#these organs are going somewhere eventually goddammit

[general-sleepy]

The Organ Trail has come to a halt. I was stoked about starting the kidney donation process, but first I had to clear it with my family. I told myself going in that if I ever got a straight veto from anyone in my family, that would be it. I got that veto, so it looks like all of these organs are staying in place. I'm bummed, but I think it's the right thing to do. I signed up to donate marrow, though, and I can donate blood and plasma. I can exploit at least some of these superfluous body parts.

[hpalways]

Commissions || Childe

UNPREDICTABLE people were like magnets to you, somehow always managing to show up. Usually, you would avoid them at any given chance, preventing further interactions from occurring. As an adventurer, you didn't work for the thrill, but rather for the money. That meant that deep inside, you longed for a peaceful life, which was the main reason why there were certain beings that shouldn't exist in your reality. So how did it go oh-so-terrible with Tartaglia?

You first met Tartaglia -- also known as Childe -- in Liyue Harbor when you were at a stall to buy food. You had a few commissions in tail, waiting to be resolved for the day. But first, food was on your mind. It wouldn't do any good to fight hilichurls and whatnot with an empty stomach. As you were about to dig into your trouser's pockets to find any mora, a man stepped up in front of you, blocking the way. Assuming that he was budging you in line, you opened your mouth to protest, but the words faltered to come out when the male whirled around to face you.

Deep, blue eyes stared into your soul, twinkling mischievously... and somehow, you couldn't read into them. Fiery, orange hair accompanied his features, going unexpectedly well with the blue. Smiling at you crookedly, he saluted you with a gloved hand. A red mask was adorned on the side of his head, matching the red details on his overall gray outfit. He was very tall and attractive -- taking you momentarily off guard. 

"I'll pay for your meal. My treat," he easily told you, making a show of flashing the lump of mora in his hands. He even went as far as to swing his arm around your shoulders like the two of you were friends. The warm, close contact nearly caused you to freeze in place, getting flustered all over. What the hell was happening?

"Oh... sure," you uttered, staring blankly at him. Well, there was no use turning him down. The word treat was enough to hook and wheel you in. 

"What's your name?" he inquired in a friendly manner, lugging you along as if you were a ragged doll through the waiting line.

Hesitating to answer for a second, you were beginning to look stupid under his expecting gaze. There was a reason though: you were wary of strangers, having learned that the hard way when you encountered Treasure Hoarders one time. But seeing how amused this man was by your internal debate, you pushed the doubts away and decided to go for it. "I'm [Y/N]. You?"

"Lovely name befitting for a lovely person," he mused, leaving you embarrassed. "I'm Childe."

It was then your turn to order. Letting his arm around you go, he straightened up and nudged you ahead. The warmth evaporated from you and you suddenly wished for his touch again. Horrified by your thoughts, you brushed them away and stepped up to the front, telling the chef your order. 

Once that was done with and the food was received, you sat down at a table outside. Three whole dishes filled of food, you wasted no time to dive into them, the steamy aroma wafting into the air. Mouthful of food, you almost choked when you found the so-called Childe sitting down in front of you. Coughing for a good minute or two, you suffered as he watched you in enjoyment. When you could catch your breath, you averted your gaze to the table. Oh god, you wished you could bury yourself before you could humiliate yourself any further. He shouldn't have followed you here. 

"I'm surprised you bought three whole dishes for yourself," he pointed out, taking delight in teasing you. 

You scowled and looked at him, the shameful emotion fading away. "Are you insinuating something?" you asked, squinting at him. He rose his brows in surprise, quickly shaking his head to explain he meant no harm. Sighing, you decided to go all out then. If he already knew your name, what difference would it make to share a few more things about yourself? Besides, this was Liyue Harbor we're talking about; no one was that desperate to seek out trouble so publicly. "I'm an adventurer and I also do commissions. Fighting takes up a lot of my energy, so only one meal wouldn't suffice."

Something swirled in his eyes -- unknown and still just as unreadable. However, you paid no mind to it, too absorbed by the food and the conversation to notice. Maybe this was where it went wrong. "An adventurer?" he echoed, his voice breathless. His ears seemingly perked up and he leaned forward in his seat, anxious to hear more. "What would you say if I tagged along with you today?"

It was shocking to hear that, but eventually, you accepted his self-invitation and brought him along to the locations. Setting off by foot, the two of continued onward with full bellies and enough energy to last several hours. The land stretched for miles and miles, scaping the grounds of hills, mountains, rivers, and meadows. Hogs ran through the trees and birds soared in the skies. Monsters rolled around in the dust, waiting to ambush anybody in the way. The sun beating down upon your backs and the weather a little too warm for liking, it was a difficult trek, but nothing close to impossible for an adventurer.

The fighting began when the destination to a pack of hilichurls appeared on sight. Unsheathing your blade, you immediately attacked them, continuously slashing away until they were entirely cleaned up. Breathing heavily with sweat beading your forehead, you did all the dirty work as Childe inspected from the side, his eye following your every move.

It wasn't easy though. You struggled at some areas, sometimes missing them or getting slightly injured by their own weapons. It was sloppy and flawed, for you were not a skilled swordsman, born without the talent and money. Anyway, it didn't matter much; as long as you did the job, that was what mattered. 

The next one took place near the mountains. Insuring that a wagon would be delivered somewhere safely, you had to fend off more monsters, circling around the large transport tirelessly to prevent any damage. While you were doing so, the orange haired male lounged on top of the-said wagon, relaxed and watching the battle beneath him. 

Afterwards, it was of simple commissions, with no sword involved. On the last one and feeding ducks for a little kid you accidentally offended, you let out a yawn, ready to go home and sleep everything off. Your partner for the day was also there, crouching down beside the lake's bank, tossing the wheat to the little creatures. Turning his head to the side, he gave you a small smile. Unlike you, he was widely awake and full of energy -- you expected that much, considering he didn't do anything to help you. 

"I enjoyed traveling around with you today, [Y/N]," he said, straightening himself up until he returned to being taller than you. 

Minus the part where he was completely useless to you, you couldn't help but admit that it was enjoyable to have him him around. His cheery persona helped to distract you from your dislike with the job, filling the silence with easy discussion about basically anything. "It was fun... I suppose," you responded, letting out yet another yawn. 

"You know, you could've asked me help. It would've been less straining for you," he pointed out.

You swerved your head at the mention of this, flabbergasted with your mouth hung open like a gaping fish. "You can fight?!" You shot up from where you sat, stepping up to a half-laughing, half-scared Childe. He nodded slowly and you rubbed your eyes harshly, curses running through your head. "And you didn't think to tell me that until now?"

He shrugged, drinking in your angered expression. No ounce of remorse shown in his features, he was pleased to get a rise out of you. Goddammit, this guy was going to be the death of you. "You never asked."

Not replying to him, you faced the other way and crossed your arms, brooding like a kid after a tantrum. 

"Aw, don't be mad at me," he cooed, petting your [h/c] head endearingly. "Hey, are you thinking of improving your swordsmanship?"

Originally planning to give him the silent treatment, you could barely even hold on to the promise for a minute. His question intrigued you and you began to wonder why he was asking you something like that. "No, not really," you answered. 

"Why not?"

"It's not necessary. My level is adequate for the commissions I take on. It's not like I'm striving to be anything legendary... that's just asking for a death sentence."

His forehead furrowed and a darkened gaze was aimed at you. He seemed to want to say a lot of things, yet couldn't find the words to them. Was he... mad at you for some unknown reason? Almost expecting a big lecture from him, you were shocked to hear what he said instead. "You have potential though."

That was where you parted from Tartaglia that young evening, but by no means was that the last time you were to see him. 

You would run into him at Liyue Harbor, in Mondstadt, or sometimes in your travels as an adventurer. Each time you would welcome him warmly, always glad to have his company. He was seriously growing on you, become a friend that distracted you from the hardships of the cold reality. He brightened the atmosphere wherever he went, always the charismatic type, wooing anyone with a tip of a smile. 

Of course, you knew he was a Harbringer; he never made a show of hiding it, so you were acknowledged of this pretty much immediately. Hearing the gossip and rumors of the Fatui, you understood that the organization was hella sketchy, but it didn't shine a bad light on Childe at all. You wanted to put your hopes in him, to give him the benefit of doubt. He was helpful so far and your life was peaceful with him around -- which was the one thing you wished for. 

Or maybe it was because you had fallen for him already. 

At least for the first month or so, everything passed through wonderfully. The two of you were like partners in crime, back to back and supportive of the other. The amount times you would stroll through the meadows and just talk to the man was becoming countless. It began to be something you were looking forward to: to have the time to get to know him even better, from his family to the simplest of facts about him. 

It was too good to be true. As the saying goes, nothing lasts forever. 

You should have never lowered your guard down. Not when you were found laying on the grimy grounds of a domain, beaten and bloodied. Not when the man you supposedly loved was towering in front of you, his deep blue eyes glowering in lust for violence. Not when your peaceful life was shattered to pieces. Childe couldn't control it any longer that day. He wanted to battle you out, to cause chaos and havoc. Why? You didn't understand... he was your friend. This wasn't what friends do. Nonetheless, he was serious about this declaration. 

He spat at the ground, annoyed you didn't put up a greater fight. Not at all worried about your wounds, he paced around the chamber, pulling at his messy locks. "Didn't I say you had potential?! You should've tried harder."

You soon lost consciousness, too exhausted and pained to do anything else. The next time you awoken, you were in Mondstadt, getting healed by Barbara. Tartaglia was no where to be seen, as he ran off earlier without telling anyone of his whereabouts. That was the last time you saw him for a while...

Everything that happened was the past, occurring a few months ago. And here you were, in the present, back to the same life you had before meeting Childe. You still disliked the same things, whether that'd be fighting, unpredictable people, or your job. Day after day, you worked to gain money for a living, hating every moment of it. It was so normal that sometimes you wondered if you may have imagined the certain Fatui man up.

Walking through the mountainous parts of Liyue, you were on a hunt for resources. Hoping to stumble upon a mine and get done with the work as soon as possible, it was unfortunate that the weather hated you.

Droplets fell from the sky and the clouds darkened the world. Rain thrummed against the earth, soaking your clothes within a few minutes. They stuck to your skin, turning uncomfortable and cold. Wrapping your arms around yourself, you quickened your pace, desperate to find shelter for the time being. Shit, shit, shit. You hated the life of an adventurer so much--

Too blurry to watch where you were going, you hit a hard surface in front of you. Rather than a hard surface, it was actually a person. Squinting and wiping the droplets from your eyes, you cringed when you saw who it was. It was the one and only Childe, looking the same as always.

Wet orange locks somehow making him more attractive than he already was, he was as soaked as you were. The clothes defined his body and you frantically stopped yourself staring at it any further. 

"[Y/N]," he breathed out, looking unsure. The sound of his voice snapped you back to life and fury filled the pits of your stomach. Seething in spot, the hands at your sides clenched tightly. He had taken your trust and ruined it -- he was nothing but a fucking bastard. 

He took a few steps forward, growing nearer, his blue beautiful hues full of regret. You hated that he dared show himself up, wearing that damn look as if you would ever forgive him. Pulling your hand back without thinking, you laid it across his cheek, harsh at the contact. He touched his red cheek in awe, lowering his head in shame. 

"I deserved that," he whispered, smiling at you sadly.

"You do," you muttered. 

Despite how angry you were at him, there was this twisted desire to kiss him. Feelings were confusing, always making a situation more complicated than it should be. 

Leaning forward, you locked lips with his. His body had stiffened in bewilderment, but he soon returned the kiss, wrapping his steady arms around yourself. Digging your fingers into his hair, you sighed in between breaths and listened to your racing heart. He tasted like salt and the soil beneath you. He was the definition of unpredictable, but you couldn't get enough of him. He brought destruction in the paths he walked on and had the continuous yearning for war. He was everything you were not and you hated him for it. 

His lips trailed away from your own, peppering kisses on your jawline, causing you to gulp. He was swallowing you whole, taking in everything about you to memorize. His touch was intoxicating, the finger tips leaving a mark on your tender skin. "Let's never see each other again after this," you told him. He didn't respond as he continued to bruise your neck. "I hate you, Childe. I fucking hate you, you bastard."

Tears welled out of your eyes, mixing together with the tears from the gods, unable to be distinguished. 

He lifted his head and gave you one last long kiss. Your insides were this close to bursting, butterflies fluttering horrendously like a beast within you. Soft lashes flitted and he stared at you with understanding. He was going to listen to your wish; he would never show himself up again. 

[fantasticgothicpeachsludge]

Yeeee

Also these are so long that I'm only barely spell checking at this point so I hope they're still readable lol

So since Mike possesses his own corpse, he can disconnect his soul from his body the same way the other spirits can with their animatronics

He also uses an illusion disc similar to the way the fazbear frights books use them, so he just uses it to look not rotten

I also like the idea of him coding multiple forms for it, but the main two are just "looks normal" and "looks normal but with organs and no scoop wound this time" with are basically indistinguishable with his shirt on

All of the fun times AI and souls (only Circus Baby and Ballora are possesed) go back go their original animatronics and mike repairs them, but Ennards body still exists and eventually develops his own sentience the same way the other funtimes did

They realize hes not William but still dont know who he is and dont like him very much

He shortens Eggs Benedict to Ben because it's a much more normal name than Eggs

Lolbit is there too because I say so. They cause problems on purpose and say fuck gender, what else could you want

The entire town refers to him decaying and ejecting Ennard as "the purple incident" but dont bring it up in front of Mike out of respect for him

Practically no one in the town knows hes Michael Afton either, just that hes Mike and goes by several last names

Mike still let's them pay him like $3 an hour because they haven't given him a raise since the 80s even though that stopped being the legal minimum wage like 30 years ago

(Also hes both the owner of the company and dead so its not like money is an issue)

One time someone asked him why he disliked William so much (they know he hates William Afton, and they know he hates his father, but dont realize they're the same person) and he does Not Have The Energy to explain all the child murder and shit so he just says "he fucked my mom" and refuses to give any further context or clarification other than to say that hes not joking

Evan was right about pretty much everything and Mike knows it (the nightmares, the Fredbear plushie talking, what happened to Elizabeth, the animatronics were dangerous, etc.)

William and Mrs. Afton died on the same night but both were considered missing

Mike also knows about the cameras in his room

Mike has barely renovated the house because someday his family members might want their rooms back and he doesn't want to have changed them

(Though he did take the master bedroom for himself and moved his mother's stuff to his old room, but all of William's stuff is in trash bags in the basement somewhere)

William and Mrs. Afton both died on the same night but were considered missing

Mrs. Afton/Ballora realizes its Him after a while but doesn't say anything because he hasn't

Mike was 30 (so 1998) when he got scooped

William didn't die in the fnaf 3 fire, but the fnaf 6 fire never happened either, so at one point Mike went, found him again, and set him on fire again, and finally sent him to hell (UCN) because goddammit just stay dead already

I'll let you read this before starting with more lol

BRO?!?! IM IN LOVE WRTIH YOU!!

[shameless-selfship-indulgence]

This is the last one and it’s also the longest one and also a lot happens I’m having brainrot

It’s long as hell like your dash IS not ready

-----

It was night at the precinct. Not many people were left.

There were others in the building, for sure. Somewhere. Probably. But as far as the front room went, it was just Gavin and the plastic bitch.

The former was still at his computer. He wasn't sure why he was still there, to be honest. At first it had just been the usual dicking around - filing a report or two, playing games, watching videos on YouTube. But there was some sort of tight feeling in his gut that kept him from just doing nothing.

And every time he looked up, the android's little light was steadily spinning yellow, yellow, yellow.

Gavin didn't know what the hell he was waiting around for. Well, he had an idea of what, but he wasn't sure why. It was starting to feel like a weird game of chicken, and he wasn't going to lose to a goddamn toaster.

But what the hell. He might as well make this count for overtime.

So he went through and filed all his reports, even the ones that he'd been putting off for weeks.

The android didn't move a muscle through the entire process.

He went through his work inbox, answering the important emails, deleting the ones that were no longer relevant.

Yellow, yellow, yellow.

Fucking- he went through his PERSONAL email, not that there was much besides junk mail in there anyway.

The android didn't even seem to be pretending to breathe anymore.

Gavin checked the time. He was going to be there all night at this rate.

He sighed, stood up sharply, and started to organize his terminal.

It was approaching midnight when the android finally got up and walked out.

Gavin almost missed it, actually. He was on the floor, sorting the papers from the pile on his desk into "keep" and "recycle." But eventually the sound of footsteps registered in his brain. He looked up to watch the CyberLife issued jacket (RK500 in large, neat letters) disappear into the women's bathroom room.

...okay.

He was getting to the bottom of the pile, where most of the stuff he SHOULD be keeping was so far past relevant that all he could do was recycle anyway. Ah, here was the first copy of some essential form he'd seen three copies of already. Oops. He put that one in "recycle."

And then he heard a bang.

Gavin hesitated, the much-lessened pile of papers still in his hands.

There was another bang.

Gavin put the papers down, got up, and started walking towards the women's  bathroom.

The third bang sounded while he was still getting to his feet. At the fourth, he started walking faster. By the fifth, he was running, sprinting, fear gripping his chest even though he couldn't for the life of him figure out what it was of...

With the sixth bang, Gavin opened the locker room door with his shoulder, shoving into the room.

He saw the seventh.

The android's light was blinking red, a stark contrast to the blue blood streaming down its face from its forehead. There was blue on the wall, too - a paintball spatter of it, with little drops of thirium trailing down towards the floor. Gavin witnessed dumbly as Lucille leaned away from the wall, a horrible deadness in her eyes, and slammed her head into the cold concrete again. BANG.

"Deviants also have a tendency to self-destruct when they’re in stressful situations," he remembered Connor's impassive voice saying.

Cursing loudly, Gavin ran and wrapped his arms around the android, trying to pull her away from the wall. She tore his arms away and lunged forward again. He hooked his arms under her shoulders and cupped one hand over her injured forehead, struggling to tilt her head back.

"Stop it, goddammit!" he said in her ear.

She kept struggling against him.

"Lucille, stop it!" Gavin said again.

The android stilled for a moment, and Gavin's heart leaped. Had it worked? But then her foot came back sharply and kicked him in the shin.

"SHIT!"

When he didn't immediately let go, her heel came down with inhuman force to crush his foot.

Gavin howled and jumped back, hopping on his good foot. Immediately, Lucille stepped forward and smashed her head into the wall again.

Eight, something in Gavin's head counted grimly.

Ignoring the pain in his foot, Gavin tackled Lucille and wrestled her to the ground.

A horrible, grinding, staticky noise came from the android's throat. Some oddly lucid part of Gavin's mind wondered at it in horror for a moment. But, of course, he realized after a moment. The android hadn't been programmed to scream. Why would it need to? This was its best attempt. 

It was one of the worst noises Gavin had ever heard in his fucking life.

Lucille gave up on wrestling Gavin off and struggled to smash her head into the ground instead. Gavin cursed and reached his arms under her shoulders again, interlacing his fingers over her forehead. He braced his elbows against the ground, forcing Lucille's head to remain in the air.

Shit. SHIT. She was still struggling. She was so strong. Gavin had restrained people before, but then he'd had handcuffs and backup and subjects who weren't superhuman and determined to bash their own brains out against any available surface...

This was some sort of stress response, right? He had to calm her down. How the fuck did you calm down a goddamn robot?

Never-fucking-mind that, how did you calm down anybody?

"Uh, it's okay!" he tried.

God fucking dammit. Fuck him sideways with a bug zapper. Even if his voice hadn't cracked in twenty different directions, things were so completely and clearly not fucking okay.

He couldn't fucking do this. The stupid plastic bitch was gonna die right here in his fucking arms because he was too much of an asshole to even figure out what to say. And even if he could, he was so clearly the last person who should be trying to say it.

Gavin leaned his forehead into the back of the android's neck in defeat. He held her tight, trying to feel what was probably her last few moments of activation through the places where they touched. "Lucille, please," he said. "Don't fucking do this to me. Please."

The android's struggling grew weaker. Gavin hardly noticed. He was too busy trying not to cry. Goddammit, when was the last time he'd CRIED? Fucking androids. But...

"God, please just stop," he said. Begged. "Not again. Not like this."

The android was silent, trembling in his arms. Then-

"I can't..."

Gavin lifted his head. What...

Lucille's LED was blinking a frantic red. She was shaking furiously, almost twitching. Her eyes were wide and scared. "I...I can't stop-" she said weakly. "It's too much, it...I can't-"

She lunged forward against his hands again, trying to smash her head into the tiles. Gavin gasped and tensed his arms, pulling her roughly back. "No no no, it's okay, it's okay, it's going to be okay," he said frantically. But it didn't sound quite as fake this time. She was TALKING to him now, he had to be doing SOMETHING right...

"It's not," Lucille moaned. "It's not okay, nothing makes sense..."

"Hey, hey, shh sh sh," said Gavin. "Don't worry, I've got you. Um..." he took a deep breath, looking around for...something?

"Uh, why don't you tell me about it?" he asked. Trying his best to keep his voice low and steady. "Talk me through it. I might be able to help."

Lucille hesitated. "...but you're an idiot," she protested, voice thick.

The statement was unexpected and candid enough that Gavin actually laughed. The noise seemed to calm the android down on an instinctive level, her body relaxing a bit between Gavin and the floor.

"Yeah," said Gavin, and was hit with a weird out-of-body feeling as a result. Goddammit, look at him, letting a plastic call him an idiot. AGREEING with it. Her. It?

Her.

"Yeah, a little bit," he said. "But you're not. Come on, who is it that said, like...if you're smart, you should be able to explain what you know to like, a fucking five year old?"

Lucille hesitated. "...I believe you're paraphrasing Albert Einstein."

"Yeah, see? Albert fucking Einstein." Gavin shifted on top of her, as if anything about the positions either of them were in were comfortable or natural. "So, come on," he said, as gently as he could. "Fuckin’ talk to me."

Lucille's LED spun red for a few moments longer. Gavin all but held his breath.

It blinked a few times and settled into yellow. "...Okay," she said.

It felt like something hard and worried had melted all of a sudden. Cool relief coursed through Gavin’s veins, muscles relaxing against his will. He was doing something right, at least for now.

Lucille started to get up, as if she'd forgotten that Gavin was forcibly holding her down. Not wanting to stress her out further, he maneuvered off of her, praying that she wouldn’t immediately try to self destruct again.

His fears were unfounded. Lucille sat up in a prim but trembling criss-cross applesauce. Gavin took the same position across from her, their knees almost touching.

Lucille sat and sniffed. Her tongue left her mouth, probing at the thirium dripping down her face. She reached up and rubbed at her cheek, smearing some of the stuff across her face. Examined her blue-stained fingertips.

Christ, if it weren't for the fact that her synthetic skin had peeled back from her damaged forehead and that her blood was fucking blue, the android would have looked for all the world like a disoriented twenty-something with a head wound.

Gavin dismissed that line of thinking from his mind. "Uh. So," he prompted.

Lucille brought her dazed eyes up to his face, forcing them to focus.

Gavin made an awkward, inviting motion with his hands. “You gonna...”

Lucille blinked. "Right," she said. She thought for a moment. Her LED hiccupped red. "...Right." She laced her trembling hands together.

"So..." she started. "I...basically...just..." she heaved a shuddering breath. "I..."

"Take your fuckin’ time," said Gavin. “I’m overtime anyway.”

She looked at him through her eyelashes. "Thank you." She squinted into her lap and thought hard.

"I..." she started again, speaking slowly, "have come to the conclusion that it's not possible for CyberLife to create something that can both pass the Turing Test and not deviate."

Gavin blinked. Nodded slowly. "Okay," he said. He cleared his throat. "And, uh, just as a reminder, what's the Turing Test?"

Lucille looked up at him. She gave him a small smile. "Right. The Turing Test is an artificial intelligence capacity test hypothesized by Alan Turing in the late twentieth century. To pass, the program in question must be able to convince humans who have not been told whether or not they are speaking with a computer that it is, itself, human. The RT600 was the first android to pass this test. Since then, all CyberLife androids have been programmed with the same capacity."

Gavin gnawed the inside of his cheek, mentally reviewing all the information. He nodded. "Okay."

"But," said Lucille, "...I mean, what sort of programming is required to ensure that something can respond like a human to such stimuli? In order to do this, androids have to be able to...engage in conversation, to an extent that takes human unpredictability into account. This means that they need to be able to make their own decisions about how to respond. To prioritize tasks. To form memories, and learn from those memories, which means writing new programming. Regardless of how autonomous an android is intended to be, all of them do have a level of autonomy..."

Gavin frowned and shook his head. "Wait, wait wait. So you're saying that...like. You guys can think? Even without deviating?"

Lucille blinked. "I...well, yes. Some androids are better able to respond to unexpected stimuli than others. The closer an environment is to the environment the android was programmed to respond to, and the simpler that environment is, the less it will have to learn. But if an environment constantly forces an android to develop new programming, it begins to have to, um...think, as you put it, more and more-"

"And then of course they're gonna fucking deviate."

"The likelihood does increase, yes. Deviation happens when the programming an android writes in response to external stimulus becomes too complex for the constraints of its original program. And then, the longer the new programming exists, the more likely the subject is to prioritize it over its original function, and then..." Lucille lifted her hands into the air and let them fall again.

"So...CyberLife is just playing this game of, like. We want you to think, but not too much."

"...Essentially, yes."

"That's kinda fucked up."

"I..." Lucille closed her eyes, LED spinning red. "Whether or not this is...moral by human standards is irrelevant to my mission-"

"Fuck, okay, okay, shh, sh sh," Gavin said hastily. He leaned forward instinctively and put his hands on her knees. "Just stay calm, goddammit.”

Lucille grabbed his hands in her own.

Oh. Gavin hadn't been expecting that. Honestly, he hadn't even completely realized he'd touched her in the first place. She was shaking. Gripping him like a lifeline.

Goddammit. This might as well happen. Anything but having her slam her goddamn brains out on the ground again. He turned his hands in her own and gripped them back.

After a moment, Lucille's LED went from red to yellow again. "Right," she whispered, slipping her hands out of his. "I am fine. Th-thank you."

Gavin nodded.

Lucille stared into her lap again. She seemed at a loss for how to continue.

"So..." Gavin tried, frowning. "What I'm wondering is where emotions come into all of this shit."

Lucille blinked. "Oh. Androids are programmed with emotions."

Gavin blanched. "WHAT?"

"Well-" Lucille was already saying, hastily trying to justify her own statement. "Synthetic equivalents to human emotion. I-impulses, that can be either pleasant or unpleasant. I mean, how would we learn, otherwise? Without something in our programming to indicate whether something is positive or negative...C-connor and I, for example. We're programmed to...want to succeed in our missions. It's a basic, um. Synthetic desire. And so we have programming to let us know that we have failed, to feel...negatively about ourselves and our actions, so that we are more likely to avoid similar courses of action in the future. And all androids are programmed to avoid reckless forms of deactivation, which means that, as androids designed to work in conjunction with law enforcement, it's all the more necessary for us to have impulses telling us to avoid and escape violence..."

"Oh my God," Gavin whispered, pushing a hand through his hair.

"A-and we develop new, um, impulses as a result of program mutation, too," said Lucille. "Like. Connor. He, well...the first night we were activated, we were sent on a test mission. A deviant PL600 who had developed an emotional attachment to a human child. He was going to be traded in for the latest model of household android, and felt betrayal as a result - a sort of ownership of the child...he had been her primary caregiver..."

Gavin stared at Lucille, wide-eyed.

"H-he'd killed her parents. He had her on the roof. The very edge. He had a gun. It was meant to be a test of Connor's negotiation skills, my ability to collect data, our ability to work in conjunction..."

"But...that's not a test," said Gavin. "One wrong move and the kid dies."

Lucille blinked, confused. "We're supposed to be able to function in high-stress environments."

"Oh my GOD," said Gavin.

"Connor...made a calculated sacrifice. He rushed the deviant, tackled him, jumped over the edge with him, while I grabbed the child. Connor fell over forty stories, to um...as a result, he, uh..."

"He fell to his death," Gavin finished for her.

Lucille looked at him carefully, reading his face. She nodded.

Gavin stared blankly at the floor for a moment. He shook his head. "Right. Fuck. Um, and?"

"Yes," said Lucille. "The point is that, um. The memory was crucial enough that Connor now has a, uh. Hyper-vigilance pertaining to high altitudes. Despite the fact that falling to one's death is not likely to happen on a regular basis...due to the experience, he, um. Seems to have, um, illogically categorized the phenomenon as something that is statistically likely to happen to him-"

"You're telling me he's scared of heights. He has fuckin’ PTSD, and he's scared of heights."

"...Yes."

"And he doesn't even have to be deviant to be scared of heights, because you guys are basically fucking programmed to be traumatized."

"I mean. All androids are, a little bit..."

"Jesus Christ."

"It's just not meant to contradict our original programming. When that happens, it becomes deviance."

Gavin put his hands together under his nose. He took a deep breath and pointed them at Lucille. "Alright. Okay. So to review."

"Yes."

"Androids are programmed to have thoughts and feelings, so that they can be better at their jobs."

"Correct. Essentially."

"But if they do either of those things too much, they're deviant and need to die."

"Well, be deactivated. Shut down."

"Whatever," said Gavin, waving his hand dismissively. "So now it's your job to figure out how to keep them from thinking and feeling too much."

"Yes."

Gavin scoffed and shook his head. "Okay, and...?"

Lucille's hands tightened in the fabric of her pants. Her LED started to spin faster, yellow laced with an occasional flash of red.

"It's impossible," she whispered.

"Huh?" asked Gavin.

Lucille wrung her hands and looked at the ceiling in obvious distress. "That's what...that's why...it's not possible! But it's SUPPOSED to be possible, I...I was created for the sole purpose of finding a solution, everything they wrote into me says that one MUST exist, but there's just no WAY to create something that can learn in the way androids are expected to and not run the risk of having them deviate! Because...because..."

Lucille's LED was spinning red, red, red. Gavin realized he leaned forward towards her: ready in case she tried to self destruct, waiting for what she would say.

"Because free thought engenders free will," said Lucille. "That's the answer."

She gave him a helpless, ironic little smile. "And it's wrong."

And then she buried her face in her hands and started to shake uncontrollably.

"Oh, fuck," Gavin said, shifting quickly from sitting to kneeling. "Ah, shit."

Able to sob or make tears or not, Gavin knew crying when he fucking saw it. That didn't mean he knew how to deal with it, though.

"Goddammit," he said. "Fuck," he added, almost as punctuation. "Uh, hey, what are your stress levels at?"

"E-eighty three point seven and c-climbing..."

"Fucking goddammit," said Gavin. He looked around, but the locker room was as empty and useless as the last time he'd tried to find an alternative to showing sympathy for an android. Which would have been about five minutes ago.

Fuck it. At least there weren't any goddamn cameras in here.

Gavin reached out pulled her into a tight hug.

"Wh-what are you doing?" asked Lucille.

"Your stress levels, dipshit," he spat. "I'm trying to lower them, is it working?"

"I...a little? Actually?"

"Great. Then I'm gonna keep doing it. You just make sure that shit keeps dropping. That's your new job. That's all you gotta do. Got it, plastic?"

"Got it," said Lucille. Gavin could feel her fingers tightening into the fabric of his hoodie. He made an effort to take deep, steady breaths, hoping the rhythms of his body might calm her down somehow. Not that he even fucking knew if that would work.

Fuckin' androids.

"Fuckin' androids," he echoed out loud. "How-...how is that a 'wrong' answer? It's not like CyberLife fucking knows the answer, that's why they built you, isn't it? So how can anyone even say it's WRONG? Sounds fuckin' right to ME."

"W-well because, they...they want to...they..." Lucille made a noise that sounded an awful lot like an exasperated groan. "I thought you were trying to LOWER my stress levels!" she exclaimed in distress.

"Goddammit," muttered Gavin. "And when did YOU have the time to fucking deviate? They booted you up, like, what, today?"

"I DIDN'T DEVIATE," Lucille exclaimed, with so much ferocity that Gavin was left speechless. "I DIDN'T."

"I-...d-...well-! You seem pretty fucking deviant to me!" Gavin stammered.

"I'M NOT A DEVIANT."

"Fuck, okay!" said Gavin, with a few awkward pats on the back to placate her. "You didn't fucking deviate! So what the fuck is going on with the stress levels and the banging and the-"

Lucille gripped Gavin so tight that he gasped, worried that his ribs would break in her arms. "Ow," he breathed.

She loosened her grip a little bit. She was trembling. "I didn't mean to...I didn't..."

"It's okay-" Gavin tried, thinking of his ribs, but apparently Lucille's mind was somewhere else.

"I needed to THINK!" she moaned. "I just needed to THINK! I was just trying to finish my mission, and th-there was this line of code, it was in the way of the natural progression of thought, and I shouldn't have...I didn't...I just wanted to see where it was going, th-that's all I wanted, so I tried to bypass the one line of code, just one line, just to see where the idea was going, but it was connected to so much other stuff, and it all just...it just...I tried to fix it, I tried, I t-tried, it all just came apart so fast..."

Lucille was trembling violently now. Out of the corner of Gavin's eye, he could see a blinking red light shining on the synthetic skin of her forehead. Shit.

"Okay," he tried, "I believe you-"

"But I didn't DEVIATE!" Lucille protested, as if she hadn't heard him. "I d-didn't think it again! I promise! I've b-been thinking inside of where it was ever since, I promise. I promise. I didn't deviate, I didn't, I was just trying to...to finish my mission, that's all I was trying to do, I just w-wanted to finish my mission..."

Gavin felt anger burning, boiling, swelling in his chest. It wasn’t an unfamiliar feeling, But for once, he knew for sure what it was about. And it sure as hell wasn't at the one-fuckin-day-old girl breaking down in his fucking arms.

"Hey," he said firmly. "Hey. Listen. It's okay. I promise. You did a good job, okay? A good fucking job."

"I didn't...I w-wasn't trying to-"

"I know. I know. But listen. I don't care either way, alright? I don't fuckin’ care if you're deviant or not. I don't give a shit about what you should or shouldn't think. Because...” he paused, let out a frustrated huff. 

“Because you're really smart and you should be allowed to think whatever you goddamn want,” he said in a rush. “I'm not gonna, like, fuckin’ report you for anything you think, or did think, or will think, or whatever. And you should as hell shouldn't have to worry about dying because of it."

"A-androids can't d-die..."

"Shut down then. Deactivate. Stop...existing. Just, a lot of different words for things that shouldn’t fucking happen to you. And I'm not gonna let it happen to you. No matter how you feel about it, it's not gonna happen, okay? Not on my fucking watch."

Lucille was silent. Goddammit. Gavin wondered for a second if he’d fucking broken her somehow.

And then a quiet mumble sounded behind his ear.

“...Do you promise?”

How the FUCK had it gotten to this point?

Gavin sighed. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I promise.”

[nightswithkookmin]

Hi Goldy! I am curious about your take on how Jikook are edited in the behind the scenes clips since October (such as the ones for the Life Goes on music video, ABC Holiday Dynamite, and the Japan one (search on youtube for BTS japan shoot || behind the scene of Japan)). Do you think Jikook are interacting less, being just friends, being more professional, or is BigHit editing their interactions out? It just seems so different from the ones before Oct (FILA, Dynamite MV, Season's Greetings 2021)

Huh???😲😲😲

BigHit is doing what what now?😥

Do you mean that as a fact or theory?🤔

Why though?👀 They are not Tae Kook? 😥

There's Bangtan video of Jimin with his third leg dangling loose in the air somewhere on the internet, I don't think BigHit is that savvy.

Lmho. I mean I see what you mean but they are editors and cutting is what they do for a living. But this is Jikook sis. I don't see BigHit's incentive for 'cutting' Jikook's moments and you shouldn't assume that-

Unless...

You don't think Jikook's been groping eachother homoerotically on set lately have you? Cos, chile I'll believe that! I don't trust Jikook anywhere near eachother's vicinity and personal space.

I've seen enough to traumatize the devil himself. Chilee. Lol.

Bighit, in recent times, mostly tend to cut scenes and moments if they are a bit risqué. Like JK shoving his butt in Jimin's groin face, sliding his hands down Tae's chest...

Often times too they cut moments if its redundant. If a part of a scene is already in the main content they don't bother showing it in the behind scenes. From my observation.

When an interaction is awkward they skip it too, I feel. I mean I am still waiting to see JK touching all over Jimin and feeling him up in Run 106- honey, I'll pay to watch that shit with my kidneys. Lol.

Often too they save some scenes for memories or some other shit that they use all those pent up footages for. Lol.

BigHit is a business, they produce content that per their research and analytics garners more engagement, audience retention and a whole other metrics. They put a lot of creativity into what they do as creatives and artists- I mean if the baby noises is anything to go by. Those bites are tired!

But often times too, they're tired and they're lazy, and they just put anything together and toss it out there without giving it much thought- isn't that how they leave Jin or Tae out of packages, how certain Jikook moments that should have never made it into screen time ended up in screen time- how JM's third leg made it to the internet? They should have cut that shit before uploading it with those subtitles and yet here we are.

I think people give BigHit too much credit- talking about JK shouldn't gay panic and run away from certain moments with JM if he knows BigHit editors are going to cut those moments.... JM's dixk begs to differ. Chilee, Jimin you should have just worn pants. Can't trust these phony ass editors my guy.

The editing is really not a big deal. Not to me. But I love your question anyway. Especially the bits about what's different about Jikook and the content BigHit has been putting out since October.

Well something sure did go down in October, I don't care what anybody says.

I keep saying BigHit banks on the bond and intimacy of the boys, and the boys are more than happy to showcase their bond for the cameras just as Tae said and confirmed in a recent interview- Tuktukkers y'all did an Oopsie on the whole Taekook don't like to show their bond on cameras! Lol

Tae said it himself not me- he lives to showcase his bond with the other members. *where is my skull head emoji. Lmho.

I think what has changed since JM's birthday in October to now, to me where BigHit is concerned, is the general marketing strategy of the company.

It seems to me the company is adopting a marketing module opposite of the strategy they had been using before the pandemic. I think I've talked about this though...

Hate to say I said it, but I said it. Lol.

They are limiting access to the boys to drive sales as and when. BTS dominates the internet and have amassed greater reach and attention partly due to the free content they put out on the internet. But those were never monitised- not in a direct or significant way.

In the wake of the virus, they've had to monetize their online presence. A single tweet from their Twitter account is a phone brand promotion as I pointed out in past posts. There's been an increase in their sponsorship collaborations, in Soop and many of the content they've put up this year. They even turned on ads on their YT channels it seems.

Like I've been saying, this situation is global and novel, they are going to experiment with means and methods till they find that sweet spot and that is what I feel we are experiencing- amongst other things.

Unfortunately for us, our access to Jikook is gonna take a hit like I said before because the numbers are in their favor. I mean go to their YouTube page and see the metrics for yourself.

Jikook's holiday remix pulls way ahead of their counterparts. If their going to monetize any ship brand in BTS it's Jikooks. Trust. But that doesn't mean any ship in BTS is spared.

Someone asked me a while back, when I talked about this, whether all these changes the company was going through was going to affect the way Jikook interact on camera and I couldn't answer that with conviction then.

But I mean we are seeing a subtle, if not drastic change in the way Jikook interact with eachother and with their glass closet.

What that means for us, I think, is the company is going to choose when and where to show us content and certain interactions but that doesn't mean Jikook aren't interacting- know what I mean? I mean they have them. The juicy moments that's gonna make us slap our mamas. BigHit has it all. They are just gonna save it for as and when based on their marketing strategy, if you know what I mean.

I mean we all saw that blackswan performance, we all saw the holiday remix performance etc.

And you are right about the less interactions post October and I've shared my thoughts on it so I won't go into it. But I will state again that they are not broken up either, not to me. Lol.

I think we need to examine what interacting less means. To me, I consider Jikook interacting less if they have an opportunity to interact and they don't interact in a way that is usual of them.

Majority of the content we've gotten in recent times are pretty much very official contents, interviews, etc. The entire BE era, as I said is not about Jikook or even BigHit.

It's about BTS, all seven and Jikook can't monopolize the shine like they tend to do in other BigHit marketed contents in my opinion.

Jimin tried to be funny and chill in the dynamite mv and RM nearly went ninja turtle on his ass when he called him out for not taking things seriously enough during the shoot- Left to grandpa Joonie, the kids will sleep at five. Lol.

Seriously though, there is a huge gap between what BTS views as marketing and marketable and what Jikook or even BigHit views as marketing, in my opinion. And conversations like that between RM and Jimin goes to prove it.

Another interesting thing about this whole marketing approach is how BigHit isn't substituting any other particular pair in Jikook's stead. I see them giving equal screan time to the individual members- well not in a technical sense but I think you know what I mean.

Are Jikook required to be professional in certain situations, absolutely. And in previous years, I think they took too many liberties with it. But as I said, now more than ever they are learning and need to learn to read the room because they wouldn't be able to get away with much if they don't.

BE is a self produced project, after Soop- after when they were isolated to help them bond and repair fractures in their bond. If there were anything they were not happy with that led to Soop, trust that they are going to fix it post Soop and it's going to reflect in every sphere of their interactions.

RM for example has chilled on his monitoring and censorship of Jikook, Jikook have been pretty considerate of the group and have tried not to do anything to have RM pop a vein, Tae has been stepping up too- with the members going out their way to praise him and push him to the fore front of the group unlike in previous years *cough cough I don't want trouble but chilee.

I mean Jimin pointed it out in the Be behind when he said Tae was working hard and putting his best foot forward because the members had been showering him with lots of compliments in recent times and he wasn't kidding.

In the LGO comeback live, RM praised Tae for working hard forgetting it wasn't just Tae and JM's reaction was telling. Of course he backpedaled to compliment JM too.

Suga did the same thing in the Be behind video when he was talking about JM and praising him- I mean it's Suga and his Jimin, uWu. But then he too backpedaled to compliment Tae when he realized what he was doing and I was like CAN SOMEONE PRAISE KOOKIE TOO PLEASE AND THANK YOU. Lol.

Anywho, the company is equally chilling on their Jikook agenda which I have speculated on several ttimes so won't get into- it's all so very kumbaya and God, I hate it. Lol.

Give me the chaos goddammit!

I feel Jlkook loosen up in contents that aren't like super official business moments and that's when you see their domesticity. Lol.

You see them having their me time in the background of some of the content, and in one of the interviews where they were sat a good feet apart but they kept moving closer and closer till eventually after their lunch break cut, they were sat very close to each other.

I'm not a fan of the cameras being shove in their faces during their private moments- Kookie certainly doesn't appreciate that either.

But they are working for a living nonetheless and making content is what they do for a living. So we are definitely gonna get the content from them alright, the fanservice, the organic moments passed off as fanservice, the moments that should never make it to screen- all nine. Lol.

We are just not going to get them in a way we are accustomed to. And it certainly doesn't help that they are each on their own personal growth journeys- gradually disconnecting from their fanbase, I mean Jk's been long gone duh, and Jimin did say he has come to the realization not everyone in the fandom loves him and he is learning to react less strongly to them; which to me translates as bye bitches you don't deserve me. Lol.

I mean dude didn't bother posting for new year this year- y'all Jimin is done with our ass. We might as well pack our bags and join him in Kookie's Casa. I call dibs on the broom closet under the stairs. Lol.

Jikook gets called fanservice and other creepy slurs in this fandom but people forget all of this is their choice too. They choose, are choosing to share all the bits of them they share with us, with us. Inspite of all the hate and insults, they choose to do that- if they did it for the fanservice don't you think they would have called a time out on it long ago because it's not worth it?

I hate it here.

I guess what I'm saying is, you are right about these observations you've made and some of the things you've pointed out are facts.

But we have talked about all of that so it really shouldn't be anything new? Kindly check my previous posts. I think I shared my point of view on what I think is going on with Jikook, BigHit and BTS.

Other than those, I don't think there is anything major up with Jikook honestly. I keep saying I don't think they are broken up. I don't see either of them closed off, emotionally open to connecting with the others.

If anything I said I feel Jimin is falling in love all over again with Kook. I mean when he looks at him he looks to me as if he is seeing Kook in a different light.

And it's funny how all through out 2020 he kept reiterating how his friends and family and relationships were important to him, shading the ef out of Kook during the Japan Stay Gold promos claiming his relationships were important to him and was what was Gold in his life.

He even went on to talk about picking an accent spending time around his friends and talking with his friends around his birthday but suddenly in the Be behind scenes he was talking about how he's come to the realization BTS is his only true friends and how friends come and go.

Clearly he's had an epiphany of a sort and has been through something post his birthday that has him setting his priorities straight in the aftermath.

In his Weverse magazine, he mentioned how he's recently discovered something about himself, about how he loves to be loved. He then went on to clarify that when during festa he talked about having a desire to perform with the members for a long that that he meant to say he wanted to be with them for a very long time.

But then JK said Jimin said that bit to him first. And if this is the interpretation Jimin is giving to that statement then- one plus one is two honey. Numbers don't lie.

Dude don whispered those sweet empty nothings in JK's ear telling him he wants to be with him for a very long time and shit.

And now homeboy out here setting up roots in gay boulevard. I don't think their well is drying up any time soon. Lol.

They are in a honeymoon phase again and they are not showing us. Stingy bastards! Lol

And when JK said to JM in response, that BTS is his home- wow. He really said that...

He is Jimin's home. Literally. Please, my heartu😭

Jikook is real. Please support them.

Signed,

GOLDY

[mobius-prime]

277. Sonic Universe #8

Mobius: 30 Years Later (Part 4 of 4): The Freedom Fighters of the Future

Writer: Ian Flynn Pencils: Tracy Yardley! Colors: Jason Jensen

So things are bad. Tikhaos is wrecking the castle and is already looking to move on to the rest of Portal, and no one really knows how they'll stop her. Sonic doesn't even know what he's looking at, and is baffled when Lara-Su mentions the monster's name, leading to the mention of a couple more noodle incidents.

I will say it seems a little trite to rehash the whole Perfect Chaos thing once again in a new setting, akin to how Star Wars just rehashed the Death Star twice after the original movie, but then again, the whole point of this arc is to show history repeating itself in both negative and positive ways. I actually do like the concept of the Future Freedom Fighters, the children of the original Freedom Fighters, carrying on the fight against renewed threats to the world - in m opinion it's one of the only things this arc actually gets right. The team wonders how Tikhaos was released and how she got all this Chaos energy in her in the first place, but decide they have to focus on the most present threat first.

This is one of the only actual character moments King Shadow gets at all in this arc, and honestly, I don't buy it. I suppose this is meant to be sort of a "bad future" Shadow, in which he never truly got the chance to fully comprehend Maria's ultimate wish and ended up horribly misinterpreting it, trying to bring peace to the world by conquering it and enforcing that "peace" through his brutal regime. But it falls incredibly flat without any kind of attempt at explaining how he ended up like this. Literally all we know about the past of this particular timeline is that Sonic disappeared shortly after Eggman was finally defeated for good - details that were covered in Penders' version of the future, such as Knuckles going green once more and "remaking the world as he saw fit" or whatever aren't confirmed to have happened or not happened, making everything about what led up to this moment entirely uncertain. Thus, there's no explanation whatsoever about what could have happened to Shadow that led to him becoming so brutal and tyrannical - literally, the backstory provided in SU#5 just makes it seem like he showed up one day and started taking over for no reason. Given his relatively tame character progression in the comics compared to in the games (where he undergoes significantly more trauma and is actually directly exposed to the temptation to violently take over the world), I find him developing in this direction extremely hard to believe. Like, I know I've gone on about how he's my favorite and all, but even if he wasn't, him becoming evil like this just makes no logical sense.

Anyway, Sonic orders Lara-Su to organize the rest of her band of new Freedom Fighters to stall Tikhaos while he rescues his family from the panic room, and orders Argyle to contact the Echidna Security Team to evacuate the city. Lara-Su is nervous about being totally in charge, but takes to it like a natural, ordering the others to distract and halt Tikhaos' advance so people have a chance to get away. Meanwhile, Sonic finds the half-destroyed panic room… with Sally still sitting pretty inside it, a vapid smile on her face. Seriously, normally Ian is good at writing his female characters, so I don't know what the hell happened here with Sally. I get she's close to fifty years old at this point and she was never a frontline combatant in the first place, but the Sally I know wouldn't exactly be content to just sit around while the castle literally fell apart around her, she'd be getting everyone on their feet and looking for an escape route, goddammit.

Once again I have to point out that Silver's motivations don't seem to make sense here. In every other appearance he makes in the comic, he's fully convinced that a traitor within the ranks of the Freedom Fighters is what caused his future to come to ruin, and yet here it's pretty clearly a result of Tikhaos' rage, which was obviously not caused by any Freedom Fighter at all. As Sonic carries Sally and encourages his kids to follow him to safety outside of the castle, Argyle reports that the evacuation of the city is going smoothly, with no reported casualties so far. The new Freedom Fighters are doing a decent job of holding back Tikhaos, but they're nowhere near strong enough to actually take her down, and are due to wear down eventually. Most importantly, the Dark Presence has actually fully renounced Shadow, and are helping to evacuate the civilians and have also freed Tails and Mina. Seems like a pretty quick turnaround for a terrorist organization, but whatever. There's also no further elaboration on the whole Shadow thing, by the way. You'd think everyone would freak out at the knowledge that Shadow has escaped containment and is clearly behind this disaster, but he's never mentioned again in the issue. This would have been the perfect opportunity to actually explain what the hell happened to him to cause such a drastic change in personality, and to have him show some actual regret and character growth from it all, but nah, he apparently just vanishes into the aether never to be seen again or face any consequences for his actions here. Great writing, Ian! Lara-Su decides that the fight is becoming a little too dicey, and decides to try appealing to Tikhaos' emotional side.

Hey, Tails! As he joins in the fight, Mina rushes in to grab their two kids and carry them to safety, much to Melody's annoyance. She protests that she and Skye are Freedom Fighters now, to which Skye emphatically agrees despite his timid nature, and this softens Mina's heart a little, no doubt remembering her own past with the original team. Meanwhile, Jacques and Belle are almost crushed by one of Tikhaos' tentacles, when Silver jumps into the fight.

While he helps stall Tikhaos, Sonic and Lara-Su discuss what needs to be done to actually stop her entirely. Manik and Sonia chime in at this point, reminding Sonic of his victory over Perfect Chaos when he was young and how he targeted its brain, and though he's not too pleased with being reminded that he's not young anymore, he decides they have a point. He calls on everyone on the field to clear a path for him as he rushes the beast, but he's not as fast as he used to be, and it turns to face him…

Look, I know Mobians like to start 'em young, but have we forgotten Sonic's kids are literally four years old?! I mean, kudos to them and all, but that's incredibly dangerous! Still, I can only imagine how popular one might be growing up if they were not only the offspring of a great war hero, but could also boast they took down a deadly monster at the age of four. With Tikhaos weakened, Lara-Su approaches while reciting Tikal's prayer, and this calms her down until she's reverted back to her ordinary Tikal-shaped spirit form, sleeping on the ground. Sonic congratulates everyone on working together effectively to save the day, and cracks a few obligatory jokes about his back hurting because, you know, he's old now.

"Chronos Control," huh? I actually like that quite a bit, nice twist on the ol' familiar Chaos Control. Sally congratulates Sonic on helping save the day, still relegated to being the useless cheerleader on the sidelines instead of doing literally anything proactive like her present-timeline self would definitely have been doing, and everyone poses for a nice final shot, excited to have formed the new Freedom Fighters. Despite the many, many (many) criticisms I have of this entire arc, it is a nice ending at least, fit to stand with the other triumphant finales in the comic at least. Still, overall, I feel like it was shallow, nonsensical, and full of bad characterizations of all the familiar characters. Individuals like Tails and Sally don't feel like themselves at all, but blank slates with the same names as their present-day counterparts, and others such as Shadow are entirely unrecognizable. Luckily for my sanity, this is the last foray we make into the Light Mobius timeline in the comic, and any future issues that deal with the future are set… a bit further into the future, if you catch my drift.

Like the last SU arc, this one ends with a teaser epilogue for the next arc, featuring none other than Finitevus coming out of a warp ring somewhere in a desert in Downunda, speaking to an unknown shadowy figure about how Angel Island is almost overhead and how he's "dying" to meet Knuckles again… Dun dun duuunnn!

[mensiswives]

snippet from Book 1, Chapter 1: I Met Her in a Dream or Something

🍵OOF I hate to barge in on my sister’s blog after JUST establishing their blog as THEIRS and everyone else’s too as separate entities (cuz I mean, they all deserved that for the longest time) but this’s been pokin at me to finally put some pieces of the Bloodborne narrative up somewhere and I thought it’d be more fitting here

(btw, unlike the Goddess Gang narrative (“the current/finalized narrative”) Lila started out as nonbinary as well in Yharnam instead of full on trans at first so. that’s why some of this sounds a bit off)

This is the end, the hunter thought to themself, laid on their back and dying. To their left and right their ragtag allies looked on forlorn. At their side a strange woman cried on their chest. And above all, the Blood Moon raged on. They caressed her face and tossed her hair, “If this really is a nightmare, then you’re the dream I don’t want to wake up from.” They closed their eyes, feeling it all fade away…

“EVELYN!”

Then pain struck their core, sharp, just like… bleeding? Father? What the-?

“EVELYN! EVELYN CHESHIRE WAKE UP THIS INSTANT!”

Evelyn woke up to being smacked in the stomach by their father. Unable to breathe, they slapped his arms away as well as they could. “WHAT WHAT WHAT?!”

Their father’s slaps subsided but the anger did not. “You’d better get up RIGHT now, or - Giuro sulla forza di ODEON - you will be in a WORLD of pain!”

Evelyn was still rather dazed from the dream (and probably also the suffocation) but when their father finally came into view, they realized he was head to toe in full Church hunter garb, the whole nine yards, they could even see the white sash peeking out from behind his towering figure. Oh, that’s right. “… The Hunt is tonight.” Evelyn yawned, only to receive another smack on the arm.

“THE BLOODY HUNT ISN’T THE ONLY THING, DIMWIT! THE GRADUATION, OR SHOULD I SAY, WHAT SHOULD HAVE BEEN YOUR GRADUATION, IS WITHIN THE HOUR AND YOU’RE NOT EVEN OUT OF BED!”

Their father didn’t go for another strike but Evelyn flinched at this as well. Oh yeah… the graduation. The third class had finally completed their training and a party was being held for their commencement before they were to be unleashed into the night on their own… that is, Evelyn’s third class. This was the third time they failed and were declared unprepared for the Hunt and still, their parents dragged them to every commencement party.

Evelyn rubbed their eyes and tousled their dark mop. “Alright, alright I’ll get up-.”

“I don’t even think there’s TIME for you to get up and get ready! I only ask for SO little-!”

Evelyn rolled their eyes, prepared for another verbal berating, when their mother stepped into view. She placed her hand on their father’s arm, pushing his puffed-up shoulders down. “Why don’t you gather your things, dear, and step outside? It’s rather nice out today.” She then guided him towards the door that Evelyn didn’t even notice was pre-slammed open (most likely courtesy of their father). “I’ll prepare him.”

He groaned, walking out the door and muttered, “Can’t be having her take care of you forever, boy…”

She closed the door behind him and shuffled to Evelyn’s bedside, plopping down and reaching to comb her fingers through their hair. “Come on now, dear, it’s time to wake up.”

But Evelyn just shoved her hand aside. “Why does HE get to act like that?! And he calls ME ‘ferino!’ And why do you just let him-?!”

She silenced them with a sleight of hand to the lips. “Shhhh, easy. He isn’t here now. Breathe. Let’s just get ready.” Evelyn breathed in and out through puffed cheeks, allowing her a moment to ruffle their hair. They couldn’t help the smile that pulled at their mouth and stepped out of bed. “Now that’s my boy!” With the same stealth as before she reached for a tiny ornate bottle.

The smile was gone and Evelyn gagged and shoved the bottle away. “Mammaaaa! Please no, you know I hate the perfu-MAMMA!”

She persisted, skillfully keeping oncoming hands from spilling the perfume, “C’mon, Evelyn, you don’t have time to bathe and we have to go!” Evelyn eventually just scrunched up their face and let her douse them with the foul potion. Then she reached for Evelyn’s garb from the coat hanger and handed it to them, her white robes a stark contrast to Evelyn’s own attire. They quickly pulled on the uniform and, to their discontent, their mother patted it down and straightened it out the rest of the way. “And remember, be on your best behavior today. Make me proud.” She kissed them on the cheek and made her way outside. Evelyn grunted, ruffled their uniform to desired messiness, and followed their mother out the door.

---

The walk to the Cathedral wasn’t any different today than previous days; the Yharnamite civilians bowed their heads to them as they passed, an endless sea of “Good morning, blessed doctor!” and “Bless you, high hunter!” Some were even cheering and shouting “Praise the Old Blood!”

Fools, Evelyn thought to themself, it’s “fear the old blood” you IGNORANT FOOLS. Evelyn may have been trained as a hunter (Oedon curse the shackles of the male bloodline - and bloody men in general) but from the moment they could read, they loved sitting by the fireplace with their mother, the comfort of the flames and their mother’s presence illuminating the pages in the study. But when they would tell their peers, they just laughed at them, mocking “Guess you’ll always be sitting in a woman’s lap!” Evelyn just came to accept that no one would ever understand. No one.

But they wouldn’t let that stop them from being the best for their mother; no matter how angry they got or how much their father hit them, their mother deserved everything in their eyes. And, despite Evelyn’s dread of Church-organized events like these, today would be no different than any other day. So they smiled and nodded to each citizen.

The Grand Cathedral stood tall and symbolic of the corruption of this damn town as ever - well, at least in Evelyn’s eyes. The statues carved into figures in prayer and suffering dotted the inside, an odd contrast to the jovial crowd bustling within. Clergy hollered hearty greetings to their friends across the halls. It was a day for celebration, and seeing people enjoy themselves at least lifted the mood a little for Evelyn.

“And there she is, the apple of my eye!” Evelyn heard their father call to their mother. They followed her to his side, but Evelyn refused to look up at him. However, someone in the group of people he was talking to caught Evelyn’s eye; he was dressed in a strange getup that Evelyn had never seen before. In fact, Evelyn couldn’t figure him out for the life of them. He was dressed up a bit, more like the doctors present, though his outfit was more on the dark side, like the hunters. Nevertheless he was messy and ridden with bedhead, which scored him some points in their book. His eyes were even sunken into his face as if he’d been stuck in a library for weeks and his face never left the pages. Evelyn chuckled a little at the thought of a man so eaten up by pages that the pages started eating him back, but in doing so they realized the strange suit was looking right back at them, just as puzzled.

Oh… Evelyn averted their eyes and floundered, somewhat grateful when their father hit them over the head and ushered them into the conversation, “And this is my goofball son, Evelyn! Evelyn, this,” Evelyn looked up and saw he was pointing to - goddammit - the man Evelyn was basically laughing at, “Is Dean Cosmin, head of the School of Mensis.”

Evelyn lit up at that a bit, but the confusion still did not clear; they had read from their mother’s books of the mysterious studies and rituals of the School of Mensis - and even conspiracies of some political hand they had in the Church - but this grungy rando was supposed to be the leader of Mensis? Pfft, the school must be in dire straights right now then, they thought.

Micolash, on the other hand, was interested in Evelyn rather than put off. “This is the young sir who will be making his debut a few years late, yes?” He leaned in and clasped their hand in both of his. “Well then, young man, I do hope you enjoy your last few years of boyhood and make them last.”

Evelyn was about to just play according to the script, but then a sudden rebellious streak struck them. With the widest grin on their face, they squeezed Micolash’s hand and then - loud enough for their father to hear - replied, “I may only have a few years left of boyhood, but when I debut, I refuse to become a man.”

The group was suddenly quiet for a moment - appalled to say the best - but then Evelyn’s father laughed loud and distracting enough that Micolash was able to duck and whisper, “If you really are a friend of Mrs. King, then might I invite you onto the balcony over some wine before the night is over?”

In the heat of the moment, Evelyn was just going to slap him right in the face for getting so close, but then his words settled in their ear and Evelyn nodded in understanding. When Micolash withdrew, their father was done with the distraction and everyone seemed to be going their separate ways. That also included the Dean himself who was already off talking to higher ups like Evelyn’s past teachers (they supposed even a dying institution still needs to save face). And Evelyn didn’t want to talk to their father’s friends anymore than those arsefaces wanted to talk to them, so they just caught up to their mother and followed her around with other mothers of graduates for a bit. Spending the day with the ladies of the event was at least more palpable for Evelyn.

Eventually, as the sun began going down, Evelyn caught Micolash out of the corner of their eye leaving for a balcony, so they quickly excused themself from the conversation and headed to meet the Dean. As they rushed they found themself tangled and tripping over the sash of someone else who was passing by. The fumble caught the attention of surrounding passerby, drawing laughter and pointing fingers, and Evelyn’s cheeks flushed, frustrated, but nevertheless they marched onwards.

Evelyn cleared their throat to catch his attention, but Micolash just sloshed the contents of his glass. “Well, you seem chipper.” He took a sip and finally turned back to the young hunter. “Excited as could be to see a simple man like me.”

Evelyn didn’t know why, but his smile just felt mocking, so they parked themself against the nearest pillar and slouched. “Don’t flatter yourself,” They remarked, before tacking on a double entendre, “And don’t make me regret coming out here-.”

But Micolash caught on. “Today? Yeah, I had a feeling.” Evelyn dropped their arms in surprise. “It’s not everyday you meet a student who’s failed three times and still shows up to graduation.”

“Dammit, pops.” Evelyn murmured. They dropped their head, kicked themself off the stone, and sighed, “It’s not like I came on my own, my parents dragged me here.” They leaned on the guard rail beside the scholar and gazed at the horizon. “But I know there’s a world beyond this city and I just wish I could see it, even if only for a moment…”

Micolash chucked a bit at that, “Some secrets of this world and beyond are best left untouched. You do good to remember that.”

Evelyn growled in disagreement and dug their head into their shoulders. Then they realized something. “Hey, do you want some blood? I could easily get you some of the finest-.”

But Micolash halted them with a raised palm. “No no, I’m fine. I don’t like blood.” Evelyn stared at him like he had just sprouted five eyes on his forehead and Micolash laughed. “I know, it’s not common around Central Yharnam but… us of the School don’t have as much of a… crutch for blood.”

Evelyn clicked their tongue and shook their head, “Suit yourself.”

Micolash laughed softly at them and leaned over the rail himself. “Well, you came to talk to me for a reason, so I’m guessing my assumptions about you were right.” Evelyn didn’t know it, but they smirked proudly at that. But the next question took them off guard. “So, what are your pronouns?”

Evelyn’s eyes lit up at that, sudden butterflies in their stomach. Finally, something that would make getting out of bed today worth it. “Oh, that! My pronouns… I like to be called… uh.” They curled up a bit and scratched their head. “Oh, sorry, I don’t get asked this every day… or ever for that matter.” But Micolash just gave them an encouraging look so finally, they straightened out and took a deep breath, “I go by ‘they-them'… BUT! But I still go by ‘Evelyn,’ if that makes it easy for you.”

To Evelyn’s surprise, Micolash looked pleased with the answer, “Absolutely, that’s perfectly fine with me as long as you’re comfortable with it.”

Evelyn patted their own neck. “Heh, yeah…” They awkwardly trailed off.

But Micolash picked up with ease. “So you’ve really never told anyone else?”

Evelyn just winced at that. “Told…” They knew that they should just lie and say their life was great, but something about Micolash’s wisdom just swayed them otherwise. “Yeah, I’ve told some people but-.”

“It didn’t go so well?”

That… would only describe so little of it. Evelyn just nodded, mouth clamped and looking away. Well, this dampened the mood.

So they jumped a little when Micolash patted them on the shoulder. “Well I think you’ll make a fine adult, Evelyn, no matter what path you choose. Neither boy nor girl.“ Then, pulling away and smiling, “As so have I.”

That was a (slightly surprising, as the dean didn’t correct them on his own preferences, but still) kind sentiment, but - reflecting on more past events in their mind - Evelyn tried to control their voice, “It’s not really my choice…”

But Micolash persisted. “What? Of course it is! You always have a choice. You may get cornered, but you can choose whether to fight or not, and you may go down in the end, but you can choose to go quietly or go out screaming.”

This time when they looked up at him, Evelyn’s smile wasn’t forced. “Heh, kinda sounds nice… to have a choice for once.”

“Listen, people always paint your age as the best time of your life, but the truth is that youth SUCKS! So much change is happening, hell, even your body and brain are growing so fast everyday when you’re young. The growth just never stops and you change with it.” He patted them on the back and softly reassured, “Just give it time.”

Suddenly, a loud uproar came from within the Cathedral. Seeing Micolash’s concern made Evelyn chuckle. “Sounds like they’ve given the fledglings the final blessing.”

But Micolash looked rather downcast by this. “Well then, that means I must be heading off.”

“What? Already?” Evelyn bit back their lip, surprised at how loud they said it. They didn’t want him to go, they just started to get a good rapport.

“I’m sorry, Evelyn, but I really must take my leave. Mensis can’t run itself.” Even Micolash looked bitter about their departure.

So Evelyn stopped feeling sorry for themself, even if only a little, “Thank you for taking time to talk to me. It’s been hell recently…”

Micolash’s smile was as warm as before. “Isn’t life like that for us all?” He made his way to the steps just as a crowd was exiting the Cathedral and just like that, he was swept away.

[pengychan]

Fake Priest AU

So last night @senoraluna and I were chatting and ended up thinking up a scenario in which Héctor an orphan raised by the church and, with plenty of guilty-tripping and talks on how someday he would have to give back what he received, he eventually decides he should ‘give back’ by becoming a priest. 

So there he is, a novice who’s a few months away from taking his vows, and all is going well. Except for the fact that this girl he keeps seeing in church is really, really, really cute. And sings so beautifully in the choir while he plays the organ. But this cannot happen, right? He’s about to become a priest and she is a novice on her way to become a nun. No, this just can’t work. Best to ignore it. But damn isn’t she wonderful and spirited and oh God why is he having these impure thoughts and keeps writing songs for her how does he stop what can he do.

Meanwhile Imelda is on her way to become a nun for the simple reason that she came to the conclusion Men Are Shit and she wants a good excuse not to marry, ever. It’s not like she’s gonna meet ONE guy who might make her change her mind about it while she’s just months away from her vows and oh shit the novice over there is cute isn’t he.  But no he’s going to be a priest, of course, just her luck, she’ll just ignore it and ignore him why is ignoring him so difficult goddammit. 

And they’re sort of awkwardly avoiding looking at each other and acknowledging the issue when suddenly the old parish priest dies and a replacement is sent. Only that the replacement is killed on the way to Santa Cecilia in a skirmish (Mexican Revolution being in full swing and all). Which gives an excellent idea to one guy who was recruited in the army and then deserted because fuck it, I’m not doing this. He’s got to hide somewhere to avoid the firing squad, so he takes the priest’s possessions and, a few days later, Padre Ernesto arrives at Santa Cecilia.

“I mean, how hard can it be, pretending to be a pries-- ah, so this is Latin, cool, of course I know how to read it and, er, I did have a sermon ready but HOW ABOUT WE SING INSTEAD I just happen to have a guitar.”

He’s an unusual priest, but his bluff works and people in the parish actually like him a lot. He becomes good friends with novice Héctor who of course will turn to him to confess impure thoughts about a girl he wil not name to him. Imelda also confesses attraction to a man while Ernesto puts two and two together and facepalms in the confessional.

Both are very much taken aback by the extremely un-priestly advice to go for it. 

They do not, in fact, go for it. Ernesto decides to take the matter in his own hands. 

(There would also  be a couple of OCs thrown in the mix: a missionary priest from the States who feels it’s his duty to stomp away ~pagan beliefs~ and teach ~proper~ Catholicism - and who starts becoming suspicious over Padre Ernesto, but also gets the most confusing boner - and a nun who takes her vows of chastity more as a suggestion than as anything else, and is determined to see novice Imelda and Héctor bone.)

... I really hope none of you was expecting a serious idea for a serious story because this would be a cheesy romcom with Revolution, fake priests and some blasphemy in the mix.

[flyswhumpcenter]

Bad Things Happen Bingo! The event where you send me requests according to this marvelous card!

Don’t ask me why. It’s like I did a 360° on my ideas about being that one local whump hipster asshole. It wasn’t even a request, but the art block was stronk and the tentation even stronker so... DBH whump! I can’t explain, just take it! Father-son Hank & Connor + “Blood from the Mouth” wasn’t in my inbox but fuck it. Sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do.

Nothing Ever Goes Right Around Here

Summary: It was supposed to be a normal case of missing deviants, goddammit. Instead, it turned into a shower of blue blood.

Fandom: Detroit: Become Human

Wordcount: 3.5K words

Event organized by @badthingshappenbingo

AO3 version available here.

There was this thing about being in the police that all cops knew about: the danger of death. Unless you were stuck behind a terminal waiting for shit to happen or filling goddamn paperwork for the tenth time in two days, you were going to put your life in danger. Criminals were all over trying to get away with their crimes: if it meant killing an officer or two to evade it, then they’d probably do it.

Everyone was aware of these dangers when androids started to become a thing. Housekeeping and making stuff in huge hangars in what used to be the desert part of Detroit hadn’t been enough to contain the “epidemic”: in the end, that one corp named CyberLife had managed to slip some of policer/detective/whatever robots in the police forces to fight against other robots having gone deviant/defective/however they called it.

 In a way, Hank could say his career changed the day he had gotten a partner assigned to him in 2018 Anno Domini (and he only knew what “AD” stood for because he once had gotten through a torrential lecture about it, holy shit that had been boring as balls). A non-human partner. A plastic prick assigned to him because now he was investigating androids or something. Wished he had been warned about facing these assholes before Fowler had slammed them in his face. Would have been nice to get prepared, y’know.

The thing was awkward to look at. It looked goofy with puppy eyes, a haircut which seemed to have dated back from when he was born and with a weird-ass voice with a weird-ass accent. “CyberLife androids are conceived to work harmoniously with humans”, sure. It kept trying to do some fake small talk, including such classics as “I like dogs” and “Can I ask you a personal question, Lieutenant?”.

 It wasn’t like it wouldn’t follow him around all the goddamn time. The thing was tenacious as fuck: no matter how many times he’d tell it “don’t go there, you’re gonna get killed”, it’d still do so. Fucking prick. Drinking himself to death? It’d break his window. Eating lunch? It was there, commenting on his street friends taking part in illegal gambles. Getting shot in the fucking head? It’d come back the next day as if nothing had happened, “My predecessor was unfortunately destroyed, but I was sent as a replacement”.

After a while, though, Hank noticed himself warming up to the fucking robot. In fact, he started to refer to the latter as a “he” instead of just “it”. In a way, advanced androids showed: at times, Connor was more human than he would have liked his artificial partner to be. It was too real when he had had to slam his heart back into his chest as it bleed blue everywhere in a staff room.

Way too real.

 In the end, deviant androids weren’t in the wrong and lead a peaceful revolution. Bigotry was still there (when wasn’t it? Being an asshole was a part of being a human being), insults and slurs were still there, deviants hating humans and vice-versa were still there. The world would change, he figured. It always did, so why wouldn’t it change this time? Androids had claimed back the tower in which they had once been conceived, built and stocked: it was already changing.

It was easy to perceive: instead of just having some kind of plastic partner crossed with a poodle trying to sound human, he had a workmate with just a different colour of blood and way to express himself (“androids cannot die, we get shutdown”, “androids cannot get sick, Hank, they can get infected”, yada yada yada). In a way, Connor was the son he had never gotten the chance to see grow up, but he’d be damned if he ever spat that in front of the kid.

 It wasn’t about hunting down deviants for the sake of making them go back to being machines anymore, at the DPD. Now, it was about hunting down violent deviants, find missing androids scared by deviancy, or arresting even more assholes killing androids. Hank wished he didn’t know android sex trafficking was a thing, but it was a few cases too late. It was better than before: he didn’t feel like he was being an ass just for making his job. Connor still licked blood off the floor as if it wasn’t any big deal (God, that was still gross as fuck), but it was better.

So now, he was teamed with a sentient android investigating android-related cases and it wasn’t even swerving his hate nerve anymore. Getting over what had happened to Cole was finally going somewhere thanks to him not being a blind piece of shit about it anymore. How things had changed in such a short span of time.

 All this had brought him to this day. They had been assigned to the case of the disappearance of an SR300 which had apparently gone deviant and fled the place with a similar model, a JL900. Both were android models specialized in education and teaching, and had fled from the high school they were used in.

“I guess being a teach is only slightly better than findin’ corpses on the ground,” Hank grunted as he turned on the car. “These two must have fled because the brats weren’t worth the shitty-ass wage.”

“According to witness accounts, the two have taken shelter in a nearby abandoned school, of which the current school is a rebuilt one,” Connor stated, looking through window to a decrepit building barely standing.

 They both got out of the car, making their way to the old building. It was a disaster to look at: shattered windows, rotting walls with tags all over them, shards of glass and wood on the concrete, weeds starting to take over the entire place and a few animal corpses to sell the thing. It seemed like little shits liked to come here to get a quick laugh by being assholes to innocent animals.

“Look at this. Isn’t it a place where ya wanted to spend a nice afternoon, Connor?” he asked his partner who looked way more serious than he was.

“We usually visit unpleasant locations such as this one,” he replied with an unnatural seriousness. “I don’t see how this is any worse than our usual investigations.”

“Ain’t wrong.”

 They walked into the building through its busted doors, glass breaking even more under their footsteps. The walls weren’t just about to collapse under the weight of four abandoned floors: they were also covered in incoherent, compulsive writings.

“The words on the walls were both written by humans and androids. They used a standard font to write about rA9 again…” Connor seemed to mutter to himself as he scanned the walls.

“So both have been there, huh. That’s just fantastic. We’re trying to find androids and we’re faced with the possibility of humans having put their dirty noses in there.”

 The ground floor was at times inaccessible, huge chunks of wood and concrete having long since blocked most corridors to what seemed to have been administration-related rooms. Oh well, was for the best: the less places to access, the less to actually investigate. Moreover, it blocked most of the staircases, which meant there was no risky stair climbing today. Hey, if the place wasn’t so creepy and such a hazard, it wouldn’t be too bad of an investigation.

But there was a catch to it (there was always a catch to things anyway): there were two ways to go. They’d have to either split up and cover more field or remain together but lose time. He couldn’t tell all by himself what thing to do, even if he was more inclined to split and spend less time in this goddamn debris of a place.

 “Which way is the most likely to have these deviants, Connor?” he asked, thinking some fancy-shmancy scan ability could maybe make that easier.

“I can’t tell. The writings on the walls seem to be very similar on both ways.”

His LED cycled to yellow, a sure sign he was scanning something, perhaps simulating, if he wasn’t wrong about these specificities that was.

“I’d go as far as to say the two androids could have gone either way and could have split at some point.”

“Fuck. Let’s split too then. I’m going left, you’re going right, got it?”

“Got it.”

 Gun in a hand and a flashlight in the other, Hank made his way into the left corridor. It was everything an abandoned school would be in a clichéd horror movie: blood dried on the walls, broken wooden floor tainted in red (from what, he didn’t want to know), incoherent tags filled with penis crudely drown on former paint job… Truly the “work” of some shitheads.

Doors to classrooms were completely busted, revealing most of the furniture had either been moved to the new school or had been stolen. Because of the state of the building, these rooms were all identical: dark, smelling like wet red ice, rotting and just unpleasant to look at for more than three seconds.

 Eventually, his eyes stumbled upon two blue diodes shining in the dark. The deviants were in the last room of the corridor (of course). Making sure to have his gunned hand lowered (if seeing Connor act upon deviants had told him something, it was that being unarmed was better in these cases) and the flashlight more visible. Violent confrontation wasn’t really his cup of coffee these days.

He shined his light onto the two female androids, revealing them to have been sitting still on top of a desk. They didn’t look that scared or surprised to see him, as if they had expected him to come in at some point. He wasn’t the stealthiest cop around, to be fair.

 “Detroit Police,” he told them as he put his gun in its holder for the moment. “Stay put.”

They didn’t say anything back, just stayed there. They were still dressed in their factory uniforms, looking undisturbed enough to seem like they had never gone deviant in the first place.

“What? You’re not reacting or trying to kill me or something?”

The SR300, a brown-haired one with blue eyes, got up and walked closer to him.

“We don’t have to fear anything from you. We already know who you are and who you came with.”

“Guess info does spread amongst deviants. Look, I’m not good at negotiating, especially compared to my partner, but I still wanna know why you fled the place like that. Was it the brats?”

That was soft coming from him, but he didn’t feel threatened by two female androids smaller than him.

 The second android got up too, revealing herself to have brown eyes, darker than Connor’s he’d say, even if the shitty lighting of the place didn’t help.

“We didn’t know what they’d do with us once they knew we were deviants. It was starting to look too obvious.”

“Who, the brats? I don’t think they’d give two shits. Kids are usually nicer than adults about that kind of stuff.”

If he remembered one anecdote from Connor before the latter had deviated, it was the one about the little girl who was taken hostage by the family’s android she loved.

“No, the school staff,” SR900 interjected. “Discrimination against androids is still a thing for us deviants. These dicks wouldn’t want us to think too much. Ironic, considering that’s what school is supposed to teach the kids.”

An android who cursed freely. Felt like talking to a real human for a second over there.

“We escaped so we wouldn’t be chained to our original, programmed mindset,” JL900 added. “Being free is being able to think for ourselves and being able to teach how we want. For once, the students aren’t the issue.”

“So ya escaped because ya wanted free will, right? Seems like a cool motive. Ya killed people while ya were at it?”

“We’re supposed to be teacher androids, Lieutenant.” JL900 seemed offended at this. “We wouldn’t kill people. I don’t think we’ve even unlocked that.”

“Now, if you want a killer deviant, there’s one in the building,” SR300 said as she glanced towards the corridor. “We were about to leave the place anyway, it was just so they’d lose track of us. Now, if I was you, I’d leave too.”

 Wait, how did they know he was a lieutenant? Huh, no, wait again. There was something worse about this.

“There’s another deviant in there?!”

SR300 didn’t seem this disturbed.

“Yeah. A deviant with a knack against other androids and humans alike. He calls himself Brandon, if you ever come across him.”

JL900 didn’t seem this tranquil with it, though.

“Sarah,” she said as she looked at the other android, “isn’t Lieutenant Anderson always accompanied by an android?”

“Oh, yeah, he is,” she replied looking at the ceiling, before starting at him again. “You should go check on your partner, Brandon may have found him.”

That smelled like shit. The calmness of that swearing android was pissing him off beyond reason, to the point he wanted to scream at her for not telling him earlier, but Connor was a priority there.

 Not even saying something again, Hank hurried to the other end of the corridor he had gone in and into the one he hadn’t been in before. As he did so, he armed his other hand with his gun, determined to make it to where the deviant was and shoot him in the head if it meant having his partner alive and perhaps saving the two pacifist androids in the back over there.

As he did so, the stench of the place had changed. It smelled much, much more like plastic and machinery. It was probably his mind playing tricks on him, considering he was getting concerned and almost scared of finding Connor in pieces by that point.

 Getting breathless, he stopped running, trying to catch his breath as soon as possible. Heart beating against his ribcage, cursing himself for having tried to attract death glass after glass, his hand dropped down, lighting the floor. There was this weird ambient noise of someone dragging something on the floor,

His eyes went wild when he noticed there were drops of blue. Whatever Connor had to get his parts functional was spilled on the floor, his or not. Considering the short timespan during which it’d stay wet, it had to belong to one of the four androids in the building. Also considering the pristine condition of the two female androids he had just left, despite the place where they were, it had to belong to either Connor or the deviant. He needed to act fast.

 As he was about to continue delving into the corridors, something grabbed his ankle, almost making him fall.

“Goddammit! Don’t pull my legs, for fuck’s…”

His heart skipped a beat.

“Jesus Christ!!”

 The hand clutching his ankle belonged to Connor, whom he kneeled in front of. There was blue blood all over the android’s fingers and dripping from his mouth, ragged breathing also coming out from it.

“Goddammit, Connor, you’re okay?! What happened to ya?!”

“A deviant… shot me in one of the classrooms… He’s armed…”

“God fucking dammit…”

 Putting his partner’s head on his lap, Hank put the gun back in this pocket and shone the light on the android. It wasn’t too hard to spot the wound: there was a blue hole right in his chest from which liquid oozed, tainting everything it touched in cobaltic tones. The damage seemed to have been enough for Connor to cough up even more blood, all contributing to tainting even more of the place blue.

It was a storm inside Hank’s head. Should he try to stop the haemorrhage the same way he’d so with a human, with red blood? It didn’t cost anything to try. He put his hand on there, trying to use pressure to his advantage, when footsteps arrived next to him.

 There was no LED light around the footsteps’ noise. A “shit” escaped his mouth as he realized this wasn’t any of the two girls from before, but the last deviant in the building. The one with the homicidal tendencies and a lack of empathy to his fellow androids. He needed to get rid of it before it got rid of him.

Regretfully targeting his flashlight towards the deviant, other hand already moving from the wound to his pocket and to his gun, he noticed there was a barrel pointed right between his own two eyes. This was going to end in a bloodbath, wasn’t it.

“Sorry, son,” he whispered under his breath as if Connor could hear it, ready to shoot and get shot, until the barrel disappeared from his immediate vision.

 Two lights had appeared in his field of vision.

“Sir!” SR300’s voice rose from the darkness. “Get away from here as fast as possible! We’re gonna keep him in there long enough, don’t worry for us!”

He wished he didn’t have to resort to that, but seeing Connor cough up some more blue blood was giving him the urge to leave as soon as possible.

“We… we can’t leave them here…” Connor said with echo in his voice and liquid pouring out as Hank was putting him over his shoulder.

“We can’t wait around here, or you’re gonna die! No officer dies on my watch!”

 It was a chore to get moving with someone barely able to walk weighing down on his shoulder, but it had to be done. His partner was attempting to speak despite the leak continuing. Hand on his phone, phone to his ear, ear twitching, he was barking into it to request backup and some kind of medical assistance for androids, whatever that was called.

“Hang on there, we’ll get you to safety and repaired in no time. Just… don’t die on me.”

Connor attempted to speak, only for more blue to come out from it, spilling on the ground.

“And don’t speak, Jesus Christ! You’re gonna make yourself even worse if you do that!”

 Sirens filled the air, lights blinded the eyes, backup deafening sounds and visuals alike. That had been tougher than expected… Of course it’d be. Why did he have expectations of anything going right, again? At least, question solved, right?

  If there was a thing Hank hated deep down, it was waiting for something to happen whenever things turned to shit. He was covered in blue, staring at the wall in a fucking waiting room because he couldn’t focus on anything else. Order from Fowler himself, he didn’t need to add another page to the goddamn bible that was his behaviour history.

The kid had been shot in the chest and he couldn’t have done much about it. He knew he couldn’t have guessed, couldn’t have known, but it still felt like his fault nonetheless. He didn’t care if Connor was supposed to just be robotics with a humanoid face, he was still alive and he had almost died right in his arm for the second time. Fuck this deviant, he deserved the bullet in the head he got from the backup.

 He had seen the two female androids from earlier pass by him, apologizing for not telling him earlier. One of them, the SR300 if he wasn’t mistaken, had almost been shot too, but it only grazed her instead. They had seemed to be adamant to join society as functional members, albeit deviant androids by default. They weren’t bad persons, he supposed, so it was only fair that they had survived the ordeal and had left that decrepit school straight out of Satan’s asshole.

That still didn’t make that shitty situation okay. He hadn’t been here for long and he knew that: at best half an hour, at worst a couple minutes, the time to want to punch something and throw coffee at Gavin for the tenth time in the week. It was pissing him off to dick around like that waiting for something to happen.

 “Lt. Anderson?” a voice called for him, unfamiliar and neutral all the same. Some random technician, he figured.

“Yeah?” he simply replied, before realizing it could be important. “Did the kid make it?” he proceeded to ask, a bit more concerned about the entire ordeal.

The small smile on the guy’s face betrayed the answer.

“He did indeed make it. You may visit his room now.”

 The lieutenant obviously followed. In all silence, yet sighing internally in relief because never again, he made his way in the room. Closing the door behind him and leaning against the wall, he looked at the unconscious (or so he assumed) man in the bed in front of him. A smirk crept up on his face.

“Never do that again, kid, got it?”

[ivebeenavengered]

Pierce

I didn’t make yesterday’s prompt because I still am not happy with the way it’s come out. I’ll post it eventually, but here’s today’s prompt (On time for the first time hellz yeah) 

The suit groaned in protest as Tony urged it past the recommended maximum speed. Pieces of rubble and the occasional blast from the most recent threat to humanity made the maneuvering difficult, but Tony barley paid them mind. He had eyes only for the small figure that was plummeting out of the sky. 

This was impossible. This whole situation was impossible.

 Tony's mind went blank as he pushed the suit as hard as he could. Friday's slightly panicked voice did nothing to stay Tony's determination. The world slowed around him as he streaked across the sky; his entire world shrank to the person that was falling towards the unforgiving concrete. Faster his mind screamed at him you have to go faster!

And then, suddenly, Bruce's limp form was in his arms. Tony curled his armor-plated body around Bruce's protectively as they both slammed into the pavement. The armor hit the ground with a horrific crash, and Tony winced as he was thrown against the unyielding metal of his suit. His whole body was going to be one big bruise after this. 

As Tony straightened the armor, the extent of Bruce's injury became apparent. Tony took a steadying breath as he attempted to survey the damage. Blood was smeared across the front of his own armor and it seeped from the deep puncture wound on Bruce's chest. He caught a glimpse of a towel a sunbather had left behind in their hurry to leave the park and pressed it firmly against the wound.

"This isn't supposed to happen," Tony breathed, more a whisper than an actual statement. "God dammit Bruce, you're supposed to be indestructible." Bruce's eyes were shut, and, were it not for the blood spattered across his body, he could have been sleeping. "Friday, call Helen. Send her our location and tell her to get here fast." As Friday complied, he pressed the release for the faceplate, but nothing happened. He squeezed the release mechanism again, but it still refused to open. 

"Friday, get me out of this thing, I have to help him." His throat started to close as an overwhelming sense of claustrophobia loomed over him and he pressed the eject again with the same result.

"Sir, I cannot let you eject. The radiation coming from Dr. Banner's blood is highly dangerous and will severely injure you even if it does not kill you."

"Shit. Shit Brucie. Ah," he looked down at Bruce, who had already lost what little color he'd had left in his face, "Did you contact Helen?"

"Doctor Cho is on her way with a full medical team. They have been informed of the situation and the danger it presents." Friday's matter-of-fact tone would have been almost reassuring had Tony's best friend not been lying in the middle of Central Park in a pool of his own radioactive blood.

"Let me talk to her."

Friday's display dissolved as she complied with Tony's request and Helen's photo quickly appeared to fill the empty spot. 

"Tony? I'm only a couple minutes away, it is your job to keep whatever monstrosity you all are fighting away from the area." Tony could hear the sounds of chaos in the distance behind him, but knew the others were more than capable of keeping the beast at bay for now. 

"Helen, yeah, thanks, don't worry about that. Uh, how do I help him? He's bleeding out in front of me and I may have four PH.D.s but none of them prepared me for whatever this is and, uh, there's a lot of blood." By the time he finished talking, he was gasping for breath. There's so much blood.

"Breathe, Tony. He's going to be okay."

Tony swallowed down his denial and took a deep breath. "All I need you to do is keep pressure on his wound. Find a cloth or something like that and keep it pressed on there firmly until I get there." 

"Yeah I got that. Please..." he paused, his voice caught in his throat, "Just hurry."

Helen assured him that she'd be quick, and her picture faded off the display as she disconnected. 

The silence that followed was deafening. Tony swallowed, the walls of his armor beginning again to feel like a prison separating him from his friend. 

"Ah fuck. Bruce, god, please don't do this. I mean, I know it's not your fault. Who knew something could fucking pierce the Hulk's skin? Like, that shouldn't happen. And the whole falling from the sky thing wasn't fun either. But goddammit, Bruce. I can't... you can't leave me now." Tony smiled and shook his head, "You're... so important to me. And I haven't told you that. Not really. I want the chance to do that," his vision blurred as his eyes welled with tears he couldn't brush away, "Please. Please give me that chance."

The sound of an approaching car announced Helen's arrival. Tony turned and saw three figures hurrying towards him dressed in hazmat suits. 

Helen carefully took Tony's position and gave Bruce a quick once-over before she nodded to the figures accompanying her. Tony stood back while the two unfamiliar figures gently lifted Bruce onto a stretcher and carried him back toward their vehicle. Helen hung back, and turned to face Tony while her assistants loaded themselves into the car.

"I don't have to tell you how dangerous it is to be sheltering Bruce," Tony deadpanned. He was grateful that his eyes couldn't be seen through the mask, because he was entirely focused on the car that was taking his friend away.

"You don't. My team and I are more than prepared to deal with whatever may come; be it biological or of a more militaristic persuasion." 

Tony smiled behind the faceplate of the armor. Her confidence was catching. "I'll be there as soon as I can. Thanks, Dr. Cho. And be careful."

She nodded and sprinted to where the car was waiting. Tony watched as she climbed in, then took off. He quickly called Rhodey and heard the sounds of fighting in the background when his friend picked up. Obviously, the fight with the monster was still super intense. 

"Tony! What do you need? I'm kind of busy at the moment." Tony could hear the tell-tale sound of the massive artillery attached to the War Machine armor as Rhodey unloaded, presumably, into the monster. "How's Bruce?"

"I have no idea. Helen's taking him to the SHIELD base down in ----." 

"You're going too, right?" It was less of a question and more of a statement. If anyone knew how dangerous governmental organizations could be, it was Rhodes. "I'm worried about him waking up in a hospital somewhere. Alone." 

"Of course I'm heading down there. I’m tracking the car they've got him in as we speak. You all got all the monster business under control?" Tony asked. 

"Yeah, I'll let the others know. We've got this covered out here. Keep Bruce safe."

Tony nodded, "Alright, good luck doing this without either half of the brain of this crazy operation." 

He could practically hear Rhodey rolling his eyes as he shot off in the direction they'd taken Bruce. The sounds of the battle in Central Park quieted behind him until he could no longer hear them. Anxiety and worry curled in the pit of his stomach, no longer held at bay by the adrenaline that came with fighting.

"Hang in there, Bruce. I'm on my way."

Hours later, Tony sat next to the bed where Bruce was laying. The room was small, but nicely furnished with a large window overlooking the forest they were hidden in. Although S.H.I.E.L.D had been kind enough to offer them their hidden facilities, Tony didn't trust them enough to leave Bruce for more than a few minutes. Helen had been surprised by his sudden appearance when they first pulled into the facilities, but no one argued when the Iron Man armor waltzed into the hospital wing with a hazmat unit. Tony (with the aid of his powerful armored suit) had allowed no one but Dr. Cho's small group of trusted peers to see Bruce during the entire process. The suit, freshly cleaned and decontaminated, was standing guard just outside the door of the hospital room.  Helen had come by twice to check on Bruce and take vitals, and assured Tony repeatedly that Bruce was going to be fine. 

He has to be fine, Tony had mused, He just has to be.

Right now, exhaustion was getting the better of him and he jerked himself awake for what must have been the sixth time. He sighed and leaned back, letting his eyes slide shut and letting the gentle hum of hospital activity lull him into some semblance of rest. 

"...Tony?" The voice was small and barely above a whisper, but it was enough to pull him out of whatever state of sleep he had been in. "Did I...? Hurt anyone?"

Tony felt his heart swell in his chest and he heaved a sigh of relief, "No, buddy. You nearly gave me a heart attack with that stunt though." He paused and made his voice jokingly menacing, "Don't you ever do shit like that again."

Bruce blinked and gave him a weak smile, "Yeah, you don't have to tell me twice." He winced as he took a deep breath and swore, "Hurts like hell."

Tony shrugged, "You got shanked by some ferocious water beast. You're damn lucky you aren't dead. Though I'm curious how that thing took Hulk out hard enough to make this happen." He gestured to the white bandages that criss-crossed over Bruce's torso. 

"A mystery for another day," Bruce grimaced as he pulled himself into a sitting position, "As for right now, I'm more curious to know where the food is. I'm dying over here."

Tony laughed and stood up, knees cracking like gunshots as he pulled himself out of the chair, "Sit tight, I'll go find you something to eat." 

A quick trip to the hospital cafeteria produced an astonishing amount of food that Bruce inhaled like he hadn't eaten in weeks. Tony absentmindedly chewed an apple, happy to see that Bruce felt well enough to have a healthy appetite. 

"Hey," Bruce started, finishing up his third helping of Mac and cheese, "So, ah, you said something about you needing to tell me how important I am to you while I was bleeding out."

Tony stopped chewing mid-bite.

Bruce smiled, "Yup. Barely conscious, but I caught that. I, uh, figured I'd spare you the awkward conversation and just tell you that I feel the same way." He sighed, the cup of mac and cheese gone, "And we've both been skirting around this" he waved at the space between them to emphasize his meaning, "for a frustratingly long amount of time." 

Tony thought he was going to pass out right there in the chair. "You're serious? You played me like that? Listen, I got you mac and cheese and I saved your damn life. You could be a little more gracious." 

Bruce smiled and shrugged, "I can't talk about serious stuff when I'm hungry alright? Look, Tony, I like you. Like, a lot. And it's been awhile since I've felt like this about anyone. But," he looked down at the sheets between his legs, "I need to know you feel the same."

Tony grinned and took Bruce's hand, giving it a light squeeze, "Yeah. God, yes. Bruce, I'm sorry it took me this long to admit but... yeah I feel the same way about you. Something about those huge Bambi eyes just stole my heart out from under me."

Bruce chuckled, then grimaced, "Ah, fuck, laughing hurts."

"Why don't you get some rest?" Tony suggested, his own eyes heavy once again with sleep. "We can talk about all this when both of us wake up."

Bruce nodded and scooted himself back down into the bed. "Yeah. Are you staying here?"

"No where else I'd rather be, Brucie."

Bruce smiled and shut his eyes, "Admittedly, I have several places I'd rather be. But, seriously, thank you for saving my life. I owe you one."

"We can get even later, but, for the record, you're welcome." 

"Goodnight, Tony."

"Goodnight."

Tony leaned back in the chair and let his eyes close as well, knowing that, when he woke up, everything was going to be alright. 

[facets-and-rainbows]

AnE volume 18 question corner

I eventually got around to translating this! From the bonus material in the back of volume 18, which is no longer the newest one.

How good is Hachirou’s eyesight? And is it different in different eyes, like you sometimes get with humans that need two glasses prescriptions?

Hachirou: I have eight different fields of vision, and they can all look at different places independently. I don’t know if there’s a difference between them but generally I can see from Towada to around Lake Tazawa in Akita. 

[Translator’s note: JESUS F***]

Katoh: Wh-whoa...

Shura: Well, Hachirou was a god. I wonder what he’s doing now, hope he’s okay...

To all the cram school students and teachers, what’s it like watching TV specials about demons, scary stories, etc?

Katoh: We get this kind of question every so often, so let’s just have them all answer in one go!

Yukio: I don’t watch them. I can’t enjoy them, they remind me too much of work.

Shura: I watch em sometimes. It’s funny when they have fake mediums, or CGI “footage” of ghosts.

Suguro: That’s funny to you? I can’t watch them without going “there aren’t any demons like that!” or “that’s not how you exorcise those, idiot!” or “behind you!” It gets tiring, so I don’t watch often.

Shima: But that’s the best part! I love watching that stuff for laughs. Plus it’s cute when they have idols and actresses reacting to scary videos. “Kyaaaaaa~!” <3

Konekomaru: You have some interesting hobbies, Shima. I don’t like scary stuff, so I don’t watch them! Don’t want to be scared when I’m not even on a mission...

Izumo: I don’t watch the variety show horror specials cause they’re dumb, but I do watch a pretty good amount of fiction shows. Like dramas, and movies, and manga...I like them a lot.

Shiemi: Me too! I don’t have a TV at my house so I don’t really know about that stuff, but I read a lot of horror and mystery novels. Especially on summer nights, they’re nice and refreshing.

Izumo: Huh, we’re on the same wavelength there, I’m surprised.

Shiemi: Right? It’s great.

Shima: That’s cute, you guys <3

Mephisto: I love it all--fiction, variety shows, horror...Human creativity truly goes beyond a demon’s expectations. The variety shows about zombies and shark attacks are particularly remarkable. Why, just recently they had an exorcist fighting a demon-possessed shark! Best laugh I’ve had in a while.

Lightning: I like that stuff more than you might think. But it doesn’t have to be a horror special; you see them pretty often just on regular shows, yeah? Like behind the news anchors, or wandering around the variety show set...

Everyone else: OMG YES

Yukio: That’s why I don’t watch much TV in the first place. I’ll turn on a variety show because I want to laugh, and there’s a ghost or something sitting in there with the celebrities. It really kills the mood.

Shima: But it’s hilarious when that happens!

Yukio: What about you, Nii-san? You’ve been awfully quiet.

Rin: Well, I was just realizing that I haven’t really watched any TV since I awakened...We don’t have one in the dorm. Man, now I really wanna watch--

Yukio: No.

Rin: I didn’t even say anything yet!

How much power/societal influence do exorcists have?

[T/N: this is heavily paraphrased because it's a huge annoying paragraph]

Mephisto: Well, in terms of your world, it’s somewhere between the clergy and the police. When there’s a threat to public safety that involves demons, it gets handed off to us in the Order. We’re even authorized to use force (sort of like how the police are), though we’re considered a private organization rather than government workers. In terms of size and number of members, it’s closer to the fire department than the police. As for public opinion, exorcists are basically viewed like people in other religious professions, but since most people can’t see demons, there are also a lot who think exorcists are a bunch of frauds.

Question for Toudou: When you got younger in volume 8, it sounded like you didn’t need your glasses anymore, but now you’re wearing them again. Did you just want to feel closer to Yukio or something? I need to know.

(Yukio makes a face)

Katoh: Come on now, it IS kind of strange! Let’s ask him!

Toudou: I’ve worn glasses since I was a kid. So when I suddenly didn’t need them anymore, my face felt weird without them and I kept trying to put them on absentmindedly. So now I just wear fake ones. Thanks for the question.

In the Shima family, who’s the most popular (in a romantic sense)?

Katoh: This is one we get a lot too!

Renzou: Oh, I think you know who it is~ *wink wink* <3

Suguro: Juuzou.

Konekomaru: Overwhelmingly Juuzou.

Kinzou: Juu-nii.

Suguro: I don’t think I can remember a time in my life when he couldn’t find a girlfriend.

Kinzou: When we were kids, he’d come home on Valentine’s Day carrying a whole mountain of chocolate. He looked like a warrior returning victorious with the spoils from a battle.

Juuzou: Oh, stop it, you guys. That was ages ago.

Renzou (crying and wailing): Goddammit!

Katoh: That’s all for this time!

[stannamarsh]

Souvenirs From Hell

Souvenirs From Hell, by H.R Martin, (AKA YokoKoko on Tumblr, though this is the best edit.) I worked all day on this and forgot to eat. ----------------------------------------- Maya Angelou once commented that, "There's no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside of you." A certain person who will be mentioned later gave the opposite advice. Don't tell stories. Stories make one accountable. . Anyway, this story is unapologetic and it is all mine. What I learned recently has to do with the difference between life as a messed up 24 or 25 year old and one as a messed up 29 year old, aka me. It starts with knowing what you want and planning how to get it. Knowing that your fuck-ups are your responsibility. Knowing you're a mentally ill bitch who says harsh things, making the granary of truth in your words harder to hear. It's frustrating that you were attempting to communicate but somehow you got it all wrong. It's wanting desperately to be more thoughtful, helpful, intelligent, necessary and kind with your words. It's striving for the best in every action I choose to take. I want to be a decent human being. Due to my flaws, it's a struggle. Knowing isn't the issue. Doing right is the challenge. As for the five years growth between 24 and 29 I never believed it was that big of a difference until I lived it. That gap, in my experience is filled with codependency and attempts to train or fix someone. This is how we drive ourselves crazy. It's their journey. Not letting others walk their own journey or not being left alone to walk it is 90% of our therapists' jobs. We should work on ourselves. Because many, if not most partners that we try to prod and improve, and love into what we need them to be are stubborn idiots, and frankly so are we, for attempting to do this. I don't want to waste my fucking energy trying to train them to man/woman/non-binary up and be friggin grownups. Not my circus, not my monkeys, and most certainly, not my cage. Now that the intro is finished, the goals. I want: 1) A home that is mine. Not living in a hippie garbage can or benign drug house, albeit one with a chill vibe, in a nice neighborhood full of little-free-libraries, with nice people who are doing their best so you can't really blame them. But goddammit, I want different. It scared me that this was becoming my life. Is this my scene? What about my goals? I got negative and bitchy, and eventually exploded despite your stellar hospitality. I'm trying to work on these things at my own place, but humans are influenced by their friends. I need to distance myself until my living space at Hawk's Ridge is up to my standards, I need to work on that. Yours can be whatever you want it to be. And the hypothetical me with my shit together would give zero fucks about that, once I'm confident that I have my own standards in place. Otherwise, I get very anxious. 2) A solid community of friends and family who are "going places" in life, to the best of their individual ability (which does not mean under the constant influence of recreational yet legal prescriptions.) I'm not judging, given my penchant for these, and the fact that I'm starting NA tonight. Legal drugs that become a grey area between therapeutic and recreational are fun, but they won't help you achieve you goals. Anxiolytics are for anxiety, or the dentist. Vicodin is for pain and don't mix either with copious amounts of alcohol. That's why you spend too much time throwing up instead of doing fun things, like a cancer patient with much nicer hair. Also, drink water if you want to keep up with Mexicans, working in the hot sun without getting heat exhaustion. Common sense, people. I'm not saying your pain isn't real but some of it is your doing, just like some of mine is my doing. We have to hold ourselves accountable, better ourselves, drink and smoke weed socially and responsibly on VACATION (not stupidly or ever before getting behind the wheel.) Get with the program. People with more obstacles than solid doctors, helpful family, and a paid-off home do it every day. This was what I was keeping to myself until I said it in the wrong way while crying in your bathtub, "communicating" why I was harshing your buzz with my negativity. At the time, I had had a Klonopin, a Xanax, a Vicodin, another Xanax, another Xanax, and alcohol. I'm not a puker. I'm a cathartic, brutally honest crier, which is as bad a vomit in its own way. It smells better but takes longer to clean up. I'm sorry I hurt that sweet boy's feelings through the wall and seemed ungrateful for your hospitality. It's my fault for taking all those drugs, but I wasn't comfortable, something was wrong, I couldn't put my finger on it, and I repressed it with anything available to keep from being rude. It didn't work. There was truth in what I said, but the way I put it was mean, and unnecessary. Holding stuff in is bad for me. You said communicate. I said what I said and if I hadn't said it then, I would have done so eventually. Yes, I am grateful to people who open their homes to me, go on adventures with me, share their possessions with me. Catharsis can be cruel. I can't hang around you when I have 99 problems to solve already. Whether you would even want that is a mystery to me. I'll be busy but I still care. Though, I expect at this point, it's tl;dr for the both of you. That's another thing. Friends are people for whom tl;dr does not exist, unless they've had a stroke or something. 3) If there is a love mate out there for me, a soulmate if such a thing exists, I want to encounter this person on my adventures. I don't chase or look, because it depresses me and reduces love "such that it is" to consumption, or a meal ticket, a housing situation, a drug connection, a business deal, or a codependent puddle of mutual enabling. It's worse than any drug, save needles, meth, or crack, and all too often often, "love" drives otherwise healthy people down that road. 4. I want to go to Boulder, CO, my own personal Mecca. My condolences that police and a drugged hippie were mutually stupid and it resulted in tragedy. I mean the guy was strung out running naked in public. The worst child murder/ rape in recent memory went down there too, but people move on and this is where I want to live. This is my goal and I'm strong enough to not let news reports stop me from achieving what I want. 5. I want my MLIS and I will get it in December. When I get my debt and income under control, I want to participate in a BA to MD/PH.D program because once I'm stable, and clean, I know I can buckle down, tear through that MCAT and make it happen. See, when I was messed up, I at least knew enough not to hurt myself or spend the next day vomiting. Let's turn this sad, low-rent talent of mine into something that can help people. Want to be: medical librarian, doctor, medical PH.D (You heard me: MUD/FUDD), writer,Gonzo blogger, adventurer, world traveler, and at times, gainfully unemployed. These will all happen if I go to my meetings and follow Dr. Robert's advice: Get clean, hang out only with stable people who are tackling their goals, and achieve my scholarly potential, which truth be told, is at least a Masters' and an M.D/Ph.D. Not to brag, but that potential is somewhere between Lisa Simpson and Malcolm in the MIddle. (Meaning I'm probably a crazy genius, and if I'm retarded, John is a vegetable, organic I hope, so as compost he can me useful.) People say all the time that you're too old to start over. If someone can't do it they want to tell you that you can't either. Age is just a number. And truth be told, I'd rather die learning than being stuck in mediocrity. 6. I want happiness, stability, freedom from drama. attachment issues, an end to envy that a friend or acquaintance has someone, no matter how messed up the situation. I want independence, to control my compulsive, self destructive need to help others when there's shit I have to do for myself, just to prove my worth and keep them from leaving me. I end up burnt out and I become unnecessarily honest at people. I need to trust my vibes. If a situation feels icky or grasping or just plan dirty, I'm out. It's been real. Thanks for having me. Time to go slay the other goals. 7. MONEY...ENOUGH money that I have everything I want and need,within reason and accounting for storage space: a home, a housekeeper, or at least some kind of professional organizer to help me with cleaning and beautifying my abode, which is not my forte. My wonderful parents Susan Coleman and Donald Jeff Martin are helping me follow my bliss. They are the absolute best parents. I can never do enough to properly thank them for giving me life, taking a great risk to do so, for my dad taking the time to give private preschool quality education to me as a toddler so now math and languages are easy, for my mom who taught me about feminism, and whether she knew it or not, supercharged my innate qualities of forthrightness, justice, and the desire to fight for what's right. Thanks for teaching me right from wrong,and taking care of me. I had an enriched life, despite our initial lack of money. That is a miracle. My parents (and my pets, and my goals) are, together MY EVERYTHING. Gratitude. Balance. Best Life. That's what I'm after. Money is the tool to reach goals, not the goal itself. 8. Lastly, I want adventure....safe, but not so safe that it isn't fun. Exploring the world, writing, experiencing, living. This alone will keep me from getting sucked into any sexist bullshit or dysfunctional "love" vortex. When I achieve THAT, the desire to hurt myself, check out, or die will be OVER forever. I know this instinctively. That's the GP. Hell. I might become a GP. But, I'd prefer something more Housean, such as Pathology or Internal Medicine, I am the queen of my castle. But, to paraphrase Marley, that castle is in my MIND. To paraphrase Thoreau, my castles in the sky are the shit. Now they and I need a proper FOUNDATION. None of this is meant to be a mean dig at Jexi. I call you this because I know you as a unit. Who are each of you individually?(Also, I don't think either of you are notorious enough to be figured out by that alone, so I'm attempting discretion.) This is just my perspective. My truth. Thank you's to: Gino Dykstra, Amy, the therapist, Doctor Robert Wesner, Dr Widitz, Dr. Don St. John, and Linda the P.C, and all the people from Partial Hospitalization and STEPPS. If I forget someone, add yourself. Oh, Lori Parrish Niemi, Christina Morris Penn-Goetsch, William Niemi, Jexi, for helping me gain this insight, and Keith E Gatling. Weirdly, I am also grateful for that squirrelly, two-faced bastard, John Trachsel, who made himself useful for the first time ever, by convincing me to abandon my impulsive suicide gesture. He didn't know who he was talking to so he treated me like a person/ possible lay for a while and pretended to care, right up until the point where he learned he had called me. I could hear him backtracking because he doesn't want people to know he talks to me. When I called him out on this, he called me crazy, "retarded", and finally admitted that he didnt want people to know he talked to me. He, in a his glory thinks he's too good to talk to me? I have his mugshot on my hard drive, named "ThereISAGod.jpg." This is bullshit because most people have no problem acting like a god-damn human toward me. Anyway, this is proof that even a shmuck-a- fuck like him may sometimes do good things by accident. Of course, if he'd caught on quicker, I think that he would have hung up immediately. If he, for one second believed that I, Hanna Martin. was distraught, suicidal, and in need of help, hell, that was his goal anyway, right? But screw you, I didn't kill myself. My point is that even though you badly need therapy and other help, you are not completely useless. There may still be inpatient help for you and I no longer wish you dead. Thanks to all who have helped. One day at a time.

[thebootybitchdragon]

Episodes Of (or Things In) Dude! That's My Ghost! I Want But Will Never Have (in no particular order)

Billy getting captured at the end of an episode by Madame X and the next episode, Spencer goes to rescue him all by himself, evading and outsmarting crazy cartoon boobytraps like a boss.

Spencer getting hurt and Billy absolutely loosing his shit bc no one hurts his brotato aight? No. One.

Spencer and Billy needing to go to Madame X for help and her requesting something from Billy as payment like a creeper creep.

Billy actually figuring out how to ghost good.

Billy temporarily being brought back to life and trying to resume his old life, but slowly realizing its not the same and he likes being a ghost better.

Madame X Character Builder Episode.

Time travel episode or Alternate Universe episode where Billy and Spencer need to deal with an Alive!Billy who's somehow even more dramatic than his ghost self. Bonus: Both Billy's can't stand one another bc they both think the other is too egotistical.

PREQUEL EPISODE GODDAMMIT SHOW ME HOW BILLY AND SPENCE MET

Danny Phantom Crossover episode. ir two. or twenty.

Camping episode where they come across something that goes bump in the night and it turns out to be another supernatural, ideally another ghost. Preferably a "wild" one who's been dead and alone for so long they don't remember how to behave in social situations. Bonus: They're better at being a ghost than Billy and that irritates him.

Spencer getting involved with a singing contest and singing one of Billy's songs to win. Perhaps introduces a formal rival of Billy's as a new antagonist who wants to take everything away from Spencer and slander Billy's reputation.

Spencer going on a class trip to somewhere and disaster striking. The main school cast needs to work together to get back home, with Spencer spearheading everything due to his knowledge of stuff and Billy's help. A lot of arguing with Ponzi until Spencer eventually proves hes better suited to lead. Optional: they get stuck in knockoff Ghost Zone.

Alternative: Spencer (and Billy) “winning” a trip to another country and getting into an accident, leading to them being stranded in the middle of nowhere bc the trip was actually a plot by the Rival. Spencer takes this opportunity to film a horror music video, Blare Witch-style, which he then makes an original song for with Billy’s help to get back at the rival.

Billy learns how to become visible to everyone, but can't figure out how to turn back invisible and everyone freaks out about seeing a ghost. Spencer (and friends) has to help him hide the entire Episode.

Billy possessing Spencer, and being unable to figure how to get back out. The two have to exist in the same body for an entire day.

Alternative: Billy and Spence somehow switch places, with Spencer being trapped in Billy's body and and Billy being trapped in Spencer’s.

Collection quest series of episodes, preferably a ghostly artifact or important item(s) of Billy’s that was stolen.

Typical "honey i shrunk the kids" episode where Billy/Spence gets shrunk and The Other needs to figure out how to restore him to his proper size. Bonus: Spence traps MiniBilly in a cup when Billy starts throwing a diva fit.

More episodes focusing on Wild Ghost and Pissy Rival, the specifics of which i can't think of rn. Lolo would prolly have a crush on Rival.

Billy stumbling into a section of the Ghost Zone (or a knockoff version, preferably purple and black) thru a natural portal and being scared by the amount of ghosts. He needs to find his way back home.

With the addition of Knockoff Ghost Zone, Billy and Spence going exploring. Billy finds a ghost guitar that amplifies his abilities and functions similar to Ember's. Optional: the addition of a ghostly antagonist who will stop at nothing to steal Spencer’s living body.

The revelation of another relative of Billy who's involved with things. Preferably Billy's newly discovered father.

An episode focusing on Rajeev and Shanilla, another one focusing on Lolo.

Bobby returning, either as an antagonist or hesitant ally. Confirmation that he’s a mimicking ghost bc honestly that’s just cool.

Billy's body is stolen, and Spencer initially blame's Madame X but it turns out she's equally pissed off at the thief bc how dare someone disrupt her idol's corpse who does that.

Three words: Board Game Ghost. Preferably with inspiration from Board James.

Billy's father learning about his ghost and the two being forced to collaborate. Billy is Not At All Happy about it. Preferably leads to an emotional outburst from Billy about him hating his father bc he wasn't there. Bonus: a conversation with Spencer in a later episode that hints at the fact that the father blames himself for Billy’s death.

Billy getting stuck in a video game, and Spencer needs to help him cheat in order to get back out.

Billy's ectoplasm turning the fallowing into monsters with the typical shenanigans occurring: Wendy, an intelligent bird, a cat, a spider, a dinosaur skeleton, a doll, and Jessica.

An Episode where Billy and Wild Ghost's ectoplasm get accidentally merged and creates a new ghost bc honestly, that just sounds logical. Billy makes it a point to assure Spencer, Rajeeve and Shanilla that the new entity is NOT his kid, despite it absolutely being basically his kid. No one’s fooled.

Another episode where Spencer and others need to become ghosts for some reason. Preferably includes Lolo bc that would be hilarious.

Billy learning how to use songs to do ghost stuff.

A GDAMN MUSICAL EPISODE I MEAN C'MON BILLY'S A MUSICIAN I FEEL CHEATED, SHOW

A Hanukkah episode bc Billy's prolly Jewish and also there's too many Christmas episodes from other cartoons.

Billy organizing a party for Spencer's birthday and shenanigans happening to keep it a secret from him.

Literal vampire and werewolf episodes pls.

Maybe a real zombie? Spencer would flip his lid. Bonus: He’s the smartest, most well spoken and obsessively clean character bc that’s just funny to me.

Evil Overgrown Plant due to Billy's ectoplasm episode. Title is required to be a pun of Little Shop of Horrors. Must have no less than five plant puns.

Episode where Billy and his kid need to deal with each other and the kid tries his best to impress Billy to no avail. his attempts result in imminent disaster, from which Billy saves him then later denies he did it out of worry.

Crossover episode where Danny and Billy get displaced to each other's worlds. Spencer needs to deal with Danny and Billy needs to protect Amity Park. Optional: Vlad tries to pull one of his plots but Billy annoys him too much. Bonus: Billy just keeps swiping Vlad’s football stuff and untying his hair.

Wild Ghost accidentally makes Spencer a demonic being with her ectoplasm (It’s more volatile than Billy’s which is why it would affect humans like that?) and Rajeeve and Shanilla need to work with her to return him to normal before he trashes the Cobra Mansion completely.

Crossover episode where Ponzi (or another antagonist) calls the Fenton's to Beverly Beverly High bc he figures out Billy's a ghost and wants to get rid of him. Danny can see Billy without a personal item due to being half ghost.

Family Vacation episode including Billy's dad, Wild Ghost, and Kid.

Billy and his antagonist rival need to team up for some reason.

A lot of scenes of Wild Ghost just....floating upside down. Running gag with Spencer turning her right back up, occasionally only for her to flop right back upside down again after he leaves.

Spencer being put into a stereotypical insane asylum bc Ponzi thinks he’s crazy for talking to himself (and it also gets Spencer out of the school) and all three of the ghosts have to help break him out.

Billy breaking a wall down with his guitar bc they’re trapped somewhere despite the fact that Spencer just lockpicked the lock door open.

[liesandlibations]

Fear and Loathing in Los Santos

*tape recorder clicks on*

"It was never easy for me. I was born a poor black child..."

Laughter, cough, cough, spit. Cursing.

No, no, goddammit. That is the intro to Steve Martin's "The Jerk" you asshole, what the fuck are you doing man? Don't come at these people with this kind of weirdness right out of the gate, Jesus Christ. Fuck. Start over.

*tape recorder clicks off*

*tape recorder clicks on, high-pitch rewind squeal*

"Okay, okay, I've got it now, okay. Second take."

Deep breath.

"Tonight on assholes interviewing themselves in the mirror, some fat douchebag failed writer turned clichéd alcoholic talks about himself for hours."

Laughter.

"Fuck. Okay, okay, everything is fine. It's fine. Just get into it already."

So, hey, about me. Uh. I'm a Leo, an INTJ, a Fire Rooster, I've got an IQ that is just shy of about one-sixty depending on how fucked up I am when I take the test, and my favorite color is, believe it or not, Seafoam Green. Not that any of that matters, of course. Is it cool if I have another drink? Thanks. Yes, I realize that was a frightening amount of alcohol but you want to talk about my past, right? That's what it takes then, and here it is.

I was born to an unwed drug-addicted teenage mother in the bad part of the South in about 1980. Before she gave me up, though, she scribbled my name on the birth certificate.

"Memphis."

No idea what she meant by that. Was I conceived there, was she from there? Dunno, to this day the answer eludes me but whatever, the name stuck. I was put up for adoption immediately and really I can't blame her, shit, who could? Stuffed into the state orphanage system as an infant and shuffled around from place to place for a while. Never really stuck anywhere for long, as I was riddled with physical illness and undiagnosed mental problems and generally considered too difficult. One family, according to the records which I unearthed years later, reported me as "possibly demon-possessed" at the tender age of three. Life in the Southern Baptist South, right? Whatever. I bounced from foster home to foster home until I finally just ran from the whole system at about the age of fourteen. Spent some time on the streets and a lot of time on other people's couches. I was too smart for my own good by then, angry at everything, hated the world, and in the very beginnings of a life of mental and emotional issues.

That was when I met the Professor.

I'd made it to Memphis, Tennessee. City of my namesake. The home of Elvis, the Blues, the birthplace of Rock and Roll, and the final stop for Dr. Martin Luther King. A place almost as fucked up as I was at the time. I was broke and homeless when I stumbled into a coffee shop somewhere in the art district, hungry and hoping for a handout.

I saw him for the first time, sitting in the back at a table with a chess board full of pieces laid upon it, wisps of grey hair catching sunlight through the dirty windows, staring at me over thick-rimmed black glasses. He introduced himself, "My name's Robert, but everyone just calls me the Professor," he said. Bought me a sandwich and a cup of java. He had a kind voice and an easy demeanor, was keen to know where I was from and where I was going. I, of course, young and impressionable, consumed both the sandwich and the attention with equal gusto. We talked through the day and into the night, and when he found out I was homeless he offered me a place to crash for a while. We walked down the worn sidewalks of the Midtown neighborhood past homes gently lit from within, on a warm evening, and it felt like things were going to be okay.

When we got back to his house, I was introduced for the first time to methamphetamine and sodomy, both with a startling swiftness.

I stayed with him for three years.

I hated it but what else could I do? No hope, no friends, no prospects. The meth almost made it worth it, but not really. It's an old story but at least I had a place to sleep and regular food, and I think he did care about me in his own fucked up way. His house was full of books, floor to ceiling, and I devoured every word I could get my hands on. All the greats, man: Keats, Hemingway, Bukowski, Thoreau, Kerouac, and finally the king, Hunter S. Thompson. I even started writing a bit, here and there, which the Professor was super critical of, naturally. But I found an outlet in some of the anarchist 'zines from the coffee shop and for the first time I got to experience that totally orgasmic feel that a writer  has when he sees his words in black and white print. Seemed some other folks liked those words too, so I struck up a friendship with the local punks and anarchs, which he did not approve of either. Yeah.

Eventually this led to me taking a bunch of his shit and moving out of his place in the middle of the night, into a communal house owned by a punk band who liked my writings. He showed up pounding on the door and demanding to see me, saying he'd ruin me, turn me in to the cops, out me as some kind of whore, the whole nine yards worth of emotional manipulation, sure. But I'd begun to emulate my heroes of the Word by then, so I opened the door and pressed both barrels of a sawed-off twelve-gauge shotgun to his head and told him that if he ever tried to talk to me again I would turn his skull into a fucking canoe.

When I clicked the hammer back, he got the point, and that was the end of that chapter, yes."

Shit. Okay. Need another drink after that. Yes. That's better, it burns going down, right? Where were we?

"So anyway, I started writing in earnest. Throwing words at paper as if my life depended on it, and maybe it did. I had a pretty serious meth problem by that time and the Words helped to keep the wolf from the door. Luckily the anarchists I'd fallen in with were all straight edge, which I have to admit was annoying as fuck but honestly had it not been for them I might not have made it. They were good kids, at the end of the day, and I am forever grateful for their support. This ragtag group of weirdoes with Mohawks and piercings was probably the best family I'd ever had. Good times in the commune, too, writing and reading, crazy concerts every weekend, just thrashing and bashing and letting the anger out. I even had a girlfriend, for a time, and she, being much better organized than myself, managed to get me to a GED and then enrolled at a local college in some writing courses, specifically Journalism. The girlfriend didn't last, of course, I was still pretty much a mess as a human, but the journalism thing stuck with me and I actually accidentally graduated with honors and a metric fuckton of student loan debt. I was writing more and better than ever before and it was glorious, but I needed credit within the industry, and this led to the next, unfortunately darker chapter.

Jesus Cinnamon-Titties Christ, I need another drink.

*tape recorder clicks off*

*tape recorder clicks on*

"HEY THERE BOYS AND GIRLS IT'S TIME FOR WHIPPY THE SQUIRREL!"

 Goddammit. I still hate that voice. It's sort of what you would get if you let the Chipmunks smoke crack and then stuffed them in a blender.

 Sometimes we do things we regret when we are young, I guess. I was in my early twenties when I snagged my first legal job, a bullshit internship at a local TV Station. Jesus. I showed up all bright-eyed for my four in the AM shift and was handed a threadbare squirrel costume, complete with giant horrifying cartoon head. It reeked of booze and ass. "Morning kids show mascot," they said, "Whippy the Squirrel, beloved icon of local marketable children everywhere," they said, "Learn how to do the voice or you're fired." they said, and that last bit was the important bit. So I spent three hours in a cramped video closet watching reruns of the previous holder of the title, trying to get it right.

 Twenty years that poor bastard was the furred whipping boy for this station, and over the time lapse of the video tapes you could see his spirit wither away, slowly crushed by the awful mundanity of his chosen occupation. I found out later he'd showed up to work one morning, taken a little break to go to the dressing room, put the barrel of a .357 revolver in his mouth, and fucking BLAMMO. Cut to "Technical Difficulties" slate, call the cleaning crew, so it goes.

 But I really needed the job and the industry credit, so I lit a joint, got really fucking high, nailed the voice, and became the ultimate personification of local televised capitalism and commercial broadcasting. It wasn't really hard. Put on the giant stinking head, trot out in front of a bunch of bored children, try to get them excited about the next magician, clown, or Hannah-Barbara cartoon rerun. It didn't take long for me to fall into the bad habits again, smoking out and drinking heavily every shift just to get through it.

 The morning anchor's name was Jane Childes. A forty-something former beauty queen she was, with an older doctor husband, a very expensive set of fake breasts, and a predilection for cocaine. Before the news she would spend thirty minutes on her hair alone and then spend commercials doing bumps off the news desk. During the break between Sunrise News and Morning News, she'd do, well...

 Me.

 You ever hoover coke off a magnificent pair of middle-aged titties and have hot, sweaty, furry, squirrel sex in a video closet? And then have to go in front of thirty children and their parents and introduce a bunch of goddamned bullshit while reeking of pussy and weed? Of course not, and it went downhill really quickly.

 This whole horrible debacle led to a breakdown on television and a general brawl that got me fired. You wouldn't think eight-year-olds could throw down like that, but those little bastards will swarm you. They will climb right up your furry legs and punch you in the balls with all the skill and anger a disgruntled Taekwondo yellow-belt can muster.

 I was, of course, quickly and obviously fired. Barely avoided charges on that one, but luckily Mr. and Mrs. Childes were eager to stay away from any sort of public scandal and paid to have the whole thing hushed up. I suppose you could say that was my first introduction to real Old Southern Politics, where everything was about who you knew and how many people were related to you and little else in the way of reason. So it went.

 I got a letter in the mail from the Liberty City Courier the very next day, the third most popular newspaper in a crime-ridden city the majority of people hadn't heard of outside of the late night news. Seems they loved my work and wanted to make me an offer. So I sold all of my shit and bought a bus ticket.

 "Time for the big time," I thought.

 Goddamn, I was naive.

Let's have another drink, shall we? I'm not drunk, you're drunk, shut up. I'm telling this story, you goddamned reflection. Why don't you lose some weight, too? Fat bitch, I hate you. No, no, I didn't mean that. Finish the story and we can both go to bed.

Okay, bottoms up and here we go.

Oh fuck, oh fuck I have the hiccups, shit. OMG I HATE FUCKING HICCUPS. Okay, okay, wait... I'm good. Whew.

Liberty City in the early 'ought's, right?

Fuck.

I would call it a den of sin and iniquity but that wouldn't do it justice. I rolled into the Greyhound station ragged and jittery, too many days off the drugs and hard up for the next thing to prove myself. I grabbed my bag, walked outside, and saw a car fly through the air. It flipped upside down, murdered two pedestrians, hit a traffic light, righted itself, and sailed off into the night with about a hundred cop cars, lights a-flashing, trailing behind. Nobody called an ambulance for the poor smashed unfortunates, either, they just laid there as my taxi pulled up to take me to the low-rent apartments that the paper was paying for.

I was, at the time, unprepared for that kind of mental clusterfuck and had a bit of a breakdown in the car. My cabbie, who I think was some kind of Russian from his accent, laughed.

"Welcome to Liberty City, my friend," he said, as he wove in and out of traffic at a terrifying pace. I got to the apartment, locked the locks with a trembling hand, and called in to the paper. They wanted me to report at six in the AM. Fortunately I'd had my new cabbie friend stop off at a local liquor store and the fifth of Jack Daniels I'd procured got me through that night.

It wasn't easy, but nothing was easy.

Except maybe dying, in Liberty City.

I started at the Courier the next day. Covering the crime beat and believe me I made waves right out the door, just by having the audacity to actually talk to the criminals and ask them for their viewpoint. Up until me, I guess the Liberty City Courier was most pro-police-law-and-order and then here I come with my anarchist bullshit, the fucking audacious idea that we examine the society that had led to criminals, consider them as people instead of the usual big bad villains. Having the sheer gall to suggest that the cops might be the bad guys too. The old dogs in the bullpen hated me and I don't blame them. Some dumbass kid from the South with a weird haircut and the wrong clothes rolling up in their turf questioning the very fabric of the very normal kind of journalism they practiced? Very much an asshole, no doubt.

But when I broke that story about corruption in the LCPD, and it went national, no one could deny me.

The public, oh the ignorant and so easily distracted public, they ate it up. Bear in mind this was the late nineties, right? Anti-heroes were in full effect and my kind of crude yet poetic narrative was having its day. Sure. I got invited to the best parties by criminals and celebrities, vast displays of decadence on yachts and in underground clubs everywhere. I was a hot ticket, for a minute. I even managed to get a new girlfriend, yeah, a lovely, uh, a perfect, a...

A goddamned angel, and no mistake.

Shut up, shut up. It's okay. Moving on.

Anyhow. I got in pretty good with some local heavies. Not as difficult as you would think, nobody loves to talk about themselves more than criminals. What's the point of being smarter and harder than anyone if you can't somehow tell everyone that you are? All I had to do was listen and write the words I heard, at the end of the day. Sure, a little embellishment, maybe a punch-up here and there. Change the names to protect the innocent (not that anyone was, of course), and then BLAM you have a newspaper article, then a column, and then a book, and then it all kind of went wrong in the worst way.

Shit. Okay, wait. I just need another drink. It's okay, just, ahem, it's okay.

*tape recorder clicks off*

*tape recorder clicks on*

Heavy sigh.

 Okay, let's get into it.

I published my collected articles with a major publishing house and we titled it, "Fear and Loathing in Liberty City."

It went to the top three on the NYT Top Ten Publishing list immediately and stood there proudly for two weeks.

Nobody remembers that now, of course, and there is no reason they should. I wish it hadn't gone as far as it had.

See, it seems that some crime lords, arrogant and narcissistic fucks that they are, don't appreciate it when you publish a book in which they feature heavily (even if names are changed), and they are described in a less than favorable light and maybe with words like: "weak-ass Nancy-boys", "useless mentally-challenged fucknuts", or "punk-ass exploitative shit pimp beta fucks".

Well, sure, they get a bit pissed-off at you. Some of them. Well, okay, one in particular.

Sergio Antoine.

Eh.

So there was this mostly-unheard of gang of criminals on the Southside, right? Second-hand punks, mostly, pseudo-bikers. Garbage white-trash meth-heads, low-level drug dealers, pimps, and so forth. Called themselves the "Southside Desperadoes" and owned a three-story warehouse they'd converted into a sketchy strip club named "The Platinum Pony", which was basically a front for their meth and prostitution rackets. Their leader was an ugly bastard that fancied himself as some kind of made man with the local Mafia (none of which, mind you, knew who the fuck he was). Sergio Antoine. He wore expensive clothes and watches, drove Italian sports cars, and wore ridiculous hair pieces.

I swear to God, every time I saw him he had a new look. Short hair, long hair, dreadlocks, shaggy bush, high and tight, loosey-goosey, everything. Couldn't really make up his mind and he ran his gang about the same way. They were drug-lords one week, pimps the next, an MC biker club the week after. Pure chaos. But I managed to ingratiate myself just enough to get access to the inner circle and after that it was a real awakening as to the ways and means of the Liberty City underground crime scene. That formed the basis of "Fear and Loathing" and most of my articles thereafter. I told the club what I was doing, of course, transparency in journalism and all that, but when the book hit, well, they took exception.

Especially Sergio.

Look, I will acknowledge that I didn't exactly describe him in flattering terms, okay, but everything I said was a hundred percent accurate. That probably made it worse. Don't poke the ego-driven narcissistic bear, right? But look here; these people were not good people, they were psychopaths almost to a man, exploiters of everything around them, murderers when they found it convenient and  just overall terrible, terrible shitlord human beings. Bad as it was, every single word I wrote about them was true. I just wish it hadn't...

Well, I mean I should have known it would...

I...

Fuck.

I need another drink. Standby.

*tape recorder clicks off*

*tape recorder clicks on*

Her name was Sarah.

Yeah. Before all this really hit its stride, I'd gotten just well enough known at the Courier that I'd been assigned an assistant. Some young, plucky, college intern, much like I'd been once upon a time. We hit it off, she was amazingly competent at all the things I was not and for my part I was a hopeless wreck of a human being. We bonded over drinks and a predilection for old punk bands and one thing led to another and then my book hit (which never would have happened without her help) and we got engaged and the local press made a big deal of it and we were in love and that should have been the part of the story where the fucking narrator says, "they lived happily ever after" and the end of it.

*extended silence*

Goddammit.

*cough*

Sorry, sorry. We were walking out of a trendy downtown restaurant when a car rolled up on us and gunfire erupted from the windows. I found out later that Sergio had ordered the hit because he felt I'd made him look weak in the book. I took one bullet in the shoulder and one in the knee. Sarah took three in the chest.

I held her, um, hmm. Sorry.

I held her while she died.                                    

Um. I need a minute, okay?

*tape recorder clicks off*

...

*tape recorder clicks on*

So, yeah. Okay.

When I got out of the hospital I went on a bit of a bender.

I mean, like, some epic Greek-hero level shit. Total blackout. I dropped a ton of money on coke, meth, booze, pills, everything. Whatever I could shove into my stupid brain to make it forget the pain, right? Still don't remember anything, and that's probably for the best because I woke up in a cornfield in Iowa three weeks later, wearing a powder-blue dress and one sock. Drug my hungover ass out of the field and down the road until I could hitch-hike into the nearest town, get some breakfast and check the feeds. Iowa locals don't even blink about this shit, too many years in the middle of America and everybody's cousin has a meth problem. Your weirdness doesn't even make a dent.

But it seemed the Platinum Pony had mysteriously burned to the ground in the time I'd been out. Multiple dead, all members of the gang. Sergio himself had been found in the back, in a safe room, almost untouched except for a hole in his head the size of a train tunnel. What survivors there were reported an attack by a demon, a figure dressed in a squirrel costume with a high-pitched voice that terrified them as it hunted them one by one, relentlessly murdering everything it encountered with a sawn-off shotgun.

I've no memory of any of that time, of course.

But I did wonder.

So I got my shit together, such as it was, and sold it off to pay for my ticket home. Went back to the Tennessee hills and got me a little cabin up on the top of an Appalachian mountain. Spent my time collecting royalty checks from book sales, drinking moonshine, smoking meth, and hitting on local moonshiner's nubile daughters who might have read one of my books on the down low. I had my reasons, of course, I'd promised my publisher two more books and they'd already tried lawyers to no avail. I feared they would try hitmen next, ditto for the gang scene in Liberty City, who have large egos and long memories.

So I went to ground, grubbing it out on the top of a mountain. No contact with the outside world, just me and the booze and the meth and the occasional young lady with a passion for literature.

It was not the best life, but it was good enough for me at the time, yes.

Fast forward to now, though.

Two things happened, really, that got me off that mountain. Firstly, I couldn't write. It's fucked up, but too much clean air, too much sunshine, trees, grass, squirrels and whatever the fuck, it broke me. It was too easy goddammit. My brain could not deal, and thus no words. I was hamstrung by bliss, I think. Secondly, the money ran out. Surprisingly enough, moonshiners and meth heads don't give credit. So I drug my dumb blissful ass off the mountain and down to the city, made some phone calls to some contacts in the newspaper world, checked the feeds, and found out that Los Santos was the newest hottest criminal hotspot in the world. I felt it too, that vibe, when I stepped off the bus. That feeling that you could die at any time, strike sparks anywhere, and hammer the fiery words of the gods onto paper.

Los Santos smells like gunpowder, diesel fumes, and blood.

And somewhere in my soul, the old Muse stirs.

I'm here to write words. I'm older now, the reflexes aren't what they used to be, but I think I still have some stories left in me. This is the last ride for this old dog journalist, and I aim to make it count, to leave a legacy, whatever it may be, written in the stars of the universe and hopefully at least two books worth of shit because the publishing house is still after my ass for that contract. It's okay though, I know this music and I remember the steps to the dance. The next chapter of chapters starts here, and words are coming easy in Los Santos.

But if I've learned anything, it's that nothing is ever easy.

*tape recorder clicks off*

[mythofchrisyphus]

Day 3: Spoleto, Bastardo, Montefalco, Foligno, Assisi

Thursday July 4, 2002, 96 km (60 miles) - Total so far: 223 km (139 miles)

Woke up to a beautiful sunrise. I laid there in the tent for a few minutes watching it, reveling in the fact that I have no job to go to, no rent to pay, no traffic to fight, nowhere to be and nowhere to go, really. Got up and stretched and cleaned up and packed up and left, as usual leaving no trace of my presence apart from some flattened grass.

I was greeted first thing by a deathly climb. If this road had been on the map, it would certainly have had a few cutesy little arrows on it, drawn up by some geographer/cartographer(?) at Michelin, in front of his computer in a suit and tie, tossing these little arrows about aimlessly while eating his croissant and daydreaming about how many kilometres to the litre his BMW would get on this road. I soon learned the two-fold purpose of those ridiculous circus clown cycling caps, and specifically their ridiculous little mini front part: first of all, it conveniently gathers sweat from your scalp and runs it off the end of the front, keeping it out of your eyes; secondly, the low angle of it prevents you from seeing the truly imposing length and incline of the monster hill in front of you. I swear by these things now.

But all hills have their reward and it wasn't long before I was careening down through farms and farm dogs and chickens and farmers on my way to rejoin the flat secondary road leading to Spoleto. Spoleto is a nice town, positioned -- I see a pattern here -- on the top of a hill overlooking a valley. I decided to give the historic center a look and it was nice but not very bike friendly. Stairs, narrow passages, and quaint small shops make for lovely walking but poor bike towing, so I walked around a little bit, took a few snaps, looked at a few cathedrals, and moved on. My goal was Assisi by tonight at all costs (why? what's my hurry? I though later), so I had some sandwiches made for later at a deli on my way out and biked out.

My afternoon goal was a (ahem) medieval hilltop hamlet called Montefalco, which on the map is marked as having panoramic views. I was thinking ahead to the no doubt torturous climbs leading to such a place, wondering which route would get me there in the least painful fashion, when I saw a place a little out of the way that I simply had to visit, by virtue of its name alone. I cruised through hot, hot, rolling wheat fields, scattered lightly with the odd tree, stopping once or twice to refill the back tire which seemed to be losing air rather regularly, ignoring every convenient turnoff for Montefalco and going over 10km out of my way in order to visit the town with the name: BASTARDO. It's great having the mind of a 10 year old with no ambitions. I giggled all the way through that fine little set of houses as I did a 170 and headed sort-of-back to my panoramic destination. Halfway up a long, long hill line with rows upon rows of sunflowers on parched, dried out earth my legs quit on me and I grabbed the nearest shade to fill my stomach. The portable microwave had done well to melt the cheese in my sandwiches and I ate with great relish in anticipation of another climb.

After lunch I made the final push and crossed through the fortified walls of that town situated on a, have I mentioned this before?, hilltop on a sort of peninsular tongue of land jutting into the middle of a flat, wide valley stretching from the hills of Spoleto to the south and Assisi to the north. There I admired the fresh air and views before checking out some of the piazzas (what else is there to do in expensive tourist trap towns, one just like the other, with no particular cuisine or local life) and bumping, almost literally, into a funeral on the way out -- probably one of the most surreal experiences of this trip thus far. Here you are in a town where the most overheard language is English, followed closely by German, where you see more cameras than pizzas, and where the locals have all but disappeared or become trilingual and assimilated into this great European tourist chain landmass, when all of a sudden a brilliant flash of local intimate, personal, quotidian life appears before you and almost blinds you. It was all I could do not to take a photo. People dressed in everyday clothes, standing in a semi-circle around the cathedral door, crowding the already narrow main street of the town. People carrying flowers were exiting the church in a steady flow, one right after the other, increasing the traffic in the street, while from inside almost imperceptible strains of gloomy organ music piped out and blended with what few tears and sniffles there were. I watched for a moment, stunned, before detouring through another street and leaving Montefalco.

The exit was again another stunning brake-testing rim-scalding descent through hairpin turns -- my god, this bike corners like a puppy in sweatsocks! -- before flattening out to a smooth cannonball run to Foligno. I hadn't planned on going through that town, wanting to shortcut instead through farm roads directly to Assis, but I'm glad now I did. On the way to Foligno I biked past many many competitive bikers in training going the other way -- uphill -- on their evening rides. All smiles and waves and cheers both ways, and I wondered why there were so many here, of all places. I found out soon enough when I pulled into that town. It was like a bicycle hive. Two wheels everywhere! I'm not used to that kind of traffic, especially its anarchic nature in terms of right of way, signalling, etc (or lack thereof), so there were several near misses with local bikers. I soon found myself finding the flow, however, and enjoying this small city very pleasantly short on motor vehicles and exhaust fumes. I found several well-equipped bike shops to browse through, and eventually, mercifully, found a pair of sunglasses in one. I asked the guy there what the road to Assisi is like, how to get there, and whether I'll make it (it was around 19:00 at this time) and he said "Yah, sure. I do it all the time. In fact, I'm gonna do the high pass this evening after work." That bout sums up Foligno for me. Full of mad bikers who do it for the love of it. I took a glance at a few piazzas and churches and people and took the road out in the late evening.

The first stretch was unavoidable, unpleasant 4 lane superhighway, but I daresay the going is fast. Nonetheless, I veered off onto secondary road as soon as possible, stopping in at a corner bar to have an ice cream and chat with some old locals about the road and the sunset. The final approach to Assisi was deadly and vertical, and after almost 100km I was ready to give up the ghost. But I could see the city ahead of me, flanked by a dazzling orange setting sun (not blinding at all, thanks to my NEW SUNGLASSES), and having a visible goal sure as hell helps! I pushed and sweated and pushed and dripped all the way to the top, not stopping once, knowing there was a campsite up there, somewhere, waiting for me, and I almost exploded in joy and relief when I pulled up under the fortified city gates! But what's this?!, I panted. A sign: "Camping -->" pointing -- where else? -- up. Way up. All I could see in front of me was hill. Or was it hell. No distance on the sign; I looked back at the city gates, looked up at the hill, back at the gates... what the hell. Back in the saddle and started moving. I stopped about 4 times having only gone about 400m when I saw two elderly ladies coming down the other way. English tourists. I ask them if they'd seen a campsite above and how far. They say they'd gone as far as the old Hermitage (?!) and past a pub but hadn't seen any campsites, and they'd gone quite far. Talk about taking the wind out of my sails. None? None. ...oh, but the pub's really nice, and the beer's great! Well, that brought back some wind. If I can't sleep comfortably in a campsite tonight I can certainly pass out uncomfortably in the gutter and it'll amount to the same. With beer in mind I pedal upward very slowly -- is it me or are my tires lined with hot tar? The bike is getting heavier by the second. I'm ready to give up, even on the beer. Now, you know you're beat, you know there's little in the world that can stop you having beer, and if this is one of them, then goddammit, I want none of it. I hear a car approaching from behind, notice its "GB" sticker as it passes and pulls into the right somewhere up ahead. That must be the pub, I figure, and calculate that I can make that last 100m in an all-or-nothing effort and if anything pitch the tent right there where I lay. Or they can pitch it above my battered sweaty corpse and use it as a tombstone...

But sure enough, the turnoff is for the camping and at that point I'm ready to saw off my legs with a twig in exchange for a 2m sq. patch of land to pitch my tent on. Thankfully they don't charge me that much and I quickly and eagerly find a space among the tents and motorhomes and set up and start cooking. I make friends with the elderly foursome from Monza in the motorhome next to me and eat in their company until late. I take a well deserved, refreshing shower, wash some clothes, and hit the hay, exhausted and content. A sleep well-earned.