#also the blackout on the bag is the design of the bag

[no-reception-in-possum-springs]

One of my prouder night in the woods crafts are these pins that I’ve made! They are all of the achievements and I made them to celebrate me finishing all the achievements in the game.

They are made by printing out the achievements, laminating them and sewing that onto a piece of fabric and then with a safety pin attaching them to my bag.

[drivinmeinsane]

Officer K x GN!Reader ※ { masterlist } ※ { ao3 }

※ Summary: With a tremor threatening to shake his body, he slips his fingers under the edge of his shirt sleeve and pulls it up to his elbow. His soulmark is laid bare before your eyes. The wound that he had left in his own skin when he had tried to carve out the design has faded to a raised, pale line. “That wasn’t there before,” you murmur, taking his forearm in your hands. Your pointer finger traces over the scar. ※ Rating: 18+ for mature content and themes. Please mind the warnings. ※ Content/tags: Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Implied Reoccurring Sexual Abuse by a Supervisor, Emotional Hurt, Identity Issues, Self-Harm, Alcohol Abuse, Smoking, Eye Trauma, Canon-typical Violence, Slow Burn, Developing Relationship, No use of Y/N, No Pronouns Given for Reader ※ Word count: 15,713 ※ Status: One-shot / Complete ※ Author's note: In the wake of a mentally difficult month, I present the story that accompanied me during that time. Here's to brighter days. ※ Song inspiration: Someone to You - BANNERS

In a cruelly human twist, the moment that K is incepted, birthed from a plastic bag like an item purchased at a supermarket in the years before the Blackout rocked the world, is also the moment he begins to die. This is something he won’t mind, once he realizes that death is a gift given only to the living.

As he lays, wet and trembling, atop compressed rubber and metal grating, he feels nothing but terror. His body is stricken by the wracking sobs of the newborn. His face gradually relaxes with each passing minute. The replicant’s wailing turns into coughing when his body chooses to expel the synthetically made amniotic fluid from his lungs.

“Are you done?” comes a woman’s voice. Clinical. Detached.

Suddenly made aware of the world around him, the small sterile room that it is, he opens his sticky eyelids only to be forced to squint against the penetrating glare of the artificial lighting overhead. He lays there for a moment, twisted and gasping like a crushed bird on the pavement—filled with the old memories of the nest and waiting, beak agape, for a mother who will not come. He shivers.

When KD6-3.7 manages to focus his eyes, the first thing he makes sense of is his own hands, and then the mark on his own forearm that is slowly blossoming to life. It’s all too much. His brain feels as though it is pressing against the confines of his skull, threatening to crack the bone and spill out onto the rubber. If it does, perhaps it will slip through the grate like the yolk of a broken egg.

Feet step up to him. They’re clad in sensible heels over black socks, utilitarian. K peers through the pulsing behind his eyes and sees a worn woman’s pinched face peering down at him. For just a moment, he’s certain that she intends to snuff him out. All the same, he pushes aside his fear and reaches out for her. She will become the closest thing to a mother he will ever know. K clasps his slimy hand around her sock-clad ankle. The bones are fragile underneath his grip. One too-tight squeeze and they would snap under the pressure. She tries to shake him off. He clings on, desperate for some kind of contact. He does not yet know that he will be raised solely by the wire mother with no comfort of the cloth.

“Let go.” Her voice cuts over the faint noise of the plastic crinkling above him. Disgust mars her lined face. He will grow familiar with expression. Both from her and from others.

As if burned, he immediately does. The compulsion to obey is too pressing for him to ignore. Every blood vessel and muscle fiber in his body is hardwired for submission. K tucks his hand against his chest, shrinks in on himself. He is not praised for his obedience or comforted through his turmoil. Tools, he learns later, do not need reward.

The woman crouches suddenly. She grabs at his arm and extends it under the harsh light. Her nails bite into his skin. It is the first pain he will experience from another living being. Both he and the stranger look at the elegant lines set into his flesh. She does not speak and neither does he. She lets go of him, red crescent moons grace the pale sky of his skin in the wake of her fingers.

There is a gesture that he doesn’t understand and, suddenly, he is being hosed down. The cold water sluices over him, washing away the newborn taint. With one final look cast down at him, the woman leaves.

Time passes in her absence, minutes smearing together in a twisted tangle made only more disorienting when the lights shut off. He is left in the dark, cold and struggling to comprehend. Refrigerated. He is experiencing punishment for a crime he does not yet understand. Wallace’s creation dared to have the trace of a soul in him. The evidence of it is clearly visible to the naked eye.

Eventually, the woman comes for him and lets him out into the light. He learns that he is hers, like a hunting dog belongs to a huntsman. His madam tells him that the mark adorning his forearm is a meaningless tattoo. She had only wanted him to be special. It’s the first of the many lies she tells him.

───※ ·❆· ※───

Advertisements cut through the gloom of his living room. In them, organics emphatically gesture to convey their success with the soulmate finding services being advertised. The blue light shifts to purple then to red. In the disorienting glow, anything could look real. Seated on his couch with a room temperature glass of whiskey that is only getting warmer with the heat of his hand, K watches Joi dance alone to the easy swing of Frank Sinatra.

“Did you know this song was first released in 1954 under another name by another singer? Kaye’s last name, Ballard, sounds a lot like ‘ballad’, doesn’t it?” she asks.

K hums, agreeable. The alcohol coursing through his bloodstream accompanied with his ever-present exhaustion have left him slumped bonelessly into the rigid angles of the cushions. It had been a day. It always is.

“Sweetheart,” the replicant says to his pretend wife, “will you indulge me?”

The DiJi smiles at him. He can see a knowing curve to her lips. It’s rare that he asks her for this. With a flourish, she flickers to an outfit with short sleeves. Joi kneels by the couch and rests her elbows on the edge of it, chin on her interlaced fingers.

“Is this what you wanted?” she asks, teasing. She presents her arm with an elegant flip of her wrist. The twin to the mark gracing his own forearm twinkles back up at him. He can almost imagine that it’s real.

Wordlessly, he extends his hand out and barely stops himself from reaching right through her projected skin by accident. He manages to stop himself before breaking the illusion. She plays at resting her arm in the palm of his hand. K can convince himself he can feel the warmth of her underneath the hovering passes of his thumb. Like trying to avoid breaking a gossamer thin strand of spiderweb, he carefully caresses her. Joi preens under the attention, reaching for his own mark in return. He feels the faintest trace of static.

He closes his eyes before he can register how the pixelation of her always makes the edges of her copied mark look not quite real. The replicant has to convince himself that this is enough. It’s all he has, so it must be. He cannot afford to dream of what it would be like to feel another body against his. Their kind must never look to the stars.

─��─※ ·❆· ※───

There had been a time in which K had wondered if the other bearer of his soulmark was his madam. He had been made for her, after all. It would only be right if they were intertwined down to the very cells that made up their bodies.

Joshi isn’t, of course. He finds out the first time that she has him strip her bare in the privacy of her office. Her skin is unmarked by anything but the scars of being human. K cannot boast the same. He heals too fast, too completely, to carry the same marks. For him to scar with any significance, an injury would have to be so severe that an organic’s body would be grievously devastated from the trauma.

He is not sure if the emotion he feels over the lack of mark on his handler is the grieving of what might have been or the relief at what isn’t. It would have been easier if it had been her. She hollowed him out. Used him. Uses him still. His madam owns him in every way that matters.

───※ ·❆· ※───

This retirement job is meant to be routine, the same as the last dirty dozen. He puts down an average of two Nexus 8 models every month. His work ethic has proven to be top of the line, much to the pleasure of the retiring department’s lieutenant. The routine success is enough to give him the security to sleep on the way to the property he’s being sent to. The ‘9 is exhausted from the long night he’d experienced.

K had poured over files at his cramped desk until his eyes burned and his throat grew so dry as to rival the arid chemical wastes of the Nevada desert. Still, he hadn’t bothered asking for water. It would cost money he didn’t want to spend. Besides, his experiences with liquid within the walls of the precinct have come hand-in-hand with punishment.

He wakes when the spinner chimes. Head snapping up, the officer inhales and exhales hard. It’s a sign of vulnerability he feels free enough to express as he turns off the autopilot and regains personal control over the vehicle. In the distance, a scattering of structures rise out from the perpetual haze of the world like a nervous herd of bovine protecting a calf against an approaching predator. He angles towards them, passing over a broken windmill on the way.

Pulling the spinner several yards short of a dead tree, he sets it down in a sprawling waste of infertile soil. A cloud of dirt gets kicked up by the disturbance. There is no hiding his arrival.

As he does on every job, K pops the latch for the spinner’s parrotfish in order to send it lazily into the sky. He gestures up at it to begin its rounds. The replicant tugs his jacket collar up over the lower half of his face. His lungs will ache for days if too much dust finds a home among the tissue. A minor discomfort, but he prefers to avoid them when he can.

Before stepping into his quarry’s home, he knocks the dirt off his boots. He doesn’t rap his knuckles against the door.

Unsurprised, he finds the living space as bare as his own apartment. There are small hints at a life here. Everything is cleaned, maintained, loved. K ignores the stab of camaraderie, buries it. He and this replicant are not of the same kind. He can’t allow them to be. It will only make the inevitability of what’s coming that much harder.

There is a pot of something fragrant boiling away on the stove that he had smelt the moment he opened the front door. He ignores it, for now, in favor of taking a seat in the kitchen. The Nexus 9 knows that he will be joined by the master of the house shortly.

He is proven right by the arrival of the pre-Blackout model shortly after settling into position. Sapper Morton bypasses him on his way to the sink. K silently observes him for a moment, elbow on the table with his gun in hand, as the wanted replicant scrubs at his work-worn hands. The water is loud in on the stainless steel basin. A flash of his inception flares to the forefront of his mind. He speaks to shake it away.

“I hope you don’t mind me taking the liberty. I was careful not to drag in any dirt.” K bites down the urge to continue, to explain that the wind had been turbulant, to actually have a real conversation with someone other than Joi. He’s not here for friendship.

There comes the rattle of something on the window ledge just out of K’s field of view. Sapper’s resigned voice answers him. “I don’t mind the dirt,” he says with a sigh and the noise of eyeglasses being placed on his rough face, “I do mind… unannounced visits.”

Heavy footsteps trod towards him in the dimly lit room. The seated officer tries not to react as the mountain of a replicant approaches him before coming to a halt a polite distance away. “You police?”

“Are you Sapper Morton? Civic number NK680514?”

“I’m a farmer.”

Sapper seems to be just as adverse to answering questions as he is. K can respect that. Answers can be a dangerous thing to give. Any vulnerability can be exploited.

“I saw that. What do you farm?” he asks, genuinely curious.

The mountain moves across the tile floor and a massive hand rises to open a cupboard. Morton slams down a container onto the counter before withdrawing a small cluster of white, wriggling objects. K watches quietly as the ‘8 approaches and drops the mass onto the table by his hand. Nematodes.

“It’s a protein farm. Wallace design,” Morton supplies as way of explanation.

Isn’t everything? K thinks. That man has fingers in nearly every form of industry in their society, both on and off world.

Taking his hand off the gun, he points at the air with a small twirl of his finger, subconsciously mirroring the gesture he’d given the parrotfish before entering the house. “Is that that I smell?”

“Grow that just for me… Garlic.”

“Garlic…” K says, wonderingly. The word feels just as exotic in his mouth as the plant might taste.

“Do you want to try some?”

“No, thank you. I prefer to keep an empty stomach until the hard part of the day is done.” The pot starts boiling even louder on the stove, as if it were protesting the refusal of Sapper Morton’s hospitality. “How long you been here?”

“Since 2020.”

“But you haven’t always been a farmer, have you?” Silence from the other replicant is answer enough. K continues, “Your bag. It’s colonial medical use. Military issue.”

He doesn’t miss the change in the older Nexus’s body language. The almost unconscious touch on the bag’s canvas side reminds K of the way he touches his own jacket when he’s uncertain. He presses onward with his information gathering.

“Where were you? Calantha…? Must have been brutal.”

“Planning on taking me in? Huh? Take a look inside?”

“Mister Morton, if taking you in is an option…” K sighs and leaves his gun aside on the table. “I would much prefer that to the alternative. I’m sure you knew it would be someone in time.”

A frustrated exhalation of air bursts from the other replicant as he pulls off his glasses. K tosses him a cursory glance before looking down, eyebrow slightly raised. He reaches into one of his inside pockets to pull out the small handheld retina scanner the police department issues for use on the field.

“I’m sorry it had to be me.”

“Good as any,” Morton says while K activates the device.

“Now, if you don’t mind… If you could just look up and to the left,” he instructs, uncrossing his legs and getting to his feet.

He knows what’s coming. He had seen him pull the scalpel out of the bag, so it comes to no real surprise when Sapper Morton lunges at him. K catches his hand before the blade can lodge itself between the span of his ribs. In return, he gets slammed against the wall by the far larger replicant. Managing to dodge the punches leveled at him, he tries to break free to create some distance between the two of them. He doesn’t succeed. The ‘8 grabs a firm hold on him and slams his body into the wall like Cain bringing the stone down upon his brother. Fighting to keep his chin tucked against the curve of his shoulder so that the back of his head doesn’t meet a similar end to Abel’s, he takes the brunt of the force over the span of his shoulders until finally the drywall gives out beneath him and he lands hard on the floor.

There is no time to recover because Morton falls with him, dropping the scalpel upon impact. They wrestle, trying desperately to get the upper hand over the other. K doesn’t want to do this. He wants to walk this back, reset and try again. He opens his mouth to tell the farmer just that when Morton is suddenly choking him. It’s as though an iron collar has been fastened around his neck. With tears leaking freely from him, he can feel the blood vessels in his eyes bursting under the strain. He growls, forcing air through his throbbing lungs and slams his fist into Morton hard enough to drop him.

Gaining traction, he manages to straddle the other replicant and he hits him one, two, three, four, five times in the throat in rapid succession. His adversary falls back, struggling to breathe through a damaged windpipe.

K wedges his fingers on the winded replicant’s eyelids and pins the eye open, trying to get the scanner ready. Morton interrupts him by grasping onto the scalpel and driving it into the meat of K’s upper arm. The officer grunts as pain radiates in his right side. He slaps the ‘8 back down and hits him. It’s punishment. Bad dog, his madam would say.

For good measure, he hits him for a second time to quell any further resistance. He doesn’t relish the feeling of his knuckles crushing against the other replicant’s trachea. This time, when he grabs Morton’s face, he manages to hold the eye open long enough for the handheld device to read it.

The screen confirms what he already knows. The man beneath him is Sapper Morton, charged with deadly assault of organic life and wanted for retirement.

Muscles twitching with adrenaline, K gets to his feet and looks down at the replicant choking on his own ruined body. “Please, don’t get up,” he says, accompanying his words with a pleading gesture.

He already knows that he will. They always do. The taste of freedom only serves to kill them in the end. Dying for the it seems… well, K can’t understand it, not like this. His eyes have not been opened to the benefits of being free.

Behind him, he already hears the rustling of Morton sitting up. He retrieves his gun from the kitchen table. It’s heavy in his hand. When he turns around and retraces his steps back towards the living room, the other replicant is on his hands and knees. Those calloused hands are clutching at his throat.

“How does it feel? Killin’ your own kind?” the farmer grits out.

“I don’t retire my own kind because we don’t run. Only you older models do.” There it is. The distinction he must draw between them to keep sane. He won’t pass his baselines otherwise.

“You new models are happy scraping the shit. Because you’ve never seen a miracle.”

K looks at him, jaw clenching with the effort not to speak. It’s on the tip of his tongue, that he has seen his own miracle. He carries it with him every hour of every day, right in his very skin. He doesn’t have a soul and yet he’s marked.

Sapper Morton rushes him, the last efforts of a wounded bull in the arena. K puts two bullets in him. The mountain falls. The house shakes and then goes still.

He covers the dead replicant with a blanket pulled from the back of the couch before extracting his eye with careful hands. He draws the makeshift shroud over Morton’s face when he’s finished. Bloody fingerprints get left behind on the faded fabric.

No matter how much soap K uses in the sink, he can’t get rid of the tacky feeling that seems as though it’s part of him now. His hands will never be clean. Innocence belongs only to the freshly incepted.

Before he leaves the small house, he takes the farmer’s glasses. Some part of Sapper Morton will live on with the replicant that retired him. It’s all K can offer him now.

───※ ·❆· ※───

A fog has laid itself over his shoulders like a second skin. It feels more familiar, more his, than the actual flesh that coats his bones. His DNA was taken from a donor. K is occasionally loathe to even call his body his. Some days, it feels like it has been parted out to anyone who might want a piece of it.

The numbness he’s feeling ensures he passes his baseline with flying colors after the retirement of NK680514. He gets to keep the moniker of “constant” K.

Joshi is pleased at his performance, When he goes to her office for his post-baseline report, she assigns him to another case to keep him occupied while the dig team finishes at the protein farm. His madam doesn’t like him to be idle for too long. He will be heading out in the morning to check in on another old model number.

───※ ·❆· ※───

Having never existed in a world where the skies are clear, K finds the beauty in the varying colors of the haze. Today, the old, industrial streets are bathed in a brilliant orange light due to the rising run. It’s a cheerful hue for the grim work that lies ahead. He supposes this area must come to life at night, being so far from the main heart of Los Angeles and its daunting amount of law enforcement.

K sends the spinner into a slow dive, cruising to increasingly lower altitudes as he gets closer to his destination. As always, the coordinates were provided by Lieutenant Joshi. She had been kind enough to provide him a suspected apartment number, rather than have him go door to door down the halls to find the culprit. Even with a number, K still doesn’t like the idea that there will be neighbors that might bear witness to this.

He finally parks the machine against the curb outside of a run-down apartment building. Even from inside the spinner, the officer can see that that bricks have broken free of the structure's edifice. He deploys the parrotfish for a halfhearted backup that will be useless unless he’s outside and gets out of the spinner.

The front door is uneven on its hinges. It squeals loudly in the silence as he pushes it open. Any dream of subtly is already dashed. The tone for this visit has been set.

Here, the hallways are dusty and unpopulated. He finds it to be a novel contrast to his own living situation. There, the building’s common areas are constantly wet with snow melt and teaming with bodies. The ‘9 wonders if this is how the explorers of ancient tombs felt. Like they were navigating the body of a slumbering Goliath. Finding the door that leads into the stairwell, he mounts the stairs. They creak and shift with the settling of his weight upon each one.

“Unit 405. One known occupant. Possible second.” the message had said.

Officer K reaches the fourth floor to find it predictably devoid of anyone in the hallway. He finds the door with its brass number and steps up to it. The knock echos in the empty hall. There is a long moment of silence before he finally hears footsteps approaching the synthetic wood. A rattle of a chain against the material, and the door opens just enough for an eye to peer suspiciously at him. There’s not enough of a gap for him to get the toe of his boot through.

“I’m sorry for the intrusion. I have some questions I need to ask.”

“You’re a cop?”

K keeps the frown off his face. This is reminding him too much of yesterday. “I’m looking for someone. Civic number NK687725. John Gradus.”

“What if I shut this door?”

“I wouldn’t recommend that,” he says, genuinely apologetic.

The stranger sighs and steps aside, opening the door all the way. “You better come on in, then. Nasty business to do in the doorway.”

Trailing after him, K rolls the situation over in his mind. He already knows the face matches, even from the glance he’d taken. It is now a matter of confirming the identity with the eye scan before the next step. Either the replicant can surrender or they can be retired. As Sapper Morton had demonstrated to great effect the day before, it’s never surrender.

“Please, sit,” the older generation model says with a gesture to a worn couch before taking a seat across from it in a chair that looks to be more tape than metal.

K readily complies, not wanting to make waves just yet. There is someone in the kitchen. They’re just out of sight.

“Can you bring us tea?” Gradus calls out after giving him a searching look. “I think it would do our guest some good.”

He’s in the middle of opening his mouth to protest when he catches movement in the kitchen entrance and he falls still. The last thing he was expecting here was you. An organic. The officer had simply assumed that the other potential occupant was another ‘8 like the one he was paying a visit. There is not mixing across kind. His madam has been aggressively clear about there being lines that must never be crossed.

Taking in the hard look you give him when you emerge from the kitchen carrying two cups, he adverts his eyes to the low table in front of him. The porcelain teacup that you place on coffee table is well loved. The edges of it are chipped and the saucer it’s resting on doesn’t match the delicate floral print.

K doesn’t miss the way that you and the other replicant engage in a silent conversation before you hand him his own drink. He is thrown off balance by this situation. The strangeness of it is putting him on an unfamiliar edge. His hand clenches on his thigh.

Across from him, you take a seat next to the ‘8 on another battered chair. Cracked vinyl and dented metal legs groan feebly under your weight. K realizes that everything in this apartment has been well-used. Repaired instead of replaced. He wonders which one of you is the sentimental type.

“Who are you?” you ask, breaking the uneasy silence. NK687725 looks embarrassed by your bluntness.

Head reeling, he responds. “Officer KD6-3.7.”

“That’s not a name. You’re one of them, then.” It’s not a question. Disgust colors your voice. That, at least, is familiar.

“Easy,” John Gradus mummers to you. He reaches over to pat you on the sleeved arm with his pale hand.

K marks the difference between this model and Morton. Where the farmer had been a combat model, it looks like Gradus was meant for another line of work altogether. He is delicate in the places where the other had been robust. K decides that he is likely an old pleasure model. A doxie, perhaps, or meant to be a private client’s pet. He can be easily overpowered in either case.

“Why are you here, Officer?” the other replicant asks, addressing him. There’s a resigned look in his eyes. K’s presence here is no mystery.

“I was sent to follow up on reports on a… rouge serial number. My betters needed reassurance.”

“You’re going to take me in? I’m afraid I don’t have much left to offer.”

“If you’re willing, I will gladly do that rather than the alternative,” K responds. Maybe today, he’ll catch a break.

“He hasn’t done anything wrong!” you cut in, rising to your feet.

K ignores the twinge he feels in his chest. “He ran.”

“So? Why don’t you?”

Left without an answer he is willing to articulate, he doesn’t respond to your question. Loyalty runs too deep when there is no one else to be loyal to but his madam. The thought of running is incomprehensible. There is nothing out there for him but the LAPD. He’d become what he hunts.

He observes quietly as Gradus manages to coax you back into your seat. Reluctance and anger are painted all over your face in broad strokes. The freedom of your expressions reminds him of Joi.

The officer’s eyes flick to the tea cooling on the table. It’s a different color than coffee, differing scent as well. A faint steam trail rises off of it. He tries to focus his attention on it rather than the strange sensation tucked behind his ribs. Distantly, he wonders if he is having a heart attack. Can his kind even have them or was their DNA too tampered with during the growth process to allow for such a thing?

“What kind is it?” he asks, abrupt.

John Gradus smiles over your disbelieving scoff, seemingly delighted at the conversation change. “Green. I grow it myself right here. Please, have a taste. We do not have any sweeteners, but I have grown to like it without additives.”

Extending his hand out to pick up the cup, his mind drifts. Why do all replicants seem to have a desire to create, to put their own mark on the world? It’s an all too human behavior for beings without souls.

The teacup is dwarfed in his grip. A bit too much pressure and he fears the entire thing might turn to wet chalk in his palm. He hovers it underneath his nose, inhales. There’s a crisp scent to it, something fresh. He presses his lips to the edge of the cup and sucks in a mouthful. Involuntarily, his eyes slip closed as the mellow flavor rolls over his tongue.

“Good, isn’t it?” the other replicant says gently. K opens his eyes and carefully places the cup back on its saucer. His side tingles underneath his gun holder, like its burning a hole into his flesh. It’s a reminder that he’s here for something other than a social call.

Reluctantly, he reaches into a pocket and pulls out his field scanner. K looks regretfully at the pair seated across from him. If he could walk away, he would.

“If you could look up and to the left for me, Mister Gradus…” he says, getting to his feet.

You surprise him by also lunging to your feet and moving to stand between him and the still-seated replicant. “Leave my friend alone. Please.”

“I can’t do that. I’m sorry,” K tries to move around you, but you put your hands against the wide expanse of his chest and try to push him back. Heat radiates from your palms, soaking through the threadbare material of his shirt. He doesn’t do anything more than sway from the sudden pressure. The strange feeling in his chest is worse. Why would you protect the thing sitting behind you? He was taught that all replicants are disposable, meaningless in the eyes of organics.

You must be the sentimental one, he realizes. You can’t bare to let go of broken things.

“Just tell your boss or whoever sent you that you couldn’t find us.”

“I can’t lie. I have orders.” K tries to sidestep you. “Please stand aside.”

You don’t listen. Instead, you continue to block him by crowding into his space. He finally catches you with a hand on your upper arm. Applying just enough force, he makes it to where you have to step aside to relieve the pressure.

“Officer, please,” the other replicant speaks, finally rising from his chair after setting down his own teacup, “You have my full cooperation if you do not—”

Gradus’s words get cut off at your sudden explosion of violence. K feels you sock him in the face with all the strength you can muster. Stars explode across his vision. A tall, white fountain looms into his mind’s eye, beckoning him closer. He staggers but recovers quickly. Moving faster than the older model behind you, he clamps his hand around your wrists before the ‘8 can do more than take a shocked step forward.

You fight his hold, struggling like an animal caught in a trap. He clenches his fingers down just enough to keep you captive.

“Please stop,” he requests of you.

“Let go of me!” you snarl in return.

This visit is escalating fast, too fast. K has no precedent for this. In every other retirement case he’s been involved with, the organics have steered clear of the situation. They never interfere, instinctively knowing better than to get between two replicants. You can’t insert yourself into a dog fight without risking getting bit in the frenzy. Already, he can almost feel your more delicate skin bruising in his grip. You’re fighting him hard despite gaining no ground.

“I’m going to need you to let go of my friend now, Officer.”

In the altercation, K had made the mistake of diverting his attention from the real threat to you. He’s chagrined to find that the other replicant has chosen to level a gun at him. It had been retrieved from its place inside a basket between the two chairs judging by the tangled mess of synthetic yarn draped cross the edges of the plastic.

Gradus is turning out to have a harder edge to him than the ‘9 had anticipated. It looks like you’re the breaking point of the wanted replicant’s amiableness. K releases his hold on you and puts both hands up before taking a step back in a show of placation. The eye scanner is still in his left hand.

“If you could put the weapon on the table,” the officer says with a nod to the surface not far from his knees.

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” Gradus says apologetically, still pointing the gun at him.

“We all know I can’t do that no matter how much I want to… Direct orders.”

Sighing, the other replicant lowers the weapon in surrender but doesn’t set it aside. It’s still enough slack that K feels comfortable enough to step around you. It’s a mistake.

The instant you aren’t unintentionally shielding him from your friend, K sees movement. Gradus raises the firearm in a quick, decisive motion. K responds instinctively. His fingers leap for the gun holstered against his ribs.

With a deafening pop, the bullet blows a hole in the older model’s shoulder. John Gradus falls, gasping, to his knees. K watches, mentally disconnecting from the scene unfolding in front of him as the injured replicant claws at the wound soaking the carpet with each beat of his heart. K feels your absence in a way that is not dissimilar to a limb being severed when you leave his side and throw yourself at Gradus.

Strange. He doesn’t know you, doesn’t even know your name, and yet he is experiencing loss.

Forcefully dispassionate, he watches as you ease your friend onto his back to get better access to the wound. You pull your jacket off, desperately attempting to stanch the flow of blood by shoving the material against the hole until your knuckles pale from the pressure. There is already crimson smeared across your newly bare arms.

Officer K crosses the floor and crouches next to you. He presses a knee onto Gradus’s side to keep him still for what is coming next. K holds the replicant’s eye open and readies the scanner. He holds steady even when you let go of the wadded up jacket and start to rake at the back of hand he’s using to keep the eyelids apart. Even when you manage to open up cuts in his skin with your nails, he doesn’t react. The gouges you leave behind sting less than your pleading voice.

“Leave him alone. Please, just leave him alone.” You’re sobbing.

Emotions start to bubble up from the soil he has mentally buried them in, he beats them back with a shovel. He retreats into the comforting quiet of numbness until he gets a proper look at your blood-smeared forearm.

A hauntingly familiar mark adorns it. How many hours has he spent looking at the selfsame mark on his own arm? How often has he traced along the lines and let himself dream, just a little, that there really is something real out there for him? He’s even managed to convince himself at times that someone is looking for him because they want him as much as he wants them.

The scanner beeps, flashing green. It slices through his mounting alarm. He manages to spare a glance at it. The number inset into the tissue of Gradus’s eye is a match for the civic number he’d come for, just as he’d known it would be. He hates himself for the necessary evil he is about to preform.

Digging his knee more firmly into his target’s ribs, he extracts a small knife from another pocket in his jacket. He tunes you out. The blade runner accepts the harm you’re trying to inflict on him as penance for his cruelty.

K is as gentle as he can possibly be while he cuts the eye out of the still living replicant. The older model thrashes and struggles underneath him, but is ultimately unable to break free. K had been right about him being easily overpowered.

Trembling, he gets to his feet and moves away from you both. The eye is clasped carefully in his hand, optic nerve dangling freely. With his fingers slick with blood, he finds an evidence bag in one of his pockets and tucks the eye into its new, plastic prison. The bag goes back into the pocket it had come from.

You and Gradus had referred to each other as friends. The way that you’re curled over him, the protective hunch of your shoulders as you tend to him, supports the notion. Replicants were made to be isolated, sank deep in their work. Tyrell and, later, Wallace had engineered them to be the perfect servants. K doesn’t know what to make of this bond.

Before he can leave, there is one other thing left he must confirm or refute even though he already knows the answer. His own memory had supplied it. Grasping the edge of his own sleeve, he pulls it up to expose the mark etched into his cells. He looks from his forearm to yours, eyes following every memorized curve, every line.

They match.

The mouthful of tea he’d just had in what feels like a lifetime ago threatens to expel itself on the thin carpet. He’s found his soulmate. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

K gets to see the moment you realize you register what he’s looking at. Horror blossoms on your face as your mind tries to make sense of what you’re seeing, of what you really are to each other. The emotions running across your face are all caused by him. He feels sick.

“What?” he hears you mumble. It’s a broken little noise.

Stricken by the urge to comfort you, to lay himself on the floor beside Gradus so that you may flay him open, he clenches his hands and takes another step back. You’re looking up at him like he might attack again. The cut on the back of his hand weeps, doing what he cannot.

He isn’t going to hurt you and yours any further. K had already decided that the moment he saw your soulmark. It’s a choice born from a newfound sense of selfishness. His loyalty had gained a chip in the smooth surface of it, like the teacup you had placed in front of him. He is going to lie to his madam. As proof of a job complete, he’ll bring the stolen eye back to the precinct. If the other replicant survives the trauma inflicted on him, he will be continue to be free. He can go through his life without looking over his shoulder quite so often.

As if summoned by his thoughts, a cellular device starts chiming in his pocket. His madam. No one else would call him. The officer withdraws the device and presses the button to accept the call.

Lieutenant Joshi’s voice is tinny and crackling through the speaker. She doesn’t waste a breath on pleasantries. “Your dig came through. Get down here. Leave whatever you’re working on.”

The unit trills when she hangs up. He put the phone back into his pants pocket.

“I’m sorry,” he says. He means it, perhaps more than anything else he’s said since his inception.

Understandably, you don’t say anything in response to him. Instead, you try to stand despite your legs being too shaky to manage it easily on your own. Before he can show restraint, employ any measure of sense, he bridges the distance between the two of you. K offers you his hand. He’s stunned when you actually take it. Yours fits against his own, palm to palm, as though he was made for you. In a way, K supposes, he was.

There is a breathless moment where the two of you simply stand together hand in hand, eyes peering into the other’s. He wants to shift his hold. He wants to interlink his fingers with yours. Just as he is on the cusp of fulfilling that desire, you wrench your hand free of his and that’s when K knows his time here is up.

Gathering himself just enough, he puts his back to you. The door seems miles away as he starts walking towards it.

“Hey.” There is a flinty quality to your voice.

He pauses and looks back towards you. K is unsurprised to see that you’ve picked up Gradus’s discarded firearm and are now pointing it at him. He wishes that you weren’t shaking so much. He pivots to fully face you, keeping his hands at his sides. The least he can do for you is hold still so that you can line up the shot.

The conviction bleeds out of your face and your arm lowers. The gun falls to the floor at your feet with a heavy thud. At the back of his throat, he tastes the bitterness of disappointment.

K exits the apartment unit. Every step feels wrong. He wants to fight the order. He wants to turn around. The officer wants to offer something, anything, that could make this right. He wishes he could undo the blood pooled on the carpet, but he can’t do anything at all but obey. Free will doesn’t exist for him. His madam has called him in, and for now, he belongs to her no matter what the flesh might claim.

───※ ·❆· ※───

In the morgue, K doesn’t find himself to be any more stable. Joshi had called him in to make use of his intuition and rapid processing ability, but he feels numb. His thoughts keep wandering to you.

He’s barely aware of Nandez talking to him as he idly traces a thumb over his jacket where it lays draped over his arm. He thinks the material had been a more vibrant green once, before he had acquired it from an ‘8 who had, in turn, lifted it off a ‘7.

“Your box is a military footlocker issued to Sapper Morton, creatively repurposed as an ossuary. Box of bones. Meticulously cleaned and laid to rest about 30 years gone. Nothing else in it but hair. She’s pre-Blackout so DeNAbase doesn’t give an ID.”

K manages a nod. He doesn’t bother speaking.

“It was she, plus one,” Joshi says as if it were a shocking revelation. It’s not. From his understanding, organics often manage to reproduce.

Pregnancy, death, panning shots over the dead woman’s bones… His soulmark burns like a phantom brand. The fire feels like it’s spreading to his brain. He’s going under in a cloud of embers. Bits of conversation drift around him. They’re as untouchable as the pretend wife waiting at home for him.

Struggling to gain focus, he drags his intuition up from where it lies dormant and cooling. Coco is leading the forensic discovery today, a small relief. The tech zooms in too far and K gets a flash of scrapes along bone. Man-made alterations.

“Go back. Closer. Closer. That. What’s that?” It’s time he’s spoken since being recalled to the precinct. The three organics eye in him surprise.

“Notching on the iliac crest. Fine point, like a scalpel. Looks like an emergency c-section... Cuts are clean. No sign of struggle,” Coco reports.

K thinks for a moment, mulling over the information. “He was a combat medic. Maybe he tried to save her but just couldn't.”

His words cause the others to debate. They do it with little regard of what he is.

“He didn’t seem like the saving type.” Nandez sneers.

“He took the time to bury her. A sentimental skinjob…” Coco muses, but freezes, stricken “Sorry, K,” he adds.

K shrugs off the apology. He has long since been pushed past any feelings over any slights that come his way. It had been a necessary thing in order to survive here.

“Didn’t seem like the daddy type either. So where’s the kid? You scan the whole field?” Joshi says, knowing very well that replicants are sterile.

“Just dirt and worms. No other bodies.” Nandez’s response is immediate.

“Maybe he ate it.” Coco says, more serious than he should be.

Something flares, white hot, in K’s chest. He has never had a proclivity to anger. The vicious tone to his words surprises even him. “Or maybe he loved her. Maybe he took care of the kid like it was his, at least for a while.”

The silence is deafening. Three pairs of incredulous eyes stare at him. Then Joshi speaks, cutting through the silence punctuated only by K’s harsh breathing. She sounds like she’s talking to a very small child. “But your kind doesn’t love.”

“Oh, he definitely ate it,” Nandez follows up, barely able to get the words out before he starts laughing. Coco joins him.

K bows his head, thoroughly chastised. He only just keeps from curling in on himself.

His madam sighs. “Finish up here, boys. K, with me.”

Unsure of what to expect, he follows the woman to the elevator. He presses himself into the corner during the ride up to her office, unease biting at his bones. The confined space has only been a breeding ground for trouble. Having learned a few hard lessons, he takes the stairs these days unless he is with Joshi.

The lieutenant leads him through the bullpen once they get off the elevator. Nobody pays them any attention. Eyes automatically advert from his madam. When they get to her office, she leaves him to close the door behind them. Upon turning to face her, he finds that she has already seated herself behind her desk and is in the midst of pouring herself a drink.

K waits, face turned submissively down at the floor. He doesn’t fidget.

“The world’s built on a wall that separates kind. Tell either side there’s no wall and you’ve bought a war or a slaughter. Your kind is incapable of love. That’s a trait only given to humans. So whatever notion you have in your head about the skinjob and the woman, you leave that behind.” Her tone is lecturing. It leaves no room for argument, not that he would even dare dream of it. Whatever his madam says to him is the law that he must obey.

“Yes, Madam.”

“What isn’t possible can’t be.”

“Yes, Madam,” he says again.

With a sigh, she sits back in her chair. Her eyes trace over his body, appraising. His breath catches in his throat before he forces his nervous system to relax. The only sign of his discomfort is the clenching of his hand at his side.

Lieutenant Joshi’s mouth pinches. Her face takes on a harried look. With a decisive thunk, she sets the glass tumbler down on her desk. It has been emptied for the first of what is likely to be many times.

“Go home. Get your head on straight. I don’t need you wanting retirement.”

“Yes, Madam,” K agrees.

Any relief he feels as being allowed to leave is cut short when she stops him. “Hey.”

He pauses, letting that be the acknowledgment that he’s heard her. The officer waits like the obedient dog he was made to be.

“You’re getting on fine without it.”

He feels his eyebrow twitch upwards in question. “What’s that, Madam?”

“Love.”

───※ ·❆· ※───

It’s late. The sun sat below the sprawling expanse of buildings hours ago, leaving K to sit in the dark room with only his thoughts and his DiJi for company. While he looks out the window at the other apartment building across the street, at the wall of lives stored in little boxes, he feels more hopeless than usual. The mark on his forearm feels like a slap in the face.

What use is a miracle if it only serves to remind him of his failures? It is a monument to what he destroyed without even knowing what it was he was about to rip apart.

He stands up from the purple chair and takes a few stumbling steps over to the built-in table to pour himself another too-full glass of whiskey. The bottle he had opened after getting off work tonight is already more than half gone. K doesn’t know why he’s even bothering to pour it into a glass other than to occupy his hands. He might as well drink straight from the bottle for efficiency.

With the glass in hand, liquid nearly sloshing over the edges, he goes to where his coat his hanging by the door. He swallows down another mouthful of alcohol while he reaches into one of the pockets. He takes out the small knife he uses for extracting eyes on retirement cases. K figures he should have just given you the blade and let you take his instead.

“K, what are you doing?” Joi asks, tone colored with apprehension.

She is lingering by the window, nervously shifting her nonexistent weight. The replicant ignores her. He’s been doing that a lot lately. Something has changed in him.

Crossing the room again, he takes a seat on the couch. K sets his glass on the side table. Stray drops of whiskey escape over the lip of it at the careless motion. They soak into the paper of his book, his most prized possession. It doesn’t matter. Joshi already soiled it months ago with her own glass, not dissimilar to how she has with him.

Tightening his grip around the knife, he looks down contemplatively at his right forearm. He is not wearing a long sleeved shirt this evening. Maybe he should have been.

Joi starts to plead with him the instant she realizes what he’s about to do. He manages to block her voice out and sinks the blade into his skin, just below the soulmark. The metal works its way through flesh and meat until the fine tip of it scrapes against his radius. It burns as he drags it sideways, up and to the left. Blood wells up from the wound and starts dripping freely onto his pant leg. It soaks into the material.

K has decided that he is undeserving of the fragment of soul he was given at inception. The mark must be removed. Perhaps with it no longer on his body, its twin will appear on someone else. You can have a better soulmate, and he will just be another serial number. Unremarkable in every way.

Delicate hands flicker and clip through his, grasping futilely at the knife. Joi has thrown herself to her knees in front of him and is trying to stop him. Projected tears are falling from her eyes in shimmering droplets. He follows the steady flow of them to her face and realizes that he is scaring her. In her distraught expression, he can only see your agonized face as you sob over the replicant he put a bullet into just days before. Her hands are yours in the way that they attempt to pull at his, to put a stop to the damage he’s inflicting. The comparison stops him cold. He can’t do this to Joi. Even if their relationship together is an elaborate game of pretend, he can’t make someone else feel the way he made you feel.

Smothering the emotions inside of him like a flawed replicant straight from the artificial womb, he wiggles the knife back and forth to free it from his body. He sets the blade aside on the coffee table and retreats to the bathroom. Joi is unable to follow him. She is stuck to the hardline as if on a leash. He never got her anniversary present.

Away from Joi’s worried eyes, he washes the injury in the cramped bathroom sink. Water spills out over the sides and splashes onto the floor in swirls of pale pink on the tile. It makes its way lazily to the drain in the middle of the room. He will scrub the traces of his blood out of the grout later, when he has had a moment to distance himself from everything he shouldn’t be feeling.

Feeling unsteady, K finds the platelet jelly and sets to gluing the self-inflicted wound shut.

If he pinches the sides of it together harder than what is necessary, that’s only for him to know. The bite of pain is enough to ground him in reality. It clears away some of the drunken fog.

Closer to baseline than he was, K rejoins his distressed “wife” in the main room. She rushes at him and he draws her against him as much as a living being can do with a hologram.

“Oh, sweetheart, I’m sorry,” he soothes while she sobs nonexistent tears against his chest.

The replicant can’t help but wish that she were someone else. He wonders if his role and that of Gradus had been reversed, would you have tried to protect him? What would it be like to have someone care enough to try?

───※ ·❆· ※───

After that night where he had made an earnest attempt to remove his soulmark, he shuts himself off from Joi. He barely responds to her these days. He can hardly stomach interacting with anyone at all. Still, he does not turn off the DiJi. She is left to do wander around the room and do whatever her algorithm wishes. There is a strange sort of comfort in not feeling completely alone, even if the company isn’t actually there. He isn’t real in any meaningful way either.

His evenings become routine in their spiral. He sits, he smokes, he drinks, and he very rarely sleeps in the hours before his alarm chimes. You haunt the moments of rest he is able to get. He hears your voice in the throats of a thousand others. He sees your anguished face with every blink of his eyes.

K wishes he knew even just your name. He has nothing tangible of that day in 405. Perhaps it was just a dream, a terrible nightmare that has bled into the waking world.

He has to stop eating the synthetic meat he gets for his dinners. The artificial bloodiness of it transports him back to the moment he saw your soulmark covered with the gore caused by his mistake. He should have overridden instinct. He should have done something, anything, differently.

K nearly stops eating all together. His body is slowly wasting away, eating at his muscles. He’s taken to wearing more layers to offset the loss. No one comments at the change.

───※ ·❆· ※───

If only so you can put him down, he tries to find you. The opportunity for him to dig for information comes when he’s put on a case with Nandez. The detective leaves K alone promptly at the end of second shift. The replicant is not sad to see him go. Even at the best of times, Nandez is at his throat despite not having the authority to demand anything from him. K sincerely hopes that the man never gets a promotion.

With Nandez gone, K pulls up the property records for the apartment building he found you at and starts searching. There is nothing substantial, certainly nothing for an additional occupant in the unit rented by John Gradus. No co-signer, no lease agreement, no roommate paperwork. It’s a dead end.

Frustrated, he gets out of his chair and paces. K knows full he can’t risk diving too deep into the systems. Doing so might draw attention to his extracurricular activities. His madam would want answers, and not the ones he is willing to provide. She can’t know of your existence. Joshi was very clear about the boundaries between kind. Without question, he would find a way to retire himself if given the order to harm you.

───※ ·❆· ※───

Squinting his eyes against the feeble sunlight managing to stream into his window, he registers that Joi is looking at him. Her face carries the same serious expression that it has for the past few weeks. He feels a distant pang of guilt at being the cause of it.

She’s projected herself to be laying beside him on the thin mattress. In the dreamlike quality of the light, she looks almost tangible like this. Touchable. These small moments are why he never bothered with blinds or curtains.

“Tell me about your soulmate,” she says. He realizes that she’s emulated his mark into her hologram skin.

“There’s not much to tell.” His voice is thick with sleep.

“Tell me anyway.”

At that, he closes his eyes and summons his memory of you. With each detail he recounts aloud about your appearance, Joi alters herself. She replicates your accent, your hair, your eye color. When he opens his eyes, he finds himself looking at a pale imitation. It’s almost closer to a mockery than anything else. The morning light can’t make it real. Nothing could.

Tenderly, his DiJi reaches out and tries to press her fake mark against his in the way he’d always hoped his soulmate would when they found each other. He lets her, numb. It doesn’t feel like anything more than the faint static tingle of her projection. She clips through him.

“A special boy needs a name, a real name.” she prompts, mulling the thought over.

“Don’t,” he interrupts, softly. He doesn’t want Joi to name him. She’s not what he really wants. If anyone were to give him a name, it should be you.

With a flash of hurt on her face, she pulls away. The attempt at a loving game of pretend like they used to play is over. There is not likely to be another one.

───※ ·❆· ※───

Carefully, he tears out the title page of his book. K does not have any other paper. This will have to do. With the same marker the replicant used in his spinner to label the bag containing Gradus’s eye, he writes on the alcohol-warped page.

I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.

Officer K folds the paper and tucks it into his badge holder for safekeeping. He has a premonition that this day will end with him staring into the lens of a camera like the barrel of a gun while one of the precinct’s baseline administers hammers him with questions asked forcefully enough they might as well be physical blows.

Pushing through the crowd on the stairs, he doesn’t register the turmoil around him. He breaks free once he’s out the front door. The walk to the garage seems to pass in the blink in the eye and feels like only heartbeats pass before he’s in the work-provided spinner and on the way to the apartment building he’d been to a lifetime ago.

He puts the spinner down curbside out in front of a struggling noodle place. K doesn’t want to be parked too close to his objective. If someone comes sniffing around after him for going off-map, he doesn’t want it to be immediately obvious where he’s going.

As they had been the last time he’d been here, the streets are empty. They’re marked with obvious signs of nightlife. It all but confirms what he had suspected when doing the flyover. Graffiti and broken class litter the sidewalks in front of the row of businesses shuttered for the daytime hours. The neon signs are off and the blinds closed.

The apartment building looks the same as it had last time. Despite his own world being shaken to the very foundations, the structure he is entering looks unstricken by revelation. Retracing his footsteps, he ascends to the fourth four and finds the unit. The doormat he’d not bothered to acknowledge before is still out front.

With his pulse pounding in his ears, he raises his hand and knocks. He waits for the telltale sign of life behind the barrier. Nothing. Concern prickles at his mind, and he knocks again only to get no response. For just a moment, he thinks about just sliding the paper under the door but on a whim, he tries the knob. It turns easily in his grasp. It was left unlocked.

“Hello?” K calls out as he steps across the threshold.

Silence greets him in return.

From what the officer can discern upon casting a searching look at his surroundings, little has changed. The furniture is where it had been on the day of his visit. He is not sure if any of the personal effects have been disturbed. They had not been near the top of his priority list at the time.

A loud ringing noise shatters the peace and he startles, nearly hitting his elbow on the wall. It’s his phone. His madam must have checked on his tracker code and realized that he isn’t anywhere a good boy might be found under normal circumstances. He lets it ring through unanswered. His countdown has started.

Reluctantly, he continues his investigation and looks at the place where he had dropped Gradus. The blood stain he’d left behind is a mere, blush colored mark on the carpet. Someone, probably you, had tried to scrub away the evidence. The basket of yarn that had contained the gun has been righted and moved to a place between the couch and the blind-covered window.

Showing some level of restraint, he resists the urge to wander into the bedrooms. There are two of them. A glance through the doorways reveals that each has a bed. You and the ‘8 must not sleep in the same room. Instead of trying to puzzle out which might contain your possessions, he moves into the kitchen.

There is moisture in the sink. Someone has been here recently. The apartment had not been abandoned in his absence.

The water in the basin reminds him that Gradus had asked you to bring tea to them. Could it be your usual chore? The thought sparks an idea, and he pulls his badge from his pocket and extracts the folded piece of paper. He leaves it on the counter as his phone rings for a second time. Ignoring the repetitive trill, he picks up a pen from the coffee table and returns to the kitchen to unfold the page he’d torn from the book.

Again, his phone goes off, barely a pause between the attempts at reaching him. The timer is running out moment by moment.

Underneath the words he wrote at his apartment, K presses the nib of the pen against the paper and takes a breath. In careful writing, he adds to them.

Do you feel that there's a part of you that's missing?

What's it like to hold the hand of someone you love?

Immediately, he wants to erase the words. With the feeling that he’s making another mistake when it comes to you, K refolds the sheet of paper and tucks it partially under the kettle resting on the counter. He wishes that he knew your name so that he could write it on the paper. Even without it, it’s clear enough who the message is for. Gradus hadn’t been the one with who shared his soulmark.

With an air of finality to it, the device in his pocket rings a fourth time. It’s his cue to leave. Spurred into haste, he puts the pen back where he’d found it and takes a final glance around, still curious about which decorative choices were yours.

He leaves the apartment, making sure to close the door securely behind him. The replicant all but sprints down the stairs in the effort to create distance between himself and the apartment unit. He narrowly manages to keep his pace limited to a brisk walk on the way back to the noodle restaurant. Just as he’s reaching for the lock on his spinner’s door, he hears a low roar rapidly approaching.

Looking up, he sees a police issued vehicle pull into a stop. It begins its decent as a voice projects over the loudspeaker. “Officer K D6-3.7. We’re taking you in on failure to report.”

K puts his hands up and automatically lowers himself to his knees. Acutely, he’s aware of what will happen if he doesn’t perfectly comply. LAPD beat cops are trigger-happy organics and ready to spray and pray at anything that so much as breathes wrong in their direction. He has never respected them, never been given cause to in all his dealings with them.

A cop gets out, leaving another behind the wheel, as soon as the spinner lands. In short order, K finds himself handcuffed and made a passenger in his own provided spinner. The organic makes a stab at ruffling his nerves on the way back to the precinct.

“Lieutenant’s real mad at you for taking off like that.”

K offers nothing in response.

“What the fuck were you doing all the way out here, skinner?”

He shrugs in his restraints, chooses how to interpret the question. “Noodles.”

The officer whistles, pitchy and uneven. “Oooh, she’s going to string you up.”

K is aware. He knew the cost for his apology when he set out today. He had also decided it was worth the fallout.

───※ ·❆· ※───

The stool that Officer K is sitting on is uncomfortable—a hard, impersonal thing meant to be hosed off as needed. It’s the same as the rest of this room bathed in the sterile light of humming florescent bar. Underneath the copper burn of blood is an antiseptic tang. The baseline testing room is everything but a slaughterhouse floor in name. He’d opened his eyes for the very first time in a room like this.

Ringing fills his ears followed by the whir and click of the wall-mounted camera in front of him. A disembodied voice reads off his serial number and informs him that the test has begun.

Responses leave the replicant’s throat through as though someone else is speaking through him. He’s calm, retreated so far into himself that any residual fire inside of him has been snuffed out. He feels cold. The joints in his fingers ache with the sensation. He doesn’t dare to flex them or to rub at his chafed wrists.

The cops that had been sent to fetch him had removed the handcuffs as soon as he’d been delivered to the testing room. One of them in particular had found great amusement in hauling him through the precinct by the narrow chain like a dog catcher with an animal on the end of their pole.

Finally, the pounding against the walls of his mind stops. The interrogation is over. The camera powers down and the examiner sighs, hard, almost disappointed.

“You’re free to go, Officer. Your lieutenant will see you in her office.”

K rises, stiff, eyes unseeing. He barely registers the activity of the precinct around him as he traverses the hallway and climbs the stairs in clear avoidance of the elevator once again. He feels trapped enough in his own head without the physical captivity of being in a little box.

Low murmurs roll against him akin to the waves against the seawall when he crosses the bullpen and knocks on Joshi’s door after reaching the floor housing her office. She calls him in immediately. Her tone is like an angry wasp. It provides a sting that jolts everything back into sharp relief.

She barely waits until he closes the door behind himself. “The hell is with you?”

Years of experience have taught him to let his madam work through her anger without input from him. K waits, still and patient, in front of her desk.

“You take off without informing me, you ignore my calls, and then what? We pick you up fucking around in the street outside of some shitty restaurant? What was so important about it that you had to go out there?”

“Apologies, Madam,” he says. Repentance drips from his voice like honey from the comb.

Joshi waits, looking expectant. Her expression shifts to frustration as no more words come. “That’s it? That’s all you have to say to me? Tell me why you were out there.”

It’s a direct order. The instinct to obey pulls at him. He gives in without a fight. “I was following up on the second retirement case. Civic’ NK687725. It was a surprise, Madam. I had hoped it would be a welcome one.”

Like magic, the severely set lines in Joshi’s face soften. She is becoming convinced that he’d meant his… willfulness as a gift, as a credit to her and her management.

“Did you find anything?”

“There was no one there,” he pauses, twists the truth in his own mind, “Hadn’t been for a while. It’s probable I scared them off and they went underground.”

Who is to say what “a while” means? Time is relative.

Joshi lifts a hand and beckons him closer, around the corner of the desk. Eager to avoid more trouble, he instantly follows her direction. She rotates her chair to face him when he comes to a stop within touching distance. He has learned through trial and error to predict exactly where she wants him based on her mannerisms and tone. It has never bode well for him to be wrong.

“Good dog,” the lieutenant says, lightly kicks him in the shin. “Just let me know before you decide to be proactive again.”

“I will, Madam.” He’s glad that she has decided to be lenient today.

“Get on out of here. I don’t need the distraction.”

“Goodbye, Madam.” It’s polite and he keeps his pace measured as he leaves. He doesn’t want to seem too eager. It would send the wrong message.

───※ ·❆· ※───

Weeks pass K by without any outward indication that you’ve received the paper he had left behind at your residence. He has made a resigned peace with the idea that your paths may never cross again when he arrives back to his apartment following a day kept late at work doing overtime, again, for Nandez. Following routine and nearly swaying on his feet, he puts his hand on the scanner for the door lock. He opens it just enough to slide through and is greeted in the entryway by Joi for the first time a while. Panic is displayed on her face. Taken aback, he’s about to question her when she speaks first.

“You have a visitor. I didn’t think you would want me to say no,” she whispers.

Frowning, he mulls over the list of potential visitors and only comes up with one idea of who it might be. But, he’d just seen Joshi at the precinct before leaving for the day. She had given him no indication that she would be paying him a visit tonight. In fact, his madam had had him sit down on the other side of her desk to share a drink with her.

It had kept him occupied for the better part of the hour while she got intoxicated enough to insist that he give her a kiss before he leave. She’d failed to push things further by not ordering him to his knees before her or manipulating his hands onto her body. K thinks that she’s grown bored of him, at least for the moment. The thought makes him feel relieved.

Joi touches him on the shoulder, putting an end to his thinking. “Good luck.”

Anticipating, despite the unlikeliness of it, to see his madam, he passes by the DiJi into the main room. K stops in his tracks, stricken dumb. He’d have sooner expected Coco spread out on his couch in nothing but his clear, silicone labcoat and an artificial rose in his mouth than to be staring at you. Somehow, you don’t look as out of place as you should among his sparse possessions.

“How did you find me?” the replicant asks.

“You said your identification number the day you showed up. KD6-3.7.”

It’s strange a strange thing, hearing his “name” come out of your mouth. He doesn’t supply the nickname he’s been given during his time as a blade runner. He’s already pacing on the knife’s edge. This evening could tip him in any direction without forcing any further familiarity.

“You got the note.”

“Yes.” Your tone is matter-of-fact. “You wanted to know if I felt like a part of me is missing.”

He is left waiting for a follow-up that doesn't come. The thought hangs there, uncontinued. In the quiet of the room, K shrugs off his jacket and goes to hang it on the hook by the front door. He unholsters his gun and puts it on a nearby shelf. No matter how things go, he will not be using it on you.

Before he faces you again, K approaches the controls for the hardline crossing the ceiling. When he casts a look at Joi with his finger hovering over the power button, she looks at peace. She gives him an encouraging shooing motion of her hand. He turns her off for the first time in months. You and K will not have any outside distraction.

“He lived, by the way.”

K feels a tightness loosen in his chest. “I’m glad.”

“Why? You could have easily made the shot fatal, why didn’t you?”

“Somebody cares about him. He would have been missed.”

“And that matters to you?” You don’t sound judgmental to his ears, only curious.

“Yes. I’m sorry I had to do it.” He swallows hard, voice breaking as he continues. “I didn’t choose this.”

The replicant knows that he is only what he was made to be, nothing more, nothing less. Nature had dictated his obedience. Nurture had molded him into being what the Los Angeles Police’s retirement division had had in mind when he was purchased for their use.

Under the weight of your gaze, he begins to self-soothe by clasping his hands together in front of him and rubbing one thumb over the other. He finds himself relieved from the burden when you shift your attention to your surroundings. He watches, fascinated, as you begin to explore.

Your fingers trail over the box where he stores his cigarettes and the lighter he’d found in the pocket of one of his previous retirement jobs. Moving onward, you pick up his book and flip briefly through the alcohol warped pages. He sees the recognition dart across your features when you find the place where the torn out page had once resided. The care in which you set the volume back down on the table surprises him. His madam had never displayed that level of consideration. Neither had Joi with the projected clone of it.

“These don’t look like yours,” you say. In your hands are Sapper Morton’s glasses, held as if they might break apart in your grasp with so much as a wrong exhale.

“They’re not.”

“Whose are they, then?”

“Sapper Morton. He was a retirement case,” K pauses, hesitates, then quietly adds, “I didn’t want him to be forgotten.”

“Why?” you ask, rolling the word in your mouth like a pearl.

The question makes his skin itch. He stills as though he had just taken a seat for his baseline. The only betraying movement is the continued motion of his thumb atop the other.

“Why?” you repeat, softer this time. There’s something close to tenderness in your voice and that makes him afraid.

“He was more than a serial number.” K admits, feeling the answer clawing its way out of him. “I… they all were.”

“Are you?”

“No.” His response is immediate. Firm.

“Why not?”

Unable to answer, he looks away. Shame laps at him with an overeager tongue. There is a divide between the older models and him. In some ways, Morton was right. The ‘9s are happy scraping the shit because it’s all they have been taught to know.

He’s aware of you setting the glasses back in their resting place on the shelf, but it still surprises him when you cross the small amount of space separating the two of you to stand in front of him. You’re so close to him that he can feel the heat of your body. It makes him want to burn in your fire.

“I do feel like there’s something missing. It’s like there’s an empty space next to me that should be filled by someone, but that someone never comes. It’s the part of the reason I came here. I… wanted to talk to you knowing what we are to each other,” you tell him.

K nods. Words catch in his throat, tumble over one another. In the end, he is unable to utter any of them.

“Will you show it to me?” you ask with a gesture to his covered arm. “I want to be sure.”

With a tremor threatening to shake his body, he slips his fingers under the edge of his shirt sleeve and pulls it up to his elbow. His soulmark is laid bare before your eyes. The wound that he had left in his own skin when he had tried to carve out the design has faded to a raised, pale line.

“That wasn’t there before,” you murmur, taking his forearm in your hands. Your pointer finger traces over the scar.

His breath catches at your touch. Overwhelmed, he has to close his eyelids against the moisture welling up in his eyes. He opens them again when the pressure of your hands leaves and sees you taking off your own coat to toss it over the back of his chair. The replicant barely has a moment of respite before your left hand resumes its position cupping the underbelly of his forearm. You keep him steady as you raise your right arm and nestle it alongside his to place the soulmarks side by side.

K’s eyes hadn’t been deceived back then. They are perfectly identical.

It’s more than he can handle. He curls into himself, instinctively seeking the fetal position. His chin is against his shoulder, face turned away from you. He’s not sure if he’s burning up or drowning.

“Hey… hey.”

Suddenly, your arms are around him. K feels himself being guided in until he’s all but cradled against you as you ease the both of you to floor. He finds himself pressing his face against your neck as you rub a soothing hand up and down his back. For each moment that passes, the replicant grows increasingly more worried that he’s overstaying his welcome, but you don’t push him away. Instead, you gently rock him.

“I’m sorry,” he says, sounding choked even to his own ears.

“I’m sorry too. I misjudged you. Don’t get me wrong, I’m still pissed, but it wasn’t… I have an understanding of why you did what you did.”

Forcing himself to put some distance between your bodies, K finally pulls away. He doesn’t want to risk being reprimanded for taking too much. Your hands fall into your lap in the void he leaves behind.

There is a part of him that keeps expecting to discover that this is a vivid dream. Will he wake up and be staring at the water-damaged ceiling instead of your face? The hard floor under his knees, the chill of it creeping through the fabric and trying to find a home against his skin, seems to signal otherwise.

“Please don’t apologize. What I did was unforgivable.”

“John’s not mad at you, you know?” The words come as a surprise. He searches your eyes for a joke only to see sincerity reflected back at him. “He said you probably extended his life a few years by taking his eye and turning it in. Nobody’s gonna come looking for a dead man.”

“He’s not on our radar anymore. His file has been greyed out,” he says, getting to his feet.

Automatically, he reaches down to offer you his hand. It’s a mirror of your last interaction. He can tell by your expression that you are reliving the same memory as he. Still, you once again take his hand without hesitation. You hold it for just a moment before letting go. He doesn't think he imagined the reluctance.

“I don’t want to take up too much of your time, Officer. I don’t want to intrude,” you say, turning to pick up your coat from where you had left it.

“Please. Stay,” he bursts out. The feeling of imminent loss batters at the walls of his chest, “unless…”

“Okay.”

He blinks, not expecting the ease in which you had agreed. He’s left cycling through various scripts in the effort to find something to say. Latching onto a familiar interaction with Joi, he asks, “Do you want coffee?”

“Sure, I’d take some.”

K finds himself with you in his narrow kitchen. He heats the water while you take down two mugs and locate the instant coffee grounds after some direction from him. It’s domestic in a way that he was never able to have with Joi. With her, he didn’t need to worry about knocking elbows together or pressing her into the cabinetry while trying to reach for a pot holder.

Once the hot water is ready and split between the two mugs and stirred together, the two of you take seats on the couch. Between sips, conversation flows, a trickle at first and then a flood. You talk for hours, long after your mugs are drained and sat aside.

Following the natural progression of all things, the words begin to slow as tiredness sets in. Pauses between sentences lengthen like shadows. At seeing your eyes between to flutter shut, K rouses himself out of his own comfortable stupor.

“I’ll take the couch if you want to sleep in my bed tonight,” the replicant offers. He’s relaxed, at ease in a way he’s not sure he’s ever been. You’ve changed him.

The effort that it takes for you to keep your eyelids open as you think over his stab at hospitality only endears to you him further. Finally, you shrug and smother a yawn. “I’ll take you up on that. I don’t think I need to be behind the wheel like this.”

While you pull out your phone and send a message to your roommate to let him know your plans, K gets up and crosses the room to fold down the bed. He opens a nearby drawer and pulls out the pillow and blanket to put on the mattress. With a helpless twinge sigh, he surveys the setup. It’s not the lap of luxury, he knows, but he hopes it will be sufficient.

“All yours.”

“Thank you, K.” The light press of your fingers against his soulmark warms him almost as much as the use of his nickname. You had slipped into using it when he had admitted his preference for it over his job title or serial number in at some point in the previous hours.

He nods, a shy dip of his head and lets you slide under the blankets. After fetching his jacket off the hook to use as a blanket, he turns off the lights and lays down on the couch. Sleep comes to him almost immediately. It’s dreamless.

───※ ·❆· ※───

Morning comes to him with the shrill chiming of his alarm. Fumbling for his handheld, K silences it and lays still for a moment, staring up at the ceiling. The replicant fell asleep on the couch again. He knows that he has been doing that more often than he should. Too much alcohol and flipping through the pages of his book time and time again on the hunt for any new meaning that he can gleam from the words he knows by heart have contributed to this being a regular occurrence.

With a stiff back, he sits up and swings his legs to place his feet on the floor. He freezes right on the cusp of standing up. There is a body tucked into his bed and it’s not Joshi. Yesterday evening hadn’t been a whiskey soaked dream brought on by too much wishful thinking. It had been real.

K knows he needs to get ready to go to the precinct and pushes himself through his morning routine accordingly no matter how much he would prefer to wait at your side to resume the domesticity the two of you had begun to forge. By the time he’s out of the shower and dressed, you’ve gotten up and put the bed back in its stored away position. The bedding is neatly folded and set on a shelf with the pillow.

With his hair still damp, he observes you for a moment from the kitchen. You’re tracing the faded letters and numbers on the back of his jacket with a finger, clearly trying to decipher the characters.

“N7H00105,” he supplies, sparing your eyes.

Amusement causes the corners of his mouth to rise into a smile as you turn to him with an incredulous look. “How did you…? It’s so faded.”

“It was easier to read when I acquired it.”

“Another one of your job finds?” you ask, offering him the jacket when he approaches.

“Yes.”

While he’s pulling the comforting weight of the garment over his shoulders, he tracks you with his eyes as you step into your shoes and tie the laces. You haven’t put your coat on yet, leaving your arms bare. There is a moment of silence, the two of you regarding one another. He does not want to be the first one to make the gesture to leave and, it seems, neither do you.

Your teeth are worrying your bottom lip. He wonders what you’re thinking about, but in the clear light of day, he finds himself unable to ask. The sun has burned away some of the ease of last night.

Finally, you speak. “If you had the option, would you leave all of this behind?”

He blinks, uncomprehending. “What?”

“Your job. Your life here… Would you leave it behind?”

“I… I don’t have anything else.” His words are uncertain, shaky.

“What if I’m offering you something else?”

“My kind doesn’t run.”

“It’s not running, K. It’s living.”

Rattled by the conviction in your voice, he sits down on the couch. His chest feels tight as barely defined images of things he’d hardly dared to dream of race through his mind. The enormity of what you’re suggesting is all but unimaginable. He has been loyal to his madam’s cause since the day he was incepted. There could be no deeper betrayal than slipping free of his tether.

The sensation of your hand on his shoulder jolts him back into the present moment. He meets your concerned eyes for a heartbeat before he has to look away.

“You don’t have to decide right now. You can think on it.”

“Saturday. I’ll be ready on Saturday,” he chokes out. His heart is pounding in his throat. He knows he cannot risk sitting through another baseline in the wake of this. He will fail.

“You’re sure? You won’t be able to come back here.”

“Yes.” Recklessly—impulsively—he has made up his mind.

───※ ·❆· ※───

The Saturday of his departure dawns like any other. The sunlight peering into the apartment’s only window would make K’s morning wholly unremarkable in its routine if his surroundings hadn’t been wiped clean of any personal possessions but a select few items that he is leaving behind for his madam to repossess. His entire world had fit into one furtively purchased duffel bag.

His nerves are alight with restlessness as he waits for you to arrive. The replicant had spent a few fitful hours laying on his mattress before rising ahead of the sun to ensure his readiness for the life ahead. As part of his preparations, he finally purchased Joi’s anniversary present. An emanator. He had transferred her to it after yesterday’s shift at the precinct. She had been joyous, nearly overflowing with excitement for him when he had explained the situation to her. He had cautiously let himself share his own tentative optimism.

At the DiJi’s suggestion, he had snapped the emanator’s small antenna after deleting her save file from the main console. The risk of being tracked or leaving behind damning information was too great to allow for cloud backup. Despite his own trepidation, Joi had insisted the risk of her being able to die like a real girl was worth K’s freedom.

A firm knock against the door alerts the Nexus 9 of your arrival. With haste, he moves through the entryway to open the door for you. Both of you wait until it’s securely closed before you greet each other.

“Good morning,” you tell him.

K is just opening his mouth to respond in kind when you surprise him with a hug. The replicant wraps his arms around you, careful to not apply too much pressure. It’s a novel thing, getting to hold someone like this. Reluctantly, he lets his hold on you loosen after a short moment. He knows there is work to still be done. A final step in the plan.

Without you needing to ask him, he gestures to the table in front of the window. The supplies for the task ahead are already laid out on the surface. He strips off his shirt and sits backwards in the chair as best as he can while avoiding the armrests. K closes his eyes and tries to relax.

“I almost thought you might not come back,” he admits.

He hears the snap of disposable gloves against your wrists followed by the sound of your voice. “You’re my soulmate. The mark on your arm says I’m going to keep coming back for you.”

“Not everyone likes their soulmate,” K says quietly.

There’s the sound of a packet being torn open. He experiences the sensation of a disinfecting wipe passing over the area at the base of his neck. It’s cold against his skin. You focus most of the attention on the column of his spine, right in the center of his middle trapezius.

“True, but I realized the other night that, despite everything, I do like you. Congratulations, you now have me digging a tracking chip out of your back.” Your voice is colored with fondness. It makes him want to smile. How rare. He had kept his positive emotions hidden under cloth as though they were something precious to sequester out of sight.

Hissing against the sting, the tip of K’s eye extraction knife punctures his skin. The sensation of blood trickling from the wound begins shortly after he hears you set the knife on the table and pick up the tweezers. There’s a pinch, a strange pulling sensation, and then he opens his eyes just in time to see you drop the small device on the table alongside the bloodied blade. The tweezers clatter against the laminated surface and your gloved hand snatches up the platelet jelly.

“That was in deep. They nailed you between the vertebrae. John’s was right under the skin.”

“Wallace learned from the tail-end Tyrell models. Mostly what not to do.”

He hears you hum, interested. Packaging crinkles behind his head and he’s aware of you pressing a gauze pad against the sealed wound. Your touch is so gentle as to make him believe you think he is something worth care, that he might even be special.

“Hand me a bit of tape, please?”

Obligingly, he tears off a strip and passes it to you. His bare fingers brush against your gloved ones as you take it from him. You secure the tape in place and pat him on the shoulder. “You’re all done.”

The skin feels tender beneath the bandage. But it is as though his collar has been cut. He puts his shirt back on and layers his jacket over it while you peel the gloves off. To avoid leaving more identifying forensic evidence behind that would point to you as being the accomplice, you flip them inside out and tuck them into a pocket for later disposal.

At your searching look, K nods. He is ready. The replicant picks up his bag and, together, you make your way to the front door. He pauses on the threshold, door open. Your fingers find his and give them a squeeze before he adjusts the angle and interlinks them together. Like this, he can feel your pulse beat in time with his. He feels close to human.

With one final look at the apartment that has been his cell for the past few years, he gives it a silent goodbye and closes the door for the final time. He is free.

───※ ·❆· ※───

On Monday, when Joshi arrives with two organic officers as backup, she finds the apartment stripped of any personal effects. She picks up his discarded phone off the coffee table where he had laid it between his firearm and his badge. The woman throws it against the wall so hard it shatters. Pieces of plastic rain down onto the tile. He hadn’t even left her a note.

If she ever finds him, she is going to put a bullet in him with the gun he left behind. Still, there is a part of her that is grudgingly proud of him for finally biting her hand, taking it off right at the wrist. Her replicant was a lot of things—obedient, kind—but never a coward. He better have a good life while he can. She’s going to place a purchase order for his replacement the moment she gets behind her desk.

Do not repost, copy, or reproduce my work to other sites or in other media formats. Do not use it for anything to do with AI. Thank you.

[bettyfrommars]

S1 * 💗

Pretty please

Melll I'm so happy to see you in my asks you don't even know

Your Person is Hybrid Steve, your Place is a Concert Venue, and your Thing is Dealer's Choice, so I will give you Farrah Fawcett Hairspray

word count: 830

Steve is mostly just a vampire in this, a few visceral visions of gore, blood, drinking blood, allusions to tracking someone down and killing them. Hybrid Steve is a complicated boy, his primal urges take him to dark places every so often (babe I had no idea it would go this way 💀)

18+ONLY

"Let me see," you pulled Steve aside, ushering him closer to the bathroom of the hotel room. "It needs more...fluff."

You fingered the wave of a curl that bounced on his forehead, smoothing down his mutton chop sideburns with a satisfied hum.

"I look stupid," he mumbled, running a hand over the buttons of the loud Hawaiian print shirt you'd bought for him. It was an especially sultry night in Vegas, and he also had on a pair of chinos that hugged his ass just right. "I'm dressed like my dad."

"Close your eyes," you held a hand over his face while you sprayed his coif thoroughly with his favorite brand of hairspray, bursts of aerosol puffing everywhere. Once it was set to perfection, you adjusted the collar of his shirt, fingering the tuft of chest hair that was visible there.

"Do I look okay?" You stepped back, twirling to give him the full view.

"You always look good," he mumbled again, turning to give his reflection a dirty look in the hallway mirror, scratching the stubble on his jaw. "You really like it when I wolf out like this?"

You lifted your eyebrows a few times in eager approval.

"Good thing Eddie's not here, I'd never live this shirt down."

"Type O before we go?" There was a martini glass full of plasma on the counter, and you handed it to him before gulping the last bit of your wine. The Flamingo Hotel had an entire wing of the establishment dedicated to their vampire clientele, right down to the automatic blackout curtains and bottles of freshly extracted blood. Your boyfriend liked to drink his out of a cocktail glass, pinky out, because he was fancy like that.

Steve Harrington, the most reluctant vampire you'd ever met.

He took three big swallows, finishing the entire thing before setting the glass back down. "I'm not wearing flip flops like a dork."

"Your converse are right over there," you busied yourself with making sure you had everything you needed in your bag.

Once he had his shoes on, you handed him the spare key. "Keep this on the chain around your neck? In case you go into beast mode and I lose you."

"Beast mode" otherwise known as Steve changing into his hybrid wolf form and losing all control, hadn't happened in months, not since he'd done the arduous work of trying to control it. He'd made friends with the monster, as his therapist would say.

You preferred to feed him from your own vein, but that was another trigger, it tended to flip some animalistic switch inside of him. Once he began to change into the beast, there was no going back.

By the time you made it to the venue to see a world-famous vampire Elvis impersonator on foot, Steve was sweaty and grouchy. You were about to get seated at the designated red velvet booth you'd bought tickets for, when a big man going the other way bumped into Steve, knocking him in the shoulder so hard he stumbled to the side.

"Watch where you're going, Fanger," the other man hissed, continuing on his way. The term Fanger was a derogatory word for vampire used mostly by right wing extremists who didn't think they should be allowed in polite society, or even be allowed to exist, for that matter.

"The fuck did you say?" Steve's normally chocolate eyes glowed amber gold, and his fangs ejected. You stopped to grab his face in both of your hands, forcing him to look at you.

"Baby, breathe," you coaxed, shuffling closer. "Not tonight, Stevie, you promised."

His breaths were coming out forceful, like a bull about to charge, nostrils flaring. You held his face with all of your strength until you saw his eyes melt from tiger yellow back to brown suede again.

"Sorry," he huffed, pulling his fangs in, trying to avert his gaze, slightly embarrassed that such a small thing could rile him up and flush all the personal development he'd done down the toilet.

He'd hold your hand and watch Vampire Elvis jive around the stage in his bedazzled jumpsuits and he'd enjoy it. He'd try not to think about how good it would feel to rip that dude's body apart limb by limb, to drink from his bloody head like a cup. A smile quivered at the corner of his mouth as he thought about how horrible the screams would be while he shredded that knucklefuck with his bare hands.

You squeezed his knee, leaning in while the performance was going on. "That's the first time I've seen you smile all night."

Steve leaned into the grin letting his teeth show. He wanted to put you at ease and make you proud. He'd never loved anyone like you before and he'd do anything to keep you.

He'd track that guy later, while you were asleep, and then everyone would be happy.

Except for knucklefuck, of course. He'd be dead.

[ghostoffuturespast]

For the drink ask game:

I want the Mojito (just bc it is my favourite) 😁

Thank you for the ask @morganlefaye79!

Questions here

Mojito - Does your OC have any tattoos and/or piercings? If so, what are they? If not, do they want any?

V had her ears and a septum piercing in her youth, but she stopped wearing jewelry after enlisting with Arasaka security as a paramilitary soldier. Went against dress code and was also a safety hazard. Out of habit she just doesn’t wear jewelry anymore and during the course of her corporate career she got even less of a taste for dressing up fancy, she’d often have to dress up for meetings or work and she hated it.

V has a bunch of blackout tattoos covering up a good chunk, but not all, of the scars she's accumulated over the years. She got the tattoos done as a giant fuck you to some douche bag she was seeing who said she’d look better without them and wanted her to cover them up when they were out in public. V felt salty about that, so she went out, got inked, came back, and asked if “that was better?” then promptly kicked his ass to the curb. Haven’t actually given much thought to if the designs are different from the standard blackout ones in the game, and I’m not sure I ever will (the design is less important than the fact that she has them) but some sort of abstract geometric pattern.

[howardallison]

Essential Gear for City Explorers: Combining Function and Style

Exploring urban environments requires a blend of practicality and style. Whether you’re navigating through busy streets, hopping between meetings, or simply enjoying a day out, having the right gear can make all the difference. In this guide, we’ll cover the must-have items for city explorers that seamlessly combine function with fashion. By choosing the right gear, you’ll not only enhance your mobility and comfort but also ensure you look sharp while doing it.

## Key Pieces of Gear for Urban Exploration

City life demands versatile gear that can handle various situations while keeping you looking good. Here are the essential items to consider:

1. Versatile Outerwear

Outerwear is arguably the most important piece of urban gear. It needs to protect you from the elements while complementing your style. Look for jackets and coats that offer:

Water Resistance: Essential for unexpected rain showers.

Breathability: To keep you comfortable in changing temperatures.

Style: Choose pieces that enhance your overall look, such as sleek bomber jackets or classic trench coats.

Tip: Opt for jackets with multiple pockets and adjustable features to accommodate urban essentials like your phone and wallet.

2. Functional Footwear

Footwear is crucial for city explorers who spend a lot of time on their feet. The right pair of shoes should offer:

Comfort: Look for shoes with cushioning and support for long hours of walking.

Durability: Choose materials that can withstand wear and tear from daily use.

Style: Sneakers or boots that add a fashionable touch while remaining practical.

Tip: Consider shoes with anti-slip soles for better grip on slick city sidewalks.

3. Practical Bags and Backpacks

A bag or backpack should blend functionality with style. Look for features such as:

Spacious Compartments: For carrying essentials like a laptop, documents, and personal items.

Ergonomic Design: Padded straps and adjustable features for comfort.

Stylish Design: Sleek designs that complement your outfit and urban lifestyle.

Tip: A bag with anti-theft features can be a smart addition for added security in crowded areas.

4. Tech Accessories

In the digital age, tech accessories are indispensable. Consider items such as:

Smartwatches: For easy access to notifications and health tracking.

Portable Chargers: To keep your devices powered throughout the day.

Noise-Canceling Headphones: For a peaceful experience amid city noise.

Tip: Choose accessories that match your overall style and enhance your productivity on the go.

## Style Meets Function: Why It Matters

Combining style with function is crucial for urban explorers. The right gear doesn’t just look good—it also enhances your experience by providing practical benefits. Here’s why it’s important:

1. Enhances Comfort

Stylish yet functional gear ensures you stay comfortable throughout your daily activities. For example, a well-designed jacket with breathable fabric can prevent overheating, while a pair of supportive shoes can reduce foot fatigue.

2. Boosts Confidence

Wearing gear that looks great and works well can boost your confidence. When you’re comfortable and well-prepared, it shows in your demeanor and attitude, making you feel ready to tackle anything the city throws at you.

3. Improves Efficiency

Practical gear makes navigating the city more efficient. Features like spacious pockets, versatile designs, and smart tech accessories help you stay organized and on top of your game.

## Where to Find Quality Urban Gear

If you’re looking for high-quality urban gear that combines style and functionality, check out Blackout Techwear https://blackout-techwear.co.uk/. They offer a range of techwear apparel designed for the modern city explorer, featuring advanced materials and sleek designs that cater to both practicality and style.

## Conclusion

City exploration requires gear that can keep up with a fast-paced lifestyle while enhancing your style. By investing in versatile outerwear, functional footwear, practical bags, and tech accessories, you’ll be well-equipped to navigate the urban jungle with ease and confidence. Remember, the right gear not only makes your daily adventures more enjoyable but also ensures you look great while doing it. Happy exploring!

[noisycowboyglitter]

Campfire Camping Gear: Must-Have Items for Your Next Outdoor Trip

Campfire camping embodies the essence of outdoor adventure, merging primal connection with nature and modern recreational pursuits. As twilight descends, the flickering flames of a campfire become the heart of the camping experience, drawing people together in a circle of warmth and light.

Buy now:19.95$

The crackling fire serves multiple purposes: it provides heat, wards off wildlife, and creates a focal point for social interaction. Campers gather around, sharing stories, singing songs, and enjoying the hypnotic dance of the flames. The aroma of woodsmoke mingles with the scent of pine, creating an unforgettable sensory experience.

Cooking over the campfire adds a rustic flavor to meals, from roasting hot dogs on sticks to preparing more elaborate dishes in cast-iron cookware. As night deepens, the fire becomes a source of comfort and security in the vast wilderness.

Buy now

Campfire camping fosters a sense of community and self-reliance, allowing individuals to disconnect from modern distractions and reconnect with simpler pleasures. It creates lasting memories of starry nights, glowing embers, and the timeless magic of gathering around a fire in the great outdoors.

A camping camper tent gift is the perfect present for outdoor enthusiasts, combining practicality with the promise of adventure. These portable shelters come in various sizes and styles, from compact one-person tents to spacious family models. High-quality materials ensure protection from the elements, while innovative designs offer easy setup and takedown.

Buy now

Modern camping tents often feature convenient amenities like built-in storage pockets, gear lofts, and multiple entrances. Some models boast blackout technology for better sleep or mesh panels for stargazing on clear nights. For the tech-savvy camper, tents with integrated solar panels or USB ports add a touch of luxury to the wilderness experience.

Gifting a camping tent opens up a world of outdoor possibilities, from backyard sleepovers to backcountry expeditions. It's a thoughtful present that encourages exploration, connection with nature, and the creation of lasting memories under the stars.

Selecting gifts for camping enthusiasts combines practicality with the spirit of outdoor adventure. Popular choices include high-quality gear like compact stoves, lightweight tents, or cozy sleeping bags. Multi-tools, headlamps, and water filtration systems blend functionality with convenience. For comfort, consider portable

Buy now

hammocks or compact camping chairs. Tech-savvy campers might appreciate solar chargers or rugged smartwatches. Personalized items like custom camp mugs or engraved compasses add a thoughtful touch. Outdoor-themed books or field guides can enhance their wilderness knowledge. For a unique experience, consider gifting national park passes or guided adventure trips. These gifts not only equip campers for their next expedition but also show appreciation for their love of nature and outdoor living.

[rushescapegameme]

Level Up Your Home: Crafting the Ultimate Game Room

In the world of gaming, immersion is everything. Whether you're a casual player or a hardcore gamer, having a dedicated space where you can escape into your favourite games can take your experience to the next level.

Imagine a room where every element is carefully designed to enhance your gaming sessions – from the lighting to the furniture layout. Creating the ultimate game room in your home is not just about entertainment; it's about crafting an experience that transports you to another world. Here's how you can level up your home by designing the ultimate game room.

1. Choose the Right Space

The first step in creating your dream game room in Melbourne is choosing the right space. Ideally, you want a room that is spacious enough to accommodate your gaming setup comfortably.

Consider factors like natural light, noise levels, and accessibility when selecting the room. Basements, spare bedrooms, or even converted garages can make excellent game room options. Once you've chosen the space, it's time to plan out the layout

2. Optimize the Layout

The layout of your game room can significantly impact your gaming experience. Arrange your furniture in a way that maximises space and promotes comfortable gameplay. Keep your gaming setup as the focal point of the room, with seating positioned for optimal viewing angles.

Consider incorporating storage solutions to keep your gaming accessories organised and easily accessible. A well-planned layout will not only enhance the aesthetics of your game room but also improve functionality.

3. Invest in Quality Gaming Equipment

The heart of any game room is the gaming equipment. Invest in high-quality gaming consoles, PCs, monitors, and peripherals to ensure smooth gameplay. Choose a gaming chair that provides adequate support and comfort for long gaming sessions.

Consider installing a surround sound system or gaming headphones to immerse yourself fully in the audio experience. Don't forget about lighting – adjustable LED lights can create ambience and reduce eye strain during extended gaming sessions.

4. Personalize the Décor

Make your game room in Melbourne truly your own by personalising the décor. Choose a theme that reflects your gaming preferences, whether it's retro arcade, futuristic sci-fi, or fantasy adventure.

Incorporate artwork, posters, and memorabilia from your favourite games to add character to the space. Consider installing shelves or display cases to showcase your gaming collection.

Don't be afraid to get creative – adding unique touches like themed rugs or wall decals can enhance the overall ambience of your game room.

5. Create a Comfortable Atmosphere

Comfort is key when it comes to gaming, so make sure your game room is a comfortable place to spend time in. Choose comfortable seating options like bean bags, recliners, or gaming couches where you can relax during marathon gaming sessions.

Consider installing blackout curtains or blinds to block out glare and create an immersive gaming environment. Keep the room well-ventilated and at a comfortable temperature to prevent overheating during intense gaming sessions. With the right atmosphere, you can game for hours without feeling fatigued or uncomfortable.

Conclusion

Creating the ultimate game room in Melbourne is a labour of love that requires careful planning and attention to detail. By choosing the right space, optimising the layout, investing in quality equipment, personalising the décor, and creating a comfortable atmosphere, you can design a game room that elevates your gaming experience to new heights.

Whether you're battling dragons, racing cars, or exploring virtual worlds, your game room will be the ultimate sanctuary for all your gaming adventures. So, roll up your sleeves and start crafting the game room of your dreams – the ultimate gaming paradise awaits!

[portablegeneratorsreview]

AWANFI 518.4Wh Portable Power Station: Reliable Power Solution

AWANFI 518.4Wh Portable Power Station 500W is a versatile and reliable power solution for various needs, from camping to home backup during power outages. With multiple charging options and a compact design, this power station offers convenience and peace of mind. I recently purchased the Portable Power Station 500W by AWANFI for my camper van conversion, and it has exceeded my expectations. The ease of use and the ability to power multiple devices simultaneously make it a valuable addition to my setup. I have used it to run lights, charge my phone, and even power a plug-in heater, all with excellent results. The compact size and included carry bag make it easy to transport and store, adding to its practicality. AWANFI 518.4Wh : Versatile Charging Options Credit - Amazon.com   Buy On Amazon To suit different needs, the AWANFI portable power station offers a range of versatile charging options. With the ability to charge up to 8 devices simultaneously, including a PURE SINE WAVE 500W AC outlet, USB-C PD outlet, QC 3.0 USB port, and more, this power station provides flexibility for various devices. Whether you're camping, on a road trip, or experiencing a blackout at home, the multiple charging ports ensure you can stay connected and powered up. AWANFI 518.4Wh : Reliable Power Output Credit - Amazon.com   Buy On Amazon Designed to provide a reliable power output for your devices, the AWANFI 500W power station is. With a 500W pure sine wave AC output and 12V regulated DC output, this power station reduces noise and protects sensitive electronics from potential damage. The built-in BMS adds an extra layer of protection, guarding against short circuits, overvoltage, overcurrent, and other potential risks. This ensures a stable and secure power supply for your devices. AWANFI 518.4Wh : Portable and Convenient Credit - Amazon.com   Buy On Amazon Not only powerful but also incredibly portable and easy to carry, the AWANFI portable power station is. With a compact size and included carry bag, this power station is convenient to transport and store. Whether you're on the go or need backup power at home, the lightweight and compact design of this power station makes it ideal for various situations. Take it with you on your next camping trip or keep it handy for unexpected power outages. Wide Range of Use Credit - Amazon.com   Offering a wide range of uses, making it a versatile and practical solution for different scenarios, this portable power station from AWANFI is. Whether you're camping, traveling in an RV, or facing a blackout at home, this power station provides a reliable source of power. Keep your devices charged and operational wherever you are with this handy and efficient power station. AWANFI 518.4Wh : Easy Recharging Options Credit - Amazon.com   Giving you flexibility and convenience, the AWANFI portable power station offers three convenient ways to recharge. Whether you prefer to recharge with an AC 220v wall socket, solar panel (sold separately), or a 12V car socket, this power station can adapt to your charging needs. Enjoy the convenience of easy recharging options that suit your lifestyle and ensure you always have power when you need it. AWANFI 518.4Wh : User-Friendly Design Credit - Amazon.com   Making it easy to use and operate, the AWANFI portable power station features a user-friendly design. With a clear display showing important information such as power input and output, battery percentage, and frequency of the output power, you can monitor and control the power station with ease. The intuitive interface and straightforward controls make this power station accessible to users of all levels of experience. AWANFI 518.4Wh : Impressive Performance Credit - Amazon.com   For its impressive performance and reliability, customers have praised the AWANFI portable power station. From powering essential devices during power outages to providing a convenient power source for camping trips, this power station delivers consistent and efficient performance. With high ratings and positive reviews, it's clear that this power station is a reliable and valuable asset for anyone in need of portable power. AWANFI 518.4Wh : Solar Charging Capability Offering an eco-friendly and renewable energy source for recharging, one standout feature of the AWANFI portable power station is its solar charging capability. With the option to connect a solar panel (sold separately), you can harness the power of the sun to keep your devices charged and operational. This environmentally friendly feature adds an extra dimension of versatility to this already impressive power station. Read also: - Portable Power Station 93600Mah - Reliable and Versatile Power Solution - BEAUDENS Portable Power Station - Your Reliable Outdoor Power Solution - Portable Power Station 500W - Your Reliable Solution for Camping and Emergencies - SinKeu Portable Power Station: Versatile and Reliable Solution for Power Needs Conclusion In conclusion, the Portable Power Station 500W by AWANFI is a top-notch product that delivers reliable power on the go. Its versatility, portability, and ease of use make it a must-have for camping trips, road travel, and emergency situations. I highly recommend this power station for anyone looking for a convenient and efficient power solution. Questions & Answers: Question: Is the AWANFI portable power station suitable for camping trips? Answer: Yes, the AWANFI power station is ideal for camping as it provides portable power on the go, making it convenient for outdoor activities. Question: How long does it take to fully recharge the power station using a solar panel? Answer: Recharging the power station with a solar panel can take about 9 hours under direct sunlight, offering an eco-friendly charging option for outdoor enthusiasts. Question: Can the power station handle high-power devices like heaters or refrigerators? Answer: The power station may not be suitable for high-power devices like heaters, but it can handle smaller devices like phones, laptops, lights, and small appliances effectively. Buy On Amazon Read the full article

[proxylynn]

[Something that consumed my mind (and my attention) the last couple days is my love of FNAF's Daycare Attendant. So, with my creative drive hyped after mostly writing for a year, I dipped into my fave AU to give form to an idea that's been in my head. The Animatronic Handler AU by @get-rammed. I'll likely simplify the designs if I dabble in doddles with them, altering from the base Sun/Moon when I can think of things, though I do like my glow idea (based on the bots' cut emission glow that Eclipse then got, also the eye colors are based on in-game material like their plushies).]

The lore for the world that this version of Lynn in the AU involves mixing some things from the books, such as the DCA's origin as a theater animatronic that was then repurposed into working as a child caretaker. Something I'm adding is that during this time of implementation, Fazbear Entertainment being the cut corners wherever it can to save a buck scummy business tested this program on the children of employees. One such child was Lynsie. Now, the company being so lazy and cheap, they added the generators as a way to deal with the "Moon gimmick" without really dealing with it.

"The Sun robot was an old stage animatronic. Part of its theatrical schtick was to turn evil when the stage lights went off. When it was reprogrammed to be the day care attendant, the performance functions were taken out, but the darkness trigger couldn’t be removed. That, combined with the occasional blackouts in the day care, created the Moon side of the attendant, which results in several undesirable behaviors. Apparently, they had meetings about what to do, and they decided that fixing Sun was more trouble than it was worth. It’s cheaper to just make sure the lights stay on." - Abe, Bobbiedots, Part 1

Such behavior in this early state caused a now expunged incident that resulted in much hush money being made out to the families as compensation, good thing for their lawyers and NDAs, though the waking nightmares and physiological scarring that befell the kids is something that even bribes aren't going to cover for long. And as the years passed with only minor tweaks being done to their programming, these issues were prone to happening still.

"CUSTOMER COMPLAINT - My son never had sleeping problems. But after spending an evening in the daycare, he refuses to sleep with the lights out anymore! He just cries and cries. And then when I do let him keep the lights on, he wets the bed!" - Night Terrors, Duffel Bag collectable

Granted, these were getting to be rarer moments and Moon seemed to mainly traumatize "naughty" kids, though Sun was no better when it came to "rule breakers" that pushed his patience too far.

"I used to have so much fun in the daycare." "I never slept better than I did in the daycare." - Cassie

It was clear to Fazbear Entertainment that if they were to keep the Daycare in the Mega Pizzaplex and not lose on this investment (as most employees with families used the Daycare so as to not cut into their work or have to hire a babysitter, example being Cassie who's dad worked for the company as a Technician) a Handler would be needed to keep Moon and Sun in line.

An animatronic handler is quite a few things in one. A manager. An assistant. A mechanic. And a wrangler. These were some of the few human jobs that remained in the Pizzaplex after the implementation of the S.T.A.F.F. bots which replaced most of the human staff with automated ones. Handlers ensure everything goes accordingly, much like trainers and their animals, because while the bots are designed to perform their tasks like the well-oiled machines they are, the guests are random factors that can throw things out of whack. So when it comes to assigning handlers to main attractions like the Daycare Attendant, this proved to be easier said than done when compared to the Glamrocks. While both work with kids, Sun/Moon deal with them for longer more direct periods of time and the kids tend to be in that age range where they can be pure chaos. This is usually what breaks would-be Handlers due to their attention mostly being driven to the bot and the kids would be an annoying hassle to juggle. It would take a strong yet strange soul to handle this.

Then she applied for the job.

While originally rejected quite a few times due to being one of the kids from the proto-daycare testing, background checks into her life since then had been mostly brand positive and records indicated she was a regular to the Pizzaplex since her double digits. With little to make in excuses not to, they gave her a 5-day trial hire where she was shadowed to ensure no repeats were to trigger. Reports indicate that there was a slight oddity that occurred upon introducing them to each other. It appears despite data scrubbing, Sun recognized her. This likely is what allowed her to gain Moon's attention during lights out. As for her behavior around the kids, her childish nature and creative improvisation was well received.

Lynsie is a calm and charismatic woman that aids Sun and Moon with interacting with the kids. Her skill in keeping Moon calm when lights would help in restarting naptime as a normal thing that shouldn't be feared. The story time addition also helped. She wasn't a pushover either, the kindness she showed could easily becomes ominous when then moment called for it. Further instilling this was a small carabiner latch on her waist harness which let her use Moon's hook to move around the daycare like an overseeing hawk. Yet still not everything was sunshine and rainbows, but the clouds were shady and with not a drop of rain in sight. This brought a time of better reviews of the Daycare. Some negative experiences still occurred but now they were less frequent and less problematic.

Until...

“MANAGEMENT REPORT - With Bonnie out of commision, we are making Monty the new bass player. Parts and Service has already done the proper adjustments. This could be a good thing. Monty could be even more popular than Bonnie.” — Understudy, Duffel Bag collectable

“ATTENTION KITCHEN STAFF - All food materials must be securely stored at closing. Chica has been caught eating from the kitchen garbage after hours. The maintenance repairs are costly and will come out of kitchen staff paychecks. - MANAGEMENT” — Food Storage, Duffel Bag collectable

“ERRANT BEHAVIOR REPORT - Monty didn't show up for the main stage performance again. We found him in the same place we always do, the catwalks over Monty Golf. We can't have a repeat of last month. Someone hit the hole in one and the hurricane bucket knocked him down. Both legs were broken and required emergency parts and service work.” — Monty Mischief, Duffel Bag collectable

“ERRANT BEHAVIOR REPORT - Chica's personality chip has always been a bit 'quirky', but the new Pizza Flavored Monty Mystery Mix Slushy Syrup has adverse effects on her programming. She has attacked patrons, employees and S.T.A.F.F. for it. It is recommended that Monty Mystery Mix should be recalled before we're inundated with lawsuits.” — CHICA REPORT, Duffel Bag collectable

“ERRANT BEHAVIOR REPORT - Roxy never misses a race. She must be frying her circuits waiting for the raceway to reopen. Every time there is a test run on the track she gets in the way. If she keeps getting in the way, the track will never get fixed.” — Chasing cars, Duffel Bag collectable

“MAINT LOG: Chica - Don't let her sing! Messes with the navigation of the other bots. Horrible results when she sang during live performance. S.T.A.F.F. bots dropping serving trays, chaos, guest injuries, 12 lawsuits. Experimental voice box test failed. Replacement advised.” — CHICA UPGRADE, Duffel Bag collectable

“MAINT LOG: ROXY - Roxy sees things differently than the others. This upgrade was meant to help her win races. However, there are some side effects. Sometimes she will stare and talk to the other bots through walls.” — ROXY UPGRADE, Duffel Bag collectable

“MAINT LOG: MONTY - Montgomery's Claw upgrades allow him to play the bass. Following performances, he mostly uses them to cause damage. The fence repairs are getting costly.” — MONTY UPGRADE, Duffel Bag collectable

“Roxy did it again. Another braindead S.T.A.F.F. bot decapitated because it got in her way on the racetrack. I'm getting real sick of trudging over to West Arcade to fix these things. Why isn't there a S.T.A.F.F. repair station any closer? At least I have an extra Dance Pass so I won't get locked out again.” — SORE WINNER, Duffel Bag collectable

“Congratulations on your installation of the new and improved DJMM. The DJMM features eons of musical enjoyment using a patented technique called 'improv' (royalty free!). No two songs are ever the same. Save a fortune on cleanup! Using a series of connected tubes, the DJMM can run cleaning routines between set lists. If the need ever arises, activate the new "bouncer mode". (Warning: Bouncer mode still under development. Use of the bouncer mode will void your warranty.)” — ULTIMATE PARTY HOST, Duffel Bag collectable

“CUSTOMER COMPLAINT - Why did you reopen? Everyone remembers what happened to those kids.” — IT IS HAPPENING AGAIN, Duffel Bag collectable

“CUSTOMER COMPLAINT - We paid for the Glam Freddy Mega Deluxe Party Package and Freddy broke down as soon as he got on stage. We paid to have him at the table and sing happy birthday. He was supposed to give her the cake! My daughter's birthday has been ruined. I demand a refund.” — Party Foul, Duffel Bag collectable

Something was happening to the bots. Programming was going haywire, strange upgrades that seemed okay brought new behavior kinks that, personality duality that made it more apparent the "robots" were more like "evolving artificial intelligence" with human-like traits. Roxy is labeled as "the best" and cool but now displays insecurities and struggles to uphold this imposed image standard. Chica is presented as sweet and promotes healthiness but now displays hard-to-control impulsiveness and a "hunger" that makes no sense for a nonbiological being. Monty is the laid-back and chill dude in the band but now he displays territorial bouts of anger and constant destructive impulses that result in needless property damage. Freddy seemed to be the only one immune to this as he lacked any upgrades, but his systems did receive a minor bug fix that has been causing random twitching from flashing lights and his charge logs appear to be alerted with him disappearing for hours unknown. However, while there's no evidence of this, rumors point to Moon being the first to experience this weird "virus" as he went from being somewhat scary to downright malevolent at times. This caused Sun to get more neurotic and pushed "keeping the lights on" more heavily to prevent Moon from appearing.

This growing distress didn't help the handlers, who were now scrambling to adapt and understand what the hell is going on with not just these animatronics but their best friends. You can't just work with someone, human or animal or even machine, and not get attached when they too share their lives with yours. And for the handlers, seeing the Animatronics they've spent years with slowly devolve into shadows of themselves was painful because...Hell...No one knew what to do. What was causing it? Why was this happening?!

All of this would come to a devastating head on March 9th.

This would be the day the Pizzaplex died and would fall to ruin.

[whileiamdying]

A Man With a Past Best Forgotten Goes to All Lengths to Remember

By Dave Kehr Jan. 23, 2004

Even by the lax standards of January film releases -- this month is the traditional dumping time for studio films that didn't quite work out -- ''The Butterfly Effect'' is staggeringly bad.

Starring Ashton Kutcher, the shaggy-haired young actor best known for ''Dude, Where's My Car?'' and for dating Demi Moore, ''Butterfly'' is a supposed thriller that mines the memory loss theme that has been turning up with striking regularity in American movies, from ''Memento'' to ''Paycheck.'' Mr. Kutcher's character, Evan Treborn, is an earnest college student whose life has been marked by a series of blackouts surrounding traumatic events. Majoring in psychology (he keeps a rat maze in his dorm room), he hopes to discover the reason behind the mysterious black holes in his mind.

Simple self-protection might be one possible explanation, given that his repressed memories include, as the film reveals in a spiraling series of flashbacks, being nearly strangled to death as an 8-year-old by his criminally insane father; being forced to participate in a child pornography video directed by the abusive father (Eric Stoltz) of the little girl, Kayleigh, he has a crush on; watching as a young woman and her baby are blown to bits in a practical joke gone wrong; and watching as the neighborhood bully, Tommy (who also happens to be Kayleigh's brother), ties Evan's beloved terrier up in a canvas bag and sets it on fire. That's a lot to handle right there, but the film's writing and directing team, Eric Bress and J. Mackye Gruber, have some even more appalling atrocities in store for Evan as a young adult.

For reasons the film does not trouble to explain, Evan discovers that, if he reads a few lines from his childhood journals, he will be projected back in time to his traumatic moments, where he can change his behavior in small ways that will make a big difference later on. (This is where the title comes in, with its reference to the old canard about a butterfly flapping its wings in China and producing a tidal wave in New York.)

Sometimes Evan's adjustments seem to work out, as when he awakes from a time-travel session to find himself sharing a sorority house bed with Kayleigh, now grown into a radiantly happy 18-year-old (played by Amy Smart). But mostly his changes just lead to greater disasters, including one alternate reality in which Kayleigh is a scarred, drug-addled prostitute, living in what looks like Jodi Foster's old digs in ''Taxi Driver,'' and another in which Evan loses his arms and the use of his legs.

The complicated plotting soon spins wildly out of the control of the filmmakers (their last credit: ''Final Destination 2'') and begins producing unintentional laughs, as when Evan wakes up to find himself the newest and prettiest resident of a prison full of predatory neo-Nazi homosexuals.

But if the storytelling induces brain cramp, the imagery brings on a bad case of acid indigestion. The filmmakers return again and again to their movie's most repulsive visuals: the two naked children standing before a video camera, the dog squirming in the flaming bag, the mother, with her baby in her arms, approaching the mailbox in which Tommy has planted a lighted stick of dynamite. ''The Butterfly Effect,'' which opens nationwide today, is inhabited by a genuine spirit of cruelty, both toward its characters and its audience.

''The Butterfly Effect'' has been rated R (Under 17 requires accompanying parent or adult guardian). It includes several scenes of graphic violence, many directed against children and animals.

THE BUTTERFLY EFFECT

Written and directed by Eric Bress and J. Mackye Gruber; director of photography, Matthew F. Leonetti; edited by Peter Amundson; music by Michael Suby; production designer, Douglas Higgins; produced by Chris Bender, A. J. Dix, Anthony Rhulen and J C Spink; released by New Line Cinema. Running time: 113 minutes. This film is rated R.

WITH: Ashton Kutcher (Evan), Amy Smart (Kayleigh), Eric Stoltz (Mr. Miller), William Lee Scott (Tommy), Elden Henson (Lenny), Ethan Suplee (Thumper) and Melora Walters (Andrea).

[bluectex]

VELVET CURTAIN FABRIC

https://www.bluectex.com/products/velvet-curtain-fabric.html

Blutec velvet curtain fabric brings you a soft touch. velvet curtain fabric's drooping feeling is better, and it will not drop its color when it is cleaned. The printed velvet curtain fabric is relatively thick and has a good sound-absorbing effect. Bluec printed velvet curtains can prevent outdoor heat from entering the room. In winter, they can also let the heat go out to the outside, which has a good insulation effect. As one of the professional velvet curtain fabric suppliers in China, Bluetec provides quality custom velvet curtains designs. Feel free to contact at any time.

VELVET CURTAIN FABRIC SPECIFICATIONS

Material:

100%polyester

Weight:

200-350GSM

Width:

2.8-3.0M

Technics:

knitted

Style:

velvet fabric

Treatment:

dyed

Color:

customized

MOQ:

1000M

Packing:

plastic bag/woven bag or according to the customer's requirement

Application:

home textile, curtain fabric, upholstery fabric, etc.

Feature:

blackout, embossed, fashion, printed, etc.

WHY CHOOSE BLUEC VELVET CURTAIN FABRIC

Bluec curtain velvet fabric for sale has several advantages that make it a popular choice for home decor. Some possible advantages include:

Luxurious appearance: Velvet curtains decor has a soft, plush texture that gives it a luxurious and elegant appearance. This can make it a great choice for high-end home decor, such as in a formal living room or dining room.

Insulating properties: Heavy velvet curtain fabric is a thick, heavy fabric that can provide insulation and help regulate temperature. This can make it a great choice for use in bedrooms or other areas where warmth and comfort are a priority.

Light-blocking properties: Velvet curtain fabric is also a good light-blocking fabric, which can make it a great choice for use in bedrooms or other areas where privacy and light control are important.

Durability: Velvet curtain material is a durable fabric that can withstand wear and tear over time. This can make it a good investment for long-term use in the home.

Versatility: Velvet curtain fabric comes in a wide range of colors and styles, which can make it a versatile choice for a variety of home decor styles. It can be used in everything from traditional to modern decor.

Overall,  Bluec velvet curtain fabric supplier has many advantages that make fabric for curtains a popular choice for home decor. Its luxurious appearance, insulating and light-blocking properties, durability, and versatility are just a few of the reasons why it's a great choice for curtains and other home decor applications.

VELVET CURTAIN MATERIALS IN DIFFERENT COLOR APPLICATIONS

The velvet curtain fabric is a luxurious and versatile material that can add a touch of elegance to any room. When it comes to curtains, velvet is an excellent choice because it is both functional and stylish. Velvet curtains are often used in formal spaces, such as living rooms and dining rooms, but can also work well in more casual rooms, like bedrooms and home offices.

One of the great things about velvet is that it comes in a wide range of colors, making it easy to find a shade that complements your decor. Here are some of the most popular velvet curtain materials for sale and their colors and applications:

Black: Black velvet curtain fabric is a classic choice for a formal, sophisticated look. They work well in spaces with a monochromatic color scheme or as a contrast to lighter-colored walls.

[atinyladybug-daydreams]

I posted 1,548 times in 2022

That's 1,454 more posts than 2021!

270 posts created (17%)

1,278 posts reblogged (83%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@tasmanianstripes

@sleepyflameygoblin

@bl00dblte

@atinyladybug-daydreams

@wemblingfool

I tagged 1,543 of my posts in 2022

#alt reblogs - 1,222 posts

#alt rambles - 244 posts

#scp - 117 posts

#dr bright - 91 posts

#art goals - 89 posts

#tips - 86 posts

#stardew valley - 70 posts

#aesthetic - 67 posts

#alt draws - 63 posts

#jack bright - 61 posts

Longest Tag: 134 characters

#and your colleagues are watching you losing braincells and me having the time of my life shaking the bells on my bastardly clown shoes

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

EVERYONE WAKE THE FUCK UP I FOUND A NEW JACK BRIGHT VARIATION AND I'M GOING FUCKING FERAL

The Bellaverse Canon has Bright as a fucking GOD and their name is Abirt and they literally judge the sinners who died I'm fucking losing it oh my god-

SCP Pantheon real I'm fucking- holy shit- I can't believe this-

We have so many canon variations of Bright now we have Monke Bright, Fish Bright, Flesh Pit Bright, Flower Bright anD NOW A LITERAL DEITY BRIGHT

BOI-

123 notes - Posted April 19, 2022

#4

20 Random Personnel HCs no one asked for but I'm giving it here anyway because why not.

I'm bored and I want to think about the clowns. I also want to talk about the clowns.

Glass doesn't like it when he comes to work and sees something wearing the same shirt as he is. That being said, he keeps a few extra sweaters in his office to change into when someone does wear the same shirt as him

Bright has a collection of different types and designs of canes. She invests in it a lot because it's the one familiar thing- aside from 963 which she actively hates, in her body hopping problem. Her favourite is the hotpink offset cane with spikes.

Kondraki carries condiment packets in his pockets all the time. No one knows why. No one sees him restock it. He just always have it. "That bastard Clef always need them," is his answer everytime he's asked.

Gears carries an antique watch in his pocket. You can see the chain from his labcoat. He wants to give it to Alison one day.

Yoric also has a pocket watch given by Jack. It doesn't work anymore but he still keep it on him at all times. Says it's his lucky charm.

Jack completely disowned Yoric's parents. They're no longer part of the official Bright family tree too. Most the family shuns them. They're wary of Yoric most the time because of that.

The pocket watches were definitely matching for Gears and Jack as a sign of their friendship. It's also viewed as an heirloom.

Yoric can play the guitar and sing. He's also knows how to tap dance. No one knows where he learned it or when.

Clef's hawaiian shirt are all special and unique. Some even had extra stuff added to it- much like Mabel's sweaters from Gravity Falls. He definitely has one hawaiian shirt with led-lights sewn into the pattern.

In case of a blackout, Clef is a really good glowstick/source of light because for some reason all his shirts glow in the dark.

Diogenes definitely has tampons and pads at their desk/bag/pocket at all times and will whip them out when someone starts bleeding (not from injury).

Diogenes and Lament are pretty close and they have lunch a lot together to bitch about stuff and gossip. They're also drinking buddies. Also, they're up to date with the latest workplace drama and tea.

Iceberg met Lament once and they had an office chair race down the hallway. There was a really big betting pool on who would win. Jack was the one who started it.

Cimmerian hates store-bought butter and makes his own butter. Yes, it's more expensive. No, he doesn't care.

Finding Iceberg in summer clothing is very common during the winter months as he does not get cold. Hot Girl Summer got delayed. It's Depressing Incel Winter for Iceberg. Also he wears crop tops. I will not change my mind

Jack and Gears are childhood friends. Gears is almost as old as Jack is- if not perhaps a year or two older.

Jack is surprisingly a good cook. In fact, she enjoys cooking a lot. It's one of the things that they like to do to shift their focus away from depressing thoughts.

No one really notices but Gears' love language is feeding people. If he likes you, he buys you lunch and brings you snacks a lot.

Glass definitely once tried baking pot brownies. He says it's for the science but it was actually beacuse he lost a bet with Jack and Clef and had to bake it for them.

Clef smokes weed and definitely has a stash in his office, car and home. Kondraki joined him once. Never again.

146 notes - Posted September 7, 2022

#3

See the full post

149 notes - Posted March 23, 2022

#2

See the full post

251 notes - Posted September 9, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

SCP memes because I can. And also because I was given the idea.

Ice boi commits Arson

See the full post

321 notes - Posted March 16, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[preppernewstoday]

Preppers and Survivalists are not like 99% of the world’s population. When we take measures to ensure our survival regardless of the disaster, we tend to have a higher understanding of certain concepts which most of the public does not grasp. I have thrown together a list of some of those things that it seems that only preppers understand. This list is by no means an exhaustive one; instead, it is a few things that I know the average prepper understands that most of the public does not. Knowing How Many Resources Our Homes Actually Consume When you want to prepare to be off-grid for any length of time, one of the first things we do is figure out how much our household consumes in the way of resources during that timeframe. To this end, most preppers have a detailed and intimate understanding of how much power, water, food, and consumable supplies their family uses in a day, week, month, or year. For example, knowing how much power we need to continue operating with some semblance of normalcy after the grid goes down means we can get the correct sized battery bank or generator to accomplish our goals. Related: If You Have A Generator, Do This Immediately Every Bag Has A Purpose When we start gathering supplies and gear, inevitably, it all needs to be organized and packaged so that we can carry it. To the average person, it would seem that there are an awful lot of random bags in our homes but ask the prepper that lives there, and they’ll tell you what each bag is for. Bugout bags, get-home bags, comms bags, range bags, tool bags, first aid bags, possibles bags, etc., the list is almost exhaustive. Along with all the various bags and pouches, preppers like to save containers and tins for further storage and organization. I discovered that a plastic case for a drill bit nicely fit eight AA batteries, and I’ve lost count of how many times I bought Altoids so that I could use the tin afterwards. You Can Never Have Enough Five Gallon Buckets If having a bunch of bags and tins lying around wasn’t enough, I find that most preppers have a healthy supply of five-gallon buckets as well. I must resist the urge to pick a couple up each time I have to run down to the Home Depot. These buckets are fantastic for food storage and work great for storing all sorts of gear. I like to make kits designed to be stored inside a five-gallon bucket. They are perfect for keeping in the crawlspace and easy to lift in and out. I also like five-gallon buckets because the lids fit tight and provide a fantastic seal. When The Tank Gets Down To Half Its Time To Find a Gas Station Whenever there is an evacuation order or alert, the masses of people fleeing the area suck the gas stations dry on their way out of town. While I am guilty of driving around town running on fumes from time to time, I prefer to fill my tank when I see the gauge flirting with the halfway mark. I usually have enough stabilized gas on hand at any given time to provide about half a tank of gas for my truck, so I know that if push came to shove, I could top off my fuel tank even if all the gas stations in the area are empty. Lately, this practice has taken on increased urgency. Almost weekly, I notice gas stations in my area not having any gas to sell because of supply chain issues. Related: What’s the Best Fuel to Stockpile for Survival? Inevitably, the second the station fills its underground tanks, the line ups of people who let their cars run too low is excessive. Power Outages Are Practice For The Apocalypse I love blackouts. Not only does the noise floor for my ham radios drop to almost nothing, but it gives my family and I a practice run for living in a grid-down society. I like to switch the refrigerators over to the solar battery bank and pull out the Jackery solar generator to keep our devices charged up. ⇒ This Homemade Device Can Power Up Your Entire House 7 Days In A Row I also use it as a learning experience as well. I like to take notes on anything that failed or things that would have made life easier for next time.

Have A Manual Tool For Each Power Tool When the grid fails, we will have to switch to whichever backup source we choose. Once we are on off-grid power, we need to consider the value of depleting that power resource, even a little, to accomplish tasks around the home. It is safe to say that the majority of preppers have several manual alternatives to their power tools. Hand saws, old hand drills, hand planes, or hammers and nails, are all practical options that do not require electricity. Related: 25 Powerless Appliances for Your Homestead Kitchen I also think that it is important to use these off-grid methods from time to time to keep our skills sharp and our muscles used to using them. The Importance Of Rotation A stockpile of food and water doesn’t do much good if it expires all at once. As preppers, we make sure to rotate all our supplies with a shelf life so that the oldest items are used first. This keeps the supply fresh and allows us to use the stuff that is about to reach the end of its usable lifespan by integrating them into our daily lives. Gasoline is especially important to rotate since even stabilized gas and diesel have a definite lifespan. It is as simple as topping up our gas tank with the gas at the end of the rotation and re-filling the jerry can with fresh gas that can then be stabilized. There are too many things that only preppers understand to list here, and I think most preppers and survivalists would make many additions to this list. This article aims to illustrate the difference between us who are prepared and those in the public who have made no efforts to ready themselves. While most who read this already know these things, it might be a good idea to forward this piece to friends or family to spark an honest conversation about the importance of preparedness. ⇒ 70+ Projects You Need to Outlast Any Crisis

[portablegeneratorsreview]

AWANFI 518.4Wh Portable Power Station: Reliable Power Solution

AWANFI 518.4Wh Portable Power Station 500W is a versatile and reliable power solution for various needs, from camping to home backup during power outages. With multiple charging options and a compact design, this power station offers convenience and peace of mind. I recently purchased the Portable Power Station 500W by AWANFI for my camper van conversion, and it has exceeded my expectations. The ease of use and the ability to power multiple devices simultaneously make it a valuable addition to my setup. I have used it to run lights, charge my phone, and even power a plug-in heater, all with excellent results. The compact size and included carry bag make it easy to transport and store, adding to its practicality. AWANFI 518.4Wh : Versatile Charging Options Credit - Amazon.com   Buy On Amazon To suit different needs, the AWANFI portable power station offers a range of versatile charging options. With the ability to charge up to 8 devices simultaneously, including a PURE SINE WAVE 500W AC outlet, USB-C PD outlet, QC 3.0 USB port, and more, this power station provides flexibility for various devices. Whether you're camping, on a road trip, or experiencing a blackout at home, the multiple charging ports ensure you can stay connected and powered up. AWANFI 518.4Wh : Reliable Power Output Credit - Amazon.com   Buy On Amazon Designed to provide a reliable power output for your devices, the AWANFI 500W power station is. With a 500W pure sine wave AC output and 12V regulated DC output, this power station reduces noise and protects sensitive electronics from potential damage. The built-in BMS adds an extra layer of protection, guarding against short circuits, overvoltage, overcurrent, and other potential risks. This ensures a stable and secure power supply for your devices. AWANFI 518.4Wh : Portable and Convenient Credit - Amazon.com   Buy On Amazon Not only powerful but also incredibly portable and easy to carry, the AWANFI portable power station is. With a compact size and included carry bag, this power station is convenient to transport and store. Whether you're on the go or need backup power at home, the lightweight and compact design of this power station makes it ideal for various situations. Take it with you on your next camping trip or keep it handy for unexpected power outages. Wide Range of Use Credit - Amazon.com   Offering a wide range of uses, making it a versatile and practical solution for different scenarios, this portable power station from AWANFI is. Whether you're camping, traveling in an RV, or facing a blackout at home, this power station provides a reliable source of power. Keep your devices charged and operational wherever you are with this handy and efficient power station. AWANFI 518.4Wh : Easy Recharging Options Credit - Amazon.com   Giving you flexibility and convenience, the AWANFI portable power station offers three convenient ways to recharge. Whether you prefer to recharge with an AC 220v wall socket, solar panel (sold separately), or a 12V car socket, this power station can adapt to your charging needs. Enjoy the convenience of easy recharging options that suit your lifestyle and ensure you always have power when you need it. AWANFI 518.4Wh : User-Friendly Design Credit - Amazon.com   Making it easy to use and operate, the AWANFI portable power station features a user-friendly design. With a clear display showing important information such as power input and output, battery percentage, and frequency of the output power, you can monitor and control the power station with ease. The intuitive interface and straightforward controls make this power station accessible to users of all levels of experience. AWANFI 518.4Wh : Impressive Performance Credit - Amazon.com   For its impressive performance and reliability, customers have praised the AWANFI portable power station. From powering essential devices during power outages to providing a convenient power source for camping trips, this power station delivers consistent and efficient performance. With high ratings and positive reviews, it's clear that this power station is a reliable and valuable asset for anyone in need of portable power. AWANFI 518.4Wh : Solar Charging Capability Offering an eco-friendly and renewable energy source for recharging, one standout feature of the AWANFI portable power station is its solar charging capability. With the option to connect a solar panel (sold separately), you can harness the power of the sun to keep your devices charged and operational. This environmentally friendly feature adds an extra dimension of versatility to this already impressive power station. Read also: - Portable Power Station 93600Mah - Reliable and Versatile Power Solution - BEAUDENS Portable Power Station - Your Reliable Outdoor Power Solution - Portable Power Station 500W - Your Reliable Solution for Camping and Emergencies - SinKeu Portable Power Station: Versatile and Reliable Solution for Power Needs Conclusion In conclusion, the Portable Power Station 500W by AWANFI is a top-notch product that delivers reliable power on the go. Its versatility, portability, and ease of use make it a must-have for camping trips, road travel, and emergency situations. I highly recommend this power station for anyone looking for a convenient and efficient power solution. Questions & Answers: Question: Is the AWANFI portable power station suitable for camping trips? Answer: Yes, the AWANFI power station is ideal for camping as it provides portable power on the go, making it convenient for outdoor activities. Question: How long does it take to fully recharge the power station using a solar panel? Answer: Recharging the power station with a solar panel can take about 9 hours under direct sunlight, offering an eco-friendly charging option for outdoor enthusiasts. Question: Can the power station handle high-power devices like heaters or refrigerators? Answer: The power station may not be suitable for high-power devices like heaters, but it can handle smaller devices like phones, laptops, lights, and small appliances effectively. Buy On Amazon Read the full article

[8thparadox]

middle earth races lineup :) each line represents 6 inches coloration of eyes, hair, skin has no correlation to sex. blocked out all the genetalia and female-presenting-nipples (as it were)

hobbits:

- half the size of humans - they get tails because i like to have fun sometimes - also it makes them more creature like - hobbits are little british countryside people and are all pale but they also all have like.. intense capris and 3/4 length sleeve tans. - the bottom of their feat are hard, and they can feel basically nothing through them. - fur on their hands as well as their feet cause like i said, i like to have fun sometimes.

dwarves: - my beloved <3 - i don't think it's properlly represented here cause these were the first i drew so i hadn't quite figured out the style but male dwarves have boobs. the avarage male dwarf has more tiddie then the average female elf. sorry. - their bodies are thick so i had to make their arms thick so i had to make their hands thick - anyways congrats to bilbo baggins for bagging himself a dude with fingers thicker than any dick he could find in the shire - both male and female dwarves can become pregnant and carry children, but only male dwarves can impregnate. - (the tattoos on the male dwarves stomach are actually a prayer for conception :) mayby i'll talk about my dwarf religion hc later) - dwarves have 2 eyelids - i'm actually in love with the female dwarf she is my gf now <3 - blue is actually a common enough color for dwarves to have, comparable to orange for humans, though often blue-haired dwarves go grey quite quickly

men: - y'all know what fucking humans are

elves: - female elves are on average taller than male elves - "tolkien said elves int he thrid age are the same height as men" yeah but tolkien's dead.. and i'm alive and say that they are freakishly tall tree people cause i think it's funny. - they have disproportionately long arms and fingers. - little to no body hair - male elves have no nipples (soley because i thought that it's funny) - male elves also do not have balls (i have support on this) - female elves have like.. tentacles, but they retrace into their bodies when not in use (the use is sex)

orcs: - one think that i wanted for sure when making this is keeping the design of orcs related to elves in a way that it's clear that one came from the other. so basically everything from above carries over here. - orcs are just severely messed up extra hunky elves. - pointy teeth - female orcs lost the ability to retract their tentacles. that's why the blackout box on the female orc is so big.. they're just handing loose

[wanderingwomanwondering]

Buddie 601 - Joining the Couch Discourse

Long post about Buck, home, comfort, self-discovery, and couches. Like the 1000 posts that have probably already covered this topic lol. Jumpin’ in! Weewoo weewoo

Buck: I just want to know what these other candidates have that apparently I don’t.

Buck has a long history of feeling unworthy, forgotten, and overall abandoned. The fire captain stuff is the work version of that age-old feeling for Buck. But the subtext transitions to Buck talking to Eddie and Chris about love and family. He’s asking why can’t he find the life he wants with the people he loves.

Chris: Buck, you don’t even have a couch. *Eddie laughs*

Chris’ answer was funny but also deep af lol. Buck hasn’t made a home within and for himself. Couches seem like important symbols of home and comfort within that home. Buck doesn’t have that yet. Even in this scene he’s so focused on proving himself at work that he’s not realizing that there’s nothing to prove to anyone else when you’re at home within yourself and also with the people who love you aka Eddie and Chris who are sitting RIGHT THERE.

Buck: Uh…*looks up feeling thoroughly roasted*

Buck’s energy was very “explain yourselves, sirs” LOL!

Chris: Boom! *fist bump with Eddie*

Christopher Diaz. Prince of Princes. King of Kings. Also, this feels like Eddie’s heart and head coming together to say something meaningful, but cryptic because he still doesn’t have the words, to Buck.

Buck: …so, what does that have to do with being fire captain?

Poor Buck still doesn’t understand that THIS IS NOT ABOUT THE WORK STUFF! Don’t worry. Eddie will wait until you figure it out, Buck. No guarantee he won’t be a little huffy by then tho LOL. That man is tired of old patterns and ready for something extraordinary and real. Even if he doesn’t have the words quite yet. He’ll find ‘em though since this IS a game of Boggle for him.

Chris: It’s weird. *Eddie snickers and looks at Chris with affectionate amusement*

Chris is a kid so his comment read as a perfect kid response to a big question. Still though couches are common features of homes and the people who are at home in them. Buck is not at home in his own house and not in his own skin either. He’s also an adult so from a kid’s perspective…that’s weird. Eddie high-key agrees though he may not have phrased it that way.

Buck: My last two couches came with girlfriends. *picking up the salad and bringing it over to the table*

Buck is saying that his sense of comfort and home came with girlfriends that didn’t work out. So now he’s taking a break from comfort, home, AND girlfriends lol. Nevermind the fact that he has home and comfort with Eddie and Chris even though he can’t see it. Anyway. Eddie and Chris keep calling BS on the lack of a couch.

Salad Aside: salads are symbols in the show of trying to put the pieces together into something that you can eat and is nutritious BUT it’s a starter. Not usually the main course. Also people in the show are usually working through somewhat unpleasant things while making, serving, or eating them. We see this when Chris makes the early Ana salad and breaks the bowl. When Eddie has his panic attack during the blackout and later carries a bag of THREE Ana salads to a refrigerator that DOESN’T WORK. Buck making a salad with Taylor in 509 during that weak ass “I love you scene”. Maddie and Buck eating salads during their talk about raising children. When Eddie is making a salad with dinner as Chris worries about him and his mental health. 

Yeah. Buck’s Fire Captain stuff is the start of something big and difficult for him because it was a salad he was making in the kitchen and preparing to serve to Eddie and Chris. The main course was Bobby’s lasagna and Eddie does NOT want that. His facial expression and tone were…off. He doesn’t have the words yet for what he wants from Buck but it’s not Bobby’s famous recipe. He wants Buck when he’s ready and able to serve him and Chris a recipe of his own design. Until then he’ll eat the lasagna but he WILL NOT be satisfied!!

Eddie: I think you mean your last two girlfriends came with couches. *Buck gives a “what are you two getting at look to both Eddie and Chris” and then Eddie adjusts his position, like he’s trying to level with Buck* Taylor moved out four months ago, Buck. You could have replaced the couch by now.

Eddie low key said that Buck NEVER HAD a sense of comfort and home that was HIS OWN. We met Buck in the start of the show with 80 roommates. Then he was living at Abby’s house. Then he was couch surfing. Then with Maddie. Then when he finally decided to get the loft it was with Maddie’s prompting and his gf Ally making comfort and home decisions. Then he asked Taylor to move in and she replaced the Ally couch with her own later taking it with her when he dumped her.

So yeah. Boom. Buck never had a couch. Never had a sense of home and comfort. Only a series of girlfriends that brought their sense of home and comfort with them and loaned it to him for a while. 

Eddie has Buck’s back. It’s mildly uncomfortable for Buck (the heat of the roast) but Eddie is suggesting something super friggin’ important. Buck needs HIS OWN couch. Not his ex-gf’s and NOT EDDIE’S. Eddie is the first to gently imply all that that entails. Bobby spells it out later in the ep. Given the deep layer of selfhood and identity involved with the issue, I think it was perfect coming from Bobby who’s his father figure and mentor and NOT DIRECTLY FROM HIS FUTURE HUSBAND and current best friend who we all know will be supporting him through ALL of this while hanging back at the right times so Buck can find HIS OWN way back to him. 

Eddie, Chris, and Bobby will be there for Buck always but this bit of heavy personal lifting he has to done on his own to a degree. Sweet Divine I can’t wait to see what kinds of heart to heart conversations come out of Buck’s personal journey! GAAAHHHH!!!