a cold tone.

The video ends.

You pull off the headphones with a scowl on your face. The son of a bitch was trying to make you jealous on purpose.

Despite your annoyance, your eyes keep drifting back to the note in the margin. Positive depictions only.

If this one was rejected, then what do the accepted ones have you saying?

You begin looking more closely at the scattered papers.

It appears that Neo Umbrella was only working from security footage that was obtained from the Africa tanker. It’s not surprising they weren’t able to find a lot of usable audio from you. You were falling out of love and didn’t have a lot of sweet things to say to your husband. Even with that in mind, you’re surprised at how little they were able to scrape together with the gargantuan amount of media they had to work with. You knew Albert liked his cameras, but you didn’t know he kept footage of you that was this extensive.

From what you can see from the transcripts, the only ‘useful’ audio was you calling Albert one of the few pet names he liked hearing; dear, darling and love, sometimes with a ‘my’ thrown in there. Albert insisted that other terms of endearment sounded too casual, although in the early days of your marriage you’d call him increasingly ridiculous nicknames until he’d put you in your place in a way that left you both shaking and satisfied. There was a time where he liked it when you challenged him. Not just on the domestic front, but in the Umbrella labs. You weren’t afraid to tell him he was wrong or that there were more efficient methods of doing things. Sometimes you were right. Other times, Albert proved you wrong. Even with the latter, Albert would always at least listen to your input since he saw you as someone who was worth listening to.

Among the other transcripts, strangely enough, there was a fifteen page document of you reading plaga laboratory results to Albert. This was a routine occurrence. It wasn’t uncommon for Albert to ask you to read things like that aloud to help him think or as a way to review previously explored experiments before diving into new ones. It was a small ask in your eyes and it was a good way to stay informed on what Albert was doing, so you didn’t object unless you felt too seasick. What surprised you was how positive the margin notes were: Yes! She sounds interested and engaged. Find more of this to put in the rotation.

Talk about desperate for something other than curt politeness and apathy when talking to your husband. Nearly every other transcript has less satisfactory notes:

Wife too combative. Exclude from rotation.

She sounds too demanding. Discard.

This one has Gionne talking over the wife. EXCLUDE the audio if Gionne is present in future selections.

Too disinterested, but keep on file just in case.

They’re fighting again in this one. Do not use.

Can’t you read? Wesker clearly didn’t respect Gionne stop giving the lab team audio of her flirting with him.

“Doc, we’re in business!” Jake’s victorious exclamation pulls you out of your investigation.

You whip your head over to the monitor Jake was working on and to your delighted surprise, instead of the Neo Umbrella logo, you see a landing page with a number pad.

“What does it need? Radio frequency? Phone number?” You ask intensely, shooting up from your chair and standing behind his to look at the screen.

“Phone number unfortunately. The radio stuff is out as well.”

You blink, unsure why he made that sound like a problem. “Do you not have number you can call in your phone? Like your captain?”

Jake’s facial expression turns something close to sheepish.

“I lost it. Let’s keep it at that.”

You look at him blankly. Do people these days not memorize important numbers like that?

“… I know who we can call.” You mutter, shooing Jake out of the seat so you can type it in and speak easily into the microphone. You’re not sure if he’ll pick up, but he’s your best bet.

For a moment, you hold your breath hearing the dial tone come in over the speakers. Is he on a mission? Asleep halfway around the world? Stuck in a never-ending cycle of training exercises?

A gruff, annoyed voice that makes you weak at the knees finally answers on the last ring. A crowd of voices can be heard in the background. “Hello? You’ve reached Captain Redfield.”

“Chris, it’s Doc.” You breathe a sigh of relief. Even though it’s just Chris’ voice, you already feel a little better knowing rescue will imminently be on its way.

“Doc?” Chris’ tone immediately shifts to a relieved one as sounds of rummaging erupt on his end of the call. “Are you alright? Do you know where you are?”

“Well… debatable considering the circumstances and somewhere in the Pacific. Jake Muller has more info on that.”

The rummaging abruptly stops. “Wait, Jake’s with you?”

“Right here Redfield.” Jake says nonchalantly. However, you notice a sliver of something in his tone but you can’t place what it is. You have a feeling Jake isn’t on the best terms with Chris considering his role in Wesker’s death at the mansion. Second death at the Spencer Estate? Third death in the volcano? Does the third one even count at this point?

“Yep. We’ve already been introduced. He’s got an interesting history with the B.S.A.A. I’m shocked we weren’t introduced sooner since we’re both consulting.” There’s an underlying message of I know who Jake is and you’ve got some damn explaining to do in your words, but now is not the time to read Chris the riot act.

You hear Chris sigh on the other end of the line. “Well Doc I tried calling, but you’re a hard woman to reach.” Chris doesn’t sound accusatory. Just… stung. You feel your face heat up at that. You had been dodging his calls ever since that intimate moment in your kitchen a year ago. However, any guilt you feel is overshadowed by frustration in not being informed about Jake until today.

“You could have given me a little context and I would have made the time.” You reply through your teeth. Jake gives you a weird look as you’re leading this exchange. He silently points between the microphone and you, then holds his hand up in a ‘what’s that about’ gesture. You mouth back ‘long story’ as Chris ignores your comment starts addressing Jake. “Jake, your orders were to find the location of the G-sample.”

“I’ve done that boyscout.”

You hear Chris huff in annoyance. “Your orders were to find the location of the sample and not leave the mainland.”

“Well… when opportunity arises, I take it.”

“Do you have it?”

“… still workin’ on that.” Jake replies with a sour expression. You jump in.

“Chris, we’ve got bigger problems than the sample. Albert’s alive.” The words feel wrong coming out of your mouth, but you have to let any personnel know what danger is waiting for them.

Silence. Even the hum of the people in the background grows quiet. For a moment, you’re worried the call may have dropped from the old machinery.

“Did you hear me? Say something.”

“Heard you loud and clear. What’s his status compared to when we saw him last?” Besides sounding more serious, Chris doesn’t even seem phased. He’s in soldier mode: Know the enemy. Come up with a plan. Rescue the hostages.

“Physically, very similar to your encounter with him in the volcano. Mentally… he’s different I don’t really know how to explain it.” You try to put on a brave face, but even without seeing you Chris picks up on your current vulnerability.

“That’s alright. The important thing is that you’re safe and you stay safe. Are you two able to hole up somewhere until we arrive?”

“Well… we have a safe place for now. And how long’s that gonna be?”

“Depends on your location. Jake, do you have any coordinates?”

Jake responds with a latitude and a longitude. You hear talking on the other end of the line, then you hear something that has to be a curse from Chris before he finally gives you an answer.

“Seven hours, give or take.”

You sigh. That’s too long but you can’t shorten the length of the ocean, so you accept it. “Okay. Just operate off the assumption that he’s going to be hard to put down. Use flame-based ammunition, magnums, rocket launchers, and anything else you got that packs a punch.”

“I’ll pass that along. Keep this line open, I’ll be back. Don’t hang up.”

“Roger that. We’ll be here.”

You mute the microphone and lean back in your chair with a tired sigh. Jake gives you a pointed look.

“You have Golden Boy’s number memorized, but you talk to each other like that?”

You give Jake an annoyed look. “Not important right now! We have bigger problems.”

You get up from your seat to pace the room. You need to come up with a plan. “As of right now, we have absolutely nothing in terms of defense.”

Jake leans against the computer system with his arms crossed and watches you. “Not exactly. There’s too many gas masked bozos walking around here for there not to be an armory somewhere.”

You look at Jake, exasperated. “Machine guns and pistols aren’t going to make a big enough dent. There were five guards unloading everything they had on Albert in the chamber, and it didn’t even phase him. You’d need something stronger. A lot stronger.”

“Well maybe they have some heavy-duty stuff stashed away for emergencies. Point is, we won’t know unless I go out and look.” Jake pushes himself away from the monitor and starts to walk towards the door but you stand in front of him before he can get too far.

“You’ll be a sitting duck out there!” You chastise, ready to put what remains of your fighting spirit to convince Jake not to walk straight into the maw of the beast, but your facial expression shifts to a haunted look when something on the security system catches your eye.

One the center console, a hulking figure that makes your blood turn to ice comes into view. You see the black, elongated, tendril engulfed arm grasp the corner of a hallway before the rest of Albert’s body comes into view. The blood of all the unfortunate scientists is splattered across his face and chest. His red eyes are very clearly dilated, and he has an uncharacteristically wide grin on his face.

Jake notices your expression and looks behind him. Jakes expression and tone turn cold and serious.

“That him?”

You nod, unable to tear your eyes from the screen. You walk toward the console as if you’re in a trance and sit in the chair in front of it. Like driving by a car accident, can’t take your eyes off of the disaster that Youju insisted on causing. You see Albert’s lips move, but nothing is heard.

“Does this thing have audio?” You mutter the question to yourself more than anything, but Jake is quick to come to your side and flip on a switch on the control panel. Albert’s voice, somewhat morphed from the audio system, is heard loud and clear.

“My looooove? Where did you go lovely? We have so much time to make up for…”

Albert speaks in that same ‘off’ tone from before; direct and garbled. However, now it has a… singsong quality to it? Your fear is momentarily replaced with confusion. Jake glances at you, then back to the screen just as confused as you are. This is his infamous father?

“Did he… talk like that?” Jake asks, watching the screen along with you.

You keep watching the screen with a befuddled look on your face. “Absolutely not. The lava, or whatever Youju’s team tried to do to wake him up before today fried his brain or something. It’s a complete personality shift.”

You and Jake continue to watch Albert on the screen as he leans against the wall walking down the length of the hallway, leaving a trail of black gunk dripping down the pristine paneling along where he’s touched in his wake. When Albert’s in the center of the hallway, his posture grows rigid and he stops walking. His unengulfed arm attempts to reach behind him in the center of his shoulder blades in jagged movements. After a couple seconds, Albert’s body twitches again and the free arm drops back down to his side and he keeps calling out to you and continues his journey down the hallway.

You lean forward closer to the monitor that Albert was on.

“Wait… he was clawing at something on his back.”

Jake nods and pauses the footage. Then rewinds. As you saw before, Albert stops sauntering down the hallway and jerkily tries to reach behind his shoulder to something on his back. It’s easy to miss with all the black Uroboros tendrils overtaking his upper body, but there’s clearly a circular device between his shoulder blades.

“You’re right. What is that thing?”

You tilt your head and squint, recognizing the shape but confused as to why it’s there. “It’s hard to tell from the angle, but it looks like a regulator.”

“Regulator? For what?”

You shake your head, still confused. “Nothing Uroboros related.”

“Then why is it there?”

You don’t have an answer. You sit back in the chair and keep looking at the regulator in the center of the screen. “Before Albert woke up… Youju said all avenues of breaking his comatose state had been exhausted,” you think out loud.

The gears in your head are turning. Once solitary threads of thought gradually intertwine to form a loose weave until they tighten into a tapestry revealing the answer. The sample room. The audio recordings of your voice. His comatose state. Him acting much gentler with you than he ever was when you knew him. The regulator.

You sit up in your chair so quickly that it startles Jake, but you’re too caught up in your revelation to care. “Neo Umbrella gave him a parasite!” You exclaim excitedly, turning towards Jake. “We can use that.” You don’t wait for Jake to reply, you’re already up and out of the chair looking for some kind of map.

Jake looks at you blankly, not following your thinking. “A parasite? And that’s a good thing?”

“I think I know what Youju meant! There is no reason for them to have that extensive of a virus collection unless they were using it for something. I bet they tried injecting Albert with a bunch of viruses to see if they could wake him up. When that didn’t work they turned to parasites.”

A map of this floor of the facility hangs on the wall from haphazardly placed yellow tape next to the door. Your smile grows bigger and movements more animated the longer you explain your thought process as you grab the map off the wall. You turn back to Jake.

“But not just any parasite. The Nemesis parasite.”

Jake is still confused, not knowing what that means so you continue, walking back to the announcement system and putting the map on the console.

“Back when Umbrella was making Tyrants, big beefy bioweapons that were designed to be soldiers, they were impressive physically, but had limited brain function as a result of the T-Virus so they could only follow simple commands and they couldn’t talk. ‘Kill everyone you see,’ ‘guard this thing,’ you get the idea. They were trying to find a way to make them a bit smarter. They’d hit a dead end with viruses, so they added engineered parasites to Tyrants.”

You pause to make sure Jake is still paying attention. He is, but he still has a look that says, ‘how is this relevant?’ so you keep going, taking a pen from the table and trying to find the locations of the cameras to mark them on the map.

“The Nemesis still had limited brain function, but he could say a few words and it could carry out detailed commands and use weapons. ‘Kill these specific people, use this rocket launcher’ etcetera etcetera. But there was still a high risk of over mutation when the parasite was inserted, so they smacked on a regulator to help mitigate that.”

Jake blinks, still not understanding. “So?”

“So if they gave Albert the parasite, that means he’s going to be much more susceptible to taking orders from me.”

“From you? Weren’t you worried about him killing you earlier? Why would he take orders from you?”

“Like… the parasite has been told for however long it’s been in there to wake up because its wife is here. It’s only been given carefully curated audio snippets of my voice, so it’s forced to view me as a positive… figurehead in Albert’s life.” You point to the transcripts on the table, trying to make Jake see your point before turning your attention back to him.

“He told me he missed me, Jake. I’m willing to bet if I use that announcement system, I can lead him anywhere the system is-”

“-and give me a window to slip in and get the sample and some supplies.” Jake finishes with a serious expression.

“And if everything goes right, we just might hold out until reinforcements get here.” You’re smiling, still riding the adrenaline high from finally figuring out the bigger picture of what’s going on.

Jake crosses his arms and stares at the monitor with Albert still on it. “It’s a crazy plan Doc.”

Your face falls and you’re about to try and plead your case, but Jake smirks before you can answer.

“I’m in.”

_____________________________________________________

“Albert? Where are you darling? I can’t find you.”

You croon into the microphone and watch Albert, yet again, jerk his head towards the hallway you just projected your voice to and use his Uroboros arm to drag himself along the wall in the direction of your voice.

On the walkie talkie Jake scrounged up from the storage boxes that were by the broken radio equipment before he left, Jake provides an update on his search for better weapons plus the G-Sample.

“216 through 245 are bust. It’s just storage.”

“Copy that.”

You respond on your walkie talkie, marking off and labeling the relevant rooms on your map and watching Jake continue to navigate through the labyrinthine facility on the cameras.

Considering the circumstances, everything has been going well in the half hour Jake has been gone. Albert, in his limited mental capacity, hasn’t caught on to the fact you’re talking to him through the announcement system. Plus, Jake is making good time going through each hallway in the facility thanks to Youju’s white keycard.

 Chris’ professional voice from the computer system breaks your concentration.

“Doc? Jake? You there?”

You close your eyes and take a breath. You were hoping that the universe would be merciful, and the connection would drop so you’d have a valid reason not to talk to Chris.

You weren’t so lucky, so you check the cameras one more time to ensure that Albert and Jake aren’t going to cross paths, then roll your chair over to the microphone on the other module. You flick off the mute button.

“You’ve got Doc. Any updates?”

“We’ve got an army of guys on their way to your location. Time of arrival is estimated at seven hours.”

You feel your shoulders visibly relax. Rescue is on the way.

“That’s great news.” You mutter.

“Is Jake around?”

For a second, you think about lying so he doesn’t know you’re alone. Nothing convincing comes to mind. “No. He stepped out to get supplies. I can pass along a message on his walkie though?”

“That’s alright.”

Awkward silence.

“How’s working in Germany?” Chris sounds less professional this time.

You sigh and close your eyes. “I don’t think this is the best time for small talk.”

“Just making conversation. We’ve got time. I want to know how you’re liking it.” Chris says. You can hear the slight smile in his voice. The genuine nature of his words.

You always had a weakness for his kindness. He had a way of worming himself into your good graces without even trying.

“It’s good. The people are great. I miss having reliable air conditioning though.” You joke.

You hear Chris chuckle. “Yeah, the Europeans aren’t big on that kind of thing.”

Despite everything, you find yourself smiling. As much as you hate to admit it to yourself, you missed his laugh. How easy it is to talk to him.

“What about you? How’s Claire doing?” You ask.

“She’s still helping the world in her own way with TerraSave. She’s also been breathing down my neck about cutting back on smoking.”

“I’m sure you don’t mind that. If she’s breathing down your neck, that means she’s visiting.”

Another chuckle that makes butterflies erupt in your stomach sounds over the speaker. “If she were doing it in person, I don’t think I’d mind so much.”

Both of you sit in comfortable silence.

“I’ve missed seeing you around, but I’m glad you’re doing alright.” Chris says, vulnerability underlying his words.

Your throat gets tight, and you bite back the words before you can say them.

Don’t tell him you miss him too. It will make him feel worse.

Luck is on your side this time. Jake’s voice emanates from the walkie talkie in your lap.

“Doc? I need eyes on something.”

You let out a sigh of relief, then speak to Chris through the microphone. “Jake’s calling. I’ll be back.”

“I’ll be here.”

You mute yourself on the microphone and wheel yourself back over to the security system.

“I’m here. What do you need?”

“Can I get your professional opinion on what’s happening in front of 250?”

Your eyebrows scrunch in confusion, but you pull up the necessary camera to see what Jake is talking about. All you can do is stare for a moment at the grim sight. Most of the lens is obstructed by a black substance, but even with the limited visibility you know it’s the personnel and guards that were unlucky enough to be in Albert’s way when he escaped containment. Black gunk saturates the walls and ground that you’re able to see.

You force yourself to respond.

“Part of the lens is blocked, but those are casualties of Albert. Just step around them. The dead don’t come back naturally with Uroboros. It just makes them harder to kill.”

“Not talkin’ about that Doc. Give me a second.”

You’re about to ask what Jake means by that, but before you can, you see something wiping the lens of the security camera you’re looking through. After a few seconds you see an uncomfortably close view of Jake’s nose as he wipes away the gunk from the lens.

How the hell did he scale the 12 foot height to wipe that gunk off?

You use one of the other screens to pull up an angle of the hallway Jake just cleared, and you can see that he scaled the wall by somehow using his balance and strength to tuck himself into the corner where the two hallways meet.

“Were you raised in the fucking circus? Where did you learn that?” You say into the walkie in disbelief.

“By being a teenage shithead, now look!” Jake replies, exasperated and moving out of the way of the camera and revealing a body almost completely overtaken by worms of Uroboros. Your disbelief quickly shifts into grim realization.

That needs to be burned.

Your voice comes out eerily calm.

“Don’t touch it. Don’t shoot it. Don’t interact with it. Uroboros needs to be burned for proper disposal.”

You see Jake crouch to look at the body from a different angle. You see him bring the walkie to his lips.

“Will touching it infect me?”

“No, but it might eat you since you’re organic material!! Just don’t ingest it, keep your distance and you’ll be fine.”  You spit through your teeth, not liking Jake’s series of questions or what it could mean for his future actions.

Jake looks at the body for a moment longer then stands up with the walkie to his lips, looking at you through the camera.

“Don’t lick the weird black stuff. Seems simple enough.”

You groan. “Let’s just hope these Neo Umbrella guys had the foresight to keep a flamethrower on hand.” You tiredly respond.

On one of the other monitors, you see Albert meandering in the direction of Jake’s current location. You speak into the walkie.

“Hey sit tight for a minute, I need to redirect Albert.”

You see Jake give you a thumbs up on the camera and you flit your attention to one of the other monitors. While Albert isn’t alarmingly close to Jake’s location, it’s still too close for comfort. You set the microphone to make an announcement in the opposite direction.

“I’m over here love! Come find me!”

You see Albert’s face light up on the screen and turn to follow your voice, but he freezes mid-turn. You tap the screen, thinking that the old equipment froze up on you. But then you see Albert’s face twitching.

It’s mild at first; only one of his red snake eyes twitch. But then it’s his whole face. The uncharacteristically wide grin twitches downward, a scowl gradually etches itself into his visage, and his blown-out eyes undulate like a heartbeat smaller and smaller until they’re thin slits.

You hear a guttural groan of something akin to agony escape Albert’s lips as he attempts to reach behind him towards the regulator in between his shoulder blades.

“I will not be subdued!” Albert seethes through his teeth, arm, body and face twitching from an invisible battle for control. It’s a losing battle, and Albert isn’t on the winning side, but he realizes it too late. The second his eyes start to dilate and his arm stops grasping for the regulator, he throws his body against the wall in a vain attempt to remain coherent by bashing his head into the smooth white plaster. He shrieks in a heart wrenching combination of frustration and agony. You recognize it with dreaded clarity from the day he died in the volcano. The plaster is marred with a watercolor painting of red, pink and black splotches. Then, as quickly as it started, Albert freezes in place, his face twitches back to what it was before, then he meanders towards the direction he last heard your voice, not bothering to wipe off the blood or black substance from his face.

“Dearheart? Where’s my little wife?” Albert asks with an uncanny grin, leaving a trail of black liquid in his wake.

All you can do is sit and try to process what you just saw with a haunted look on your face. Albert hasn’t changed. It only appears like he has.

You slowly bring the walkie to your lips.

“Jake there’s been a development.” You speak into the walkie lowly.

“I’m guessing it isn’t the good kind.” Jake quips.

You don’t acknowledge his attempt at humor. “It looks like Albert’s fighting with himself.”

Jake is silent for a moment. “And what does that mean?”

You take a deep breath to collect yourself. “This is only a theory, but I think because Albert has a natural immunity to a lot of viruses and parasites, his subconscious is buried but mostly intact.”

“So… the parasite’s driving the car but Wesker’s in the backseat trying to take the wheel.”

“Exactly. And I don’t want to find out what happens if he succeeds.”

You glance back at the monitor where you last saw Albert. From a surface level perspective, he’s back to how he was when he broke out of the chamber. It’s apparent that the Nemesis parasite currently has the upper hand. But what happens when it doesn’t?

You shake away the thought and keep talking to Jake through the walkie.

“Look, try to find Youju’s office and try to figure out exactly what they did to try and wake him up. I can give a much more accurate game plan on how to handle this.”

“What’s the theory without it?”

“If he overpowers the parasite, we’re fucked.”

“Find the papers. Got it. Just keep the old man busy.”

“Will do. You keep laying low.”

You set the walkie on the security panel, already feeling exhausted. You watch Jake continue his methodical room check on the monitor, then drag your attention over to where Albert is heading, his sudden clarity sending a chill down your spine. Then you look over to the computer system where Chris is still waiting to hear your voice.

You groan and let your head hit the back of your rolling chair.

This is going to be a long night.

Tag List: @killerwendigo @appreciativemediaconsumer @kaymarnun @chucklefak

a/n 2: Thanks again for reading! I've got an AO3 account now so I'm cross posting this series on there if that's where you prefer to read your fics. Based on my outline, it looks like this thing is gonna be a 10ish parter so stick around!

Also I'm on AO3 now at wil_o_wispy if you like reading your fics on there!

AO3 link for this part.

[lakemojave]

Mojave's Top Ten Games of 2023 (3 of which actually came out this year)

I figured I should make a list like this at some point, but I didn't actually play many new games this year. Well, I played tons of games for the first time and loved so many of them, but few of them were new releases. At my current stage as a game critic, I'm playing a lot of catchup, trying to get context for current games, playing the classics and the seminal franchises of the medium. I do not have a game of the year pick. Even though I was behind the curve, I still wanna talk about the experiences that moved me this year.

Honorable mentions:

Baldur's Gate 3 (2023): One of the densest, fleshed out, satisfying narrative RPGs the gaming industry has seen in years. Immersive, well written and charming, no two people can have the same experience with this game because of how much variance and player choice is accounted for in the gameplay and script alike. It's for that reason it's not on the list though--not only have I not finished it, I'm also not doing it singleplayer, and am missing out on much of that juicy story content in favor of me and my group's meta-narrative.

Black Mesa (2020): The remake of the first half life is sharp, smooth, and immersive, combining what was visually and narratively compelling about Half Life 2 back into the original story. It has some of my favorite setpieces of the entire half life catalogue now, which is saying a lot. It's off the list in favor of the original.

Dead Space (2023): A triumphant return to the horrors of the Ishimura incident, with insidious twists to the game design and story that disrupt a fan's familiarity with the game world time again. It scared the fuck out of me so many times, but the bittersweet feeling I get thinking about the fate of the Dead Space franchise means RE4 gets its spot.

10. Oxenfree 2: Lost Signals (2023)

The long awaited sequel to 2016's Oxenfree caught me by surprise after playing the first game just before it. Playing the original teen horror, I'm struck by how grating some of the dialogue can be, how sophomoric and cheap it can feel without drinking deep of the content. What makes this version of teen horror so compelling, though, is that through sympathetic participation with Alex, you catch yourself from griping at the young characters for making foolish choices, which is very effective.

What's stunning about this sequel is that in the 7 year gap between games, it's not just the team and the audience that has matured, it's the writing all around. Your character, Riley, is in her early 30s, returning to her hometown and feeling very existential as she peers into the past, the future, and the unknown in between time and space. The world of Camena and Edwards Island is expanded on those lines, the thematic focus becomes resonant and emotionally devastating, and the dynamic with young characters, familiar or not, demonstrates how strong this second chapter to the oxenfree story really is.

9. Resident Evil 4 (2023)

Look. I love a horror game. 2005's Resident Evil 4 may be among the best of them, and it may be timeless in its own right, and it may be foundational to so many other games I love today, but god damn is this remake fun. With sharper visuals and atmosphere than the original, intricate new resource systems like knife durability and parries, and some updated character work, it's safe to say this is a categorically different game than the original. Plenty of material was cut from the main game, like the IT fight or the laser hallway, which found their way into the DRASTICALLY improved Separate Ways expansions, starring Ada Wong. It's not my favorite Resident Evil, and it's far from the scariest, but it's the one with Leon's spin kick, and there's nothing more satisfying than that.

I do maintain a lot of early gripes I had with the remake. When Resident Evil 8: Village came out in 2021, it borrowed a lot of mechanical, narrative, and aesthetic tropes from RE4, updating them to a new game in the wake of the remakes of RE2 and 3. Those remakes were truly transformational masterpieces, blending all of Resident Evil's best aspects to create new, distinct experiences. RE4, the original, didn't really need much updating, it's been ported to hell and back already and is so ubiquitous that there was no real need to bring it back into the zeitgeist. Nothing can really be gained by this remake except for a victory lap for Capcom.

Cynicism aside, FUCK YEAH, TWO CAKES!

8. Mass Effect (2006)

I should say that the version of Mass Effect I'm playing is not the one that came out in 2006. The Legendary edition does a bit of graphical and mechanical tweaks to update some of the dated aspects. That's kind of a shame, because the dated aspects are what's so fascinating about Mass Effect. Between Baldur's Gate 3, Disco Elysium, and now the early Fallout games, I find myself taken by classic CRPG design, which accommodates such a wide variety of player choice. Mass Effect doesn't have too much choice in it--the progression and ending are pretty much fixed from the beginning, you basically choose what flavor of the script that you want.

In that way, I like Mass Effect as a transitional piece--an attempt to bring the aspects of early CRPGS into the modern, console games market, with all the budget EA would give them. The writing and design are...satisfactory. The shooting could be more robust, the characters could have more personality, and to the series' credit those things do come about in Mass Effect 2 (which I'm sure I'll gush about when I finish it).

It's the presentation I love here. Mass Effect has maybe one of my favorite sci fi settings I've ever seen. A vast array of alien civilizations, a rich history filled with interesting lore, a competent portrayal of intergalactic politics, all delivered by characters that are deep and interesting. The voicework is also some of the best I've ever seen, and although there are many standouts, Jennifer Hale's Shepard is just tremendous. Actually playing Mass Effect may be a slog, completionist play might require some of the worst loot grinding I've ever seen, but that is all secondary to the way I was captivated by Mass Effect's version of the final frontier.

7. Half Life (1998)

I did a whole ass 5 hour video essay about Half Life, and I don't wanna belabor how much I like this game and series too much more. I loved Half life 2 and the portal games for years, but it was only for that project that I actually got around to playing this. It's a real bonafide classic, containing so many tropes of modern immersive action games WAY ahead of their time. The setting of Black Mesa is deep and engaging, the environmental storytelling is strong, and the voicework is natural and believable (for the most part.) Sometimes as a game critic I have to give some allowances to an older game for some of its jank and some of its rough edges, let myself see the thing just for what it is without all my modern hangups. I don't have to do that with Half Life like I do for other games. There's parts of it that are rough, like the Interloper and On a Rail chapters, but Half Life feels just as good to play now as it did 25 years ago.

6. Dredge (2023)

There's an old tumblr post that proposes a fishing game that's secretly a horror game. That post imagines a game that starts out normal and comfortable, but as the game goes on the player would catch stranger species of fish, soon finding monsters lurking in the deep and hidden secrets. It got a lot of peoples' imaginations going and engaged a lot of fan artists and even more comments riffing on this idea.

Dredge is that game. I was so gleefully surprised to see this game go through every single one of those steps in the first region alone. The game has a strong atmosphere and great art, leading to some real weird and nasty fish to catch and fill out the weird and spooky encyclopedia. Fishing at night gives you different and weirder fish, but it also raises your panic meter, which can cause hallucinations and open you up to monster attacks. It's a pretty ambiently scary game for the most part, and I almost chalked it up to being more horror themed than actual horror, until this one lagoon where a giant tentacle suddenly shot up at me out of a sudden drop in the ocean floor. I fuckin yelped, actually screamed in a way only two other games have gotten me to do this year.

5. Alien: Isolation (2014)

I have never, in my life, felt more powerless in a game than when I played Alien: Isolation. I'm used to games like Resident Evil, where you have a toolset for survival that is limited, but allows you to give actual pushback towards the zombies trying to get you. I played Amnesia: The Dark Descent this year too, the opposite of this dynamic, where you have NO means of resistance whatsoever, and the binary outcomes of monster encounters of that game completely broke my immersion.

Alien: Isolation actually gives you myriad crafted tools to overcome your obstacles, from human scavengers to androids to the xenomorph herself. Yet, the impossible speed and predatory senses of the monster means that one slip up means instant death, and the death animations are pretty brutal. Through cunning and cautious play, you can slip past the Alien enough times to where you get a flamethrower, which will repel her in a pinch. However, her AI is advanced to the point where she will learn your habits between deaths, look for you in lockers if you hide in them a lot, resist certain tricks like noisemaker bombs or flares. It's in keeping with how the 1979 movie presents her: a perfect killing machine. In fact, its the way so much of the Sevastopol resembles the aesthetic of that early film that not only helps the atmosphere, but makes the alien's power more believable. Immersive and terrifying, Alien: Isolation is a horror triumph.

4. Undertale (2015)

Yeah that's not actually a joke. I really did only play Undertale this year, and I was really actually completely blind going into it. Of all the games I'm happy I got to experience fresh, it was this one. Undertale seems tropey in its game design, story beats, and writing style 8 years later, but that's because so much of its design has been cannibalized by indie developers going after this aesthetic. As a bullet hell, it's...fine. As a meta commentary on retro RPGs and on the act of violence in video games in general, it's incredible. It legitimately gave me immense joy to reach the end and have my stubborn insistence on pacifism challenged even further, and then rewarded in the best possible way. I got to experience it on stream, too, with some friends who had played it previously and one who did not, and we all did the common thing and did funny voices for everybody. It's created some real cherished memories for me, memories that wouldn't have hit as hard if I did not wait to play Undertale.

3. Metal Gear Solid (1998)

Now here's a game I truly thought I'd never get around to. I'm a big fan of the Metal Gear series and when I learned that konami was releasing the master collection pack of the first 3 games, I was fuckin' stoked. If there's one other game that dictated the trajectory of storytelling and presentation of modern games like Half Life did, it's this one.

Having played the first two metal gears, the 2D ones from the late 80s, I was struck by how much of the basic design beats of Metal Gear come directly from the early titles. Seeing them translated into 3D is just incredible--all the prototypical stealth design transcribed so seamlessly into a much more legible visual language to me. The shooting may feel like ass and the bosses may have healthbars the size of Alaska, but the moment to moment sneaking in this game is so intricate and thorough that you really do feel like a tactical master as you go about it.

None of that touches on what's most memorable about Metal Gear Solid, and that's the presentational aspects. The animations and models might be worse than Half Life's, but the writing and voice acting is just world class. David Hayter as Snake, Cam Clarke as Liquid, Christopher Randolph as Otacon, and Patrick Zimmerman as Ocelot (hell even an early Jennifer Hale role) are astounding performances, even today. The cutscenes and dialogue are certainly oversaturated and long, but goddamn if I don't like watching and listening to them. I love this damn game.

2. Bloodborne (2015)

Bloodborne has been more of a myth and less of a game for me. I played some bits at a friend's house in 2017 and never owned a PS4 so I never thought playing it would be possible for me. I obsessively watched lore videos and playthroughs which got me into Dark Souls 3, then Sekiro, then Elden Ring, which has fueled much of my activity on twitch and as a game critic in general. It was only this year that that same friend lent me her PS4 and I played Bloodborne 3 whole times until I 100% the game in a matter of months. The experience was so meaningful to me that I ended up scrapping my first bloodborne video and starting from scratch, this time with Bloodborne Kart dev Lilith Walther as a guest.

I have never been more immersed in a game world than I have been in Bloodborne's. Yharnam is not only such a dense and intricate city, it is drop dead gorgeous in such a grotesque and macabre way. Many words and many writers have already described the surreal hypergothic smokescreen shrouding the insidious cosmic beings steering the terror and bloodshed from out of sight, so I won't repeat them here. You don't forget the sights and sounds of Bloodborne--they linger in your imagination, the visual language shapes your own ability to conceive of images and ideas in horror fiction, twisting the familiar into stranger shapes and forms.

Plus it just feels so fucking good to play. I like From Software titles and their style of combat, and I like how fast combat works in Sekiro and Elden Ring, but neither of those games accommodate brutality like Bloodborne does. You're meant to attack recklessly, cravenly, no blocking, just press the attack again and again until you're drenched in the gore and blood of your foes. You feel like one among the beasts--after all, what difference is there between a predator and the man that hunts them?

1. Signalis (2022)

I have not stopped thinking about Signalis since I played it the first time. The game is like a fucking honeypot for me. It's got Resident Evil style tank controls as an option, with similar combat and inventory management, themes and presentation similar to Silent Hill, and a sci fi flourish akin to Dead Space. So what, it's every great horror game jammed into one retro style amalgamation? Sounds like a great time for me!

That's just the surface, the hook of it all. While the game certainly uses this familiarity to pull you in and make you comfortable and excited for its own terrors, there's a creeping feeling of unease as you continue to revel in the horror and gore that's taken over these halls. Your character, Elster, is a special ops android in a fictional fascist regime, who has abandoned her post to search for her human partner, whose identity eludes her as she slips into delusion. After reaching the depths of the first area, where the space mine turns into a hall of flesh and viscera, the very walls pulsing and dripping, the world suddenly resets, and you find yourself back in the very first zone, now covered in the same blood and gore. The characters cry out in pain at you, begging you to stop, to turn back, to stop prolonging their hell with your own pursuit of an ending. A chalkboard in a classroom with a pretty frivolous note early on now reads "YOU'VE BEEN HERE BEFORE."

If I go on I'm gonna spoil the whole game, but that part there is the essence of Signalis to me. Many games will challenge your own enthusiasm for playing, question the time you spend in the game rather than like, going outside or something. Few games will actively blame you for prolonging the suffering of the game's inhabitants and creating a self contained digital hell. Few games will ask you "why do you want terror?" in the way that Signalis does.

Signalis is a triumph of horror game design. The imagery is horrifically cryptic, the worldbuilding is dense, the monster design and soundscapes are creepy and effective, the gameplay feels desperate and every bullet fired feels like a scream for help. Signalis is my favorite game I played this year, hands down.

[almalvo]

STAR TREK: DISCOVERY | S1E2 "Battle at the Binary Stars"

[I will react to each episode individually and in full, raw reception and then post as is unrevised here onto my tumblr for the full span of every and all NuTrek episodes and series that have been and will be released. If this falls under your field of interest - I welcome your company in joining me. Enjoy the ride.] -------

god this show looks so fucking juicy with all its colours and shapes and resolution … BURNHAM IS SAREK'S WARD??????? bro bro is she a sibling in upbringing with spock or something. everyons so fucking pretty ugh these sounds i really want this uniform LMAO THAT LOOK SARU GIVES BURNHAM AHHAHAHAHAHAHAHA saru is so good looking UGHH THIS INTRO I CANT I CANTTTT LOOK AT IT ITS SO PRETTYYY i love the feeling DISCO gives me im so happy for star trek getting such a massive visual and all around production upgrade also i just realised since old-trek's Star Trek Enterprise series, we have been inching closer and closer to the one that started it all. Star Trek ENTERPRISE > DISCOVERY > STRANGE NEW WORLDS…

does this… mean we are…. just possibly……… heading into a reprisal of some kind of "Origins" production in the future non-AOS?

if so i know it will never be a replacement of what is irreplacable. but im actually EXCITED to see something like that. if even it were to be a bad project, it would still be such a tickling spectacle - an experience that reminds us of where we came from.

but also.. to see what came before to be such a modern topic to discuss and potentially (i fucking wish) revive the world with its gravity and vision - all eyes on Star Trek once again……… it would be so worth it. it would be. everything.

anyways back to the episode LMAO UGHHH look at the way all the united federation ships warp in among their brethren ughhhhh ughhhhhhh takes my breath awaayy i like klingon whats odd is it sounds so slow in this rendition man the amount of work it took to get this pronunciation right ughhhh everything looks so pretty in this literally movie quality for a TREK series

no but also one more thing - back to the idea about the future of modern trek, since the movie saga has fallen flat, if we head into a modern revival of TOS, featuring AOS cast as a different universe/mirrorverse or seomthing cameo in TV/STREAMING EPISODIC FORMAT would be just… JUST-

...

i am so curious as to how and why burnham and sarek are even existing together simultaneously ugh damn look at the damage on the ship the detail i love saru's eyes hearing this as the ship's computer voice is so odd to me because im so used to Majel's voice but hey its smooth what is happening also oh my god this mind meld scene is so pretty oh my god im so curious how Burnham and Spock's dynamic even IS THE FUCKKK?? what would that even BE??? i only know spock exists because that is one of the few spoilers ive seen of this show - i KNOW hes in DISCO. as well as pike but thats it. what purpose they serve and why? no idea. and how burnham becomes captain?? god im so curious iits so intersting to hear statements as familiar as "weapons disabled" being said in such a new setting. with such a new sound for somehting so classic. tractor beam WHO WHOS EUROPA? WHATS ON THAT SHIP WHOOO

the human and klingon transmission will never be in peace… until far into TOS's timeline.. man this is so INTERESTING. HEARING KLINGON TERRAN. I CANT LIE i miss their fabulous long locks of hair bro klingon ship is fucking knifing through this ship dude that is so hardcore but also devastating af oh my god this antimatter explosion looks so fucking pretty admiral is gone the chian of command shifts how does this go phillipa doenst become admiral does she? then burnham as captain i doubt its this easy nah its so weird to hear klingon so spaced t'kuvma is such a cool name ughhhh lok at all the WARPPPING SHIPSSSS hearing klingon accent is cool love how smart the ship is oh god burnham you MADLAD yo they goin hard the klingon attire is so victorian english inspired not too keen on that ahha ughhh saru is sooo NICE TO LOOK AT such nice features this ready room is very reminiscent of what is to become enterprise internal design i mean, of course. but i just cant help but hype over it all thats interesting, to have a human taught as vulcan. hmm a subtly different circumstance than that of spock. the visual aberration effect is working well in this series ahaha DISCO has a very…. odd feeling from since its first episode that continues into its second one - it doesnt feel super episodic at all? it feels all like a really long montage. the sets are so pretty whoa those armoured vests though? touch screen energising ughh the gold animation of the energising effect is lovely those klingons dropped so fast and easy from those phasers dude these are some of the sexiest phaser designs ive ever seen. the klingons are just dropping like nothing whoa burnham's yell when the klingon grabbed her was so not her XD it didnt sound like her oh wow we are actually seeing the short handheld klingon knife OH SHIT well i see that this is how phllipa is usurped by burnham.. BRO YOU JUST LEFT HER BODY THERE hmmm interesting the pacing of the first two episodes is very… fast

t'kuvma is dead already?? i think its this pale klingon that ive seen on the comic cover whoaaaa all these shuttle/escape pods leaving like baby toads off momma's back XD (if you know, you know.) its so montagey very consistently - i guess THIS is where we start the series as it is to be? i really like this chiaroscuro lighting hm. its over already huh idk if its me - but apart from the visually and audially beautiful presentation - it has an odd feeling to it i cant lie. i think it must be because of this 2-episode montage. i hope it is.

i guess ill find out.

[melonkittii]

hello. im ready to make a thread of my initial thoughts

spoilers under the cut for the eleventh hour gn (obviously) (also its a pretty long post lol)

the opening sequence caught me fully off guard and i like it so much. pair it with the dramatic irony of them yelling at barry towards the end. juicy stuff. love it so much

my favourite running joke with lucretia is her introcard always having some veiled reference to The Events. one of her proficiencies being 'remembering the dead' certainly holds true

lucretia ^v^ face is real. look at her.

i noticed the running background joke of affirmative mugs that aren't actually all that affirmative. it was very funny. World's Sheriff

the ren and taako scene. i feel no need to elaborate

speaking of that though, the opening to magic lessons starts a running motif of taako being actively bad at fire evocation, despite telling everyone that he remembers being very good at it. i wonder if he had someone close who would do that for him instead

i like that taako actively cares abt the others' wellbeing, up to and including waiting for them to join conversations, etc. its noticeable that he pauses and waits for everyone to respond before he continues. he cares ok

ren <3<3<3<3<3<3<3

the lucretia monologue from merle's lunar interlude is, in my opinion, as an expert on Lucretia Moments (tm), one of the most fucked up things she ever says. and seeing it in the comic definitely made me feel a type of way. i love you lucretia. i want to shake you around so bad

correct me if im wrong but lucretia and merle laughing is the first time lucy's ever gotten silly in the comic right? they tend to cut her jokes in favour of playing her more seriously but it was so sweet and refreshing to see her being so comfortable. makes me so excited for the stolen century comic

extremely mad that the "shoulda leaned away" "I LEANED AWAY" joke was lost. but not as devastated as losing the skeleton DnD debate. they cut all of the best travis moments from the arc

changing their death count from like, 8? to well over a hundred was an interesting choice. i think it works well to convey the narrative stakes a little better since they cut the old-june interludes.

i dont know if this was intentional but starting the last loop on chapter 111, which is the exact amount of years that the stolen century and lonely decade span, made me insane. this may be just an innocuous choice though. who knows

losing redmond and luca makes sense definitely and i love more ren screentime but man the running bit of griffin attempting to foreshadow lup over and over again and noone ever getting it is so dear to me. edward and lydia are definitely a better set for that though. rip skeleton man

istus <3<3<3<3<3<3<3 i cried a little over her in my twitter live tweet. kissing the pages

[static noises] in taako's chalice sequence was fully expected and yet i still got blindsided by it somehow. i had to put the book down for a little while. it was the only panel that made me do that

cried a little at glamour springs too. he looks so sad :,(

the crying at taako's sequence certainly didnt prepare me for the emotional state i went into ravens roost in. magnus burnsides i am holding you. i am holding you. i am h

little june looks like istus and i think that is so incredibly good.

YELLED OUT LOUD WHEN THE RED RBE APPEARED. OBVIOUSLY. IVE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS SCENE

i already mentioned the dramatic irony but what i love the mot abt this sequence is how like, stressed out barry looks. like he has no grip on this conversation whatsoever. it conveys his desperation really well considering how imposing he's (tried to) be in all other scenes

taako saying lup's name out loud after barry says it is profound to me because one thing that's always fucked me up in the podcast is that before he remembers he never once says it. its always "L-U-P". barry is the only one who remembers how to say her name. so seeing taako say it now was like. gut punch. ow

ignore the rest of this thread because taakitz date is real so who cares about anything else /j. i missed my man so bad. so happy to see him around

i KNEW the drawing would be the ending stinger and it STILL got me. FUCK the suffering game comic will be so good

[dany36]

SIGH…so I finally finished Xillia 2. Man, what an AMAZING game. Like, I already loved the Xillia 1 characters to bits and this game just exponentiated my love for them. Even made me like and appreciate characters that in Xillia 1 I either disliked or didn’t give much thought to, like Muzet and Alvin. And Elle and Ludger? just pure love everywhere. There aren’t that many direct sequels in the Tales series that I’ve played, since the only other I had played was dawn of the new world and…well, we all know it just wasn’t what most fans expected coming from the all-time beloved Symphonia. But Xillia 2? Showed me that Namco can do sequels right in terms of story, new characters, and treating the returning cast just right. ANYWAYS, more junk thoughts below!

let's start with the good things!!

the returning cast. as mentioned above, the amount of love i have for the original xillia cast is just indescribable. milla maxwell became one of my all-time favorite characters and the fact that the xillia 2 did such a good job at portraying them in this sequel was such a delight. they got new outfits and new skit portraits to go along with them, unlike the treatment that the beloved symphonia OG cast got in dotnw :( (how do 2 years pass and you still have genis with the same kiddy outfit like...c'mon) AND everyone's original voice actors were back for this game as well!!! EVEN DRISELLE!!! gaaahh as i was playing i just kept wishing that symphonia's cast had gotten half the love and care that the xillia 1 cast got in this game, but well, it is what it is.

and the side chapters that you'd get with the original cast? fucking fantastic way to get ludger actually grow closer to milla and the gang and have it feel natural, you know? like it didn't feel forced or anything like how it felt at some parts in dotnw (sorry for constantly comparing it to it but that's the only direct sequel i have to go off of). so not only do you actually get to grow your affection with the original cast, you get to learn even more about them and watch them grow! it was just so great to see elize more grown up and confident, leiah working through having more self-esteem in what she does as a reporter, learning more about muzét and how she actually wishes to get closer to milla's friends, and even gaius!! who i didn't even care for at the beginning, i loved how he realized that the chimeriad were actually his real friends and not just like warriors that were following his orders!!! AAAAA these bonus chapters were EVERYTHING!

the fractured dimensions were also soooo fucking good and so interesting to see how one single thing could make that dimension so different, but honestly all of them were so fucking heartbreaking! the one with elize and jiao was just SO brutal like...i can't even imagine how that must have been like for poor elize. OH and the one with victor where EVERYONE from the og cast is dead?? and you find the "dead" teepo!!! terrible terrible terrible terrible terrible especially when you try to go see driselle in that dimension and some lady at the mansion is like "please understand that lady driselle doesn't want to see anyone right now. she has lost every person that she considered family" like....DAMN this game is just devastating with its fractured dimensions!! but so juicy lmao. but yeah, i just really liked how the fractured dimensions brought back old characters you thought you'd never see again and even made you appreciate them in a new light (like presa and agria). who doesn't love a good AU?

fractured milla. i won't go too much into this here since i already had another post where i talked about how fucking great and a breath of fresh air fractured milla was, but i just had to mention her here as well since i have to say it: before fractured milla showed up, i was having a "meh" time with xillia 2, but once she joined the party and started growing closer with the rest of the team including elle, like...my enjoyment and love for the game increased immediately. what a damn good character.

elle. you amazing beautiful innocent brave child. i didn't care much for elle and found her...somewhat...annoying at the beginning of the game, but considering she is introduced by framing you for kidnapping her, i mean what else is there to expect lol. but my god, the way this game made me go from "who tf is this kid and why do i have to babysit her" to "if anything bad happens to elle i will kill everyone and then myself" was just fantastic. the scene where elle tries to save fractured milla by hitting rideaux with her sword and then like pretty much the follow-up scenes after fractured milla's death like....pure heartbreaking angst that just makes you want to go in and give elle a hug yourself (good thing the game gives you this option as ludger!). like i mentioned in another post, i'm not even the slightest bit interested in seeing the other endings where it looks like you can't save elle, like FUCK that noise and i don't trust anyone that doesn't choose to save elle lol. seeing teenager elle alive and happy WEARING CLOTHES STYLED LIKE HER DAD'S made me smile so fucking hard and made the sadness of ludger's sacrifice worth it just to see the kiddo living her life with the OG cast as her newfound family. LOVE WINS!!!!!!!!!!!!! And also sequel with adult Elle when????????

the gameplay. the gameplay from xillia 2 is similar to xillia 1 so there is nothing much to say that is new here. i would usually stick with my party of ludger-milla-elize-leiah as much as i could. the linked attacks were as fun as ever and being able to switch ludger's types of attacks was interesting, but honestly i don't think i was very good at switching weapons lol.

the english voice acting. i also mentioned this when i talked about fractured milla in a previous post, but man the voice acting for this game is soooo much better than xillia 1. i think i even commented it in my xillia 1 post that i just felt like the VAs just...didn't do it for me (except teepo my beloved!!!!): the voices just felt flat and uninspiring and the skits suffered a bit because of that i think. i think the only one i liked was milla (oh and driselle!! but i mean who doesn't love driselle!!!!) but that's because the non-emotional voice acting fit her character and personality. HOWEVER, xillia 2?? i don't know why but everyone just sounded so much better! like the difference between fractured milla and prime milla was soooo noticeable in the acting, so props to the VA for that. and of course hearing older elize was such a treat!! just ahhhh phenomenal work all around, even for elle's!!

other miscellaneous good things: the skits were fun and even moreso with the choice options added in. i also liked ludger himself as a protagonist and thought going the silent-protagonist route was interesting, i just wish we would have gotten more voiced lines from him, especially at the end where he says goodbye to elle. i was also so glad to see driselle back in xillia 2, and although she doesn't play a major role in the main story, it was good to see her in some sidequests and side chapters. like, the love that elize has for driselle just fills my heart with so much joy and even more when elize called driselle her best friend. augh!!!! i need to play xillia 1 again aldsjkflasjflaksjdf.

and now....for the bad, or not-as-good.

the overworlds. my god i think i already talked about this when i finished xillia 1 but GEEZ these overworlds and dungeon levels are ATROCIOUS!! for the overworlds it's literally the same type of design for every single one of them except re-skinned to fit the theme (snowy, desert, swamp, etc.) so once you see one, you've seen them all. same for the dungeons: just cave-like systems that are re-skinned with no puzzles or anything interesting to them. honestly the way that the fractured dimensions forced you to go back to the old xillia 1 locations was clever but also ANNOYING because it's like...there was rarely anything worth getting in these dungeons, so exploring the same exact-looking caves got so fucking tedious after the third or so. the overworld and the dungeons are i think the worst part of this game, but luckily the characters, story, and gameplay were good enough that i can overlook this part a little bit... i understand that they only had a little bit of time to develop this game after xillia 1, but unlike dotnw, all the locations and dungeons stayed exactly the same and honestly is a disgrace. NEXT.

the music. nothing new here. i mean, considering 85% of the locations are borrowed from xillia 1 and thus the music is borrowed as well, there were i think only 1 or 2 songs that i'll need to add to my collection, one of them being the theme for when you are fighting one of the fractured dimension catalysts. other than that...? yet another tales entry with disappointing music. symphonia stays winning.

the ending. look i'm not saying the GOOD ending is BAD, but like...enough with the bittersweet endings! it's not enough that fractured milla and victor and julius are dead, let's kill ludger as well in order for elle to live. like....c'mon!!! i knew it wasn't gonna be possible to save both given what i had heard about the game, and also at least it wasn't fucking terrible where elle dies no matter what. i guess i was hoping for something like dotnw where we get to have our cake and eat it too: ratatosk saves the world but lets emil live out his human life with marta. i know xillia 2 is an old game but considering some of the tales games after this were zestiria (sorey sacrificing himself) and berseria (velvet sacrificing herself), it's like....c'mon can these protagonists STOP having to sacrifice themselves during the endings, please????

other miscellaneous not-so-good things: ok when prime milla appears she says to elle something like "i'll go to the land of canaan and show you what it is that i do so that you won't have to hate me for having made fractured milla go away" but like...once you get to the land of canaan and see elle, idk if it was just me forgetting things cus i DID finish it at 4 in the morning, but did milla do anything?? lol like i felt it was all ludger and that's it. elle DOES say to milla "i'm glad you're here too" or w/e but it's like...i never really felt like prime milla actually got to close that gap with elle, ESPECIALLY because there's a skit beforehand where milla is sad/worried about what she could give to elle once she sees her again. and then after the final battle she (understandably) leaves with muzet so it's like...oh ok, thanks.....??? just me being annoyed with that just because of how close fractured milla and elle were so i thought we would see more interactions between prime milla and elle. oh well elle has elize and uncle alvin and the rest of the gang so it's all good but seriously what was that lol

i was expecting the final dungeon to be super long like it usually is with tales games but this one was only like...two sections long? i mean sure it's sort of a maze but honestly it wasn't so bad, and the enemies weren't even that annoying. just kind of disappointing in terms of a final Tales of level.

oh and origin. like, not only his design was kind of weird and uninspiring (the only other Origin from Tales of is the one i saw from Symphonia lol) but it's like c'mon little dude, ludger and elle passed the trial, let them both live!!! just felt like there was a lot of build up to origin and he was just some little kid at the end who made a trial for humanity just 'cus he could. oh well.

anyway!!! i guess my biggest gripes were just the overworld and the dungeons. the story, characters, and gameplay were just so fun and enjoyable, so i would definitely replay this if i had the time (and cry 1000 tears from the ch11 ending UGH). xillia 2 made me love the world from xillia even more, and i DO have a replay of xillia 1 pending since i only played it from jude's perspective, but maybe i will leave that for next year because who can get enough milla maxwell???

with xillia 2 done, i honestly wouldn't be able to say if i prefer 1 over 2 or the other way around. i think they complement each other perfectly, so i'm gonna cheat and say that my ranking for tales games played would stay the same so far lol: symphonia, berseria, abyss, xillia 1/2, symphonia 2, zestiria, arise, vesperia. thank you berseria my beloved for reigniting my love for tales games, otherwise i would have never had the thought of playing through all of these games!!! and now on to phantasia! :)

[bandofchimeras]

hey dude, sorry not trying to be an ass w this but I saw u had a post where in the tags you used delusional and narcissist as pretty derogatory insults towards the govt. Bashing the government is good and great but using terms that we (at least currently) need to describe mental illness (and definitely associate with it!)... in ways like that... its ableist and dehumanizing and leads to more abuse, even if it feels innocent, because if everyone who's a narc or who's delusional is dangerous....that's everyone w/ npd, or a schizospec disorder, or any other things.

Sorry this is long, and again, not trying to be rude! Just wanted to inform you and ask that you maybe be a little more careful with word choice in the future :)

hey anon, yeah thanks for your concern. I do understand the movement to change language usage around mental illness and destigmatize. And it is well intentioned.

Unfortunately, narcissistic and delusional are still pretty generally derogatory words. A person with NPD may not cause harm simply by virtue of having the diagnosis but we all agree narcissism itself isn't a fun cool trait to have. Delusions are obscurations of reality.

We still say manic, depressed, obsessive, etc in both outright negative ways and descriptive but not morally loaded ways. to me it's just part of language, and the ethics of most derogatory language does depend on who's using it.

I'm absolutely behind not calling everyone who sucks a narcissist. and would like people to stop saying "I'm being OCD" or "that's so bipolar," "he's a schizo" and so on. The "delulu" trend online is weird and fetishizes mentally ill people.

For context: I am a person with a narcissistic tendency, due to my childhood. My life has been a long train of psych symptoms... delusions of grandeur, maladaptive daydreaming, hallucinations, psychosis, derealization, depersonalization, dissociative identity states. psychology is one of my longest hyperfixations simply because I needed to understand my experience. it's been helpful and unhelpful in different ways. Pathologization is a phenomen that can't be understood separately from language, culture, history, and violence.

And yet I don't really have a problem with calling things crazy, insane, or batshit. in fact I find power in redefining and playing with these terms. I've been called crazy in a demeaning, invalidating way. And yeah, I'm a lil crizazy, a bit unhinged one might say. But if a motherfucker calls me crazy to invaldiate my argument, I instantly know they've lost. They're being weak, and abusive. It will also piss me the fuck off. I may want to show them what "crazy" looks like. The better angels of my nature will whisper "keep your head."

With the movement to neutralize mental health terms, what's always confused me is the understanding of language itself. I experience words autistically - they have multiple overlapping meanings all the time. Words are like composite images composed of billions of instances of use, fluttering and evolving as they are spoken and written. Vernacular is messy, sputtering and ever changing. Therefore words carry a multitude of connotations. When different people say them in different contexts you can see and hear different implications.

So, I really don't care if a dude at work says "that's fuckin insane bro" ...to a gnarly kickflip. Or a devastating news article. Insane delineates the magnitude of his emotion. It's out of bounds. Something normies and straights would try to contain, institutionalize, label. Christ, that's juicy. It's why I adore skater boy lingo and teen slang. It's careless and crunchy.

English itself, especially corporate and institutional English, can be a strict, bland, and often abusive language. My fellow autistic homies tend to enjoy a rousing jaunt down into the annals of historical parlance for our everyday linguistic transactions because it's fucking boring, the clinical way we are expected to speak here and now.

So therefore: thanks for your message calling attention to my words and their impact.

There are deeper better more poetic words to call the government and frankly I believe the best ones might be found in other languages.

All in all, you're right that "narcissistic" and "delusional" are not the most accurate, potent words to describe the US government. How to convey the twisted, detached from reality, spirit of that entity best in language, though, I need to expand the lexicon. Maybe using these words is cheap. Maybe it covers over the intentionality and corruption at play.

So I'm going to open this up to some language play - and ask you, anon, and anyone else what words can we find to convey the negative meaning of delusional (detached from truth) and narcissistic (inverted and self concerned to the point of dysfunction), in English? or in another language?

I hope you can take this in good faith not as a deflection but really engaging with your ask.

Being language corrected can trigger my harshest defenses. I can feel in my body all the times someone has punished, invalidated, dismissed something I've said because of using "uncivil" or foul or imperfect language. In general, trying to conform to correct ideological forms of language is like, major wretched, dude.

Hell my dorky ass disingenuous nerd of a brother yesterday called a message I sent the family group chat about Palestine "blasphemous" because I said " my god" and used it as an excuse to delete every impassioned exchange we had so the "children wouldn't see," - him be racist, cough. can't make this shit up.

But that's my background. Catholicism is a mental illness. (Sorry in advance to all mental illness havers for associating you with Catholics)

[synria]

I read a bit of The Remarried Empress Novel, and here are a couple highlights (this covers from the beginning up until navier visiting with heinrey the academy (already covered by the webtoon)

Navier and Heinrley (as Queen and Himself) relationship/Friendship felt more developted. There were more scenes / examination on why Navier feels happy / Navier being more explicitely happy. The scenes were very touching. The webtoon feels a bit rushed on her friendship with Heinrely/Queen, so it was a joy to see this.

I must have missed this before, but Heinrey allows the rumors that he is in love with Rashta in order to protect Navier’s reputation in his kingdom. So, if/when he goes to war, people dont (wrongly) assume Navier is the reason for him to do so, and thus make her reputation worst in both kingdoms.

The novel strikes me as giving a little more time with Heinrey/His pov

Also overall i would say that Rashta is one of the best adapted characters of the novel. The Webtoon is able to capture a lot of her interiority really well and at no point i feel like it missed something intrinsic of her, it captures really well her POV/emotions/feelings/actions/both bad and good moments and etc.

He is still determined to go to war, although he is concerned with Navier. I liked this little exploration of his thoughts

Sovietshu POV on his plan was, i think a little more explored, in that his secretary/friend did comment that Rashta could become greedy as an empress, and Sovietshu said he could deal with it/was confident in doing so. 

“Rashta is kind and gentle, i am sure she will give up the throne with no problem” > LOL

Re-reading it really highlight how Sovietshu communication problem is what destroyed his relationship with Navier and is destroying with Rashta. IE: He discovers about her first baby, and inwardly accepts it, but doesnt reassure her externally. Just nods and pretends to not have saw something. Meanwhile Rashta fear of abandanoment haunts her, and makes her more paranoid, as well as destroying her trust on Sovietshu. She knows he knows, but his lack of reaction scares her and she thinks of the worst

FUCK YEAH, NAVIER BREAKDOWN UPON DISCOVERING HIS PLANS. GIVE ME THE JUICY DRAMA

*CRYING* NAVIEERR ;-;;;

Just!! Its written so well!!! Even tho she doesnt breakdown down, you can see how this is devasting her and her thoughts are just *chef kiss*

Yeah Rashta’s pregnancy timeline is pretty fucked up. And yes it had to be retconned. (AKA : Navier comments that its been a year since she dinned with Heinrey)

tHEIR REUNION IS SO CUTE, NAVIER INTERNAL THOUGHTS IS JUST AAAAAA HE MAKES HER SO HAPPY

I AM GOING FERAL THIS ENTIRE CONVERSATION ITS SUCH AN HURT/COMFORT BITTERSWEET ITS SO SO GOOD

Sidenote: Heinry hearing the mage convo. Since i know Spoilers^TM I SEE WHAT YOU TRULY MEAN HEINREY I SEE IT

JUICY BREAKDOWN YESSS

HE SAYING HER NAME FOR THE FIRST TIME HELPS TO GROUND HER AAAA}

HEINREY IS SO EXCITED AND HAPPY OVER THAT

Niceee. Heinrey hurt over the marriage of convineance does show on his thoughts, although he does  realize something happened to make Navier react this way.

[katsidhe]

Ranking Every SPN Season Finale

15) 11.23 Alpha and Omega. Dead last because not only is Chuck and Amara’s conflict defanged with a frankly silly anticlimax, but a lot of runtime is eaten up with establishing Lady Toni getting on a plane. The great weakness of an otherwise very strong season is that none of the awful compromises Sam and Dean and Cas made (especially Sam wrt Lucifer) ended up having relevance at all.

14) 9.23 Do You Believe In Miracles. Cheesy dying dialogue, Metatron hamming it up for way too long, that facepalming “the radio was on the whole! time!” twist, uncertainty as to the motivation of the whole confrontation that ends in Dean’s death. Also, this is the beginning of the end of walking back the beautiful work the rest of s9 established, with Sam saying things like “I lied.” I don’t like Dean’s death here at all, in staging, or conceptually, or thematically.

13) 12.23 All Along The Watchtower. I am basically obliged to put this in C tier because it is quite silly, but frankly, I like it more than its ranking deserves. It has the late season finale sin of cramming in an introduction to next season’s conflict in the middle of wrapping up this season’s—but it’s absolutely hilarious that they brought in multiverse portals. And for Sam and Dean, thank god the portal appeared, because otherwise they had absolutely no plan whatsoever to deal with Lucifer, and they probably would have died gruesomely. High points: Sam discovering Rowena’s death on the phone with Lucifer; the spooky introduction of Jack, the raised stakes with Mary trapped with Lucifer. Lowest point: the utter silly pointlessness of Cas’s death.

12) 10.23 Brother’s Keeper. This is the finale that I have the strongest mixed feelings about. There is a queasy lack of self-awareness in the treacly sentiment when Sam presents family photos as evidence of Dean’s goodness. The excuse of MOC!Dean as not the “real” Dean allows for the reasons behind this confrontation to be elided, even as its themes are echoed again and again. The chilling horror of Sam on his knees in front of Dean the executioner is potent and darkly enjoyable, but the instant redirection into attacking Death prevents any kind of real culmination. I can’t decide if I like this episode or loathe it, but I do think I appreciate it more now, after 14.20 and 15.17, than I did when it aired. 

11) 7.23 Survival of the Fittest. We’re on to B-tier! There’s nothing significantly wrong with 7.23. Meg crashes the Impala through a glass sign, so that’s fun. Kevin’s there. There’s action, there’s some cool stakes for next season established, Sam is left alone, which I love. The main sin here is just that most of it is fairly forgettable, because the strongest part of s7 was always the psychological drama of the Winchesters’ disintegration and isolation, not the physical conflict with Leviathans.

10) 14.20 Moriah. Lots of my points about 10.23 apply here, but Moriah is a much better episode, both because there is actual conflict of opinion, and because there is a lot more built-in uncertainty about Jack’s fate than Sam’s. Jack and Dean are onboard with Jack’s murder, just as Sam and Dean were agreed on Sam’s death in 10.23, but this time Cas is staunchly against it, and Sam is on the fence, torn as to how to intervene. So it’s much better drama. But then the crux of the issue gets defanged by Chuck’s reveal. Great s15 setup, but kicks the 14.17-14.19 build down the road. Extra points for Sam shooting God. 

9) 13.23 Let the Good Times Roll. I fucking love the 13.21-13.23 arc. The only thing preventing 13.23 from being A-tier are some wholly avoidable mistakes. The staging is silly; a face-palming amount of time was wasted on Maggie; the wires were a deeply regrettable choice. But even with all that, what we got was great, actually! The Sam-Jack-Lucifer church custody battle is still my favorite goddamn thing. Dean saying yes to Michael was both his only smart move and a devastating sacrifice. The character dynamics here are so JUICY. 13.21-14.01 is, IMO, one of the most fertile grounds for fic and speculation in the entire show.

8) 2.22 All Hell Breaks Loose, Part Two. Now we’re into finales that are fantastic without reservation. Off the devastation of Sam’s death comes Dean’s iconic deal. The actual confrontation in the graveyard is good too, though it’s second to the way we’re all reeling from part one. Azazel dies, Sam and Dean are bloodied and facing down new stakes. The only thing I dislike about this episode is John’s cameo.

7) 1.22 Devil’s Trap. This is the episode that ups the ante! Azazel in John, and Dean, and Sam, and the delicious family dynamic here; the stakes are so personal, and it’s a great examination what each of them is willing to pay for their quest: an electrifying taste of what’s to come. And the music, and the sheer fucking balls of just, crashing a goddamn truck into your main characters at the end of the first season. Nice.

6) 3.16 No Rest for the Wicked. Lilith is delightfully evil. We’re on tenterhooks for Sam to save Dean, we’re narratively primed to expect him to pull off something amazing, a last-minute miracle. But—nope! Sorry! Dean gets graphically ripped apart onscreen and now he’s being tortured in Hell! Shocking and bold, and a crucial turning point in the series. 

5) 4.22 Lucifer Rising. Fresh off 4.21 comes an excellent culmination of season 4′s devastation. The reveals from both Ruby and the angels, Sam draining the possessed nurse, Cas at last choosing to betray Heaven, and the final arrival of Lucifer: it all just works, really well. 

4) 15.20 Carry On. Part of the reason I’m ranking this so highly might be spite. But goddammit, bad wig and worse Carry On cover aside, this is a good episode, and a really, really good series finale! The deliberate anticlimax of Dean’s death, the quiet strength in Sam’s grief, the untroubled, unrushed pacing of Sam’s recovery and aging, and Dean’s drive. Supernatural said Sam Rights, and I wept like a tiny little baby. 

3) 6.22 The Man Who Knew Too Much. Adventures in Sam’s mind! Cas and Crowley and Raphael and the double cross! The taste of cosmic horror! The end of season 6 and beginning of season 7, as Sam and Dean cope simultaneously with Sam’s psychological fallout and the consequences of their most powerful ally going off the rails, is fantastic. I love the literalism and the symbolism of Sam’s reintegration: this is an unapologetically Sam episode (as are the other top four, come to think of it). 

2) 8.23 Sacrifice. Sam’s heartbreaking deterioration in the church and Crowley’s disintegration are an electrifying climax to the trials. Dean and Sam’s final exchange is a breathtaking combination of raw emotion and delirium and a fascinating guilt trip. It’s a visually and conceptually stunning episode: the angels fall burning against a night sky; Sam surrenders the trials and collapses, dying. 

1) 5.22 Swan Song. You knew this would be number one, I knew this would be number one, we all knew this would be number one. It’s iconic for a reason. Sam and Lucifer talking through a mirror; the loss of all hope and the sky-high stakes. Stull Cemetery is the defining moment of so, so much of the rest of the series. Dean’s loyalty gives Sam the strength he needs to bury himself alive forever with his worst nightmare, and it saves the world, and it’s the highest cost either of them has ever paid.  

[saintedfury]

Leave My Mark [IC Drabble]

Summary: If you have pain, then you have a place to start. You have something somewhere inside that can get you pissed for yourself. After Eli’s courtesy call, Furia finds just one of those things. It leads her to return to her hood rat roots and offer him a courtesy call of her own.

a/n: This came to me as I was falling asleep the other night. I asked for Close’s permission and she allowed me to let Furia hop back to something she did a lot of in her 20s. We can also kind of thank Faith’s Johnny for this a bit—his little statement about pain leading to being able to be pissed off for herself. And yes, she’s well aware of how juvenile this is, and she really does not care. You can also say that it’s loosely based on the Jazmine Sullivan song “Bust Your Windows” as well, which has always been a staple in Furia’s playlist.

Leave My Mark

-1-

Shaundi parked on the street in front of the pale pastel house; the whole neighborhood kind of came out you out of nowhere in the middle of Stilwater. It was strange, but comforting in its own oddly familiar way. As she climbed out of the driver’s seat, her attention went to the abandoned gardening tools in the neutral ground of the median. It struck her as odd, Furia usually didn’t leave things scattered out in that kind of manner. When she turned to find the front door standing open, a thread of tension crept up and around Shaundi’s spine. Her movement up the walk was definitely not her usual relaxed stride. The spike of concern wasn’t eased after her quick glance around the cavernous and still empty space. The puddle in the kitchen speckled with broken glass nearly choked the breath out of her.

“Boss?” she called, worry lacing her tone. She moved toward the kitchen, her feet crunching some of the scattered glass.

Catching a flash of purple suede, the breath burning in her lungs finally released. “Mujer,” she all but sobbed as she set her bags on the counter.

There was nothing normal about any of this, but finding Furia home was a relief in itself. After not receiving an answer, Shaundi leaned on the counter, trying to seem nonchalant about it as she peeked over the edge at her friend sitting in the floor.

A long, manicured finger tapped at the screen of her phone, which drew Shaundi’s sharp gaze. The lieutenant reached down and rested her hand on Furia’s shoulder, which earned a snap of the boss’ head. She pulled the headphones out of her ears.

���Que tal?” Shaundi asked.

Furia’s nose wrinkled. “Just looking for something.”

“I see that.” She let a smile tug at the corner of her mouth and she reached for a bag to empty it. “Though I have to admit, I’m curious about why you’re searching the jaws of life.”

Furia shrugged one shoulder. “Was looking for something that can cut through the metal body panel of a late American-made vehicle.”

That was oddly specific, Shaundi thought. “For?”

The boss didn’t answer immediately. She pulled herself off the floor and turned to watch Shaundi unpack some of the groceries she’d grabbed while she was out. “Eli called.”

For as simply as she said those words, Shaundi knew there was nothing simple about it. She stopped unpacking and leaned on the counter studying her friend.

“Wanted to let me know he wasn’t dead. As a courtesy.”

Shaundi’s jaw tightened and she set her hand over Furia’s, giving it a gentle squeeze. Furia returned it before, sneaking her hand free.

“Figured I’d return the favor,” the darker haired woman said with a tone in her voice that Shaundi hadn’t heard in years. The smirk that played over Furia’s lips sparked Shaundi’s own grin.

“Oh, really?” she cooed with a raise of her eyebrows. She leaned forward slightly, interested to hear this plan.

The boss stared at her, barely nodding her head.

“And that’s why you were searching the jaws of life?”

Another tiny shift of her head and a raised eyebrow confirmed Furia’s line of thought.

“You know those things are slow as shit, and they don’t cut so much as pull apart.”

That earned a nose wrinkle of disapproval. “We have to have something.”

“What are you aiming for?”

Furia leaned on the counter and plucked some grapes off the vine. She rubbed them with a paper towel before popping one into her mouth. “Keying seemed a little … tame,” she judged with a subtle shrug of her shoulder. The thoughtful look took on a mischievious deviance.

-2-

“I kind of want it to look like a werewolf went after the fucking thing,” Furia explained. She knew Eli didn’t give a shit about his car, not with the way he drove. But this wasn’t about that. It was about sending a message; specifically, she wanted to give him a demonstration of precisely what his courtesy call felt like for her.

“Seriously?”

“Sí, some wretched deep Wolverine-style claw marks down the entire side.” Her hands came up like a makeshift demonstration.

“Well, that’s an image. And it certainly wouldn’t go unnoticed.”

“What can I say?” Furia asked with a tip of her head. “I have a dream,” she added with a laugh as she popped another one of the juicy black grapes into her mouth.

“Did you ask Matt? He’s the keeper of all things tech,” Shaundi suggested. “I’m sure he has something appropriately destructive. Maybe something he cooked up for Johnny?”

“Not yet. Thought I’d try to leave him out of it.”

Shaundi stole a grape and gave her a look.

“Fine,” Furia replied petulantly. She tugged her phone out to flip through her contacts.

The prep work didn’t take all that long. Turned out CID could handle that first bit of vandalism. With that bit settled, Furia let her friend know she intended to do more than just gouging the side out of Eli’s Reaper. It was the kind of message Furia always helped Shaundi and other friends communicate to their exes. And in Furia’s mind, this was far clearer than just stealing it and having it scrapped.

“C’mon chica. We’re burning moonlight,” Shaundi called from downstairs.

Furia crouched over the box. She hadn’t opened it before that night, just left it in the corner of the closet. She picked through the trinkets and mementos of a slightly better time—she tried to bite back the bile that rose when she remembered that nonchalant revelation that darkened things. It had all been make-believe; his forgiveness had been hollow and their reconciliation nothing more than a front. The pain burned hot under her skin.

Her jaw tightened and she let it twist into something else, like Faith’s Johnny told her in that elevator—pain meant there was still something there to get pissed off for yourself about. She’d spent all that time thinking about how she’d failed him. How she’d not done right by him. But he’d failed her, too. Abandoned her and watched her collapse in on herself for years without the least bit of sympathy or support.

She shook the thoughts out of her head, and focused on the contents of the box. She hadn’t been able to bring herself to even figure out what Shaundi had put in there when she cleaned out Furia’s room at Tinta, let along get rid of any of it yet. It all just sat there, looming in the back of her closet, and, from time to time, her mind.

“Boss?” Shaundi’s voice came from the doorway this time. “We doing this?”

“Yeah,” Furia replied. Her search taking on more focus until she found what she was looking for. Fisting the tender dark colored silk, she stuffed it into her pocket and kicked the box back into the closet roughly, slamming the door on it.

She crossed the room in a hurry. Slapping the light off with one hand, Furia threaded her other around Shaundi’s elbow. “What were you looking for?”

“A statement.”

Shaundi shook her head at Furia, but left if at that.

They ambled out to the car, where CID leaned in one of his mechanical bodies. He seemed fascinated by the tools he was currently toying with. The shift of metal against metal made an appropriately sinister sound, at least as the boss judged. And with each flex of his fingers their geometry shifted into devastating Edward Scissorhands’ level honing.

Furia reached for passenger side door and opened it. CID opened the rear door for Shaundi who scrambled into the middle of the backseat. “Jefa,” Shaundi said, offering Furia one of the bottles she’d carried out, along with a cotton rag.

“Gracias,” she replied sliding into the seat.

Asha looked over at her from the driver’s seat. “Where to?”

“Start at the shop. It’s as good a place as any?”

“You know I could commandeer some of Matt’s drones …” Kinzie offered from the backseat.

Furia laid her head on the headrest and grinned back at the red head. “Part of the fun of this is finding the damn thing. Though, really, I don’t think that giant black dented monstrosity is going to be that hard to locate.”

“You have a point,” the smaller woman agreed.

As Asha pulled away from the curb, Furia looked down at the bottle. Bombay Sapphire. It was Eli’s brand; the one she noticed him drinking most. Even if she and her crew were the only ones that knew the molotovs were made with his preferred brand of gin, it still mattered to Furia. This little excursion was at least as much about Eli as it was about Furia, about her pain, her anger, her finally giving a voice to some of the newest in a series of devastating losses—the twisting and warping of even the pleasant memories that sometimes could ease the hurt when it bloomed.

Learning that everything they shared had been damn despite the reconcilliation stung. To hear him talk about those times that were like a light in the darkness to her as being not bad just felt like he was twisting a knife in her heart. Sure, him falling out of love with her hurt, but to know that it had all been a false front. That he’d stopped loving her long before she saw it. It ripped at those tender gashes that were still trying to heal.

She knew she wasn’t through it—the grief, the hurt, the betrayal. It might take years for that. But it would happen. It had to eventually, she tried to remind herself as her back teeth ground together. Fucking courtesy call, she thought as she leaned the bottle back a little to study the patterns in the like blue glass.

Furia pressed the button on the switchblade that opened with a snap and scored the top of the bottle. With a twist, the top fell to the floor; Furia swore the smell of gin filled the car. It reminded her of him. She pressed her tongue over her lips trying to ease away the memory of his lips on hers the taste of gin on his tongue. She bit her bottom lip hard, trying to detour her thoughts.

She rolled the cotton rag and stuffed it into the bottle. Furia found her voice when the need for distraction became dire. “How long has it been since we did something like this?”

“Umm.” Shaundi halted her own molotov construction as she thought about it.

“Josh’s Boxter,” Kinzie answered after a few swipes on her phone.

“Holy shit!” Shaundi’s laughter was bright. “Do you have like a log of that shit?”

“Of course,” the computer whiz replied with a simple shrug. “It’s all in the database. I had to know what was us and what wasn’t. For the sake of plausible deniability.”

Furia’s laughter bubbled wildly as she glanced back at Kinzie. “Of course. That makes complete sense,” she agreed. “Fucking love you, Kinz.”

“Indeed,” Shaundi agreed, cupping Kinzie’s face and leaning to press a kiss on her cheek with a loud mwah! A perfect purple pucker shadowed the smaller woman’s pale skin, but she did not brush it away or push Shaundi off.

A little twinge of guilt twisted in Furia’s chest as she grinned at them, then over at Asha who was also wearing an appreciative smile. When Eli let her back in, she’d hitched her whole being to him; it left nothing for anyone else in her life. It felt like a miracle, and had been one she was so afraid of losing that she nearly lost everything else in the process.

The narrowing of Asha’s gaze suggested she might just be reading Furia’s thoughts, so the boss winked at her and returned her attention to the bottle.

“He fucking well deserved it,” Shaundi continued as the two of them flipped through the pictures of Josh’s classic car and the trauma it received in retaliation for a misguided press release.

“Been too long,” Furia mused. She didn’t mean delivering a message by destroying a person’s vehicle; no, it was time with them, like this that had been too long in coming. “Miha,” she said, reaching back to hand over the bottle. “Show me.”

The three of them wandered through the images of Josh’s and a few other vehicles that they’d gone after in retaliation for any number of reasons ranging from broken hearts and cheating to grabbing the wrong ass at the bar. This was a far more common occurrence in Stilwater than it ever had been in Steelport.

“I’ll be damned,” Asha mumbled when they neared Rougher Sounds.

“Kind of surprised honestly,” Furia mused.

“Maybe he knew you were coming,” CID replied.

Every set of eyes in the car turned on him with a glare. “Doubt it,” the boss said.

-3-

The black car cruised down the road toward their target. The blacked out windows wouldn’t announce their identities before they were ready. The brakes slammed on and in almost the same moment two figures stepped out of the sedan, followed quickly by a third from the back. There wasn’t an ounce of hesitation in any of them.

The android dressed in dark slacks and a purple pullover moved to the front quarter panel of the driver’s side and threw what could only be described as an open-handed punch at the metal. Gaining purchase, the quiet street echoed with the sound of twisting metal as CID dragged his fingers through the ebony side panels of the Reaper. He’d rounded the vehicle and did the same to the passenger side.

As he moved in an easy stride, Furia produced her switchblade which she twirled in her hand to grip like she might be about to stab CID. But her smooth gait carried her to the wide hood. She leaned over and gouged it. The sharp hard blade carved through the paint layers with every hard pull adding a new higher pitch to the metallic cacophony.

Shaundi walked behind CID and stopped at the driver’s side door, holding the three bottles of gin in one hand. Her free hand, wrapped around a collapsible baton, reeled back, then let it fly toward the glass. It shattered it easily adding a high pitch tinkle to the their symphony of destruction. “Tell me when,” she called over the sound of curling metal.

“Do it,” Furia insisted without even looking up from the message she was carving into his hood.

The auburn-haired woman took a few steps back and set the bottles on the pavement. She lit the first and tossed it through the window. The front seat of the reaper quickly burst into flame with a rushing whoosh. It flashed in yellow and orange flames. She lit and threw the second and then the third, getting the right angle for it to land in the backseat.

The fire lit the concentration that furrowed Furia’s brow as she punctuated her message with an exclamation mark. The final touch, turning the period of that punctuation into a heart. Then her hand rose again, casting a sinister shadow on the street around them. It came down; she’d buried the blade several inches deep in the hood, marking the center of that heart.

“Time to go,” CID announced noticing movement toward his left. It surely had to be Eli’s security detail, or maybe the boss himself. Neither mattered to Furia.

“Almost,” the boss replied.

The other two headed back to the vehicle, while Furia pulled the finishing touch out of her pocket. She draped the dark green silk stocking around the purple opalescent handle of the switchblade buried in the hood of Eli’s Reaper, and tied it in a flouncy bow. She was sure he’d remember them—after all that color made his eyes pop, she recalled with far less fondness than she might have before his phone call.

With that Furia took a few backward steps from his vehicle, surveying their work. Before she turned, she raised her phone and snapped a shot for Kinzie’s database, then she strolled toward the non-descript black sedan that brought her there. She had no intention of hiding any of it. They hadn’t worn masks, or obscured themselves at all. And the knife was clearly hers. A purple fleur de lis decorated one side, and on the other was the intertwined T and S that looked exactly like the tattoo on her hand which had become her signature back after the coma. For most of Stilwater it came to mean Third Street. But Eli knew there was more to it; he’d asked about it the night they met, down in the tasting room.

This night, however, he knife, the symbol, and the stocking all came together for one simple purpose; they were merely a signature, her signature on the message left in the hood of his car. “Courtesy Call!” He’d felt it necessary to let her know he was still alive. She just simply returned the favor.

[justimajin]

A Wilting Rose╰ Part 7╮

➺ Pairing: Jimin x Reader

➺ Genre: Angst & Fluff

↳ (3.8k) Actor and Actress AU

➺ Summary: The world of acting can be best described with three words - dark, invasive and inhumane. Talent, although heavily required, isn’t focused upon in comparison to the juicy gossip and various rumors that can be spread. This is why even you - an extremely talented actress - fall prey to the chops of the acting world and find yourself in a down whirling spiral with no escape. Desperately needing to get back up on your two feet once again, it seems like your best bet is a newcomer to the industry, who has yet to understand the ways of your fallen world.

➺ Warnings: some swearing, the angst has arrived and it hits pretty hard

➺ Moodboard Prologue Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

“Why, why do we have to be apart like this?” 

“We cannot be married Princess, you are to rule the kingdom as Queen with a suitable husband beside your side…” 

“But you are the one I want General, I-I can’t bear to be in a world that doesn’t have you.” 

“Please try to understand Princess,” He touches your cheek softly, “I’m here to protect you, to be by your side as a noble warrior…” 

“There is no way I can be accepted as your husband among the kingdom.” He looks away from you, slowly stepping away as your cheeks are drenched with tears. 

He leaves completely, not even turning back once. 

“CUT!” 

You sigh, your stylist hurriedly trying to douse your fallen tears and re-touching your makeup as Jimin walks over with curious eyes.

“Is it hard to cry on sets?” So far you have been the only one to display wrenching emotions because of the General’s decision in choosing to leave. Jimin will eventually have to do the same at a certain point with the General’s part, but for now you are the one doused with wet eyes and drops trailing down your cheeks. 

Really romantic right? 

“Kind of?” You sniffle, “If you can’t cry properly then they have this paste you can use to irritate your eyes and stimulate tears. Or you can just think of something sad and then cry.” 

“Wow…” Jimin looks at you fascinated, “You didn’t use anything, you’re seriously so good at this.” 

You smile, standing up straighter once the stylist is finished, “What were you thinking of?” 

“Hmm?” You walk back to the set with him and he occasionally stops to let you catch up with your long skirt. 

“To cry. What were you thinking about?” 

“Uh well,” You press your lips together, “....things.” 

“Things?” Jimin tilts his head to the side, staring at you intrigued when you look away. 

“Dead kittens. You happy now?” 

He chuckles, “I’m pretty sure that wasn’t what you were thinking about, but I’ll take it.” 

You roll your eyes but still smile, going through the script carefully as Jimin peers over your shoulder, looking through his own lines. 

“When do we die?” 

“I think…near the end?” You quickly flip through, not finding the specific part, “I dunno, something about you not being right for me and blah blah, more epic romance, throw in some sad violin music.” You turn and pass the script over to him, “Here, you can tell me about it later in more detail.” 

He smiles, gladly accepting it as you sit down for a much needed break. Suddenly a roar of voices infiltrate the sets, flashes and whispers going off like no tomorrow. 

“Oh god,” You groan, standing up, “Is Taehyung back again?” 

“Taehyung? Y/N, Taehyung wasn’t supposed to come today.” You raise an eyebrow at that and Jimin puts his script down. Both of you try to see through the large crowd, a smile on your lips when you see Yoongi clearly getting irritated with the whole rukus. 

The whole crowd finally parts in the middle, leaving enough space for the source of buzz to come through. 

Your smile immediately drops. 

Jimin’s eyes widen and he’s soon at a complete loss of words, moving his hands around frantically, “Oh my god, it’s-, oh my god!” 

He places a hand against his chest to calm himself down and then he looks over to you in excitement, pausing completely when he sees the sheer level of horror overtaking your expression. 

You are frozen in place when his footsteps enter the centre of the room, giving Yoongi a smile who just scowls at him before his eyes latch onto you. 

He grins, taking easy steps towards the set, the same confidence radiating off of him with no end. 

“I thought it would be nice to drop by.” He smirks, patting you on your shoulder, “You know, to congratulate my wife after all.” 

Jimin’s heart immediately sinks, looking between you and him when the ill words leave his mouth, “You’re married to the Kim Seokjin?!” 

“E-Engaged….” The words come out as a faint whisper, void of any strength or force. 

His eyes widen and it occurs to him what was bothering him about the situation the most. 

He was expecting something - for you to tell him to take his hand off you, for you to yell at him with a loud burst of rage. 

But you don’t do anything. 

You just remain shaken underneath his gaze, frozen to the point of no return. 

“You seem nice.” He reaches over and ruffles Jimin’s hair, “Be sure to take care of her, everyone knows she needs the help.” 

He arrogantly walks away, a smirk on his features when he stops mid-way, “Oh and don’t worry, I doubt they’ll be any news of my arrival here. You know, so that viewers are encouraged to watch the movie when it releases.” 

He steps away, flashes encasing him once again when journalists are soon hovering around him and wanting to know every single detail about the encounter. 

They don’t approach you though. 

Because you had always been painted as the villain from the start. 

“Y-Y/N?” Jimin carefully touches your shoulder, still not understanding exactly what was going on but wanting to somehow remove that hollow expression from your features. 

You push his hand away slowly and he’s about to say something, but then he sees your bottom lip quiver and small drops of water escaping your eyes. “I-I need to go.” 

You dash away, still in your costume as Jimin calls out for you, “Y/N!” 

“Y/N!” He yells again but you don’t turn around. 

“Fuck that bastard. Coming on to my sets and making such a scene…” Jimin turns to hear Yoongi, packing away the camera material with a frown on his lips, “He’d better watch what he says, he’ll eat his words when my movie releases.” 

“Yoongi...sorry about that…” 

“Why are you apologizing?” Yoongi turns to him, “If anything Y/N should be apologizing, she’s the one that’s associated with that moron.” 

“He said Y/N was his wife...what did that mean?” 

Yoongi shrugs, “There was something about a scandal between them, I don’t really know nor care. I just hire actors based on potential, not because of their personal lives.”

Jimin smiles at that, but then he frowns when he can’t get any answers from the man. An idea lights up in his head and he’s soon turning around, stopping in front of Yoongi’s busy way. 

“Do you happen to have Y/N’s manager, Namjoon’s office address?” 

He lets out a deep exhale as he stands outside the door, a hesitant hand reaching out and knocking on it. He patiently waits for an answer, now dressed in his usual casual clothes when the door opens to reveal the man he was looking for. “Jimin?”

“Namjoon! Can I come in?” 

Namjoon opens the door for him, “Sure, what did you need?” 

“It’s about Y/N.” Jimin pursues his lips, brows furrowed, “Kim Seokjin came to our set today and she didn’t look alright to me.” 

Namjoon’s jaw drops, looking at Jimin like he just sprouted out nonsense, “Kim Seokjin visited Y/N?” 

Jimin nods and Namjoon scoffs, causing Jimin to do a double take when the manager suddenly looks incredibly irritated, “He still had the nerve, huh? Showing up after all he’s done.”

“What has he done Namjoon? Why did Y/N look so...scared?” 

Namjoon looks at him surprised, before he turns over to his desk, “You don’t read the news?” 

Jimin shakes his head, eyes trailing over. He wasn’t particularly fond of spending time keeping updated with news, knowing the media had their own ways of twisting up words and conjuring up ridiculous stories. He’s only seen a couple about him, to which he decided they were more harmful than good after the shear load of hate that was directed towards him being casted in Yoongi’s movie. 

A pile of new articles land before him, all of the headlines bolded with giant black words, like they were declaring a huge crisis going on. However, the closer he looks, the more the words just make him want to look away. 

“Y/N L/N finished after disastrous breakup?” Jimin narrows his eyes, “Break up? I thought they were engaged?” 

“They were. Until Y/N called off the wedding and broke up with Seokjin among a dozen of his fans.” Namjoon sips on some tea, offering a cup to Jimin who accepts as his mind turns with the new information. 

“Why did she call off the wedding? If she was going to get married to him, it must have been because she liked him.” 

Namjoon sighs, a deep, rooted sigh like this topic was one that was constantly wrapped around his head, “I’m guessing you’ve met Seokjin, correct?” 

Jimin nods, “And you’ve discovered what he’s really like? How he treats Y/N?” 

“I did, it was frustrating to see her look so devastated.” 

“Well what you saw is the truth. He’s made out to be some sort of heartthrob, fans swooning over him and falling head over heels in love.” Namjoon darkly chuckles, shaking his head. 

“But he’s a man of fake promises who only thinks about himself.” 

Namjoon takes out another headline, handing it over to Jimin, “He proposed to Y/N when he knew she had fallen in love with him. The media coverage was amazing, they didn’t miss a beat in celebration.” 

“However, Seokjin had great timing. Ironically he proposed to Y/N after her career hit its peak. Blockbuster after blockbuster, it was incredible to see Jimin.” 

He can recall it beautifully, noticing how your posters were everywhere, millions of fans falling in love with your movies and you succeeding through it all.  

“After someone so graciously purposes to you and you’re in love, you accept it. That’s exactly what Y/N did.” 

“But there was a heavy price to pay.” 

You stare at the diamond ring shining on your index finger, giddy laughs escaping you when you had finished excitedly shared the good news with Namjoon on the phone. 

“Did she say yes?” 

Seokjin chuckles and you stop for a split second, pressing your ear against the door, “Do you really think she wouldn’t say yes to me? Please.” 

“With Y/N by my side, everyone will love us.” 

You hear a laugh from the other side, your eyes widening with his next words. 

“But most of all, my career will skyrocket. It’s finally get the attention it deserves and directors will practically be begging me to take part in their movies.” 

More laughter mixes in, your ringed fist clenching, “It was a smart move indeed Seokjin.” 

“Well played.” 

Jimin stares at Namjoon with a contorted look, disgust leaking into his eyes, “It was all an act?” 

Namjoon nods, placing his tea down with a sigh, “I still remember that phone call. It felt odd to me, Y/N had only been seeing Seokjin for a couple months and then for a sudden engagement to appear out of nowhere...” 

“What ended up stopping me though was that phone call. She seemed so happy in telling me the news that I had faith in her, that perhaps I might have misjudged the situation.” 

“Prior to the announcement, Y/N worked hard Jimin. Constant filming and running to schedules, she persisted in reaching her goals and became such a famous actress. But he,” Namjoon points to the headline, throwing it back at his desk, “He took everything away.” 

Jimin looks at Namjoon solemnly but he just chuckles, “And you know Y/N. The moment she found out, she was ready to take him out right there and then. Ripped off her engagement ring in front of so many fans and told him to take a hike.” 

Jimin laughs at that, wondering how that sounded like such a you thing to do. “The media though, they messed everything up.” 

Namjoon goes on to explain the missing piece of the puzzle, why you had to suffer the consequences compared to your supposed husband that simply walked away without a single stain on him. 

“Y/N was considered to be the villain who broke up with the heartthrob in front of millions. The horrible girl that ‘broke his heart’ and threw the pieces away, all while Seokjin had the entire media’s support and empathy for the scandal.” 

Jimin doesn’t say anything for a moment, he simply stares at Namjoon with heavy hearted eyes, wondering how you were even able to tolerate someone like that. “She...she must have felt terrible…” 

“He broke her, in more ways than one.” Namjoon says, a dark glint in his eyes as he keeps on sighing, “After that, creating meaningful movies was the last thing on her list of priorities. It was drunken nights, outburst after outburst, making me wonder what happened to that Y/N that captured everyone’s hearts with her acting. When would she return? Will she ever return?” 

“This movie, it was my last option after getting rejected so many times. I never thought that in a way, it was also Y/N’s…” Jimin whispers, the whole ordeal making him want to shake his head. 

“Believe me when I say it really is.” Namjoon gets up, turning to him, “So she met him again?” 

“She left the set completely.” 

“Hmm.” Namjoon taps a finger against his chin, “Can you do me a favour Jimin? Can you find Y/N?” 

“Me?” Jimin points to himself in surprise. 

Namjoon nods, “I think it would be helpful if you were with her. I’ve had this feeling, it’s strange, but Y/N does seem a lot more happier when you’re around. Something I truthfully haven’t seen in a while after the whole scandal.” 

“I-I…” Jimin presses his lips together, considering it. If he were to be honest with himself, after learning about what had happened with you, he really wants to just talk. It’s almost like his concern has increased ten-fold and there’s seems to be only one question that keeps resurfacing in his mind. 

Are you okay? 

He snaps back into action, nodding when Namjoon smiles, “I’ll find her Namjoon.” 

“I promise.” 

Jimin carefully opens the door, looking right and left in the lone set room. It’s pitch dark, only a handful of small lights still lit and the entire scene, which was flourishing with actors and beautiful scenery just moments ago, now looks completely abandoned and deserted. 

He had his own suspicion of you returning back to the set because you left in costume and would most likely need to change. After heading over to your apartment with the address Namjoon given and asking Jungkook about your whereabouts, it was the only option he had left in his hands. 

Suddenly a muffled sob hits his ears. Its cracked and rough, like the person making the sound was struggling to even produce it. 

“Y/N?” He calls out, barely being able to make out anything from the lack of light. 

He hears a clatter, something light dropping onto the ground and its then he sees a small white pearl roll over to his feet, stopping right at the base of his heel. 

He turns in the direction it came from and sure enough, there you are. 

Your dress is completely ruffled up, pieces of ribbons and drops of pearls pooling around you in a misconstrued wavy circle. Your head is buried within the mess of your dress, arms wrapped around you similar to a hug and you don’t even once lift your head as his footsteps draw closer. 

“Y/N?” He questions again, his voice low and contorted with concern as he leans down to meet your couched height. He places a warm hand on your shoulder, similarly to how your supposed husband had done and you immediately flinch, drenched wide eyes looking back at him. 

In that one single moment, he suddenly feels like crying when the entire view of your wet scared eyes, red cheeks and shivering form meet his eyes. It’s overwhelming and it even becomes worse when you attempt to wipe away the remainder of the fallen tears, trying your hardest to sit properly. 

“W-What are you doing here?” Your voice comes out incredibly hoarse, the words barely managing to arise and instead coming out in a whisperers tone. 

He has no words for you. All he does is move forward and give you a hug. 

You’re surprised for a quick second until you hear his voice, “I know who he was.” 

You bite down on your lip, trying to stifle back what you’ve managed to fix up but a world wind completely unleases itself. You don’t remember how long you stay like that - him holding onto you when more and more waves keep hitting you, but they finally do subside and you part from him. 

“T-The movie…” You whisper out, “It’ll be ruined.” 

Jimin’s eyes widen and he connects the dots to your main concern, “It won’t be Y/N. We’ve worked hard on this, you’ve worked hard on this.” He shakes his head, “He can’t take this away from you.” 

You glance up at him, looking hopeful before it mixes in with your worries, “You don’t understand at all Jimin.” 

“What don’t I understand?” 

“This.” You point to yourself, “This is why my life is like, what your life will eventually become. They don’t care about you at all, they just care about what they can say about you.” 

You sniffle, wiping another tear that escapes, “And when they find out what happened today, those headlines are going to flood everything. Newspapers, TV’s, social media...the list just goes on and on.” You cover your mouth and shake your head, but that Jimin still presses on it. 

“We can do it Y/N. Let them go crazy, let them spread as much hate as they want.” He holds onto your hand. “If we give them a great movie, they won’t be able to say anything about you.” 

You shake your head, still in disbelief. Jimin suddenly shifts in front of you, kneeling down and brings both your hands into your lap with his own. “There was this one actress I love a lot. She started off really promising, all her movies were so loved by audiences and I remember going to theatres just to watch them.” 

Something sparks in your eyes and you lift your head, causing Jimin to softly smile, “I used to always think that acting was boring and that someone like me should become a singer or a dancer. But then when I saw her movies, I saw people around me laughing and crying within the span of a couple of minutes and I couldn’t help but think how amazing that was. Having the ability to move people’s hearts with your performance.” 

“I realized how strong her ability was, when I too was laughing and crying in theatres.” 

Your lip slightly quivers, now staring at him when tears start to form in your eyes, “There is a problem though, this actress is going through a bit of a hard time, but that doesn’t mean she can’t act anymore. That doesn’t mean she’s finished.” 

“If she can rip off an engagement ring in front of a ton of fans and tell a guy to take a hike, she definitely has the guts to make a comeback that packs a punch.” A small chuckle comes from you at hearing that and soon Jimin is looking to you with expectant, desperate eyes. 

“What do you say? Does my actress have enough guts?” 

You don’t say anything - you merely nod and look at him with tear-filled eyes, tugging him into a hug and not letting go. 

A sigh of relief escapes Jimin. 

“Done?” 

You slowly come out of the changing room in casual clothes and then nod. He smiles at you before his phone rings and he gestures that he’ll be right back. 

You patiently wait, wondering to yourself if you should call Jungkook to pick you up and you pull out your phone to place the call. Suddenly the screen lights up and the alarming amount of notifications are soon buzzing up before you even have a chance to view them. Quickly clicking on, an article pops up and the headlines are written in the same black colour, but now the topic has switched completely. 

Y/N L/N and Park Jimin suspected of being in a relationship? 

Your eyes are blown out wide, scrolling through and seeing pictures of times you’ve spent with Jimin being reported. There are comments and allegations being redirected to your movie, news of Seokjin visiting getting brought up as well. 

The headlines are terrifying to view, however you haven’t even reached the fan comments yet.

There both about you and him, fans being upset and enraged at your sudden ‘relationship’ with a co-star so quickly after your break-up. Comments about Jimin are ones you can’t even look at, his fans disliking him for being mere inches close you and a pile of hate dropping onto his plate. 

Things begin to unravel in your mind - getting hate wasn’t such a big deal for you, already so accustomed to how the media likes to paint an exaggerated image into people’s mind. However, Jimin was different, it’s blatant obvious on how hard he works and how much effort he brings forth, but for his career to be dragged down to the pits just because he was affiliated with you… 

You don’t want him to spiral down like you once did. 

“Sorry about that, Hoseok was calling me for a schedule tomorrow.” You nod, a lopsided smile surfacing on you and Jimin tilts his head to the side. “Is everything okay?” 

Your eyes flicker, shaking your head with a smile. 

“Everything’s fine.”

[punkscowardschampions]

Buster & Rio

Buster: Where's Nance? Buster: You had her last Rio: No idea Rio: Junior's room maybe? Buster: Cheers Rio: 👍 Rio: Any time Buster: Yeah Rio: Good talk, McKenna Buster: You wish, babe Rio: No doubt Rio: highlight of my night Buster: I know Rio: You don't need to say it Buster: You don't need to still be saying anything but you are Rio: Off you go then Buster: Make me then Rio: The reek of desperation is overpowered by your dad's cologne you clearly knicked Buster: Shame you didn't nick any lines from him 'cause yours are weak whereas he hardly ever loses an argument Rio: Come at him with the hero worship Rio: you turn my stomach without it, like Buster: He wishes Buster: And I'd have to find him first Buster: Probably hiding in the bathroom, unlucky for you Rio: Awh Rio: like father like son Buster: Fuck off Rio: No, you Rio: that's what we're doing here Buster: I'm nothing like that cunt Buster: And if that's the best you can do, give up Rio: If it didn't touch a nerve, why are you being such a pussy about it Rio: again, go convince yourself of that lie and all Rio: not what I'm here for Buster: If you were capable of touching a nerve, being convincing or telling a decent lie it'd almost be worth having you here Rio: 💔 Rio: If only I could say the same for you Buster: You can't say anything for me 'cause that'd involve speaking to me as well as about me, which you're also incapable of Rio: Why would I need to do either Rio: or wanna Buster: You tell me Buster: You're heartbroken by your own admission Rio: For you, babe, not about you Buster: You done now that's off your chest or is there more bullshit to come? Rio: You're out here begging for a reason to go Rio: not me begging you to stay Buster: I don't beg so you're gonna need a new fantasy Rio: Ha Rio: The one where you're not in my face has been a dream, honestly 💋 Buster: Yeah, I bet Buster: And if I was allowed to leave, I would Rio: Get over it Rio: Its a wedding, no one wants to be here Buster: Get over me Buster: Fucked if your parents don't but whatever Rio: They've done this many years and dramas, I doubt a real wedding will be what tips them over the edge, honey Buster: Do they need a new toaster? That could've been what swung it Rio: I hope so Rio: need one that does at least 10 slices at a time Buster: Fingers crossed someone's got 'em one that does 6 and another cunt's bought one that does 4 then Rio: Careful, that was almost like exchanging pleasantries Rio: you can admit you got them a toaster and still be a dick about it, amateur Buster: Calm down, just 'cause my name's on the card don't mean I have any fucking idea what was wrapped Rio: See Rio: such a #lad Buster: If you get excited about being in the kitchen making breakfast more fool you Rio: We all have to do it Rio: may as well do it with an all singing all dancing toaster Buster: That's your birthday present done and delivered then, babe Buster: You're welcome in advance Rio: I'll expect it and the 'Sorry I can't make it' first class Buster: 'Course Buster: I'll get your name put on it, how many slices do you personally want? Rio: 😏 Rio: Go six or go home, obviously Buster: Size matters Buster: Alright, I'll remember Rio: Girls gotta eat Buster: Especially on your birthday Buster: Still a princess then Rio: Duh Rio: Thought I'd give the tiara a miss though Buster: Shame Rio: Of course you'd think so Buster: What's that meant to mean? Rio: Sure its all foreign princesses and socialites Buster: Are you? Rio: Don't you wanna tell me it is Buster: Not really Rio: Alright Rio: I'll be sure then Buster: Good to know, like Buster: I'll see you around then Rio: at the next wedding perhaps Buster: Not if I'm old enough to not be forced to attend Rio: Unlikely Rio: someone always shacking up Buster: Yeah but in this fam they have their kids first so I've got loads of time Rio: Well Rocky just had his first so Rio: no you don't Buster: There's no way he'll stop at that one Rio: You don't have to birth your own bridal party Rio: they could do it and then have more, not a death sentence Buster: They won't though Rio: You're so clueless Buster: Fuck off Buster: I am not Rio: You are Buster: Why? Rio: Rocky isn't like the rest of this fam Rio: he's already garda Rio: why wouldn't he buck the trend there too Buster: Kids are expensive as fuck Buster: So are weddings Rio: If you're you Rio: I'm sure they'll go down the office and get it done nice and simple Buster: That ain't a wedding that's paperwork Rio: 🙄 I'm sure they'll be devastated to not meet your high standards too, McKenna Buster: You mean you'll be devastated to not see me there Buster: 'Cause there won't be the fam gathering you've got your fingers crossed that we cross paths at if they keep it cheap and simple Rio: He's enough like this family that there will still be a party at the pub Rio: don't be stupid Buster: Make your mind up, Cavante Buster: He's either one of 'em or he ain't Rio: You wish it was that simple Buster: I don't need wishes for that Buster: It is Rio: Nah Buster: Like I said, you ain't convincing Rio: Why do you want convincing so badly? Rio: Get a grip Buster: Why are you so bad at everything? Buster: You didn't used to be Rio: And my lines are weak Rio: You know nothing about me Buster: Yeah they are Buster: Hence I don't wanna know you Rio: Thank God Rio: be awkward if it wasn't mutual Buster: And this convo is awkward enough so Rio: You started it Rio: and refuse to leave it Rio: being this bad at taking hints ends up in prison sentences, like Buster: You can leave Buster: There isn't a literal door that you need me to hold open or shut in your face Buster: Take the hints yourself Rio: This is my inbox Rio: so why should I Rio: literally fuck off Buster: 'Cause you want it so badly apparently Buster: Why haven't you blocked me years back? Rio: In case I need a kidney? Buster: You ain't having mine even if there's nobody else to ask Buster: So you can go ahead and do it now Rio: Why Rio: You're so crap at this Buster: You won't miss me when we can no longer chat then Rio: I'm not petty, I don't block Buster: You're a glutton for punishment Buster: I'll bear that in mind Rio: You wish you had any kind of effect on me Buster: I don't need to wish for that either Rio: Still do though Buster: You wish Rio: Obviously Buster: Yeah obviously Rio: What do you want Buster: From you or from tonight or from life in a more general sense, like? Buster: What do you mean? Rio: Oh my God Rio: are you a philosophical drunk now Buster: Get me a drink, we'll find out Rio: Are you going to get me one Buster: It's your house and I'm the guest Buster: Don't be rude Rio: For what Rio: I don't need to hear what you pass off as wisdom Buster: Fine, don't Rio: They're free, don't act offended Buster: I'm offended by the gesture, or lack of, not the prize tag Rio: Yeah well back at you then? Buster: Fuck it I need to find Nance anyway Buster: You've done me a favour with your lack of manners Rio: Awh, you gonna tell her you love her Buster: Why would I lie to her face? Buster: Not very nice Rio: You aren't Rio: but you are pissed Buster: Me and the majority of the people here Buster: Probably wanna start now if you wanna tell 'em all too Rio: Exactly Rio: can't you just feel the love Buster: Nah Rio: Are you surprised Buster: Ain't the word for it Rio: Shouldn't be Rio: reap what you sow Buster: Cheers Rio: What, you really thought I'd be nice to you Buster: I didn't think about you, babe Buster: Other than that you could potentially know where my sister is Rio: Yeah right Buster: Yeah right Rio: Leave her alone Buster: Shut up Buster: I do what I want Rio: She's had enough of you Rio: and you're at my house so have some manners Buster: She's more than capable of telling me that herself along with anything else Buster: It's nothing to do with you Rio: Well she doesn't need to because you already know Buster: Like I said, stay out of it Buster: You're not fighting her battles for her Rio: No, I won't Buster: Hilarious Buster: What do you reckon you're gonna do? Rio: What have you done? Rio: Fuck all Buster: Don't sit there and fucking preach to me Buster: I'm there every day Rio: I don't give a fuck about you, don't get it twisted Buster: I never said you did Buster: I said you don't know fuck all about what's going on with her Rio: She's told me Buster: She'll have told you what she wants you to know Buster: So like I said Rio: Yeah she really wants me to know all the nasty shit being said and done to her Rio: such a juicy story Buster: Whatever she's said, everything she ain't told you is worse Rio: And what are you doing about it Rio: go on Buster: Maybe I would if I had anything to prove to you Buster: But I don't Rio: Prove it to her 'cos she's said how you've taken their side Buster: I bet she has Rio: Fuck sake, Buster Buster: Don't start with me on this Rio: You were always at least a decent brother Buster: I said, don't Rio: Do something about it Buster: Don't tell me what to do Buster: You don't even know what you're asking for or what it means Rio: She's your sister Rio: end of Buster: Yeah, mine not yours Buster: It's our lives not yours Rio: Yeah and hers is miserable and you aren't trying to help her Buster: I'm fucking trying to get her to help herself Rio: Jesus Christ Rio: that's not how this works Buster: I'm not a girl, I can't get involved in that shit Buster: That's how it works Buster: I've already sorted loads of lads out Rio: Yeah, no shit you can't smack then and pretend that's a fix Rio: she could still know that you don't endorse their bullshit, which she don't Buster: Fuck you Buster: And fuck her if she's gonna be that stupid Rio: Its not about being stupid Rio: all you have to do is tell her Buster: It's about everyone wanting to see the worst in me, her especially Buster: End of Rio: I already said, are you surprised though Buster: About her being such a man hating lesbian stereotype? Sometimes Rio: That is not what I meant Buster: I know exactly what you mean Buster: And I already answered you, surprised ain't the word Rio: What is then Rio: Don't be mysterious Buster: I ain't, I'm being polite 'cause I know you don't care Rio: Pick your moments Buster: Yeah Rio: If its not what you want with her, then you should do something Rio: 'cos its what you want with the rest of us Buster: I can't do what she wants me to and it's unfair of her to expect it from me Rio: But how is it not unfair for you to expect her to be a different person suddenly Rio: its on the bullies, not her Buster: I don't expect her to be a different person Buster: Just own the person that she fucking is Rio: You don't get it Rio: That's alright for you 'cos you get clapped on the back and prizes for the person you are all the time Rio: the person she is is awkward and shy and non-confrontational and her turning 'round and acting like she's the shit with it would not make them think its any better than it is Rio: they're clearly shitty people, end of Buster: Well she can be really confrontational when it suits her Buster: And there's plenty she's capable of being recognised for that isn't who she wants to fuck Rio: It's not about her being gay Rio: girls are vicious Rio: its all the other ways she doesn't fit in with them Rio: in what world is she gonna turn around and be so bad ass that they're stunned into what, liking her? Rio: why would she want that? Buster: She ain't tried to fit in at all Buster: In what world is it my problem that she didn't get to stay in Cambs? Buster: She wants to villianize me all of a sudden but that ain't vicious Rio: Because your genius solution is she just needs to befriend the people who are vile to her Rio: literally why Buster: That ain't any solution, least of all mine Buster: Nance made up her mind she was gonna hate it there before she got here and so she does Buster: Yeah there are cunts in Chelsea, there's cunts everywhere Rio: You keep missing the entire fucking point, Jesus Rio: They made up their mind that they hate her, they make her life hell, end of Rio: however fucking marvelous you think she can make her life to spite them, that's remaining a fact and you aren't even acknowledging it Rio: she would rather live here than with her own family, let that sink in, that is the situation Rio: she isn't moping about leaving a place behind 3 years ago, my God Buster: You're welcome to her then Buster: See how she manages to fuck Dublin up for herself Rio: Like I said, leave her alone tonight Buster: Like I said, make me or mind your own business Rio: Fuck off Rio: You're no help to her Rio: and you're happy not to be, clearly, so do her that one favour Buster: I don't do people favours Buster: Not a charity Rio: Just a sad excuse for a brother Rio: understood Buster: You don't understand fuck all about me but keep telling yourself you do Rio: I don't care Rio: and neither do you so you don't get to dictate how we see you Rio: your lack of action speaks loud enough Buster: Good Buster: Saves me making a speech, like Rio: That we can agree on Rio: 🙌 Maybe there is a God after-all Buster: As long as we don't make a habit of it Buster: And you don't take his name in vain or whatever Rio: That's the one message you're taking away from the bible then Rio: bit of a weird one but okay Buster: I remember loads of that shit Buster: Obviously the lions were the best but Buster: There's some good fights Rio: Jesus was lucky they didn't put him in the coliseum really Rio: might've scared Mary and co away when he came back, all mangled, like Buster: She might've been into all the scars and everything Buster: You don't know Rio: Well she was obviously into feet so Rio: I'm giving her the benefit of the doubt, her tastes were well freakier than that cliche Buster: 'Course Rio: Have a good night then Rio: get some more blood of christ Buster: Shame his blood don't taste better, that way the two things you just said would be more likely to be mutually exclusive Rio: Your taste buds are as immature as you? Rio: figures Buster: That's the biggest load of bullshit you've written down all night Rio: It is not Rio: I drink red wine sometimes Buster: Me too just not the shit bottles your parents do Buster: They'd be better off letting your dad cook with it all Rio: Pah Buster: Either defend 'em or don't Buster: What the fuck is that noncommittal bullshit? Rio: I'm sorry but how have you convinced any of them that you're money Rio: that's what that sound was Rio: not dignifying that pitiful attempt with anything more Buster: You should be sorry Buster: Pathetic, like Rio: You said it Buster: You're judging my parents finances Buster: How undignified of you Rio: I'm judging you Buster: Yeah, trying to call me poor Buster: I've got what I've got, I don't need to convince anyone I belong anywhere Rio: And you can't buy class Rio: You're from trash Buster: I ain't trying to Buster: There's nothing wrong with my class or where I'm from Rio: Oh so you're claiming self-made Rio: that's your da Rio: you'll have to get your own act and you ain't found it, babe Buster: Like you said, I'll reap what I sow Buster: And I intend to sow plenty of epic shit Rio: Daddy's field Rio: Oh, McKenna Rio: I feel so bad for you Buster: My blood, sweat and tears, babe Buster: What do you reckon I'm doing at school all day, it's not just making the uniform look good Rio: How impressive Buster: It's necessary, if you wanna be impressed, you can have that Rio: I'm not Buster: Whatever you say Rio: You can leave the copy of your latest marks out of my birthday package, thanks Buster: You've just ensured I won't Buster: Enjoy the skim read Rio: 🙄 Buster: Been fun catching up, Cavante Buster: Let's leave it another few years next time though Rio: Take your own advice Buster: Easy when you're this boring Buster: Not gonna take yours Rio: Then why the hell are you still here? Buster: You don't want me to be Buster: And it's as simple to wind you up as it's ever been Rio: No, you're just even shittier Buster: That too Rio: What happened to you Buster: Like I said, Chelsea's full of cunts Rio: Yeah Buster: What happened to you? Rio: You said they're everywhere too, right? Buster: Yeah Rio: That's life, I guess Buster: How long did it take for Dublin to be as shit as anywhere else? Rio: I didn't ever think it would be any better Rio: beyond having family nearby Buster: Alright Rio: I didn't Rio: was never that stupid Buster: Calm down, I already said I believe you Rio: Alright Buster: You want a drink? Rio: Of course Buster: Of what? Rio: Not wine as you're such a snob about it Rio: I don't care, I've had all sorts today Buster: You had any brandy? Rio: I wasn't aiming to end my night with my head in the toilet, like Rio: so obviously not Buster: You do care then Rio: I didn't say no Rio: I said it wasn't in my plan Buster: I'll sort you out a decent drink Buster: Not that cunt, whoever you think I am Rio: I don't think anything Buster: Yeah you do Buster: You've made it well obvious Rio: That's about how you're behaving Buster: [brings her that decent drink as promised] Rio: [so awkward but having to maintain eye contact to be like cheers 'cos can't not] Buster: [walking away so casually like my job here is done] Rio: [🙄] Buster: [😏 I wish there was an even more smug dickhead version of this tbh] Rio: [Not too proud to drink it though but am gonna absolutely down it whatever it is] Buster: [he obvs has to as well but faster cos everything's competitive] Rio: [I hope you get the hiccups boy] Buster: [haha if only but he's too lucky for that kind of comeuppance to strike him down] Rio: IOU Buster: Easily fixed Buster: Off you go Rio: What do you want Buster: Don't spit in it and I'll take it Rio: 👍 Rio: have that for free Buster: Lucky me Rio: Don't push it Buster: What'll happen if I do? Rio: You're lucky, you won't find out Buster: Well now I'm obviously gutted Rio: [at him with some drink like drown your sorrows, boy] Buster: [knocks his glass against hers like oh thanks] Rio: [moving back like don't spill it on me, you messy bitch] Buster: [shakes his head and looks hot doing it probably] Rio: [shrugs like 'what?'] Buster: [gives her a look like you're the one still interacting with me] Rio: [walks off like you're weird] Buster: [watching her walk away and enjoying that view, once again where is everybody clocking this] Rio: [all partayingggg] Buster: [clearly] Rio: Why did you want to find Nancy? Buster: Last night I said some shit I shouldn't have Buster: But whatever she shouldn't of still been up Rio: They're in the music room Rio: if you still want to find her Buster: Forget it Rio: Go on Buster: Nah, we've had this argument already Rio: Yeah, last night, right Rio: so you should go Rio: you've got nothing else to do Buster: Don't tell me what to do Buster: She was the only person online then, she ain't now Rio: I'm not, it was your idea Buster: That you've spent most of tonight trying to talk me out of Rio: So you're gonna listen to me now Buster: Said like I've never given you exactly what you want Rio: Not that I remember Buster: Not that you're choosing to remember Rio: You feel up to reminiscing? Buster: According to you I've got fuck all else to do Rio: Except go talk to your sister Rio: which you're choosing to forget too, I guess Buster: I was doing line after line, I didn't know what it was gonna make me feel like Buster: It don't mean I'm gonna choose to dig a deeper hole now when I ain't Rio: What? Buster: It was my first time trying it so Rio: Did you like it Buster: I kept doing it, obviously didn't hate it, did I? Rio: Not that obvious, not necessarily Buster: Yeah well Rio: Where'd you even get it Buster: I was at a party I didn't have to get it Buster: It was just there Rio: yeah but who's party Rio: one of your friends Buster: Some girl from school Buster: I didn't ask Rio: Right Buster: Like I said, forget it Rio: Why, I'm not gonna tell on you Buster: 'Cause I didn't bring any with me so what does it matter Rio: Obviously Rio: you're not a complete moron Buster: Careful, you were almost talking sense Rio: If you reckon me giving you that you wouldn't try to take drugs through customs is a compliment, have it Buster: If I was taking it as a compliment I'd have told you that you were being complimentary Rio: If you were aiming for clarity, you would have made a statement in the affirmative of your apparent intellect, saying I'm ALMOST talking sense by implying you're not a COMPLETE moron, could as easily mean it'd be full sense to say you are in fact, a TOTAL moron Buster: You were almost talking sense 'cause you didn't admit that I'm not an idiot and felt the need to say that I still am Buster: There you go Rio: I said moron but I'll allow it Buster: I can read Buster: In case you've forgotten which twin you're talking to, like Rio: Hardly likely Buster: I know but a princess can dream, yeah? Rio: I'm sure they can Rio: but no need Buster: Whatever Rio: Exactly Rio: when I wanna talk to Nance, I will Rio: and should I ever feel the need to replicate a conversation with you, I'll go bash my head into the nearest brick wall Buster: So dramatic Rio: You really are Buster: You and me both, babe Rio: Careful, don't admit we're anything alike Buster: Why not? Buster: I ain't scared of making a favourable comparison, that's you Rio: Scared ain't the word Rio: and because last time we bothered to check-in, you think you're amazing and we're all beneath you Buster: You wish you were underneath me any time we've ever checked in Rio: I'm too sober to listen to your disturbing fantasies Buster: Stop chatting shit to me and get yourself more drinks then Buster: It shouldn't be that difficult Rio: Let's not conflate our mutual need for another drink with me wanting to hear what sick shit you're thinking about, McKenna Rio: Must you ruin everything, like Buster: 'Course I must Buster: That's the least you've heard about me Rio: You wish Nance would frame it like that Rio: You think infamy would suit, undoubtedly Buster: Never assumed or stated she was your only source of info anymore than I would her being reliable at it Rio: [Oh, before I forget, my idea was her lil boyfriend at this time is the neighbour boy 'cos realize that goal honey lol 'cos in my head its 6 boys and he's the oldest- (3 years older than her 'cos the vibe is when you're young that doesn't matter but he's like coming up 16 to her 13 now which makes you have to act so mature even when you ain't ready anyway)- like Rio and then some of the others are ones we've referenced Janis hanging with in the future when Grace was like you simply must not! and they could all be at this wedding anyway 'cos neighbour friends] Rio: Admit that you stalk much Buster: It's hardly considered stalking when you love yourself so much you post constantly, but alright, babe Rio: 🤔 hurr why didn't you block me years ago durr Rio: and if I'm after a drink, it ain't tea, so put the pot and kettle away Buster: Why would I block you? I'm having a lovely time Rio: Keep that to yourself Buster: Again why would I? Rio: Because I told you, I don't wanna hear what you think about me Buster: I'm not telling you Rio: You're implying it Rio: and being gross with it Buster: No I ain't Rio: Whatever Buster: If anything the implication is what you think about me and I could be much 'grosser' about it, like Rio: No Rio: I've told you what I think about you, one Rio: and you saying you're having a lovely time looking at my socials is an implication, one you can't pin on because I don't look at yours, I keep you on messenger apps only in case of emergencies re. kidneys and the like Buster: I'm only having a lovely time killing mine at this bullshit fam function conversing with you, anything else is you overthinking Rio: Get better at conversation because that's not what you said that in reference to Buster: 'Cause I knew it would get to you which it clearly has Rio: And why would you want to do that Buster: It's the most fun I can have until I'm allowed to leave Rio: How sad Rio: you said your sister isn't the only one online, why don't you make use of it Buster: I don't drunk dial, I'm not a fucking amateur Rio: Wow Rio: how many more lame excuses do you have Rio: seems neverending Buster: I already told you, I'm surrounded by cunts, I'm not gonna give 'em ammunition Buster: I'm not my sister Rio: I told you, I'm not confused Buster: Then don't act like it's an excuse Rio: Just leave me alone Rio: I'm not your stand-in entertainment just 'cos your friends aren't here Buster: What else are you? Rio: Fuck off Rio: I'm serious Buster: You've been very serious this entire time Rio: Today is shit enough without you Rio: I did not need this Buster: Likewise Rio: And? Rio: You're irrelevant Buster: And I don't feel sorry for you Buster: I'm talking to you 'cause I have fuck all to lose by doing it Rio: Enjoy talking to my inbox then Rio: I started over this, this is beyond Rio: I was only replying for your sister Buster: Stop crying about it Buster: Jesus Rio: 😥 Buster: [brings her a drink she did not ask for like drown your sorrows girl] Rio: [won't take it from him like put it down and go] Buster: [does but loling like okay] Rio: [closes her eyes and takes a deep breath] Buster: Why's it shit? Rio: you mean besides the cheap wine Buster: Yeah Rio: why ask Rio: you don't care or feel sorry Buster: Come on Rio: even if you did, you aren't ready for the rant Rio: get another full glass, like Buster: [Does] Buster: Tell me Rio: Its shit because it always has been and always is Rio: Last night, when mum and dad were doing whatever the fuck to get all this bullshit ready, Edie ran away. It started when they started planning this nonsense because even mum can have the same last name as us now and Edie really is the only one who won't but when one of the kids we asked if she wanted dad to adopt her she freaked the fuck out and I had to pull her away or she was gonna really hurt them but she's really fast and scrappy and I got covered in loads of scratches and bite marks Rio: and I didn't want to tell them because they were so busy so I had to look on my own Rio: luckily, she went to the pub to see granddad but then she was saying they should adopt her and she wouldn't come back for ages and Rio: then this morning she wouldn't put on anything nice, and then Janis always copies her and Edie encourages her 'cos she thinks its funny even though I was the one who had to make sure they were all ready because all the adults had fucked off to do more important shit and then Grace starts crying because she wants Janis to wear the same as her even though that was never happening and Diego and Gus are just so annoying about having to wear any clothes at all Rio: so by the time I'd given up on them all, I had no time to get ready and I already feel stupid because 13 is too old to be a pissing bridesmaid but no one cares about that, so I asked Harry to give me a ride on his moped to town but that didn't happen 'cos, well, reasons, so I'm just wearing something I already had Buster: [downs his drink and pulls her away into a quiet corner so that he can look at the damage Edie did because we all know he cares so much bye and is just looking at her like show me then cos needs to know that she's alright always before anything else can be said or done] Rio: [probably most of those scratchmarks are on her face so having to wear skin makeup which she wouldn't usually 'cos frecks and good skin so tah for that, just like have a closer look 'cos clearly not been that close today/forever, then I'll be nice and say the bites are coverable, on her stomach/back area but with what she's wearing can't really pull up or down so she's like it's fine but probably having a little drunk cry 'cos that frustrated and has opened the floodgates now] Buster: [thanks Edie for letting me do the softest face touches of all time and also brushing her tears away really carefully so the make up won't be totally ruined cos actually considerate af] Rio: [when that makes you cry harder but that's only partially your fault boy] Buster: [just hugging her and making me die cos he's so toll and she's so smol] Rio: [probably had such a growth spurt since, even though he's always been taller] Buster: [literally though she'd be shook] Rio: [just blurt out 'you're tall' you are drunk after-all Buster: [a little lol but actually genuine for once, pulling away enough so you can look at her and also genuinely being like 'it's a decent outfit'] Rio: [lols back 'cos obviously the least of her concerns but still 'thanks'] Buster: [just shrugging like it's so casual] Rio: [suddenly breaks the hug, looking around like !!!] Buster: [walking away cos can actually take hints] Rio: [but pulling on his arm like no and pulling him down so she can talk without shouting  'have you seen Edie?' obvs Mcvickers would also be keeping an eye on her too after her showing up but Rio lowkey been watching her all day but has slipped 'cos carried away in their arguing etc] Buster: [shaking his head since he likewise has been paying no attention to anyone else and why would he but has a little scout around now like let's go look for her without saying it cos can't care too much ever and be seen to but obvs does] Rio: [go from wherever you are and hopefully find McVickers and Edie and not Harry 'cos likewise being ignored rn] Buster: [Yeah she can be with them living her best life cos deserves it tbh] Buster: [ooh throwback one of mcvickers should say jokingly something about them being together cos never are] Rio: [just like NOT NOW GRANDPARENTS lmao] Buster: [walking away like fuck all y'all cos of course he is] Rio: [oh so moody, god bless you teens] Buster: [literally bumping into his sister on the way so he can be like fuck you as well and burn every bridge fully] Rio: [oh boy] Buster: [so angry and so sad always boy]

[theskyexists]

The Timeless Children

I hated everything about this.

Like - EVERYTHING.

1. The companions had nothing to do with the Doctor the whole episode and contributed literally nothing to her story - they didn't even SAVE HER BECAUSE SHE SAVED HERSELF. They somehow find her in the centre of the ruins after they have a ‘touching’ moment about willing to risk their lives to save her - but they come into the room JUST after it’s become completely irrelevant - it was like a fucking PARODY.  They never even learned what the fuck was up with her. Yaz gets nothing in return for her classic faith in the Doctor - this is worse than fucking Martha. And still no hugs - loveless. COMPLETELY LOVELESS.

2. There was zero suspense. Zero. Who CARES about the mystery of the Timeless Child and their society if the Time Lords are fucking dead. Who CARES about the companions being in danger when they’re in a completely separate plot - like - COMPLETELY. I thought the Doctor trying to bargain her life for theirs was a juicy line - too bad it meant NOTHING - had NO impact whatsoever. Half of this episode was pure exposition dump?

3. Why was this the Master show? - he just talked for 30 minutes (I think it might genuinely have been 30 ACTUAL minutes) while the Doctor said NOTHING - even Sasha Dhawan can’t carry that off???? I can’t believe that Chibs had me get bored of Sasha’s performance???? HOW. It was so repetitive - truth truth truth. I’m so weepy - I’m so mad - I’m so clever. Oh I’ve broken you - yep I’ve broken you. Why is there even the fuckin assumption?? I could not parse why this would be SO devastating to anyone that Chibs would hang the whole plot and emotional arc on this. Literally immobilising the Doctor and making her mute K.O.’d their INCREDIBLE chemistry. JEzus Christ.

4. This episode went: weapons are good though. Use bombs and guns!

5. ‘You can’t pretend to be cybermen for ANY amount of time’ - yet somehow they manage to masquerade as cybermen to such an extent that they can join a platoon, teleport down, shoot at people, and kill the cybermen remaining. Well why didn’t anyone else think of this???

6. Reduced cybermen down to - armour that you can fuckin PUT ON?????

7. NO attempt at body horror was made even when there was the opportunity. Human remains? we see nothing of the Cybermen’s previous humanity and their nature as victims. No threat of conversion for any of the companions. This was possibly the least scary chib episode yet and that says something.

8. If Ryan had lobbed a bomb at Yaz and Graham they would have been DEAD.

9. Why kill that girl when she should know that Cybermen don’t even falter at gunfire so how can she provide ‘cover’ lol

10. Needless explanation and repetition resulting in ZERO suspense.  The Master explaining that he sent the Doctor those visions - useless minutiae. The Doctor retreading everything the Master has just told the audience - making her seem dumb and making me FEEL like he thinks I’m fuckin dumb.

11. Completely anticlimactic end for the Lone Cyberman.

12. The Doctor did not start out a rebel - did not start out looking at the stars going: ah....I want to go there. They interfered because they had been primed for it by years of working for the ‘Division’ - they weren’t a rebel who wanted to see more and then realised they could actually do good - in defiance of the conservative society they were part of. No. They’d been the Doctor even before Ian called One that. Well that cool and wonderful theory of being Named and taught by humans can go out the window.

13. First, the particle would destroy all life in the universe. Then - suddenly - as though they rewrote the script while they were filming - it would only destroy all life on the planet. Right.

14. Why even MENTION that nobody can enter the TARDIS in this very series if you end it on the fucking JUDOON!!!! JUDOON!!!! teleporting in.

15. It was repeatedly said that the Cybermen can ‘read’ human lifesigns but not uhhhhhh when it’s inconvenient I guess.

16. Is Tec-Teun Rassilon? Because I didn’t get the sense that the Time Lords’ rise to power on the back of their seemingly harmless genetic splicing was presented as a bad thing per se. So what the fuck is the issue. The Master was just mad that the Doctor was essential to the creation of his being. Ok. I guess there was no moral argument behind it or anything. They didn’t deserve to get wiped out - it really was just a lunatic who somehow gained the power to destroy one of the greatest civilisations ever (which is certainly also never explained).

17. Still no idea where Missy and her character development fits in this. Apparently this Gallifrey destruction wasn’t because of anything clever like that the Master learned from the Doctor and obliterated the Time Lords for being quite particularly evil by their new rules - no he just...... killed them because his ego got hurt? right.

18. Somehow not a single cyberman notices them disassembling 5 cybermen making a lots of noise - not even the fucking CYBERIUM - the hub of all strategic fuckin cyberknowledge or whatever - apparently they haven’t thought of sensors and AI interfaces being able to use them when plugged into a damn ship yet in the far future. Nobody notices them boarding, planting bombs, running away. None of the Cybermen can shoot straight. What a fuckin threat.

19. The Doctor really just needed a goddamn peptalk from her way more Doctor-ish past self to blow the Matrix out? That sequence was pretty fucking shit-looking. And then the emotional resolution is that she’s totally ok with being more than she remembers? Oh ok. ‘You’re afraid - not me!’ OK?? Why? Why? Would the Master have expected the Doctor to respond like it’s some awful truth. Ok the founders lied bc the Time Kid got out of control but then they lost track of them again? I mean yikes they suck. Isn’t the goddamn emotional punch really that their people are dead - again?? Dead??? forever??? what about its children??? what about the horror and the guilt and - does none of that matter any more? Guess we have another Dimension to travel to to see where the Doctor actually came from. Old conflictual but significant relationship with ‘home’ ended- mysterious dimension is the Doctor’s home now.

20. The end implies that the Doctor wasn’t hesitating to kill the Master, the last remains of the Time Lords and every single living thing on her home planet - she was just hesitating to kill herself. I said Chibnall had no moral intelligence but - he truly does not understand the Doctor in any way!? I cannot express how much I despise this. This was worse than mediocre it was fucking CRIMINAL. And it wasn’t even a triumph - it wasn’t even a defeat of the fuckin Master either (and who even CARES about Ko Sharmus????).

I lied I liked four things:

1. Graham and Yaz having their heart to heart.

2. Ginger-haired Brandon being the Doctor. That was a great visual parallel.

3. The overall backstory to the start of the Time Lords was like - fine. I prefer mythological backstories to be nebulous. But alright. Put the focus on the ability to regenerate instead of time travelling - ok, that makes sense - sure - whatever. All the diversity was pretty beautiful too.

4. At least the Master got choked this time (jfc chibnall - can you write NO other shorthand for the willingness to use deadly force???)

[why-this-kolaveri-machi]

Grand Titans Rewatch: 1.02

Grand Titans Rewatch: 1.02

it’s been literal months since i started this project and neither this nor the fic series that’s supposed to go alongside it has garnered much attention, if any, but damn it, i made a commitment and this time, i’m going to follow through.

for reference, episode 1’s recap here, and its corresponding fic tag is here.

SPOILERS ahead for pretty much the entire series.

1. the recap portion of the episode leans very heavily on the type of horror genre that rachel’s character brings to the show, and honestly, i love it. the superhero genre can feel very… sterile at times, with bright, clean colours and costumes and standard team-ups ending in a climactic punch-fest. the insidious horror of rachel discovering something huge and dangerous inside of her and trying—and largely failing—to control it bleeds into the rest of the show; each of the team has an inner demon to battle, but the lesson isn’t triumph over the beast as much as it is acceptance. it’s unfortunate that the dc live action universe in general has developed a reputation for being gratuitously grimdark; i love the thematic consistency that the tone brings to the show, and it is honestly the freshest take on these characters that i’ve seen so far.

1.5. there’s something to be said, too, about this muddy-window perspective we get into these established superheroes’ lives—the intriguing, sometimes downright opaque scenes of them trying to re-build from wreckage. i love that this is how they choose to distinguish themselves in a very, very crowded arena: the origin story here is not for the superheroes or even the team themselves, but the bonds they form and the family that they become.

2. i kinda love the clash between the goofy costume and the grimdark torture scene. it’s never immediately obvious, but this show is remarkably committed to its comic book roots—so much so that it’s kind of jarring. usually in the journey from the comic to the screen there is an ironing-out of genre and tone, but this show will show you its spandex clad hero with the plastic-feather cape being threatened with torture and castration because that’s how it goes in the comics, goddammit!

2.25. it’s pretty impressive that they’re able to afford such a big place in washington dc

2.5. hank and dawn’s easy intimacy is lovely to watch. i remember not being fond of this long detour to introduce these two relatively obscure characters right after all that juicy set-up in the first episode the first time i watched this, but now i can enjoy the languid way their story unravels, the little glimpses we get into the life they’ve led and the marks that it has left behind.

2.8. a delightfully cheesy moment with the giant bird cage immediately followed by a quietly devastating depiction of sexual impotence and a possible addiction to multiple painkillers! see what i mean?

oh! and before i forget:

MIRRORS, MIRRORS, EVERYWHERE: 9

3. flashback time! can’t say that i’m terribly impressed with the fight choreography; there appears to be hardly any contact between the heroes’ kicks and lunges and the thugs they’re supposed to be fighting, and a lot of slow-motion and editing trickery needs to be employed to make this look kinetic. i don’t really blame them much, though—those capes look awfully cumbersome to be just walking around in, leave alone fight. and i’m glad that the show is making a point of showing that robin’s style of fighting in flippier and more acrobatic than the others’.

3.65. aaaand we get our first hint of History between dick and dawn. to be honest, given what i remember of the rest of s1 and what we know of s2, it does seem like they’re making it so that the original titans did exist, swapping out roy and wally for hank and dawn. i’m not super-enthusiastic about this decision, but we’ll see how it plays out.

4. dick and rachel!

I LOVE EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS INTERACTION:

a) rachel desperately trying to hide how scared and vulnerable she feels behind brittle defiance

b) dick bemused and concerned and casting around for ways to connect with her but giving up too easily

c) “for the lady” – oh, dick. i love you.

d) rachel warily checking her reflection

e) dick making false promises of safety to rachel in order to get her to come with him to washington—a manipulative little ploy that i’m sure was par-for-the-course during his time with batman

f) “but sometimes there’s no time to be scared” is that what kid!dick told himself when he was starting out as robin oh my heart hurts

g) dick just dropping out of his job for an indefinite time without notice because why in the world would bruce wayne’s ward ever have to worry about keeping down a steady job? he’s utterly unconscious of this, which makes it hilarious

MIRRORS, MIRRORS EVERYWHERE: 10

5. i’m already really fond of rohrbach and charlie the m.e. i know s2’s slate is already really crowded, but i wouldn’t mind seeing a resurrected rohrbach make an appearance, and for bit more of a spotlight on dick’s day job.

6. OH MAN i honestly didn’t remember that dick phoned alfred this episode! and that he considered—for a second—calling bruce! poor guy’s genuinely scared. for all his ‘fuck batman’s, dick’s anger and fear is more internally directed than he realises. this boy needs therapy.

6.5. dick going “… obviously” at rachel telling him not to get pineapple on their pizza makes me think he was definitely setting out to get pineapple on their pizza at that moment.

6.75. oh fuck. i knew it was coming, but that dead guy screaming at rachel through the photo was still terrifying. man i wish they’d stuck a little longer with the horror/mystery vibe they’ve got going here.

MIRRORS, MIRRORS EVERYWHERE: 11

6.8. dick immediately reaching out to hold rachel and comfort her as she sobs, terrified, in the bathtub shouldn’t feel particularly special or heartwarming—it’s a very natural, human instinct, after all—but for this particular version of dick grayson to automatically show this compassion when he’s half convinced himself that his lifetime as a vigilante has left him an amoral husk of his previous self… is significant.

7. it’s an interesting choice to go with the nuclear family as the first major villains featured on this show, but fits totally with the tone so far—the dark, despairing and dank things that hide underneath a cracking veneer of cheery suburban normality. pretty standard horror genre stuff—with an added twist that these people aren’t actually androids, but regular people horrifically tortured and brainwashed to act as murder machines.

7.5. aside from that, it’s a neat contrast to the found family that’s actually starting to evolve, with all of its rough edges and imperfect but raw displays of love.

8. i really like that, for all that rachel and dick have in common, their interaction is weird, start-stop in nature, each dancing around answering the others’ questions with any kind of honesty. rachel has clearly picked up on dick’s caginess around her and dick, for all that he’s been trained in subterfuge and basically been living a lie to most of his friends and co-workers, is unable to keep acting like he knows what he’s doing. he hasn’t had to really live a double life in a while—and he’s rusty when it comes to doing anything that’s not detective or vigilante work.

8.5. dick’s interactions in general through the series contrast with the easy and intimate ways the others talk with each other; he’s just so isolated and so friggin rusty at this.

9. you’d think rachel would’ve figured out by now not to shake random people’s hands.

9.25. i’m so happy about this show’s commitment to showing just how much of a hot mess dick is.

9.35. i’ve certainly warmed up to the icy, washed-out way this show looks, and the general sense of… space, both in terms of physical space as well as the way each scene is allowed to unfold and just breathe. you don’t get that a lot in superhero media these days.

9.45. an update to the dick grayson timeline! dawn says she hasn’t seen dick in four years and seems genuinely surprised to learn that he’s working with the police now. so how do you go from zero to detective in just four years? is that even possible? the timeframe becomes even shorter if you assume that he only decided to join law enforcement after leaving batman. maybe that’s just another thing that dick kept hidden from his friends, even when they were, you know, friends.

anyway, dick continues to be a hot mess, and i am glad that is consistent over every on-screen iteration.

9.5. i am genuinely unsure why this dick/dawn history exists other than to create some weird conflict between hank and dick. i’d much rather that conflict come from dick being an asshole generally and dropping all contact with his friends when it all became just Too Much To Deal With.

10. OH MAN so him contacting alfred was to arrange a big sum of money to pay off hank and dawn?? yep, dick is 100 percent bruce wayne’s protégé. i’m sure he also thinks of this as a way to help hank recover and for hank and dawn to rebuild their post-vigilantism life. this is a terrible way to deal with your guilt, my friend.

and i love that all of this—the mistakes he’s making with rachel despite his genuine concern for and desire to help her, the way he’s unable to really talk to her instead of at her, his false platitudes when he thinks he has nothing to say—is a plausible reflection of the ways bruce floundered with him when he first took dick in. dick has spent so, so long as bruce’s sole heir; though i’m sure they learned to communicate better, the core dysfunction of his relationship with bruce is embedded in his bones.

but the show is clearly setting up the dick-rachel relationship to evolve—and in doing so, have dick come to terms with his own relationship with bruce, instead of spinning increasingly bitter and dark memories of it in his head.

all said, tho: what a dick move. in every sense of the word.

11. aaand here’s why i never understand criticism of this show that says dick is too dark: it’s just so typical of him to hold himself to insane standards and just cut loose and run whenever he feels he’s failed those standards. it’s why he’s always among the first choices to lead a team but his leadership almost never sustains very long. it’s why he’s everybody’s friend but so desperately, desperately alone, especially when it’s his turn to spiral and need help. it’s why when he is spiralling, he adopts spectacularly self-destructive methods to do so. standing aside while zucco died is essentially his (infamous) blockbuster moment, when he so egregiously compromised his moral code that he was forced to re-evaluate the very core of what he’d identified as for decades. he hates himself, but he splits the blame, recognising the very real damage being robin did to him but pinning everything that’s wrong with him on it.

this tracks with every version of dick grayson that i can think of, bar the golden age/silver age comics, more contemporary nightwing runs—especially after his stint as batman with damian as robin—where he’s matured a bit and more level-headed, and, of course, fanon.

11.5. but while dick is wrestling with himself, actual people do get hurt and lost on the wayside. i’m glad that this show is not shying away from showing that.

12. maaan you really, really didn’t have to do this to anyone, leave alone someone as prominent in nightwing’s history as amy rohrbach. still holding out hope that she’ll return somehow next season.

13. rachel using dick’s own words to get him to help hank and dawn… oh fuck yes.

13.5. to be perfectly honest, i quite enjoyed robin as this menace in the shadows, taking thugs down brutally when they can’t even see him. you never see hyper-competent robin on-screen anymore.

13.75. also? hank and dawn’s genuine horror at his brutality is another giant indicator that this is not a dick grayson who’s functioning optimally, by any standard. he needs a place to start growing from, and this is it.

14. dick getting called out on his bullshit is pretty satisfying to watch, no lie.

14.5. i’d forgotten just how brutally the nuclear family defeat hank, dawn, and dick. yikes.

14.8. that last shot of dick desperately trying to save dawn’s life while having flashbacks to his own parents falling to their deaths is so fucking haunting, holy shit.

15. that was… honestly so good, you guys! i remember seeing this episode for the first time and feeling a little irritated with the languid pacing and the way it seemed sort of like filler. but there’s so much great stuff that stands out to me on re-watch—this show genuinely rewards multiple viewings, even when you know what’s coming next.

[sevroilya]

FENRYS X ROWAELIN’S DAUGHTER

I know it’s weird. Like really weird but I read some imagine and headcanons about it and I like them, so here it is, some more of wicked fenrys x rowaelin’s child.

And one more thing I SWEAR I do not have a foot fetish!! It’s just that I found a mini story on insta about this scene and it was it very intimate and cute and hot and I imagine that it suits fenrys very well

anyway enjoy the fic! I might write about them again bcause Fenrys is my bae

Fenrys had known for quite some time about the mating bond. In fact he had known for what felt like an atrocious amount of time, at each moment he saw her, he thought about it. Every time she put him in a friendly embrace he swallowed hard and felt overpowered by his own desires. He did the most he could to not have those disgraceful thoughts but his brain seemed to never want to cooperate.

You could say the hardest thing was to not be able to claim her, but for Fenrys, the hardest was to see men court her, to see his own friends court her. It indeed hurt to watch, his angel, his Mate falling into their games, flirting back, acting interested. While all he could do was watch from afar.

But most of the time, what hurt was the things she did. Just random gestures, random acts directed to him, it was like she knew he was suffering, and instead of ending his pain she just wickedly teased him. Fenrys was left in this desperate state, he was hopeless; when she asked him to cover for her when she needed to escape her life for a couple hours. Hopeless; when she stole a few sip in his glass of wine while winking at him (because of course the young princess was not allowed to drink alcohol.). He swore she was doing it on purpose, just to make him fall harder, to put him at her mercy so she could swallow him up all at once like a lion on its prey.

The young girl changed her personality like she changed her clothes. To her mother, Aelin, she was a clever young lady who loved to read like her uncle Dorian, a bright girl. To her father she was a sincere soul, an open minded child, who liked to train under the sun light with Aedion and Lorcan.

But Fenrys, he saw her, he saw the divinely good portrait of the perfect future queens he was putting up, but he knew her rough traits too, he knew she wasn’t a kid anymore, he saw the looks she gave to young faes passing by, he saw how her eyes weren’t as pristine as her father confidently thought they were. Fenrys also knew how much he hated himself to pick up on those things. How he despised himself to be attracted to her like that.

You can’t imagine the shock it was when he found out that she was his destiny. How it felt good to put a reason on his outrageous behavior; but how it felt wrong to cherish her this way

And for a few weeks he though the world was making fun of him, playing him the killing joke. After Maeve, The blood-oath, the war, the deaths of his comrade; the world still tricked him: His long waited mate was his friends’ daughter. It was killing him inside to be so close to her but to be robbed of his right to claim her. The more time passed the stronger the feeling inside of him grew.

The worst was when it was only them alone, most times in a secluded place. He swore she was a witch. Just by sitting next to him doing nothing, she was poisoning him.

And those moments when they were in her bedroom enjoying each other « friendly » company. It was an herculean achievement for Fenrys not to release himself, it took him too much force, and for six long months it worked. But eventually the soldier crumbled. Her bed-sheets were too inviting, her white hair smelled too divinely good, her scent enrolled him so heavenly. It was literally breaking him, her piercing eyes, Her deafening breathes, Fenrys couldn’t take it. He was too weak.

She was lying in her bed, her face facing the roof, her arms loosely resting on her pillow. Fenrys was standing close to the bed, he was supposed to check up on her because she was « feeling nauseous ». But as soon as he entered the room he understood that it was one of her white lies to escape her royal duties.

« Help me with the socks » she said while lightly shaking a feet in the air.

« Uh… sure. » He laughed while kneeling next to her bed. That was an odd thing to ask he thought but he proceed anyway.

And as his hands approached her leg, he felt the too very familiar weight on his stomach. He tried to ignore as he took her ankle firmly, and tenderly took off her sock. He then went for the second one.

« Is it me? Or your foot don’t smell at all. »

The young girl responded almost like he had hurt her feelings. « Of course they don’t! What kind of woman I would be if I had stinky feet. »

Fenrys laughed at that comment, his hands still on her feet even with the sock long gone. « and they’re so soft… » his hand traced an imaginary line on the sole of the feet. « I could even… » And just as the past months walls felt terrible inside of him, he let them all crumbling down as he put his lips her right where his fingers had been seconds before.

When he finished kissing her feet, he didn’t have time to realize what he had just done that she was already on her elbows facing him. Her frosted hair all disheveled, her eyes wide open, her cheeks so red they had the same color of a juicy strawberry, and of course an open mouth in surprise.

He fucked up, completely fucked up. Fenrys felt so ashamed of himself he might’ve killed himself on the spot. Sadly there wasn’t any weapons around.

« Heh… Uhmmm. Sorry, that-that was weird. » He mumbled as he forced himself to keep eye contact with her.

Strangely, her surprised face eventually left, and a more wicked expression came. She smirked lightly, and Fenrys recognized that expression, that expression that only him had seen. She elegantly turned on her stomach and put her hair on the side of her neck. Fenrys felt once again devastated because of her. What was she doing? Was he supposed to leave the room? Was she playing him? But mostly why was she sticking her ass up like that? And why did it looked so good? She tilted her head toward her pillow letting Fenrys see even more of her skin.

« Fenrys, Will you help me take off my dress please? I’m suffocating . »

[stupidspaceseven]

feat.

Relationship: Emori/John Murphy

Rating: T

Summary: Murphy’s loner celebrity status means that he’s pretty content to make his own music and mind his own damn business, or so he thinks. But when an interview answer leads to a collaboration with The Dead Zone’s frontwoman Emori Ramiro they’re made to confront the loneliness in their jobs, and how they might rectify it together. 

[A Modern Memori Rock stars!AU based on @diyozas amazing edit]

“So, where do we start with this whole collaboration thing?” It’s the first time she’s sounded fully sold on the idea, and his feet stop their insistent bouncing and settle firmly on the ground.

He scratches his neck. “I’m kinda notorious for being horrible at it,” he says, just to warn her about what she’s getting into. Some selfish part of him has already decided that he’s going to make this work with Emori. They haven’t even finished the meeting and he’s already looking forward to seeing her again, getting to know her determination better.

“I don’t exactly have much experience either,” Emori notes.

“Well you weren’t responsible for the most infamous band breakup in the twenty first century so…”

“You’re really tooting your own horn there. I was personally devastated when One Direction broke up.”

He almost snorts from laughing so hard. “I think we could make something great,” he says, something like butterflies in his stomach, but more promising. Nervous and powerful and threatening to spill out.

[AO3]

Murphy shows up for the Entertainment Weekly interview a half hour early. Punctuality isn’t generally one of his strong suits, but being early means he has time to finish his coffee and get in the right headspace. It’s not that he hates interviews, per say, it’s just that he’s notoriously bad at them; always saying something a bit too asshole-ish or otherwise bad for PR.

But Abby has him under strict orders to behave this time, and while forgoing a filter might be more true to life, it does make Abby’s job two times harder. And despite everything he doesn’t want to be a prick to his manager; she’s good to him.

So he finishes his coffee and constructs neutral answers to the questions he anticipates the interviewer asking. She’s probably hoping for something juicy, considering the interview is supposed to be about Delinquency’s breakup, but it’s been five years; he and Bellamy gave up on hating each other ages ago—you might even say they’re friends now. It’s nowhere near as dramatic as the media likes to think it is. But a bad quote from him could definitely make it seem that way.

He fiddles with the cord of his earbuds, listening to Something to Erase. Most wouldn’t consider it a calming album, what with its themes of abuse and neglect and heavy rock guitar, but it’s an old favorite of his, and its familiarity settles on his shoulders like a warm blanket.

“You’re early,” Bellamy remarks, just at the end of the seventh track, stepping off the elevator along with the interviewer.

“Fuck off,” Murphy says, stuffing his phone and earbuds into the pocket of his jeans, and then turns his attention to the interviewer. She introduces herself as Kara, and seems professional in a harsh and cool way, down to her pressed blouse. Good. He hates the overeager ones.  

They settle down for the interview, him and Bellamy exchanging banter that Kara’s tape recorder eats up, and move on to small talk, easing them in for the bigger questions. The first few are about the breakup: What went wrong? What made it difficult? Do you regret it?

They are all questions Murphy had more or less anticipated. Bellamy takes the brunt of the answers. Quotes their differences in musicality and opinions, along with their hotheads. Says yeah, the change of direction in life was really the hardest. Mentions politely that they couldn’t regret it when they look at where they are now. He talks about what Mbege and Roma are up to, and Murphy feels like a bit of a dick for not knowing about Roma’s new modeling career in Europe or Mbege’s work in producing. His thumb is starting to bleed from behind the corner of the nail he keeps biting down on.

Kara notes all of the responses down with grace, even though something on her face suggests she’d like just a little bit more bite behind the answers. She looks to him for that.

“Do you think you might ever work together again, having a bit more age and perspective?” Kara asks.

“Nah,” Murphy is quick to say. “The whole thing was a failed experiment. We’re friendly again, but we work better apart.”

Kara nods shortly, and looks to Bellamy for confirmation, who agrees easily.

“Yeah, Murphy’s better off doing his own thing. Doesn’t like to answer to anyone.” Bellamy’s mostly teasing but Murphy can’t help but roll his eyes at the answer anyway. It’s not like he’s some anti-social diva, he works with his producers just fine after all, but he supposes being a lone wolf is part of his image now.

“Just in a hypothetical sense,” Kara says, turning back to him, “Who would you pick as an ideal collaborator?”

“An ideal collaborator?” he repeats, stalling for time. There’s a question he wasn’t expecting. He doesn't really pay attention to other musicians outside of listening to their music. In general he wants to know as little about other people as possible and that extends to celebrities who might double as his peers. But one band does come to mind.

"Probably The Dead Zone," he says, itching his nose. He had watched an interview with them on Youtube in between vine compilations one night when he couldn't sleep. He remembers the bands' discomfort at having to sit down with one of the late night Jimmys and seeing himself in Emori's off-color jokes and Otan's resting bitch face. He also remembers nodding along when they talked about their songwriting method, the chaotic writing and scrapping and bursts of inspiration that came at weird times of night. Maybe it's just because he was listening to them before he came for the interview, but in a perfect world he wouldn’t mind sitting down with them and hashing something out. "I mean genre wise we overlap almost completely, and I don’t need to tell you Emori’s vocals are great, she’s completely fucking exceptional." He could never manage to balance harsh syllables and aching crones the way she does, it's kinda amazing the more he thinks about it.

The interviewer is suppressing a smile for some reason as she jots down a few notes. Bellamy is giving him a weird look too, and normally he'd call him out on it, but he knows Kara is itching for some animosity to sprout between them, and he's under strict orders to be friendly, so he settles for delivering a questioning tilt of his head. But Bellamy just averts his gaze, still wearing that same smirk.

“The 100 has done a fair few collaborations, and I’d be happy to work with any of those artists again,” he supplies moving the interview along. It wraps up not too long after that, Kara thanking them ad nauseum and telling them they can expect the article up before the end of the week.

“Want to grab something to eat?” Bellamy asks as they make their way out. It’s an awkward time between lunch and dinner now, but Murphy’s never really been one to turn down food.

There’s a cafe down the street that Bellamy swears up and down is great, and at this weird time it’s mostly empty. The hostess gives them a poorly lit seat near the back.

“So how have you been, really?” Bellamy asks once they have their respective drinks. It’s Murphy’s third coffee of the day, but it’s frigid outside and he had slept like shit so he takes scalding gulps as Bellamy warms his hands around his green tea.

“I don’t know why it’s so hard to believe I’m actually doing fine. I’m still riding that post tour rush.”

Bellamy shakes his head. That’s one of the things they had fought over the most when they were still in a band together. Bellamy hadn’t wanted to be on the road for months on end when he had a sister back home, but Murphy lived for movement, for new cities with weird bars and diners, for being miles away from his hometown. It’s still his favorite part of being a performer, even if it gets exhausting.

“So you’re gonna take it easy for a bit?”

“I don’t know what that means,” Murphy jokes, although he’s kinda under orders to be doing just that. Even if he has two notebooks full of mismatched chords and fragmented lyrics waiting to be stitched together. Abby’s certain that he’s gonna burn out if all he does is churn out music, but he knows it’s the opposite. Sitting still isn’t an option.

“So you’re gonna see if you can make that thing with The Dead Zone pan out?” Bellamy says, finally taking a sip of his drink.

“That was just a hypothetical,” Murphy says with half an eye roll.

“Seemed pretty sincere to me.”

“I mean, if it were on the table, sure,” Murphy says, setting down his empty coffee cup. “But I don’t know the band at all, I just think their music is good.”

“I just think it would be good for you to work with other people—” Murphy rolls his eyes again. “—so you can make some friends in the industry. Lay down some roots, start to feel a part of something. You don’t have to be a loner.”

“I’m twenty fucking six, Bellamy, you can stop mothering me any time now.” Murphy crosses his arms. He has enough friends: Bellamy and Raven. Clarke, if he feels like putting up with her. It’s more than he had in high school. And generally speaking he’s pretty happy, the anger issues are in check, and he’s making more money than 16 year old him could imagine. If he wants to stay in his lane and mostly out of the public eye then that’s his prerogative.

“It’s just an idea,” Bellamy shrugs.

“Yeah, whatever.”

Murphy moves through the obligatory questions about Bellamy’s life and work. Of course he’s doing great, and Murphy really does his level best at caring. But soon enough the conversation fizzles and Murphy slaps down a few dollars for the coffee and slinks out of the cafe.

There’s a voicemail from Abby that he missed and he sends her and Jackson, his overly calm PR guy, a text letting them know that he didn’t fuck up the interview.

When he gets home he slumps on his couch and half-watches reruns of Mythbusters. His head is somewhere between buzzed with caffeine and mindless from exhaustion and it makes him answer Abby’s follow up texts more sharply than really necessary. Or maybe it’s the conversation with Bellamy that’s irritating enough to start a headache. He hates that all these years have passed and Bellamy can still take a hammer directly to all these things inside him he likes to keep in the corners.

He wakes up in the dark on his couch at half past two in the morning with a drum solo beating against the back of his eyes and no memory of falling asleep. An infomercial for exercise equipment blinks across the TV and a blonde woman blabbers on about self improvement before he snaps it off and trudges to his room.

His narrow bed is far more comfortable but it also invites dreams about vinegary wine and leather couches and the same video always on repeat. In the morning they taste like loneliness in his mouth.

He doesn’t go to the studio at all that week, per Abby’s wishes, but he hardly moves away from the keyboard at his place either. There’s a bassline that he finally straightens out, and he spends several hours too many trying to find the right synonym for stillness before scrapping an entire verse. Friday sneaks up on him, and he probably would have forgotten that the article was coming out if Abby hadn’t emailed it to him with a quick nod to his ‘interesting answers’ and a reminder to check his twitter.

If it was up to him he’d be a ghost a social media, mostly because of the whole ‘social’ part, but as someone who has miraculously achieved a modicum of fame in this day and age it’s a bit of a necessity. He could have Jackson run it for him, but that would mean turning his public image over to someone else, a thought that leaves an itch at the back of his neck. And as far as he can tell no one else would be able to pull off the right level of snark anyway.

His notifications are always off though. He really doesn’t need to see tweets about fans wanting to suck his toes, or whatever. But today it seems like everyone is more concerned with the admittedly well written EW article.

Or more concerned with his quotes from the EW article taken out of context. For some reason him liking The Dead Zone’s music is newsworthy. Even People Magazine hopped on the bandwagon. Figures.

He manages to read ten tweets before his fingers drift to the keyboard.

is there a reason you’re all going into

overload? @deadzoneemori is a great

talent. this isn’t news.

He taps send without much forethought. In part it’s genuine curiosity, but he also wants to make sure the band sees it. Bellamy’s nagging must have been really effective if he’s putting himself out there like this. He puts his phone face down on the coffee table, and decides to make himself some eggs.

The distraction works for the most part, and it’s half an hour later before impatience has him checking his phone again.

Emori Ramiro actually replied.

Don’t worry. I know.

I’m on the phone with our manager. How

serious is this offer?

An anxiety settles into him that he hasn’t felt in years. Like audition nerves, or first date jitters. But he was always good at overcoming those.

dead serious. why not?

He smiles at his own rudimentary word play, and also, maybe, because he feels excited about something. It’s so rare that the future seems full of potential.

Of course it means something a little different to Abby when she calls two hours later.

“You know you’re supposed to give me a heads up before you go off and make plans like that.”

“Come on Abby, it’s a good idea. Right?” There’s a long pause on Abby’s end, her way of saying ‘I’m not angry, I’m just disappointed’ in a manner his own mother wouldn’t even have considered trying to pull off.

“It’s not a bad idea. It’s lucky for you that their manager Sinclair is an old friend of mine and that you work under the same record label.”

“So you think I’ve got this whole collaboration thing in me?” He asks, finally able to stop fidgeting with his sweatshirt strings. Approval isn’t something he generally seeks out, from Abby or anybody else, but he does like when he gets it.

“Of course I think you have it in you, John,” Abby says, “We have a meeting next Saturday.”

So soon. In the industry it seems like things take forever half the time, bogged down by strict schedules and contracts and red tape. His manager is a bit of a miracle worker.

Saturday comes faster than expected, one of the benefits of not having an entirely structured work week. They meet in Sinclair’s office, a modest room that seems far more lived in than Abby’s office. With a single large window that lets in plenty of natural light, and a worn couch against the far wall where the frontwoman of The Dead Zone sits.

Emori Ramiro looks more or less the same as in every music video he’s seen her in, long dark hair, a glint behind her brown eyes like sunlight catching on the sharp side of a knife. He’s always liked her as a musician, but he doesn’t think it would be hard to like her as a person either.

“Hey,” she says, offering her hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Uh, yeah, it’s-it’s nice to meet you too.” He blinks a few times, shakes his head sharply once in an effort to remind himself that he shouldn’t be noticing how pretty she is.  

He introduces himself to Sinclair instead, only to learn that they’ve met before. Turns out he’s Raven’s manager too, something he should have remembered if Abby’s stern glance is anything to go by. They start into all the technical stuff right away, schedules and contracts and copyright, stuff he does a poor job of processing.

Emori is rocking in her chair opposite him, and when he shoots her a weighted ‘I’m dying of boredom’ glance she mimics it with an actress’s precision. His muted chuckle seems to be enough to motivate her to interrupt Sinclair and Abby’s negotiations.

“We don’t have to figure out anything official yet,” Emori says, “we can just play around, see what we want to commit to?” She looks to him for confirmation.

“Yeah, doesn’t seem right to make big plans now.”

That promptly sets Abby and Sinclair into another back and forth, although a much briefer one. The pair shuffle out of the office a brief moment later, something about moody rockstars on their lips, leaving him and Emori alone.

“Don’t get me wrong I’m really excited to work with you. Meetings are just…” He shakes his head.

“I get the feeling. I think I liked it better when I was doing everything myself, but you get big enough and can’t really book your own gigs anymore.”

“I never did any of that,” he admits, “I’m just impatient.”

“I don’t find that too surprising,” Emori says, coming over to sit next to him. There’s half a second of awkward fidgeting, Emori tugging on the fingers of her winter gloves, before she continues. “Why did you wanna work with us?”

“Because you’re music is great,” he answers, a bit confused by the question.

“No one’s made a serious offer to ever work with us before.”

“You’re shitting me,” he says, sitting up a little straighter, investigating Emori’s face to see if that is indeed the case. “People find you that intimidating?” He asks when he finds no signs of deception.

“I don’t think that’s the case,” Emori actually laughs, but in a bitter, cautious way. Something on his face must demonstrate confusion because she shakes her head in wondered surprise. “You don’t know.”

He feels distinctly like he got off the wrong exit of the highway, he shakes his head slowly.

“I’m a curse,” she says, “Always have been.”

“Seems superstitious,” he says, only to be met with Emori’s knifelike gaze. She’s serious. People don’t carry around knives unless they’re afraid of being hurt. “I don’t follow.”

“You know The Alliance?” She asks after a held pause, referring to a pop-rock group that’s as popular now as it was a decade ago.

“Course, they played the Super Bowl two years ago.”

“Yeah, well they started in the town next to us. We used to play at the same mall, do the same open mic nights. Just ran into each other a lot. I don’t know if me or Otan or Sienna did something to piss them off, or if they just hated the competition, but they’ve had a vendetta against us for years now. And when they went big they had enough influence to essentially get us on a blacklist.”

“That’s...fucked up,” he says. Music shouldn’t be about competition, and he can’t understand why anyone would want to tamper down talent like Emori and her band.  

“Yeah, it was hard to get people to work with us and to gain a following for a couple years, but we got a record deal anyway, so they can suck it.”

“Screw ‘em,” he says with conviction, and Emori seems to soften a bit, her knife sheathed.

She shrugs out of her jacket only now, her scarf and gloves following. Her left hand has a slight deformity to it, her thumb small and awkwardly bent, and fingers long and fused. It’s something he thinks he should’ve noticed before.

“I was born with it like this,” she says, seeing him notice. “First part of the curse. My mom thought I wasn’t worth raising.” He can tell from the way she tucks her hair around her shoulder and neck that there’s more to the story but he doesn’t pry.

“Well screw her in particular. It’s pretty badass.”

Emori chuckles, somewhere between disbelief and amusement. “So, where do we start with this whole collaboration thing?” It’s the first time she’s sounded fully sold on the idea, and his feet stop their insistent bouncing and settle firmly on the ground.

He scratches his neck. “I’m kinda notorious for being horrible at it,” he says, just to warn her about what she’s getting into. Some selfish part of him has already decided that he’s going to make this work with Emori. They haven’t even finished the meeting and he’s already looking forward to seeing her again, getting to know her determination better.

“I don’t exactly have much experience either,” Emori notes.

“Well you weren’t responsible for the most infamous band breakup in the twenty first century so…”

“You’re really tooting your own horn there. I was personally devastated when One Direction broke up.”

He almost snorts from laughing so hard. “I think we could make something great,” he says, something like butterflies in his stomach, but more promising. Nervous and powerful and threatening to spill out.

“I’m looking forward to it,” Emori says, fishing out her phone. They exchange numbers, with plans to reconvene with fresh ideas somewhere more comfortable. It’s a particular torture an hour later when he’s lying on his couch staring at her contact information. Can he text her now? It’s only been an hour, and he doesn’t want to be pushy or insistent, he vaguely remembers something about a three day waiting period until it occurs to him that that rule is about dating. At risk of getting lost in his own head, he buckles and sends her a short message.

She replies quickly and eagerly, if the number of exclamation points is anything to go by, and it does a lot to dissuade his worries. She doesn’t seem to have a problem with coming over to his place, and once the plans are set the conversation turns away from the professional. They complain about New York construction and list their favorite places to get coffee and the banter is so easy Murphy doesn’t realize two hours have passed till Emori mentions that she has dinner plans.

They say their goodbyes and then he tucks his phone away to make his own meal. Chopping onions does little to distract him from thinking about Emori or the plucking feeling in his chest.

The next day she sends him a Delinquency tag yourself meme with no context other than a caption reading ‘I’m you.’ He laughs at the offbeat descriptions, Bellamy’s in particular, but ultimately has to agree that it’s accurate enough for him to claim his description for himself. It’s a deep dive into google images for him to find a decent Dead Zone version only for it to spark debate between them about if Emori can rightfully tag herself as ‘Emu’.  

The day before she comes over he spends undue amounts of time face down in his pillow explaining to himself all the reasons why nothing is going to happen between them. They’re going to hang out and write a fucking awesome song together and he is not going to catch feelings.

The pep talk is more or less futile.

“Just the two of us?” He asks, ushering her inside the next day.

“You just get me, sorry,” Emori says making herself comfortable. “I basically do all the writing for the band, nowadays.” She spends a lot of time getting her guitar out after that, too long really. He considers not questioning her about it, normally he wouldn’t, but if they want this song to be any good they’ll have to get to know one another a bit.

“Why is that?” When Emori returns with a confused look he corrects himself. “Why are you the only one writing the music?”

“Oh.” She’s tuning the guitar know, ear turned to the strings. “The first album was all songs me and Otan wrote together growing up, before we got the record deal. We were really close back then. Now though-” she shrugs, “-we don’t have the same ideas about things as we used to.”

“I guess that makes sense,” he says, an offer at condolence. He’s never been good at understanding the whole sibling thing.

“I think it’ll be nice working with another person again.” There’s a nervous lining to that statement, like the alternative is an empty recording booth or to be stuck with just her own thoughts.

“Yeah,” he says, tearing his gaze away from Emori’s hopeful smile. “Speaking of…” He hands her his song-writing notebook. “That’s everything I’ve been working on recently, so you can get an idea. Sorry about my handwriting.”

He scratches his nose as Emori sets the guitar aside and flicks through the notebook. There had been a lot of internal debate about whether he’d show it to her or not. The notion usually left him feeling like a picked open scab, exposed and vulnerable, but as he watches her eyes flick over the musings of his mind it doesn’t feel so bad. She’s serious about it, seems to know it’s a big deal for him. A couple times her mouth will twitch with a smile, like something in it is good, or she’s excited to be able to read it.

“That’s usually how I start,” he says, when he can’t bear the silence anymore. Emori looks up.

“It’s great stuff, John.” He’s so touched by the compliment he doesn’t even register the use of his first name until she starts singing the fragmented lyrics that she’s singled out as her favorites. “‘Due north, a simple instruction/if only I knew how to work a compass.’ I really like the sorta sense of, lost direction. Wandering.”

“Yeah, I don’t really like stillness,” he says, “but one day...I wouldn’t mind stability either.” He can’t believe he just said that. Can something feel like a lie in your head and come out sounding truthful from your mouth?

“Yeah,” Emori says, musing, turning back a few pages, “Like ‘I’m dragging myself to the promised land/it’s more desolate than I imagined’.” She doesn’t sing it like he would, the vowel sounds are longer and all of it less droning. It’s like seeing the lyrics in a mirror’s reflection. He really likes it. “It’s hard to know what to put your faith in.”

“I have no faith,” he says. Emori blinks. She has knowing eyes.  

“Me neither,” then, “That could make a good song.”

They spend the rest of the afternoon debating what sort of themes they want to work with, taking some of his lyrics and some they come up with together and trying to make them work. They agree to put loneliness at the center, focus on the ways in manifests and how they try and fail to combat it. It’s a start, and one with potential, even if they’re not yet positive what sort of beat it’s going to fall on.

She comes over again the next day so they can keep the momentum going. He hadn’t realized it was snowing until he saw the flecks of white in her dark hair.

“You cold?” he asks, taking her guitar case as she shivers and unlaces her damp boots. “I can get you something to drink.”

They sit on his couch and drink coffee as Emori warms up, somehow managing to talk about everything but their song. He likes to think he has some bizarre touring stories but Emori seems to have him beat at every turn, going into detail about how they got lost in Ohio on their way to Cleveland and ended up camping out in a corn field by sweet talking the farmer who owned it even though he had no clue who they were. In exchange he tells her about the time Jaha, the record’s vice president, had tried to sell him speed at a party once only for Emori to jump in and tell him he’d attempted the same with her.

“Was he high off his ass and trying to tell you that it’d take you to the city of light, or something?” Emori laughs.

“Yeah, I was like, ‘Paris is across the ocean’. I may have also called him dude to his face.” Emori’s laughter has her shoulders rocking to nudge against his. When she collects herself she lets her head lean against the back of the couch and doesn’t move away from the point where they’re touching.

“City of Light,” she says, eyes closed against the brightness of his overhead lighting. “Sounds fake. Like it’s too good to be true.”  

“Like a place you put too much faith into only for it to suck.” There’s an idea in his head that he’s trying to grab with words. Emori perks up, easily catching on.

“I like a good metaphor.”

They move off the couch after that. Hunkered down over the kitchen table they’re able to work out the chorus, one about high expectations that get dragged down. He settles at his keyboard after that, and Emori drags over one of the kitchen chairs, and the two of them play around with chords.

“I thought you were a drummer originally,” Emori says when they get stuck.

“I started with piano, actually,” he says, considers opening up a little more, and goes for it. “My dad taught me. He was better than I’ll ever be, played recitals and stuff when he was young.”

“He died?” Emori has a perceptive ear, all musicians need one, but rather uniquely hers is able to translate to human observation too.

“He got a shitty conviction and then got killed in prison, yeah.” He plays the gasping bridge of “Flu Season” almost unthinkingly. “Then I learned drums during my rebellious teenage phase.”

Emori’s lips pinch at the tonal change but she goes with the flow.

“You know I wouldn’t have thought that phase ended.” He smiles in gratitude as she continues. “I learned guitar during my rebellious pre-teen phase. One of my foster mothers said that I wouldn’t be able to play because of my hand, so I taught myself out of spite.”

He’s noticed the unique way she holds the frets, only using her two longer fingers, putting down pressure at different points along the digits rather than just the tips. It probably makes for interesting calluses, but it seems to suit her just fine.

“That’s really badass.”   

“I think so too,” she says. “I made Otan learn bass and a couple years later we moved and our neighbor Sienna knew drums and that was history. Did Delinquency really meet in detention?”

“Where did you think the band name came from? We were all unoriginal seventeen year olds with authority problems.”

Emori teases him by playing the main riff from “Whatever the Hell We Want” the band’s biggest hit. It was probably one of two songs on the album he and Bellamy ever really agreed on. He still plays it at shows sometimes.

Their session crumples after that, the pair of them playing or singing over each other until Murphy realizes how hungry he is and goes into the kitchen to make them some quick sandwiches. They talk more over the simple dinner, and even though in the grand scheme of things they didn’t get a whole lot accomplished, it still feels like one of the most productive days he’s had in a long time.  

She comes over one more time before the weekend, and he goes to her place on Monday where he spends nearly two hours perusing her CD collection instead of doing anything productive. They book a studio room on Wednesday to try and work in a more neutral environment and Emori sorts out the song’s rhythm, fast during the verses before a lull in the chorus until it peters out at the end.

On Friday they meet Otan and Sienna at the studio so they can work on the incorporation of their instruments. It’s a grueling couple of hours, but by the end of it they feel almost done; he and Emori agree there’s one missing piece they need to figure out and then they can work towards getting it recorded.

He invites the band over for dinner afterwards, all the lessons about being personable Abby and Jackson have beaten into him over the years making an appearance. But Sienna has a young son at home, and Otan claims to have an outstanding plan to meet up with some friends so it’s just him and Emori.

“Does your brother not like me?” He asks on their way back. “Cause that excuse seemed kinda made up.”

Emori hesitates, and that would be telling if it weren’t for the huff of exasperation that followed. “I think he knew we wanted for it to be just the two of us.” She doesn’t quite look at him until, “Right?”

He considers answering with the more fair and welcoming response but ultimately he agrees with a quiet and telling, “yeah.” For a moment he thinks they may have come to an understanding with one another—they both want it to be just them—and that has to have larger implications, but Emori pushes the conversation forward and he has to tuck the thought away.

“So what’s for dinner?”

“Stir fry,” he says, and then has to go into a lengthy tirade when Emori questions his cooking skills. But she helps him chop vegetables against her doubts, and seeing her working in his kitchen, sneaking M&Ms from the bag in the cupboard and singing under her breath to the playlist they made earlier in the week, has him feeling warm in a way that has nothing to do with the stove.

“Ok I take it back,” she says once they’ve tucked in. “I guess I’m going to have to make you cook for me more.”

“Anytime,” he says with sincerity. Emori smiles, in that soft, surprised way she sometimes has and it doesn’t fall off her face even as they drift to talking about the session and then to a prank Emori had pulled on Otan a couple months ago and then of course Murphy has to explain the classwide prank war that happened his senior year and they end up lingering at the table long after their food is finished.

Doing the dishes is a slow process, even considering the small number of plates. And it’s not that Emori is particularly bothered with seeing her face shine in the ceramic, if anything she wants to stay longer, judging by the small steps she takes about the kitchen, making sure there’s no rush.

“You, uh, wanna watch a movie or something?” He offers, because it’s not like he wants her to leave either. “I don’t have much in the way of desserts, but…”

Emori accepts readily, and they settle on his couch half watching The Goonies as they attempt to throw M&Ms into each other’s mouths.

“Can I come over tomorrow?” Emori asks when all the chocolate has been eaten and the credits are rolling. “To finish the song,” she adds after a beat.

“‘Course,” he says, fighting the urge to play with her hair like he has been for most of the night.

“I have a meeting in the afternoon, but I’m free in the evening,” Emori says getting to her feet with tired effort. He follows her to his door. “Thanks for dinner, John,” Emori says, then steps forward to give him a hug. It’s a long hug, longer than it needs to be, tight and warm and comfortable. He learns that his chin rests perfectly on her shoulder.

“Goodnight,” she says as she slips out of his place, leaving him standing in his living room with a pounding heart and the thought that they’re both probably fucked.

She texts him the next day around five thirty telling him not to eat because she’s bringing takeout. She arrives forty five minutes later with a still warm pizza and a smile.

“Since you cooked last night,” she explains as they settle at his kitchen table, eating as they look over their notes and playback the preliminary recording Emori has on her tape recorder.

“I don’t think it’s a music problem,” he says around his third slice of pizza, after they’ve mulled in silence for a while, “I think it’s a lyric problem.”

“Yeah,” Emori agrees, scratching her brow, “I think the message got lost, or changed, somewhere along the line.”

Murphy flips to the front of the notebook, the new one he started just for this collaboration, and glances over the list of ideas they made.

faith (non religious)

optimism/pessimism

how to achieve ideals?

abandonment

loneliness

physically & metaphysically lost

discovery, leading to neg. consequences

Emori points to the fourth item. “I don’t think abandonment fits.”

He rests the point of the pencil next to the word, considering what she’s saying. It’s inclusion had been Emori’s idea originally.

“I think it’s important though,” he says, “It’s what’s contributing to the feeling of being lost, being alone.”

“But that’s more of the prelude,” Emori says, “The backstory of the song. Sure, the loneliness was fueled by abandonment, but it doesn’t have to be that way anymore. Maybe it’s not lonely at all. You could still be trying to find something—the city of light—with another person.”

Her voice trails off at the end, like she’s not even sure if she’s convinced herself of the argument.

“So we make it more concise,” he suggests, “We don’t need to paint the entire experience, just one moment.” He crosses out abandonment and loneliness, to see where that leaves them. “Maybe it’s about being afraid to put your faith in something new. Feeling lost about what to do.”

“I like that,” Emori says, after a held moment of consideration. “Sort of being afraid of the future because of potential disappointment but wanting to live it anyways.”

“Okay,” he breathes, “Now we’re getting somewhere.”

Except they don’t make anymore progress that night. Emori, despite her numerous near convincing arguments, is very tired from her day and can’t be made to focus.

They text back and forth the next day, suggesting lyrical changes they can make, sometimes a single line, sometimes more. The amounts to which they agree vary widely, and Murphy thinks it has to do with the way the words look in blue speech bubbles—it’s just not productive.

He suggests that they sleep on it, his brain feels picked clean, and he can’t see how Emori is doing any better. She agrees, but even over text he can sense her hesitation. And the same feeling duels in himself, the satisfaction of finishing the song combatting with the notion of what happens when they’re finished. Emori came into his life out of nowhere, he doesn’t want her slipping out of it in the same way.

Whatever this stage of inbetween is that they’re in, he hates it.

It comes up on Monday, when they’re dissecting the lyrics yet again.

“It just feels like a different song,” Murphy says. It’s the due north lyric, which is already in its third version. He’s near positive it’s impeding the song, but he also knows both he and Emori are too fond of it to scrap it entirely. Besides, a song about going on a fool’s errand holds a lot of potential.

“A different song of ours?” Emori asks, emphasis heavy on the last word.

“Yeah, I think so,” Murphy says. He hadn’t wanted to think about what would happen when they finally got the song nailed down. Part of him thinks Emori would like to spend time with him even when they weren’t working on a project, but now he doesn’t have to risk finding out. “We could do an EP?”

Emori nods, reaches out to squeeze his wrist in excitement, then draws a box around the discarded lyric, as if to indicate they’re packing it away to save for later.

Murphy sleeps late the next day, his dreams oddly calm despite the clear memory of a knife. It makes the time before Emori comes over shorter, filled with updating Abby as to their progress.

She sounds genuinely excited over the phone when he mentions how well it’s been going, and how much he and Emori seem to be meshing as artists, and it gives him new hope that they’ll figure out the song.

Emori is as eager as ever, and after a couple hours they’ve managed to reframe the themes of the song as planned. The song is good, easily one of his favorite pieces, but they still agree that something is just a bit off. Like there is a final piece that will click right into place if they could just find it.

But his voice is strained from singing and it still isn’t fixed.

“Wow it’s dark out,” Emori notes when they’re taking a break.

“Cause the sun sets at like, four thirty this time of year,” he says, marking down a change on his sheet music. Then considers her words. “Oh, do you need to get home?”

“No, I don’t have anywhere else to be,” Emori says, “And I want to be here.” He’s selfishly grateful as Emori strums the opening cords, indicating they should start from the top again.

It’s a long night, one that eventually degrades to them lying beside each other on his (thankfully carpeted) floor. His ceiling isn’t anything to look at, but Emori has fun with seeing faces and animals in the spackle.

“It’s a little boy in a meadow,” she says, and he shakes his head because he really has no idea what she’s been saying for this entire conversation. Emori flicks his shoulder, as if it’s his fault that their brains don’t find the exact same patterns in everything. “Too bad he doesn’t have any friends.”

“Oh, I know this piece,” he finally contributes, “John Murphy circa age ten.”

“Did you not have friends growing up?” Emori asks, the playful tiredness morphing into its melancholy cousin.

“Not really.”

“Me neither. Just Otan.” Her head lolls to the side to look at him. “I’ve been missing him recently, we see each other all the time because of work, but it’s not like really seeing each other.”

“Like you’re just going through the motions together?”

“Yeah,” Emori says, picking her head up with a smile. “See, you get me. That’s why I’m so glad we’re working together. Our last album…I felt so alone in it. I’m not used to music being like that.”

For him music has always been a way to pick himself raw. Clawing at feelings inside himself and exposing them so that they might start to heal. But working with Emori, being with her, has added another step, putting a balm on the wound, encouraging it to get better.

“I think...the reason the song isn’t working quite right is because we aren’t the same people we were when we started writing it.”

He expects Emori to mention the mere two and a half weeks they’ve known each other. Instead she says, remembering, “we cut out loneliness.”

He nods, some of his hair sticking up because of the static of it dragging against the carpet. Emori reaches over to brush it back. Her fingers linger around the shell of his ear.

“It’s late,” Emori says, maybe with regret. “I should get going.”

“I’ll call you a car,” he says. The two of them sway while they wait by the door, the long conversations of the day leaving them with silence now, as they make eye contact only to break it, over and over.

He sleeps with restless anticipation, the kind that comes the day before a new discovery one is expecting to have. The morning is rung in with four new messages from Emori that force Murphy to squint at the time stamps.

Emori

ok I know it’s 3am and you’re gonna think im crazy, but I think I cracked City of Light

Emori

On the surface it’s about dashed dreams and faith, like we were talking about

Emori

But really I think it’s about falling in love

Emori

And i KNOW love songs aren’t either of out styles but this works, at least in my head at 3am, I’ll come over tomorrow and we can finally hash it out (and I’ll try to get some sleep before then lol)

He considers the messages while he showers. It might work, he won’t know until she gets here, but he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to talk to Emori about love for hours on end. He will though. He’ll do it gladly, even.

Emori is at his place by nine, two coffees in hand, and nothing on her face suggesting she got a max of five hours of sleep last night. In fact, she’s smiling.

“So it’s a love song?” He asks once their situated at his kitchen table, coffee gulped down.

“Yeah, think about it,” Emori says, scooching over so she can compare his notebook to the stack of post it notes she brought along. “Falling in love is about opening yourself to vulnerability right? And having faith that the other person will...love you back.”

He nods slowly in dawning understanding, the beat of his pen against the table a churning undercurrent. Three weeks ago he would have claimed to know nothing of love, but he thinks he’s starting to get the idea. “So the City of Light is really a metaphor for love?”

“Yeah.”

“Wow. That...makes a lot of sense.” Emori’s eyes are alight with the thrum of victory, and she doesn’t seem able to keep a smile from her lips. “I wouldn’t have thought you had so much love insight.”

“It’s sort of a new development,” Emori says, then clears her throat. “So we rewrite the chorus a bit, and maybe slow it down?”

It’s a scramble after that, reaching over each other to write things and then cross them out, holding their breath as the other drums a rhythm against the table or holds a note. They almost trip over each other on the way to the keyboard, where they share the single chair.

But an hour later the song is finished. When they sing it for the first time, it doesn’t come out the way it’s meant to be sang. Softer than it might ever be again.

Hide and wait or risk the stakes

I’ve never been one to take the bait

Of an even score or a glittering shore

I’m more comfortable in this zone of war

It was the end of it all when an old man told me

At the horizon is where you start your story

So I dragged myself to the promised land

It’s more ravaged then I imagined

City of Light, what do you hold?

Chances are I’ll never know

Tell me, why should I go?

There’s reward in the final mile

The upward tick of you pretty smile

And I want to hold you with these hands of mine

But do I have the courage to make us entwine?

I’m like Caesar at the Rubicon

with all the world watching on

To see if I can open my arms

But what if your embrace is too warm?

City of Light, what do you hold?

Chances are I’ll never know

Tell me, why should I go?

Is it a leap of faith if I’ve got nothing better to do?

You whisper in my ear

It is when it’s you

It’s you

It’s you

Emori’s voice seems to shiver on the final note, her gaze fixed on him as his fingers relax over the keys. Her eyes are wide and her mouth parted as she takes steadying breaths. There’s a feeling in him like crying, or laughter, emotion so strong it has to spill from his body. He presses it into Emori’s lips instead.

Her mouth falls open as she kisses him back, her breath shuttering until the arm wrapped around his shoulder pulls him closer. Her waist is warm under her shirt, where his hands rest; it’s been so long since he’s kissed someone he had forgotten how comfortable it can be. How happy it can make him. Although maybe that’s just because it’s her.

He pulls away so he can tell her, stopping only to kiss her cheek.

“I have feelings for you,” is what he manages to say.

“Really?” Emori laughs, and he almost can’t believe she’s being sarcastic right now, except he knows it’s exactly why he’s falling for her. “Me too,” she says, more sincere, “I couldn’t sleep last night because I was thinking about you, and that’s what finally made the song click.”

He had suspected that Emori felt the same way, but the confirmation in conjunction with the kiss has his heart pounding. “I love it,” he says, “the song.”

Emori laughs as she nods and then kisses him again.