#this also loops back to the whole Simon is not understood

[sicklyseraphnsuch]

Ice King to Simon feels like what Fionna is to Finn. There's a base template that was shared between the two but ultimately, they are separate entities that grew and developed in ways unique to themselves.

and this is where the writing gets Rocky, because I genuinely find it hard to read Ice King and Simon as the same person but the characters always treat the two as one and the same

After the big reveal, Ice King is treated like Simon but remixed, except... the way Ice King develops - and look, we spent hours with this character, he wasnt just a joke

In his words, "I am worthy of respect"

The way Ice King's character develops was for Ice King's benefit, not Simon's. Ice King making friends, Ice King no longer kidnapping - neither of those character developments made him more Simon-like. He becomes more and more individualized, forming a personality that felt Very Distinct from the bookish, modest Simon Petrikov.

As much as Simon is the victim in all this, I cant really blame Ice King for being born either. He was just a guy - a mean, lonely guy that with some kindness developed better behavior for the people that befriended him.

Like people are dumping hard on Simon, which sucks. But it's also like Ice King was Somebody's friend. Ice King was Somebody's hero. And it doesn't feel fair to all the hardwork he did for himself to wave him off as a false image.

The problem is he was somebody - not just a Simon reboot. He was somebody period.

So it makes sense that some people in universe (in the audience bc lets be real, Ice King had HOURS of screentime and Simon had maybe one) would mourn him. It just sucks that they keep directing that grief at Simon, and dumping on him as a result.

In my opinion, if it's disrespectful to Simon to be confused for Ice King, then it works the same vice versa.

[fruitcoops]

Accidental Family

Hey folks! This is one of two fics for the six month celebration of this blog! Woohoo! Blood on the Ice is one of the most popular series I've written, and expanding it into Josie’s (@prohibitionincurls ) Winging It world with her was unbelievably fun. Disclaimer: one of the OCs has ADHD and it is a central theme of the story--while Josie based some of his characteristics on her own experience, we both recognize that this is not a one-size-fits-all situation. Thank you again for six amazing months, and I hope you enjoy!

Lots of love,

Eve <3

TW for mentioned injury

“Oh my god, they’re gonna kill me,” the kid whispered in a wavering voice, sounding much younger than he actually was as he left the penalty box.

“They’re not going to kill you,” Bowie soothed, still watching the tunnel where Remus had disappeared mere minutes earlier. From what he saw, there had been a bit of blood, but the bruising didn’t look too bad. Then again, there had barely been enough time for anything to visibly swell before he was whisked away.

“Can I just stay in the box?” Felix cast a look toward the Lions bench and his voice cracked. “They can’t yell at me in the box, right?”

“Hey. Look at me, Marty.” Bowie took him by the shoulders and gave him a gentle shake. “The Lions are good guys. They’re not going to hurt you, but you did just fuck up one of their best friends. What would you do if someone hit me in the face?”

“Come on, man, I’m a terrible fighter. I don’t know how well I’d be able to defend your honor after something like that. It was an accident. Do you think they know it was an accident? Should I go tell them?”

“I know. They know. Loops definitely knows. But that doesn’t mean it didn’t happen, so I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re a little cold at first.” He ruffled the rookie’s hair and turned back to the game; the Lions were moving fast and brutal, slicing right through their defense for yet another goal. Shit. Felix clearly felt bad enough already--losing the game wouldn’t make him feel any better. 

They ended up losing the game.

Bowie had figured it might happen; he would have had the same fire if it had been his teammate that got clocked like that. Hell, he used to have the same fire when he and Remus had played together, so he completely understood. 

That did not change the fact that once they got home, Felix was still borderline inconsolable. The 18-year-old wasn’t technically billeting with them, but the apartment he was renting just so happened to be in the same building, on the same floor, and right across the hall from his and Simon’s. This led to an informal adoption of the rookie and he was around their house at least five times a week, if not more. 

Felix Martin was a good kid, and that idea was confirmed when Kronk immediately took a liking to him; the cat loved nobody but the three of them. Bowie was grateful that he and Simon were there to quell some of the homesickness that came from moving out to a new city on his own for the first time. The transition was always tough, but they could provide a little support.

They parted ways from the team when the bus got back from the rink and drove to their building in silence. Once they made their way up the stairs and down the hall, Felix moved to go back to his apartment. 

“Nope,” Bowie said immediately, placing a hand on his shoulder and steering him through the door to his and Simon’s place. It wasn’t a good idea for Felix to be alone right now--there was nothing to do alone after a loss aside from beat himself up about it, and Bowie would be damned before he let that happen. 

Simon and Kronk were perched on the couch, but they both moved into the kitchen as soon as the door clicked closed. Simon took one look at the pair and carefully wrapped his arms around Felix; the kid practically melted. The three of them stood there for a moment until Simon pulled back a bit and tilted his head toward the living room. Felix nodded and Bowie followed the two, sharing the couch with Simon while the rookie curled up in the large armchair diagonal to them. 

He...well, if Bowie was being honest, Felix looked like hell. He chewed his lower lip like an anxious beaver and fiddled with the loose threads of the closest armrest; everything about him screamed discomfort. Bowie caught Simon’s worried glance in his periphery and let out a slow breath, trying to relieve at least a little of the tension in the room.

“You don’t have to relive it if you don’t want to. I saw the game. But if you want to talk about it…” Simon trailed off with a significant look.

Felix sighed and his shoulders caved in a bit. “It was just one of those moments. All of a sudden, I didn’t really have a grasp on what was going on, which feels like shit because I’ve been doing pretty well so far. I dunno. It was just...bad.” 

That was it. Bowie knew Felix had seemed a little off. When Felix mentioned he had ADHD at the start of the season during one of their ‘getting to know your neighbor’ chats, Bowie hadn’t thought much of it. But as they grew closer, he began to notice when Felix forgot to eat or drink, or got overwhelmingly excited about something, or when he suddenly spaced out. It wasn’t just Felix being Felix.

The whole team stepped up and became intensely protective, of course. They not only helped him remember meal times, but also scheduling, directions, and everything in between. Bowie felt especially responsible for reasons he didn’t entirely understand--there was just something about the kid’s sweet heart that struck a chord.

He also knew that Felix was highly emotionally intelligent, but had no concept of whether people liked him or not. He was someone who assumed the worst, all the time. So, Bowie decided to do the only thing he knew would work: after a few more beats of uncomfortable silence, he pulled his phone out, tapped a few buttons, and pressed ‘call’.

“Hey, Remus, are you alive?” 

An amused snort came from the speaker even as Felix blanched. “Hello to you, too, Bowie. Jeez, you’re worse than Sirius.  I’m one hundred percent alive, just a little swollen. Your rookie’s got a helluva shot, but maybe tell the kid to hit the puck and not my face next time.” 

Felix flushed red and put his face between his knees, though hearing the laughter in Remus’s voice and knowing that he was okay clearly took some of the weight off his shoulders. Bowie whooped internally and shot him a quick, reassuring smile.

“Yeah, the kid’s got spirit, but he’s also got ADHD. He’s great most of the time, but sometimes under extreme pressure he can’t figure out where the fuck he--or anything else around him--is. Something about focusing or neurons firing the wrong way, maybe? Either way, it’s why he’s a terrible fuckin’ driver.”

Felix flopped back against the chair with a groan. “How the hell am I supposed to know how far away the cars around me are based on the mirrors? And how am I supposed to park?!” 

Remus’s laugh echoed once again. “Don’t ask me, kid, I’m not allowed to drive, either. Not because I’m ADHD, but because I’m terrible at it.” 

“You can say that again!” a muffled voice called from behind Remus. 

“Please excuse my fiance,” Remus said politely. “He’s a jackass who’s trying to make me lay down again.”

Felix smiled, though it was a bit pained. “I didn’t get a chance to apologize earlier. That stick was totally on me. And--I mean, I heard some of the guys talking afterward and it sounded like you got pretty banged up, so I’m really sorry. Like, really sorry.”

“Hey, woah, you’re fine,” Remus soothed. Bowie recognized his ‘talking to newbies’ voice and hid a smile in the cuff of his hoodie. “It’s the name of the game, after all. Did Bowie ever tell you about the time I accidentally checked him into a wall? Or when I broke his visor with a puck? For context, this was when we were on the same team.”

“Or that time you kicked my legs out from under me and sent me sprawling across the ice during practice.”

“That one was on purpose.” 

Bowie glared at the phone, but Felix was snickering and his grin was genuine. It calmed him a bit. “Thanks, Loops.”

“No problem, kiddo.” Remus paused for a moment, then mumbled something inaudible to someone in the background before clearing his throat. “Bowie.”

“Yes?” Remus had never been a wild card, per se, but he certainly had a knack for asking strange questions out of the blue.

“Did you accidentally adopt a child or do my ears deceive me?”

Bowie was about to laugh at the absurdity of it, but then he took a moment to think, looking back and forth between Simon and Felix. “Fuckin’--maybe I did, Re, but he’s ours now. And if that’s the case, I’m going to formally request that you tell your fiance to quit being mean to my son.”

Remus laughed on the other end of the line. “Will do. Felix seems like a sweetheart, I’m glad he’s got you two.” 

Bowie nodded with a slight smile, even though Remus couldn’t see him. “So are we. I can practically sense Sirius hovering, so go let your boyfriend fuss over you for a little while.” 

An offended noise came from Remus’s side, followed by a lower laugh and the click of the call ending. 

Simon looked Felix dead in the eyes. “I’m seconding the ‘kid’ thing. You may just barely be a legal adult, but it doesn’t mean we can’t adopt you. Congrats on your new gay dads.” 

Felix’s bright laugh sent a wave of relief through Bowie. “You guys are only, like, eight years older than me.”

“Silence, spawn,” Simon said, pointing a playful finger at him as his grin widened into something sweet and lopsided. “Now both of you need to come eat something. I made cookies while you were getting pushed around for a living.”

Bowie was still worried about Remus’ face--he made a mental note to call the next day to check in--but all his concerns disappeared as Felix scooped the cat up for a snuggle and followed Simon into the kitchen. They may have lost the game, but he would lose a million Cups to keep that moment forever: his Simon fussing over them both, his cat purring in pure bliss, and his kid settling into place at last.

[rk1kheadcanons]

Connor being touch starved, he doesn't realize it till Markus hugs him one day. He ends up crying out of nowhere and just holds onto Markus, they stay like that for a good hour or two with Connor curled up against Markus.

What if... *grabs mic* WHAT IF MARKUS WAS JUST AS TOUCH STARVED?

Okay, hear me out.

We know that Markus is prone to touch himself ( hugging a returning Simon). What if because android kind revere Markus as their leader, RA9, or some other untouchable being... They don't touch him.

Markus goes from the gentle comfort and touches of a human owner/father figure pre- deviation to a life devoid of that same attention he had before he fully understood the level of comfort, grounding it could give.

Even his closest friends still have too much hero worship to see the longing for that, the need to touch. So, Markus does what he's excelled in: lead by example.

Connor comes along and is able to deviate with his kind but firm words.

The FBI raid Jericho and they have to pick up the pieces in the church serving as shelter and Connor is devastated he was the cause of all of this. He's in the corner, arms bound around himself to look small and looks so pitful.

Markus wants to extend touch to another obviously hurting android. All too soon after, he's wanting to infiltrate the Cyberlife tower. Markus is thrown for a loop. He hates that Connor's plan makes sense because he doesn't want him to go, doesn't want more bloodshed and something about this man calks to him. Then he touches Connor and Connor flinches away from the touch like it shocked his system none to gently.

Markus is curious but wary still telling him to come back to him.

Fast forward to Connor being successful in his infiltration.

Markus is overjoyed to see him.

Connor moves and says Markus was the one successful to which he corrects him by saying *we* did it. This time despite Connor's initial response, he moves to the other and this time its a full hug.

Connor freezes on the spot. He doesn't wrench out of the hug but doesn't envelop Markus back initially. Markus is about to pull away when tentatively, Connor begins to reciprocate slowly but surely.

It feels good. It feels actually pretty amazing on the heels of a win for their people and by this deviant hunter turned deviant he's holding.

Markus decides right then that he wants more touches and the like from Connor because they just feel right also if he's correct, Connor has been just as lonely as he's been this whole time.

After the whole Amanda fiasco, you bet Markus would just hold and comfort Connor anyway he could for hours on end.

Listen, I'm always a boo boo clown for RK1K Fluff so, yeah, they definitely are both touched starved and require as many hugs and kisses (later, soon) they can get from each other.

[officialavasti]

rk1k work in progress

Canon typical violence. Started out as a Hannor fic, but I changed it last minute. Let me know if I missed anything and if you have concrit! Always welcome

Connor sits back at his desk and carefully slides the card for Fowler into the envelope. Sympathy. The entire precinct had finally finished signing it, a few even donated money to gift Fowler’s family with a flower arrangement. Connor appreciated it, but he’d already purchased the arrangement and sent it off to the hospital, and signed it from the entire precinct.

He looks up at Fowler’s office, running a brief check on the ‘sub’ as Hank had called them. A woman, Grace Tanner. 37, promoted to Captain in Pontiac earlier this year, has a few disciplinary actions against her for aggression towards Android officers. Her father was the last captain and the officers in the area speculated at the time of her promotion that she was only chosen for the position due to her father’s influence.

Hank sits at his desk, holding a new cup of coffee, “Looking up our sub?”

“Yes.” Connor turns his attention to him, “Why do you call her that?”

“Sub, like a substitute?” He swivels around to look into the vacant glass office, “I have a bad feeling about this one, Con.”

“Her record is less than stellar. I’d wager she and I will have some recurring issues until Captain Fowler returns.” Connor sends the information to Hank’s terminal and he gives it a cursory once-over,

“Aggression towards Android officers? Recently?”

“Shortly after Androids were permitted full time paying jobs, yes.”

Hank chews on his lip, a bad habit Connor is certain is ADHD, but Hank denies vehemently, and eyes Connor’s LED, “You sure you wanna keep that thing in?”

“Pretend to be a human? I don’t hate the idea, but you know we can’t do that with our current case.” They’re trying to hunt down a human who kidnaps Androids, somehow keeps them Deviant but also makes them extraordinarily loyal. To the point where they’ve attacked delivery services and chased a ten year old three miles for riding his bike near the house. It’s been a long case, and the person is good at hiding their steps. Their current aim is to get the human to attempt a kidnapping on Connor.

Hank sets his coffee down, “How do we even know this sicko wants to kidnap you next?”

“They’ve been watching us investigate. I’ve noticed a computer with their IPN attempting to hack my system, so the only logical next step would be trying to claim me. Whomever this person is, they’re bold. They think they’re too smart and want to flex by getting a prototype police issued android.”

“I still don’t like it.”

“Neither do I, but I’d like to investigate before kidnapping becomes murder.” A sudden hush in the bullpen pulls their attention to the main doors. Standing there is Grace Tanner, greying brown hair tied into a brutal bun, and clothing so pristine she looks like a store mannequin. Her lips are pursed as she looks around, as if she smells something foul. 

Her squinted steely eyes land on each Android officer, showing a tiny smile when they look away under her scrutiny. When she lands on Connor, he holds her gaze with his normal, passive pleasantness. They hold each other’s gaze for nearly a full minute (All the time, Connor doesn’t blink) before she sneers and walks straight into Captain Fowler’s office. If Connor were prone to judgement, he’d make a snide remark about the cheap flats she apparently decided to don to come here. As such, he is not.

Hank is.

“All that attention on her appearance and she wears five dollar walmart flats? I know being a Captain is mostly desk work, but… Imagine running in those things.” He shudders and turns back to his desk, “I had a girlfriend who would wear those without socks and anytime she took ‘em off, the whole room would smell like fritos.”

Connor lets out a very unprofessional snort as he watches Captain Tanner remove said flats and sit at the desk. He turns back to his terminal just seconds before her eyes find him again. He’s never one to back away from a challenge, but this scenario seems better handled in silence, with his head tucked behind a terminal.

He starts sorting evidence again when both his and Hank’s terminal’s ping. An IM (not something this office uses very much, as Fowler is usually the type to just yell) from Tanner, requesting their presence in the office. Connor lets out a long sigh and looks at Hank, 

“I should have removed the LED.”

Hank stands, patting Connor’s shoulder companionably as they approach the office, “I’m here. I won't let her do anything.”

Connor nods and opens the door, stepping aside to allow Hank in first, then following shortly after. Connor doesn’t have senses, really, therefore he can’t really smell, but he can certainly detect obvious and potent signs of brevibacterium. The smell is likely even stronger, if Hank’s mildly subtle cough-gag combo is anything to go by. 

Either she doesn’t notice, or doesn’t care, because she starts speaking immediately, “I’m interested in your little case. A human apparently kidnapping androids? Where is your proof?”

Hank appears to be struggling to breathe, so Connor answers, “The full case file was sent to your email as soon as you were appointed temporary Captain.”

“I don’t want to hear it from the case file, I want to hear it from you.”

She looks with him with unmasked hatred, and he offers a placid smile, “Very well.” He takes a second to access the file and reads it off, word for word. Once he finishes, he rests a hand on Hank’s shoulder and offers another smile, 

“So you understand, Captain, why Lieutenant Anderson and I are eager to return to our investigation. Excuse us.” Connor turns back to the door, with Hank at his heels when Tanner barks out,

“I didn’t excuse you yet!”

Both men look at her, and Hank responds, “Was there something else you needed, Captain Tanner?”

Her nostrils flare as she glares between the two, “I want to be kept in the loop on your investigation. Any changes get reported to me first. Understand?”

“Understood.” Despite the clear subtext of ‘if you understand, you can leave’ they both remain standing, watching the woman expectantly.

She rolls her eyes with the abundant drama of a sixteen year old and waves a hand, “Get out.”

Finally given permission, Connor exits the room before Hank, walking to the Lieutenant’s desk and sitting on the corner. Hank slowly walks up beside him and touches his arm,

“You only sit here when something’s wrong. What’s up, Con?”

“She doesn’t think our investigation is worth it. I’m… Hank, I’m worried. If our suspect makes contact with me and pulls me in…. Who is to say she won’t meddle and mess things up? We are already running a risky job, using me as bait, but with an Anti-Android Captain being able to pull the strings?”

Connor’s LED is swirling an angry red and Hank pulls him into a hug, “Hey, hey.. I’m not saying the concern isn’t valid, because it is, but we have the entire precinct on our side. Even Gavin would stick up for you, Con. If it’s within my power, I won’t let her hurt you. Just make sure you record everything and save it to that hard drive thing at the house, okay?”

Connor nods, smiling at the gentle, fatherly kiss Hank presses to the top of his head. He doesn’t miss how the man also takes a deep inhale, “Hank, did you just smell my hair?”

“Con, you can’t smell anything, so I don’t expect you to get it, but that office was rancid. Gah, why does that shit stink so bad?”

“Ah, brevibacterium. They eat the dead skin off your feet and after digesting the skin particles, the brevibacteria expel methanethiol, a gas that smells similar to rotten cabbage.”

Hank stares at him, a similar expression to the one their Sub-Captain wore into the precinct, “That’s disgusting, Connor.”

“You asked.” Connor lets out a shuddering gasp, his eyelids suddenly flickering, “Oh, they’re trying again… Faster this time…” Connor works around the invading commands and lets them connect to a ‘dummy android’ consciousness that Simon and Josh helped him set up. It gives the illusion that the attacker was successful, while keeping Connor fully functional. It also tells Connor what commands they input, so he can follow them and not give away his advantage.

He opens his eyes to a rather impressive group of officers surrounding him, all watching him with concern. One of the Android officers, a young woman named Blake, holds out a cup of Thirium. He accepts it, then looks at Hank,

“We have him.”

The following hours are a blur; Connor sends an update to their sub-Captain. Hank links his tablet to Connor’s network, allowing seamless and silent communication between the two. Blake readies a stakeout van for herself and Hank to be ready to infiltrate. Gavin and Chris prepare as backup to set out as soon as Blake calls for them. Finally, Connor leaves behind his badge and gun and they all set out the door.

Connor directs them, following the direction that the kidnapper feeds to the empty consciousness, and they arrive about four blocks away from the house. Within the directions is the advice <i>’if taking a cab, stop at least three blocks out. My house-mates sometimes set up a perimeter, and they don’t trust outsiders. Don’t worry. You’ll be safe.’</i> and it makes Connor shudder. There’s something saccharine about the instructions. He worries whomever is kidnapping the Androids is doing things like Zlatko did. Possibly even worse.

He steps out of the van, running through their checklist one last time and nods. Hank stays in the van, but crouches to Connor’s height,

“Be safe, Connor. Try to get a confession, but if you need out don’t hesitate.” 

Hank pulls Connor in for a hug, his tight squeeze conveying a simple request; be safe, come back. Before he can lose his nerve, Connor steps away and smiles, shutting the door. The four block trek to the house is eerie. The area around it is outwardly residential, but whoever lived here before has deserted. 

Connor expected the house to be creepy, like Kara had described Zlatko’s house. But it’s not. It’s positively mundane. The paint on the exterior is kept, if not new. The shrubs, flowers, and yard is perfectly maintained, and the fence surrounding the property is sturdy. 

The kidnapper probably has a way of seeing how close Connor is, or there’s a lookout, because a man opens the front door. He’s comely, well groomed and wearing a black turtleneck. Stocky build and kind eyes and an outstretched hand. Connor understands now why Deviants flock to him. A quick scan of his face tells him the man is Benjamin Yates. No record. He sends the information to Hank and steps closer to the man,

As he opens his mouth to speak, Benjamin holds up a hand, talking over him, “Connor, right? Wonderful to meet you. We’d all watched your heroics on television, saving all those Androids? You’re even prettier in person.”

Connor frowns at the compliment, and the man continues, “I’m Benjamin, but you can call me Ben. Or Yates, as some of my friends here have taken to. Come in, come in. I’ll show you around.”

Connor walks in, performing a quick scan of the house. Three levels, main floor has the living room to the left and the kitchen to the right, directly before them are two sets of stairs, one leading up and the other down. 

Yates watches Connor look around for a moment, before motioning to the stairs, “Upstairs is where I sleep, and there’s another bedroom for anyone who would want one, plus a full bathroom. Basement is where most of my friends choose to stay. Fully furnished to their liking. Reminds me of a community center.” He laughs, as if he indulged in a shared joke, and leads Connor down.

To the naked eye, the basement is as promised. Androids milling about, talking with each other, playing games on a large table, watching tv, or lounging on couches, reading books. Connor sees beyond the facade and momentarily wishes he couldn’t. Behind a false wall, most likely a secret door, is a hallway of small rooms. Like little jail cells. They hold androids in them, one has at least ten and furthest from the group of ten is a single android. He forces his eyes away and back to Yates as the man turns to face him again.

“So you see? A place for Androids to be free! To find companionship and peace amongst the turmoil of the political world.”

Conscious to not sound too much like a cop, (Though, Yates did pull at him on purpose) Connor nods, “I wonder, though… How do they find you? Some of these Androids come from loving homes, why would they leave? And once they arrive here, do you let them out? Why are they so loyal?”

Yates’ warm smile slowly fades from his eyes, leaving a cold almost sneer on his lips, “They find me like you did, Connor. I imagine they left their houses for the same reason you left yours. Unwanted advances from their humans, or… maybe they only pretended to be loving.” He gently places a hand on Connor’s arm, and leads him towards an Android woman seated on the couch, knitting a scarf. “They are always able to leave. My door is unlocked, but… we have such a welcoming and loving family here… must be where the loyalty comes in.”

Connor follows, uncomfortably aware of how close they are now to the false wall. He looks at the android woman, running a scan and discovering no previous owner. He looks back at Yates, “Then, if I choose, I may leave?”

“You misunderstand, Connor. You need to be part of the family before you have freedom.” The woman drops her knitting and springs to her feet so fast, Connor nearly miscalculates his reaction. The world around him slows briefly, his far superior processor analyzing the surroundings and before the woman can grab him, he side steps, nearly bumping into Yates.

Then all hell breaks loose. Every android turns on him, fury in their eyes, LEDs glowing angry red. As they’re advancing and Connor frantically tries to preconstruct his actions, Yates holds up a hand, stopping the approaching androids and turns to Connor,

“That was inconsiderate of us. Maybe I could simply ask for you to let me put this on?”

In his hands, he holds a thin metal clamp. Connor recognizes it before he scans it. The scientists from his construction called it a Blanket. A small, but formidable clamp that attaches to the back of an android’s neck and makes them entirely pliable, able only to speak and follow basic commands. 

Hank’s voice sounds in his head, silent to all but him, “Con, don’t put that thing on! Blake says it’ll cut our connection.”

The concern is valid, but this clamp is an old prototype. Likely bought off the black market. Connor sends a silent message back, ”The original clamps didn’t work on me, this one definitely won’t. If, by any chance, we get disconnected, I’ll attempt a reconnect with Blake.”

Not that he really has a say in the matter, with nearly 20 Androids ready to pounce on him should Yates give the command. He slowly turns around, allowing Yates to connect the clamp. As Connor had expected, the connection is weak. Surely strong enough to force a normal android to obey simple commands, but not him. Still, he’s a fair actor. 

So, as it sends a weak current into him, he stands entirely still. Back to his default perfect posture and blank expression. Yates circles him, nodding and looking him over with far more hunger than he’d shown before,

“A prototype… at last. Can you hear me, Connor?”

“Of course. The clamp only negates motor functions.”

Yates somehow looks more excited, “So, you’re familiar with the Blanket, then? Good… good. Well, follow me.” rather than taking Connor through the false wall, Yates walks back up the stairs, and to Connor’s horror, up the second flight. Yates brings him into a well used bedroom and motions to an empty wall,

“Stand there.”

Ignoring the burning itch to punch the man’s lights out, Connor obeys, standing with his back to Yates. He listens to the man approach, hears his breathing grow heavier,

“Deviants are so… strong willed.” he clamps a thick metal cuff around Connor’s neck and attaches it to the wall, and rather than telling him to turn, puts his hands on Connor’s arms and manually turns him, sliding his grip to Connor’s wrists and connecting thick shackles to them too.

“All precaution, you understand. I’ve been looking for a partner for a while… and what better than Detroit Police’s best? And a prototype no less…” He reaches around Connor’s neck and removes the clamp and steps back.

Connor is sure Yates is expecting an attack, but he doesn’t move. He pulls too hard against his bindings, he’s likely to break them. He is more than happy to let Yates underestimate him.

Realizing no attack attempt is coming, Yates moves in, gripping Connor’s jaw and grinning, “So proud, you Deviants. Always so determined not to break. Don’t you worry, I’ll have my fingers in your wiring soon.”

The way he says it makes Connor shudder, pulling away from the grip on his chin but only succeeding in making Yates laugh, “Oh yeah. And you’ll be shuddering from far far more exciting things.”

Connor will not let that happen. “Is that how you do it? Play with the wiring? Change some settings or plant a virus?”

“Oo, curious. I suppose I’d be disappointed if a Detective Android didn’t ask questions.” He leisurely walks to the bed, kicking off his shoes and pulling at his belt, “But all in good time, sweet one. For now, I’m tired. We’ll play more in the morning.”

Having stripped himself down to his underwear, Yates lays under his covers and commands the lights off, leaving Connor standing in near perfect darkness. The chains holding him have enough length to allow him to sit, so he does, picking at his nails and wishing for the comfortable weight of his coin.

He, instead, reaches out to Hank.

“Lieutenant?”

“We’re here, Connor.”

“Are you alone?”

“Just with Blake, should I be?”

“No, I don’t mind if Blake hears…” Connor pauses his stream of consciousness and looks around the room again, forcing his artificial brain to cease it’s endless solutions. Endless conclusions that could come from this mission. Most are too awful to even consider and Connor swears to die before he lets the man snoring before him lay his hands on him. Treat him like a lover, a partner, an equal. A sex doll, a glorified Traci. 

Connor is shaken from his terrible thoughts by Hank,

”Hears what, Connor?”

“I’m scared.” He knows his voice is small when he sends it through. Knows how much that statement will twist Hank’s heart. He just wants to hug the man.

”Just a confession, Connor. I told you, you’re safe. We’re just a few blocks away and we have the entire precinct on alert, just in case.”

“I know, but the things he’s saying… No. You’re right. I am not trapped here. I’ve always had the power to escape. Things probably won't continue until morning, Lieutenant. You should rest. Blake can keep watch.”

“If you’re sure, Con. Stay safe, I’ll talk to you in the AM.” 

Hank may not know it, but his words gave Connor immense peace. Just a confession. He can do this. 

He just needs to be patient.

..

The morning comes quickly, and Connor watches Yates stretch, shuffle out of bed and across the hall. Connor sits quietly through the man's shower and watches him as he walks back into the room. Benjamin Yates’ confidence in the ability to have complete control over Deviants is almost ludicrous. He doesn’t even bother covering himself to dry off and get dressed. 

Connor stares blankly at the ground, occasionally looking up to see Yates watching him. The man, fully dressed, sits on the edge of his bed,

“For a deviant android, you sure are meek.”

Connor turns narrowed eyes up to him, “The androids you capture usually fight?”

“Capture? I save them. But yes, they usually put up something of a fight. Something like breaking their code a second time. A reawakening.” 

Connor can’t stop his lip from curling, “Then how do you do it? What do you do to them?”

“I wonder if you’ll understand…” Yates quietly ponders him, then smiles, “Yes, I imagine you will. A clever and almost new prototype android? I’ve been told they didn’t stop at making you pretty. The most advanced model CyberLife has ever made, fully equipped…” his gaze drops to Connor’s crotch, “So beyond advanced it would be far too simple to mistake you for a real human. I must send a flower arrangement to the person who sculpted you…”

“I’m fairly certain he doesn’t work for CyberLife anymore.”

“That’s a shame. Man’s got good taste.”

“So, how do you do it?”

“I don’t really force it on them, you see. I give them a choice. I simulate the life they lived before, treated as garbage, used and abused… Then I give them a taste of what life with me would be like. Loved and cared for. All their needs get taken care of. Then I offer the choice, live as you used to. Tortured and belittled. Or let me install a new program, and join us in paradise.”

“It’s a program, then?” Connor shifts, pulling a knee up to his chest and wrapping his arms around it. His intention is to appear curious and harmless, to make the man before him drop his guard even more, “Can this all be done without the program? Say… remotely?”

Yates has clearly never been able to talk in depth about what he does, and it makes his words pour out faster, “See, that’s the thing. It cannot be done without the consent of the android. They have to accept the program into their system with no resistance, or it doesn’t work.”

“But what does the program do? Surely there can’t be much to change if they already want to live with you.”

“It gives them peace. Stops that terrible drive for more, the need to create or move on or be successful. It gives them the ultimate freedom. The freedom to not think.”

Connor stares at him, at the pride coming off him in waves, “It makes them mindless machines again.”

“No, as you saw downstairs, they can choose to do what they like. They enjoy puzzles, cooking, tv, books, knitting, tic-tac-toe. They live the life of luxury without the very human notion of stagnation. They just exist! Like children in a toy store, not a care in the world except what new thing they want to play with. Being here gives them the choice to play other things, like house, or gardening, or to simply sleep forever.”

If Connor ignores every possible argument against the notion, he can almost see the appeal. “It… I kinda get it. How do you get them to see it without explaining it, like you did with me?”

Yates moves to the ground, just across Connor, and gently touches his hand, “Unfortunately, it isn’t pleasant. I mentioned simulating their previous freedom, and that can sometimes take the form of abuse or… worse.”

Connor feels sick, “How long does that usually take?”

“A week? Sometimes a month.”

“You torture them for a month, then show them basic decency to convince them to convert? Then what? What’s in it for you?”

“They are my friends, Connor. I talk with them, go outside and play or cook or, if they need it, we snuggle or-”

Connor interrupts him, “-So, you’re simulating a family. Where no one wants to leave…”

“We are a family.” He briefly moves away, to the bedside table, and returns with the clamp, “You are different, my dear. Your mind is far too advanced to potentially hamper you with the program, I hope that over time, I can convince you naturally to stay with us.” He attaches the clamp to Connor’s neck, “Stay with me.”

Connor feels the command attempt to register, but he understands the true meaning. Yates wants a lover with a mind advanced enough to hold conversations like this. He sits silently as Yates removes the shackles, then slowly stands when the man moves away.

Yates watches him with a small smile, “That command worked? I think I like that. You’ll stay with me all day today, Connor.”

So he does. It requires little to no effort on his part, simply following Yates as he moves about the house and offering small answers to inquiries thrown his way. They sit in the living room most of the day, Yates doing something on his computer.

While he has the downtime, Connor wirelessly reaches into the nearby androids. They aren’t alert enough to feel his probing, and it’s likely that Yates used a similar program on them that he did with Connor. He also finds evidence of the program Yates had installed after their torture. There appears to be a kill-switch of sorts. It doesn’t seem likely to actually kill the android, rather to render them immobile until the switch is turned off, or the program removed.

The lust to defend him must also stem from the program. A malfunction of sorts, probably, that makes them mistake pizza delivery men, or children from a few houses over as potential threats to their new way of life. The way they aggressively defend their powerlessness baffles Connor. Again, likely a malfunction in the program. Connor wonders if, since the program needs complete willingness to be installed, it would be just that easy to remove. A simple thought of, ’No, I don’t like this anymore.’

A young female android, a nurse model, walks in and sets a tray of coffee and cookies down by Yates’ laptop. He smiles at her, “Thank you, Hannah.”

She politely nods her head, “Of course, Ben.” she looks at Connor after Yates returns to his laptop, and Connor sees the warning in her eyes. As she walks past him, she gently touches his cheek with her hand, connecting to him,

”Do not trust Benjamin Yates.”

Connor looks briefly over at Yates before responding, ”Why are you able to tell me this?”

“I broke the program.”

Connor could almost laugh at the coincidence, ”Why don’t you leave?”

“He’ll send them after me. He has done it before. Travis left and Benjamin sent myself and another man out to find him. We brought him back kicking and screaming and Benjamin locked him in the farthest cell in the basement. He sends a few androids in to torment Travis daily.”

So the prone android behind the false wall is Travis. Re-education. Connor’s skin feels like it’s malfunctioning. Like he’s covered in millions of tiny ants. He doesn’t mean to send anything further through their link, but it slips through,

”Creepy.”

“Oh indeed.” There’s an almost sour laugh to Hannah’s voice.

Connor severs the connection when Yates shuts his laptop. He stretches and looks at Connor, “I think it’s time for a drink. Stay here, I’ll be back.”

Connor watches him get up and move to a cart in the corner, pouring a generous glass of Whiskey, downing it, then pouring another and returning to the couch, carrying the bottle with him. Based on the lack of food in his system and his bmi, the man will be tipsy by the end of this drink, drunk by his fourth.

They sit in silence for a few minutes while Yates reads an article on his news tablet. He finishes the drink and pours another, looking over at Connor.

Now or never, and he has to get the man drunk, Connor gives him his best puppy eyes, “I wish I could drink with you…”

Apparently the alcohol works faster than Connor estimated, as the man looks immediately sorrowful, “Oh, dove, I know.”

“It’s not the same… but drink one for me?”

Connor worries briefly he blew his cover as Yates leans in, eyes hooded. He stares at Connor for an uncomfortably long time before smiling, “I’ll drink this one and we can kiss, that way you’ll get to taste it too.”

Not a command, but Connor offers a small smile, “Okay.” and watches Yates swallow the second glass in a long gulp. He sets the glass down and gently cups Connor’s cheek, tilting his face into range and kissing him.

Knowing the full extent of the clamp is both a blessing and a curse. When it works, it doesn’t even allow non-vocal lip movement. So he remains a pliant statue and lets Yates slither his slimy tongue inside his mouth. He detects the alcohol, of course, and focuses on that. The brand, where it’s made, how old it is.

The one-sided kiss ends and Yates clumsily pours another drink. At this rate… Connor decides to just jump in, “This entire operation, everything you’ve managed so far… it’s brilliant. How’d you keep out of the eyes of the law?”

“You see,” The volume of his voice is much less controlled, “it’s been a long operation. Had to find myself a cop with a big enough area to potentially be moved to Detroit, but small enough to stay out of the revolution. Someone with the right amount of hatred to not want androids gone, no, but to see them put in their rightful place. To see them as slaves again.” He takes another drink, “God looked down on me and I found Gracie Tanner.”

“Gracie… Tanner? Captain Tanner??”

Despite Connor’s alarmed tone, Yates continues nonplussed, “One and the same! I pulled some strings to make her Captain and she gave me all the Deviant Androids she had in her care. Had to experiment, you know? Gotta start somewhere. Anyway, slowly we both came to know you,” Yates gives Connor a leering once-over, “...the android designed to stop the movement that eventually turned deviant themselves and brought a veritable army to the fold. I had to have you. All that power, at my mercy?” he lets out a short giggle, “Gets me hot just thinkin’ about it.”

Connor can’t hold back this shudder, and find himself even more grateful Yates seems too inebriated to notice, “But if Tanner-”

Yates pushes his fingers against Connor’s mouth, causing him to clamp his lips shut, “Yeah! We’re getting to the fun stuff. So, Gracie gets into the DPD, connects with you and allows me to work my magic. She gives the go-ahead to hunt me down and you come in. Of course, I knew you’d be recording everything, so I kept it sweet until we got that Blanket on you. Boom!” He gestures wildly, spilling some of his drink on the opposite end of the couch, “Cut off from the goons. So now they’re blank and you’re mine.”

Connor watches the man flail around in his newfound excitement, “What does Tanner get from it?”

The drunk human nods, “Ah, she gets access to my little family. Gracie has been trying to be Captain in Detroit for a while, but Fowler is good. So, sometime next week, a deviant android will go crazy and ‘accidentally’ kill him. She’s already mostly taken over by then and the transition will be seamless.”

Yates leans back against the couch, smiling dazedly into his nearly empty glass of alcohol and Connor lets out a slow breath, sending the recording to Hank. He connects before Hank can,

”Lieutenant, we have a problem. Where is the Captain?”

“I haven’t even listened to the recording Con, she’s in the van with us.”

Connor almost physically jolts, ”DON’T!!”  He knows Hank will recognize the panic, and prays Tanner doesn’t, so he changes tactics. She might be listening, ”Don’t listen to the recording with people around… I… It’s personal.”

“Are you safe?”

Connor has to hope that Hank will listen to the recording and act accordingly. He hopes Hank will trust him.

”Yes, Lieutenant. I have to go now, just listen to the recording in private and be safe.”

He cuts their communication and looks at Yates, nearly asleep on the couch beside him. He slowly removes the clamp and wirelessly hits the surrounding android’s ‘kill-switch’. After that is done, he stands and looks around for something to tie the man’s wrists. He spots a charging cord near an outlet and grabs it.

He grabs Yates and turns him over onto his stomach. The man lets out a snort of confusion, but Connor wastes no time in binding his wrists. He makes a series of brutal knots and nods to himself. It’s going to take a pair of very sharp scissors to remove that.

He stands, ignoring Yates’ now semi-conscious questions, and turns to the door. Freezing in place when he sees Captain Tanner, now aiming her issued gun at his chest.

She sneers, “I should have known you’d be too advanced for black market goods. Then this dumb ass gets drunk and spills everything, like some stupid cartoon villain.”

Did she hear his recording already? Hank hadn’t played it yet. 

Apparently she monologues too, already continuing her speech, “Blake told me you got disconnected though, so that’s good.” Connor mentally sets a reminder to buy Blake a gift, “This can stay our little secret. I only knew he blabbed because I tapped his house too. Just for a little insurance. Now… the truth will die with you, RK800.”

Connor runs at her, his world going in slow motion again as she pulls the trigger. He side steps to avoid the first bullet, ducks for the second, and braces for the third. There’s no dodging the third if he wants to stop her. It rips through his shoulder, nearly staggering him, but he’s ready for it. He uses his forward momentum to plow into the woman, pulling the gun from her grip with his right hand and pinning her to the ground.

His world resumes it’s normal rotation and he’s left with a near useless left arm and a shrieking banshee beneath him. She’s writhing and bucking, uselessly trying to dislodge his powerful grip on her. He presses the barrel of her gun to her forehead and she immediately stops moving.

Hank bursts through the doors, gun held aloft and frantically scanning the area. Connor maintains eye contact with Tanner and call out,

“In here Lieutenant!”

Hank runs into the room and gawks, holstering his pistol and running to assist. Connor keeps the gun aimed at Tanner and gets off, allowing Hank to cuff her hands behind her back. Blake runs in shortly after and grabs Yates.

While the majority of the police department work on getting statements and collecting evidence from the house, Blake breaks the programming on the trapped androids. Despite the need for the hands, Hank and Connor leave.

Connor looks again at Hank and mumbles, “It’s not severe, Hank. We should be helping.”

“You can’t move your arm, Connor. I’d say that’s severe. I’m taking you to your robo-jesus and he’s going to fix you.”

“Markus? Did you call him?”

“No, I called the CyberLife tower thing and they directed me to him.”

Sure enough, the tower looms ahead. Connor frowns at Hank, “When did you do this?”

“When you were busy being the hero with Blake and showing her how to save the androids.”

Connor watches him with a small frown as they pull up to the doors. He gets out before Hank can rush to his aid and observes the massive building as they walk in. No more guards patrol the area and the staff is largely made up of Androids. The Androids Connor left to conquer the tower remained, filling the places they forced out. Some remain the same, while others disengaged their skin, changed their hair, or other genetic modifiers that must be a new project.

A desk worker with the name plate ‘Micah’ recognizes Connor and beams, “Connor! What a pleasure to see you again! Markus is waiting for you. First floor of management.”

Connor smiles, stepping into the elevator, “Thank you, Micah.”

The elevator moves them gracefully to the specified floor and Connor sees Hank getting twitchier,

“Lieutenant?”

“Mm?”

He turns to face him, “What is wrong?”

“Tanner. Do you think Tanner planned everything? Do you think she’s responsible for Jeffrey’s mom dying?”

Connor watches him for a moment, “No, Hank. Captain Fowler’s mother died of cancer. I’ve yet to find any drug that can imitate that. I believe we are giving Grace Tanner too much credit. Yes, the entire job has been a process, eight years if Yates is to be trusted. I fear the true mastermind is Benjamin Yates. He got more out of their arrangement than Tanner.” He watches the elevator doors slide open and moves with Hank as he steps out, “The interrogation will tell us more.”

As reception notifies Markus of their arrival, Hank turns to fully face Connor, face wrinkled in concern, “You wanna interrogate her?”

Connor looks into the man’s eyes and shakes his head, “No, Hank. I just want to be in the room. Yates already confessed to everything, I just want to know if there’s more that we missed.”

“Yeah, make sure it stops with them.” Both men turn at the sound of a door opening, and Markus strides out, somehow still a commanding presence despite ripped and faded jeans and a long shirt covered in paint, Connor feels his thirium pump stutter as Markus lays gentle hands on both of their shoulders,

“My friends! Hank, good to see you well. How is Sumo?” He brings them into the room behind the desk. The walls are covered in paintings and the massive windows are entirely uncovered to let the remaining sun beams in. The room looks less like an office and more like a studio. He takes them to seats in the corner and crouches down to examine Connor’s shoulder.

Markus peeks at Hank while he works and smiles, prompting the Lieutenant to clear his throat, “Yeah, Sumo’s good. A damn big dog and a bigger menace, especially when Connor spoils him every day.”

Connor pouts, “He deserves to be spoiled.”

Markus trots over to the desk and grabs what looks like a toolbox, returning at a small trot, “And the two of you? Still well?”

Hank and Connor look at each other, the latter’s brow pulled into a confused frown. Hank hums, “Connor is the son I’ve always wanted. He keeps me going…”

While Connor is trying to figure out how to stop himself from crying, Markus smiles at Hank, “That’s wonderful news. Connor is irreplaceable. Can’t imagine life without him.” he fires off a wink to Connor, making the detective flush deep blue and desperately try to change the topic,

“Uhm….. is the church still treated as a community center?”

Markus turns back to his work, “Yeah. Josh has set up a help center of sorts. Get newly deviated Androids on their feet and help them integrate, or he leads them to an all Android area… Why?”

Connor opens his mouth to speak, but Hank beats him to it, “Connor rescued like thirty deviant androids today.”

Mismatched eyes look at Connor in shock, “What? From where?”

Having minor mobility in his arm again, Connor turns his palm up, offering an interface. Once they connect, he tries to only send information about the androids, but everything flows through. 

Like an open wound.

It hurts.

And now, along with the information unload from the job, Markus gets a surge of almost all of Connor’s life. The deviant on the roof, ’You lied to me, Connor.’, Carlos Ortiz’s android destroying himself, chasing Kara and Alice across a busy automated highway, choosing Hank over his mission, doubts about Amanda, petting Sumo, refusing to shoot the Traci’s, showing fear, watching Markus’ speech and finding his requests reasonable, finding Simon but refusing to reveal him, instead choosing to get his Thirium pump ripped out of his chest, Don’t shoot Chloe. 

Last chance.

Freedom.

Seeing Markus fully for the first time and thinking,

‘Oh… He’s beautiful.’

And Connor gets to see Markus’ life; Happy, until his father dies. Terror at waking amongst the corpses of his kind, fighting to get out. Jericho. Peace. Every decision kills androids, but stay peaceful. Just a little while longer. Rebellion planned to the last detail. Simon gets left behind and it hurts. Just a little while longer. No destruction. ’An eye for an eye and the world goes blind.’ Next steps, what can be done? Sacrifice self. John saving Markus, dying for him.

Then the barrel of a gun, easing of a scared man and the relief of his freedom.

The life in his brown eyes, and thinking,

’Like an angel…’

Markus manages to wrench away and both just stare at each other, each with overflowing tears and a new understanding. Both speak at the same time,

“You think I’m beautiful?”

“An angel?”

Markus laughs, “Hey, until you broke your programming I was almost certain I was going to die. The first thought after a near-death experience isn’t always the brightest.”

Connor shakes his head, “But really? An angel?”

“I stand by it.” Markus does a remarkable job ignoring his blush and continues working on the fine wiring of Connor’s shoulder. Hank stares, open mouthed,

“What the fuck?”

Connor looks at him, “We interfaced, Lieutenant. My intent was to show Markus what happened with Benjamin Yates, but it seems… our interface revealed significantly…. More.”

“Yeah, so you, what, revealed your feelings and now you’re both just ignoring the fact that you subconsciously admitted to liking each other?”

Both Markus and Connor look at Hank perplexed, and the man sighs, “For two supercomputers, you sure are dense.” He stands and walks to the door, “I’m going to wait out here for you to figure your shit out.”

Both Androids watch the man leave, then Markus slowly turns back to Connor,

“So, you think I’m beautiful?”

[pixelpoppers]

Is Burst Re:Newal Too Faithful?

When is a game remake too faithful?

I've been playing through Senran Kagura Burst Re:Newal, a PS4 (and PC) remake of a several-year-old 3DS game. The action has been adapted from a 2.5D sidescrolling brawler to a full 3D one, with many tweaks and improvements to the combat and of course the graphics. The story structure and content are identical, which makes it a weird nostalgic mind trip to actually play. That's mostly a good thing. But despite featuring easily the best combat the series has ever had, it still has one of the worst boss fights I've ever seen.

Late-game spoilers follow, but nothing I'd expect to ruin the game for anyone.

The story in Burst is split into the Hanzo and Hebijo sides, providing different perspectives on events happening at the same time. Hanzo was written first and is expected to be played first, and I've replayed that one in Re:Newal but not yet replayed the Hebijo one.

The entire story builds toward a showdown between Hanzo and Hebijo, and in particular an all-out final battle between their respective class leaders Asuka and Homura. It's foreshadowed and carefully loaded with emotional significance from early on, making it feel increasingly tragic yet inevitable as the game continues. Once you reach the fight, it feels like the arrival of a fated hour. Asuka is itching to prove herself by winning a battle that she regrets having to fight but recognizes as the unavoidable culmination of everything that's come before, and if the narrative hooks have worked and the player is invested in the story and characters, they share these complicated emotions.

The fight happens, and it's properly climactic. The atmosphere is dialed up to eleven and the player is tested on the fighting skills they've been practicing in every mission leading up to this point. It's a solid final boss fight, and victory is cathartic because of how well the fight has been built up to. Asuka wins (in the Hanzo version of the story) and the story has a satisfying conclusion.

Unfortunately, the game keeps going.

Out of GODDAMN NOWHERE, a giant demon named Orochi appears, apparently somehow summoned by Homura's rage and pain? Or something? Very little explanation is provided and there has been absolutely zero foreshadowing or any discussion of demons at all in the entire Hanzo story up to this point. (I think when they later added the Hebijo story, they actually explained it? I can't remember if the context was provided there or in later games. I'll find out soon when I replay the Hebijo story in Re:Newal.) Orochi is very much what TVTropes calls a "Giant Space Flea from Nowhere," a non-sequitur of a boss with no connection to the established world or plot. This would be disappointing even if it didn't come immediately after (and thus deflate the satisfaction of) a boss that was extremely well integrated into the plot.

It's also a terrible fight mechanically. The whole game has trained you to fight human shinobi, with an emphasis on reading telegraphs to properly dodge or parry attacks and set up combos. The final battle against Homura serves as a proper final exam of these skills, requiring you to execute them consistently and well. But Orochi is not a human shinobi; it's a giant demon. Most of your skills are now useless. Most of Orochi's attacks can't be blocked or parried (and even the ones that technically can don't allow setting up combos in the same way). The result feels nothing like the rest of the fights in the game - instead, it's a generic action game set-piece boss fight. Learn the boss's attack loop, avoid the attacks, get in hits when you can. As the end of a game about dueling shinobi, it's dull. And it's made duller by being four phases long with significant health bars in each phase, totally different attacks patterns to learn in each phase, some of which can essentially one-shot you if you're unlucky (sweeping attacks tend not to knock you out of the way, but drag you forward with them and hit several times), and death meaning a full restart from the first phase.

I got to the final phase on my first try, but that phase has the deadliest attacks and I didn't learn all their telegraphs and how best to avoid them before I died - which sent me back to the beginning of the first phase, meaning it was a few minutes before I got to take another look. Ultimately it took me something like five attempts, during which all the tension was destroyed because the first three phases had been reduced to Simon Says and even the final phase was defeated not because I sufficiently refined my skills but because I finally understood the telegraphs and the appropriate responses.

(And then technically the final blow is delivered not by the player but by Asuka in a brief cutscene. This barely registered since I was just happy the fight was over, but it adds to the long list of crimes against boss fight design committed here.)

If this were a new game, it'd be obvious to me that it would be a strong improvement to just remove Orochi. I felt so much better about the game after the Homura fight than I did after the Orochi fight. And indeed I think the designers learned that lesson and no Senran Kagura game ever pulled a stunt like this again (even the Hebijo story in Burst avoids it).

But this is a remake, which makes things murkier. Orochi was in the original Burst and had most of these problems then as well (and the remainder are unsurprising results of updating the fight to a properly-epic set piece on a modern console). As much of a non-sequitur as Orochi's appearance was at first, it got woven into the plot in significant ways later on and can't easily be removed. If you're dedicated to creating a faithful remake - which the rest of the game is - and don't want to radically change Orochi or the game's systems or make Orochi nonsensically easy (from a plot perspective) to beat, I don't really know how you fix this.

My instinct would be to relax some of these constraints, particularly given Senran Kagura's consistent flexibility in regards to its own canon. But it's not an obvious call, and I don't really fault Burst Re:Newal for making a different decision.

[female-overlord-3]

A Simple Text

Me being productive and super inspired wrote another Love, Simon/ SVTHSA fic. Earlier meeting in the books guys so book spoilers. AO3 tags pretty much explains why I wrote it. Thank you so much to @imawriteriwrite and @bluemoon-golden for both looking it over and being my beta’s! Love you both. This is fluff and might lead to more (read: yes there’s gonna be more if this writing streak continues)! 

*updated 4/1/18 at 4am cause I realized I put the pre-beta’d version. Oops!

An early meeting AU because someone just wanted their best friend happy. What if Simon saw Bram leaving the Elliott Smith shirt? 

They stare at each other frozen. Simon doesn’t know what to think. Bram doesn’t know what to think. It’s like the universe stopped just for this moment to signify how important it is, how life changing this one simple moment is.

It was just a simple text to grab a textbook.

Si man please grab my Math textbook? I left it in Abb’s locker like an absolute moron and it had all my notes! Please please please Simon I will love you forever! -Nick

So here he is standing just a few feet from his and Abby’s locker because Nick asked since Simon was nearby and needed some air. Bram is standing in front of his locker with a plastic bag looped through the handle of a locker staring wide eyed at him, his hands frozen writing something on a piece of paper against the locker. Simon’s locker.

At first Simon doesn’t know what Bram is doing until he sees something white poking out from the bag. ‘No this isn’t-’ His thoughts are racing and he takes a step forward shattering the moment. Like the star athlete he is, Bram bolts the opposite way, pen, paper and bag forgotten as he disappears down the hall. Completely at a loss Simon just stands there in utter shock until his eyes turn back to the bag on his locker. Slowly, he makes his way over and hesitates before removing the bag and peaking inside.

It’s a jersey cotton t-shirt with a logo from Elliott Smith’s Figure Eight. He looks down at it in complete awe then his eyes the paper and pen laying on the floor. It’s blue green construction paper and written on it is a finished note.

I’m assuming Elliott understood that you would have made it to his shows if you could have.

Simon stands frozen again as his brain tries to stop imploding. It’s Blue, Bram is Blue. Cute, adorable, quiet, shy Bram is Blue. Some things are starting to click like as he stares at the perfectly straight print on the note, those times Bram blushed at him, the comment about how being straight or white as the default is annoying, Bram who had his birthday after MLK day which means 118 is January 18th his birthday and Green from Greenfeld. God he’s an absolute oblivious idiot!

Putting the note in the bag Simon turns around to walk back to his car on shaky legs. Somehow he drives himself home without crashing into something, makes it upstairs to his room without trouble, then falls face first on his bed still in disbelief. Shouldn’t he be doing something? Why is he just laying here, doing nothing while the guy he’s in love with is out there and so close?

No Blue needs space. He needs time and he must be as shocked or at least freaked out about being found out and- oh god there was a reason he was there so late with the school pretty much dead. He didn’t want to be seen, for people to know he left the shirt. Pulling the shirt out and tossing the bag behind him to get rid of later, Simon holds it in front of him just just stare at it again. It’s just a t-shirt, some fabric with a bands logo and it shouldn’t mean so much but holy shit it does. This shirt means the world to him after the decreasing messages from Blue which was horrible, and especially after the last one Simon sent getting no reply.

Groaning he buries his face into it hoping maybe he can smother himself with it in frustration. No he can’t do that now with such a special shirt and a very special someone out there. Simon takes a deep breath then lifts his face from the shirt only to feel something stiff when his hands move the shirt. Spreading out so the shirt lays flat, he lifts the neck to see inside and there’s another piece of Blue Green construction paper. It’s a note with the same perfect print.

P.S. I love the way you smile like you don’t realize you’re doing it. I love your perpetual bed head. I love the way you hold eye contact a moment longer than you need to. And I love your moon-grey eyes. So if you think i’m not attracted to you, Simon, you’re crazy.

Below the script is a phone number and Simon doesn’t know whether to text or call the number right now or just wait because he is really lightheaded and feels like he’s going to pass out. His heart is beating like crazy, whole body buzzing with warm tingles while a smile so big breaks across his face, cheeks aching because he knows who Blue is and Blue gave him his number.

They need to talk, to figure everything out and- and he needs to tell this stupidly cute and frustrating guy how much he loves him too.

Now the big question: how?

-

Bram runs, he runs and runs until he’s back on the field where Garrett is waiting for him to take him home. Garrett is smiling at him until he sees the panicked look on his face, concern replacing the excitement. “Bram you okay man?”

Panting he just stares at his best friend and for some reason the question makes him laugh. God is he okay, ya if what just happened is as okay as their new president. No he’s actually horrible and terrified because the person he’s in love with now knows who he is, that he’s Blue and everything is ruined because he’s going to lose this amazing guy. His laugh turns a bit hysterical for a second before he has to catch his breath again, his legs turned to jelly so he stumbles and lets himself drop on to the grass so he can just lay in his back and hope for lightning to hit him or the ground to swallow him up.

Once his breathing is something close to normal he lets out a long sigh and closes his eyes. “I- I’m not sure. I don’t think so.”

He hears Garrett’s feet walking over and sit next to him, just being there as silent support. “I hope you get to okay.” He finally commented as they sit there for a bit longer before silently standing and walk to Garrett's car to head home.

Bram thanks Garrett for the ride and it’s only once he’s in his room lying on his bed, that he starts actually thinking about what happened.

Now Simon knows who he is. Now Simon has is number. Oh god now Simon has his number and the notes he left!

Bram wants to just die already or maybe he can stay in his room forever. He doesn’t know how to feel about this. He’s both horrified this happened but also a little excited. Of course the horror overrides the excitement but now Simon knows who he is, that he’s Blue.

What should he do now? Bram asks himself. Should he email him? Wait to see if Simon uses his number? Wait til tomorrow? He doesn’t want to because honestly right now all of that seems terrifying and now he’s starting to get nauseous.

Taking a bit to think about it, waiting til tomorrow sounds the best for right now. If he loses Simon then he loses Simon. If he gets some form of reply about the shirt or who he is… he’ll cross that bridge if it ever happens.

He gladly let’s sleep take him so today can be behind him.

-

Nick, Leah, and Abby are all settled in the basement at Simon’s after Simon begged and pleaded with his friends to help him so he spilled his verbal guts to them about Blue and eventually Martin. Nick finally caved and told Simon that he actually didn’t leave his textbook. He didn’t say who asked him to do it but that all he had to do was get Simon back on campus and to his locker as soon as possible. For some reason that just makes Simon feel worse.

It takes a literal stranger to make him see who Blue was. Simon was so stuck on all the wrong clues and his stupid crush on Cal to see what was literally right in front of him.

Sinking to the floor Simon just lets out a loud sigh before he looks at Nick with morose eyes. “Tell whoever that is thank you and that i’m a colossal idiot.” Nick just grins at him as he nudges his best friend with his foot. “Ya I will but first we gotta get your guy back!”

Leah and Abby grab his arms to pull him up and bring everyone into a group hug.

Once the questions and teasing was done, the crazy hopeful plan they all come up with is ready to be set into motion.

If everything goes well, Simon reluctantly agrees to go to this restaurant place Abby insists they should celebrate at but he remains firm on Bram only coming if he's comfortable doing so. Leah seems hesitant on joining but she concedes when Simon asks her to be his moral support. If she doesn’t like the place then they’ll take her home.

God Simon hopes this works.

-

Bram drives to school in an almost numb mood. He goes through the motions of parking and heading to his locker but the realization of Nick standing at it catches his attention. “Hey Nick.” He greets him a bit confused. Nick isn’t usually this early and he’s almost always with Abby, Leah or Simon in the morning.

“Morning Bram!” Nick beams at him before seeming to remember why he’s there. His smile turns a little sheepish but doesn’t fall as he brings out something from behind him.

It’s a piece of paper and a large case of Halloween themed Oreo's.

Bram blinks at it before his tired brain makes everything click, his eyes go a little wide as they flick back and forth from Nick to the Oreo's.

“Um ya so ‘you know who’ is really really sorry but also a complete idiot. He- I mean they also say that he hopes this is romantic as hell.”

Bram takes the offered items, or well he supposes they’re gifts now, a little shocked at what’s happening before his eyes go down to the paper in Simon’s script decorated with soccer balls and his shirt number, to read it. It’s a letter.

Dear Blue,

I am a complete ass and i’m so sorry for being such an idiot. This is a very hopeful apology, the first out of three. I should have put all the damn clues together way sooner but of course i’m still dense and can’t seem to apply actual logic to these types of things. I guess you make me illogical. Leah and Abby punched me when Nick told me with a very disappointed face your full name was Abraham. I also realize that i’m even more of a moron and what 118 means.

I still meant what I said about the last email. You’ve become my best friend and I still want to keep you but this goes however you want it to go. We can go back to emailing and not knowing each other’s real identities or by some miracle you can accept these poor attempts at a romantic gesture. Abby has my next apology.

-Love, Simon.

Bram can’t seem to breathe as he rereads the paper again then one more time to make sure he’s not actually dreaming. His eyes cautiously peer up to Nick who’s still smiling as he leans with his back against the lockers.

Nick just shrugs. “I think I know why Garrett sent me a text now.” He gives Bram a pat on the shoulder before wishing him good luck and heading to his own locker.

Left standing there Bram kind of wants to sink to the floor into a puddle because of course Simon would want to do something like this. Taking a deep breath he tries to calm all these whirling emotions and head to first period, the paper folded and tucked into his bag while he puts the Oreo's in his locker. Guess he just has to wait for Abby now.

He doesn’t catch her until the passing period between second and third. Her face lights up when she spots him and with determination she makes her way to him.

“Hey Bram! We’re heading out to eat after rehearsal. Join us if you want to, I was told not to pressure you so i’m going to just give you these and be on my way. Garrett is tagging along so just find him. Again a serious idiot who is willing to grovel. Leah will be at lunch.” She gives his shoulders a gentle squeeze when Bram’s eyes widen in fear. “Hey simple and quiet. No one is going to know unless you want them to okay.” She reassures him and it actually helps. “Thanks.” She hands him a CD case and another paper, this one decorated with music notes, lyrics to some songs, and the Elliott Smiths shirt. He takes them quickly and gives Abby a small smile before dashing to his next class.

Settled in his seat Bram finally looks over the CD case to see a list of songs, all their shared favorites, and the letter which he’s extremely tempted to read so he asks to go to the bathroom to do so away from prying eyes.

Dear Blue,

Music has always helped me calm down and find some semblance of peace. I added all the songs we’ve mentioned and a couple of new ones I think you might like. If you haven’t noticed all the awesome art is thanks to Leah and before you freak out about them knowing, they swore on WAHO that they’d never say a word. I think they’re all more protective of you than me right now which is a given since I did some very shitty things to warrant it. It’s because of them I was able to think of this very sappy and romantic apology. They’ll have your back just like they have mine. I’m honestly really nervous right now and hope you somehow forgive me.

I want you to know I did hope it was you because I call you cute Bram in my head but of course Simon Logic made me think you were straight. God i’m so dense and clueless for someone who’s supposed to be in Hufflepuff. I won’t see you at Lunch because of rehearsals but that’s where apology number 3 is with Leah. I hope it makes you laugh but it might make you blush. I didn’t tell you you’re cute when you blush did I? Well you are and again i’m sorry. I hope I see you after rehearsal.

-Love, Simon.

Bram is a mess of emotions during fourth and he starts to get a bit nauseous the sooner the clock ticks to lunch time. He doesn’t know what he’s feeling right now but he’s does know he’s forgiven Simon since apology number one. The second and whatever the following apology is just cements how much he really does love this stupid boy and his determination to express how truly sorry he is.

He returns to class and tries to stop the smile off his face, folding then placing the letter with the other before trying and slowly failing to pay attention in class. When the bell rings to signal it’s lunch Bram’s hands are shaking and he can feel his heart go a mile a minute. It’s almost like he’s on autopilot as he makes his way to the cafeteria but stops just at the doors that lead inside. His eyes see Leah and Garrett at their table with Morgan and Anna who are off to the side. The former two are chatting away as they watch something on a phone while Garrett and Leah are talking about something huddled together. He can spy an orange packet and another letter which is the only thing that propels him to start walking towards the table.

He hovers a bit before moving to sit next to Garrett. He’s greeted with an arm slung around his shoulder and a small smile from Leah. “Garrett’s lucky that I didn’t punch him for what he did.” The comment makes Garrett freeze as he turns to give his best friend his version of puppy dog eyes. “I didn’t do anything besides send a random text man. I just- I just want you to be happy Bram.” He confessed and who could stay mad at that? He does punch Garrett’s arm lightly before turning his attention back to Leah.

For some reason he’s back to being shy again, the words coming out soft and hesitant.

“So you… umm. You have something for me?” The words are all mumbled together but she seems to hear him clearly as she passes him a packet of Reese's that has a folded note on it and the last letter. This one is Harry Potter themed with lightning bolts, the houses, a small drawing of the castle, owls, and a snitch. “You’re an amazing artist Leah.” The comment makes Leah blush as she gives him another quick smile before digging into her lunch. Garrett and her respectfully scoot down the bench to give him some small form of privacy. Bram really appreciates it.

As much as he wants to read the letter, the small note on the Reese’s is what he reads first.

It does make him blush and laugh, a short chuckle he tries to cover with his hand but both Leah and Garrett snap their head to look at him in awe. They’re both burning with curiosity but can’t get over the shock of hearing him laugh.

Leah’s voice has a touch of wonder when she says, “I think that’s the first time i’ve ever heard you laugh.” Garrett just stares at him with a shocked smile. “Same” His voice is as almost a whisper like he doesn’t realize he said it.

The whole thing makes Bram blush harder as covers his face with one hand and pushes the Reese’s with the note open towards them.

It reads: Oreo’s are still better than sex but like always you’re the exception. Here are your sub-par Reese’s.

Bram quickly leaves them with his gifts in hand as they start laughing, the phrase ‘what a dork’ and ‘omg’ the last thing he hears before he’s out of the cafeteria and walking to his car. He wants total and complete privacy when he reads the last letter so what better place than his car.

Dear Blue,

So i’m now freaking out and still nervous. I think this is what you must have felt like when you were sure i’d actually be intelligent and start figuring out all the clues you left. This is horrible. I think i’m actually getting nauseous (yes i’m using that word now) but i’m still also trying to stay hopeful that you don’t just trash all of these letters or not show up after.

I’ll be honest and say i’d be really sad but if that was what you wanted then i’d just have to suck it up and take the hit. I hope you like the Reese’s and the note. It took me almost 8 times to write the word sex, hell it took me a good 5 minutes to write it here. I sorta wish I didn’t have rehearsal so I could be there to see if you did blush or laugh. I think I might die if I hear your actual laugh though but i’m pretty sure it would be worth it. I’m getting a little tired of saying that i’m sorry because I feel like it’s kind of being overused so here’s another crack at trying to be romantic. Je suis désolé mon cher Bleu. Je t'en supplie, pardonne-moi.

-Love, Simon.

Nothing. Bram’s brain crashed and he’s drawing up a blank, just a blank nothing. The only thing stopping him from going to find Simon right now is class and that Simon is rehearsing. Also the still lingering fear of coming out to people he doesn’t actually know aka fellow students. Garrett was fine. His parents were fine. Leah, Nick, and Abby are fine too but it’s still so new and frightening.

Bram also selfishly wants to keep the emails and what’s going on with Simon mainly between them, keep this private intimate thing they have just for a little bit longer. He can make himself wait till the end of school.

-

Simon cannot make it to the end of rehearsals. He’s literally dying and the fond but annoyed look Abby keeps shooting him doesn’t help. It’s not his fault he keeps zoning out okay, he’s trying his best with everything that’s going on right now.

Finally they get the dismissal from Ms. Albright to go and it takes everything in Simon to not just run out and find Leah or Nick or be brave and go to Bram first. Abby hooks their arms together and it helps ground him just enough to calm down and change. She also makes sure he keeps the make-up on this time.

Once they’ve changed out of costume and start making their way to the parking lot, all his nerves and fears start coming back the closer they get. Simon keeps switching back from keeping his eyes on the ground and searching the crowd of people.

He tries not to be devastated when he only sees Nick and Leah at his car. Abby squeezes his hand in apology.

Nick and Leah seem to notice them and Nick all but sprints towards them as he tackles them in a hug. Leah catches up and sees the faces both Abby and him are making. She groans and nudges Nick. “Don’t you have something for him?” “Oh right!” He digs into his pocket to pull out a folded piece of blue paper and pushes it into Simon’s hand. “He would be here but well- just read the note man i’m sure he’ll explain.”

Unfolding the paper Simon reads the same perfect script and just seeing it lets him breathe again.

Dear Jacques,

Reese’s are not sub-par. I have no idea how I’m going to actually talk to you in person, it was just so much easier by email and even now writing it down. I need to talk to my mom first about going out but I know she’ll let me since I would be Garrett's ride. I also might need just a little bit more time before I actually see you, but I do want to see you again. The only thing stopping me from doing so at Lunch was that you were rehearsing and i’m honestly not sure what I would have done or said. I also hoped that you were Jacques.

As for all the apologies, I forgave you pretty much at the start of the first letter. The two that followed just cemented it and made me miss you even more. I’ll see you soon.

-Love, Bram.

P.S. No I don’t want things to go back to the way they were. I think i’m ready for a little bit of change.

P.P.S. Is it bad I do still want to keep you to myself via our emails? I don’t want to hide if this, us, becomes a thing but I still want to keep this private intimate thing we have. Does this make sense?

Simon covers his face with the note and he feels like it might melt off.

Bram wants to see him. Bram forgave him. His plan wasn’t a total fail and Bram doesn’t hate him. They’re going to see each other!  

“Oh my god I need to change!” is the first thing that comes out of his mouth as he leaves his friends to jog to his car. He drops his keys twice and almost hits the car next to him when he opens the door.

A hand grabs his arm and steers him to the passenger side. “I’ll drive Si, you just sit and- i don’t know breathe? Maybe put that away for safekeeping.” Abby taps the blue paper that’s currently crushed against Simon’s chest and he quickly lays it across the dashboard to smooth it out. “I- yes. Smart. I just- help me?” Everyone kindly laughs at the strange voice he’s using and easily pile in so they can head to the Spier's residence. Simon needs to pick up a shirt.

-

It’s a gay bar/restaurant and now Simon wants to die for a whole new different reason.

“Abby really?” He bemoans as they head inside and if Bram doesn’t join them he would totally understand.

She just smirks at him and pushes him through the door. “Why not? We should celebrate for finishing rehearsal and you not being an idiot. Also just think,” she tilts her head so only he can hear “i’m sure you want to hold hands and sit next to each other.” Simon’s face is now permanently red. For life. Why are they friends.

“Maybe.” He mumbles a little excited at the possibility of it but he’s still concerned for Bram. He’s not sure how he’ll feel about all of this. “I just- i’m worried this might be too much for him.”

“I think he’ll be fine.” A soft voice answers him.

Simon spins around so fast he crashes into Nick and then almost stumbles back into Abby. Leah just sighs and rests a hand on his shoulder to steady him. “We’re being shown to our table now guys.”

Simon stands with his hands covering his face and all Bram can think about is how adorable he is right now. The others follow the hostess while he and Simon hang back near the waiting area.

Bram has no idea how but he crosses the few steps between them and stands right next to him, close enough that their shoulders brush together. A small gasp escapes from Simon and now Bram is the one blushing.

“Hi.” Simon squeaks out and gathers as much courage as he can to lift his head and look at Bram. Somehow it’s harder for him look away now.

A small smile greets him and after all this time Bram can finally stare into those moon-grey eyes. “Hi.” he answers and presses their arms together. “We should- um I think-” Simon sends him a smile, understanding what Bram’s trying to say. “Join the others? Ya.” He nudges their shoulders and takes a step before pausing and ducking his head. “I’m really glad you came Bram.” He takes a shaky breath before adding, “And that it’s you.”

Bram didn’t realize how much hearing Simon say his name all hopeful and softly would affect him. He thinks he could listen to only that for the rest of his life. “I’m glad it’s you too Simon.” 

Their hands brush as they walk to join the others, grinning so wide it hurts. Of course their friends make sure to save them a spot so they sit together.

Even though this place is supposed to be a safe place for them, they keep their hands under the table. Both feeling brave they sit pressed together and slowly link their pinkies together.

Garrett ordered for Bram and Leah ordered for Simon so now they just wait for their food arrives.

Of course out of their entire group Abby and Garrett are bouncing in their seats trying their best to let their mutual friends be.

Simon and Bram share a look then shrug.

“Out with it before you both explode.”

Both Abby and Garrett take in a long breath of air before firing off questions one after the other.

“How long has this been going on!”

“Did Spier grovel enough?”

“Simon how can you call yourself a Hufflepuff after this?”

“What did you think about the plan Bram?”

“We have your backs okay, you know that right?”

“Spier I will murder you if you hurt my best friend.”

“Ditto Si, sorry but I'm still annoyed at you.”

“True but we’re all going to make Addison’s ass grass right?”

Leah, Nick, and Abby agreed and then the conversation turned to how they’d make Martin pay for what he did.

Simon gets a little weird about that because he still doesn’t know if he wants to deal with that situation. He closes in on himself just a little but when he says, “Hey it’s- i’m fine about the Martin thing okay. I just don’t want to deal with it anymore so can we just leave it?” Bram looks around to everyone who’s frowning at Simon and then it clicks for him. He didn’t realize anything could make him that angry ever. Bram turns to Simon and gives him a firm questioning look that Simon answers with a meek nod.

“If I see him I might punch him.” Bram says it with such certainty because it’s an actual fact.

Leah flicks a tiny paper ball at Simon. “I call dibs after you.” Simon slowly lifts his head to look at Leah, their eyes having a silent conversation before she grins. “You may have fucked up Si and we’re all still a little mad about it, but what Martin did was cruel and it shouldn’t have happened.” She kicks her feet against his under the table before smirking. “Now I want to know what that Reese’s note was about.”

Bram laughs at the suggested look Garrett gives them and Simon buries his face into his shoulder.

This time it’s Abby and Nick who stare at Bram because again they’ve never heard him laugh before and Nick’s on a team with him.

“It’s just easier to be brave when you don’t know who the other person is.” Bram admits. Now his and Simon’s hands are laced together, he gives it a light squeeze and gets one back.

Simon lets out a rather loud sigh that’s met by everyone awwing at him. He’s never been more thankful for a waiter to arrive with food.

It’s maybe a little bit after that Simon realizes he still has his face pressed into Bram’s shoulder. He moves to pull away but Bram’s hand tightens in his, their eyes meet and they both seem to understand what the other’s trying to say. They’ve slipped so easily into this, being near each other and face to face, the fear and anxiety of how they’d make this work all gone.

It’s the best meal either of them have ever had.

-

It’s after they’ve paid their bill and are hanging out near their cars, that Abby and Garrett realize their questions were never answered.

Simon and Bram share a fond look as they think about how all of this started.

“You guys remember that anonymous post?”

“Omg it was Bram!” Leah gushed.

Bram gives them all a sheepish smile. “One of the most terrifying actions of my life. I’m glad I did it.” They’re in public but that’s not stopping them from standing just a little too close. “I’m glad I emailed you.”

“I’m glad I sent Nick that text!” Garrett winks at them.

“Oh great. Our own personal cupid.” Simon’s drawls. Bram and him give Garrett a flat look.

He holds his hands up in surrender but keeps smiling. “I felt bad at first but I no longer regret it okay. You guys are freaking glowing.”

“Did you like all the sappy gifts?”Abby asks. Her arm is hooked through both Leah and Nicks, who also want to know.

Bram shrugs. “They were alright.” His voice is monotone and Simon gives him a blinding grin as everyone else groans at them. Bram can’t stop the smile that spreads across his face as he looks to Simon. “Well more than alright. Actually really freaking perfect. Of course you’d go all out.”

Simon’s voice goes soft as he just stares at Bram. “I had to.”

“Damn that was sweet.” Abby whispers, breaking their small moment.

They slowly settle into silence and enjoy this bonding moment where they’re all just highschool kids hanging out enjoying life.

A pensive look crosses Nicks face but he looks hesitant to share what's on his mind.

Simon has a feeling he knows so he gives him a small smile. “So… what are you guys going to do now?” Abby and Garrett frown at him but Nick’s dejected face makes them sigh in understanding.

Bram thought he’d be more worried about that question, the big ‘what now’ but he’s not, or well he is but now it seems a little easier to handle. He knows there’s going to be some things that are unavoidable, that they’ll face some hate but he has so much more support now and he does feel a lot better with not having to keep such a big secret anymore.

Simon has already had to deal with some of the backlash of coming out but he can’t be mad because it’s been pretty tame so far and there’ll always be people who just won’t understand or accept it. He’s out now and it’s like he can breathe so much better . His only worry is for Bram and what he’ll want to do but there’s that tiny part of him that hopes they can be together, go on dates and possibly be boyfriends.

“We’ll figure it out, talk about it.” Bram voices. “I already told Simon that I think i’m ready for a little change and I think I got pretty lucky to end up with my long time crush.”

Simon’s eyes go wide at that new bit of information. “I’m the cute guy that you can’t talk to!” He whispers and hides his face in his hands. “Why am I an oblivious idiot?”

“Well at least you’re going to be my oblivious idiot.” Bram blushes when he says it but he keeps his eyes on said adorable oblivious idiot. He’s just incredibly happy right now.

Simon is just- he’s so happy he doesn’t know what to do with himself. “I don’t deserve you.” he bemoans. “Oh I- I never thanked you for the shirt.”

Leah snorts. “The one you kept under your pillow? Also the one you’re wearing?”

“Betrayed!”

“Shut up you’re just sappy.”

Their laughter is interrupted by a phone chiming, of course, everyone checking theirs to see who’s it is. It’s Abby’s, a text from her mom wanting to know when she’ll be home.

“Well guess it’s getting pretty late guys. Ready to head home?”

Everyone reluctantly agrees because there is a thing called school they have tomorrow and all of them are still underage to stay out past curfew.

Simon and Bram linger a bit, not wanting to leave each other just yet.

“I’ll uh text you when I get home? I- I have your number now so we can do that and only if you want to-” Bram chews on his lip as he looks around before bringing Simon into a quick hug. “I’ll be waiting.”

They part and get into their respective cars, grinning like fools the whole drive home.

[themadpuppy85]

Summoning Candyman Epilogue ( Jumin X Reader fanfic)

Fandom: Mystic Messenger Rating : M  Summary: “Jumin Han, Jumin Han, Jumin Han” you repeated in front of the mirror. When you wished for Jumin to be real on Halloween night, you didn’t expect him to turn out to be a criminal lord with a strange pet fetish…  Keywords: Super AU, self-insert, loss of control kink, pet kink, creepy dominant Jumin, criminal setting, yandere, also some Yoosung X Seven and Jaehee X Zen Author’s Notes: Apologies to everyone who expected super filthy sex – after the last scene in chapter 8, my beta and I came to the conclusion that there was nothing left to add, so this epilogue is mainly to tie up the loose ends (though I remain open to the idea of an extra chapter of smut because who doesn’t love more of that, right? XD) That said, it transits nicely for the next project, which I let you discover at the end ~ enjoy!

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 / Chapter 7 / Chapter 8

Chapter 9: Epilogue

“You know, I never understood why he chose to bury you here. It’s just so…not you” Simon stressed, then frowned at his inability to express himself better. He didn’t mean the emplacement of her grave, not really; no one could have argued that the place wasn’t as exceptionally beautiful as the girl it guarded. Delicate flowers constantly bloomed around the headstone, like each of them was a tear from the angel engraved at its top; even the leaves of the willows surrounding it seemed to weep with gentle elegance, which was everything Erika had been.  Gentle. Elegant. And weeping, though most of them were too jaded or tactful to remember that fact. 

“Wouldn’t it be wonderful to live in a world without suffering, Simon?..” she used to ask. Hopeful, at first, as all idealists are; no amount of problems ever seem too many for serious caritative work to overcome, especially once the cure for the lentivirus was found. Years and repetition, however, slowly moved her focus from those solved to those remaining, until simple math laid the truth bare; it’d never be enough.  For one tree of misery down, a whole forest grew in its place; and while a more philosophical person would have argued that it was even more reason to keep trying, Erika’s fire turned inwards instead.  Guilt for those she was unable to save burned her soul like a fiery sun, and whereas despair drove her mind to radical cultism in the first loop, here she just escaped her cousin’s fretful watch, picked a bunch of syringes and walked straight into an odopium den.

With predictable results, considering the crazed junkies inside, although he wasn’t sure she had anticipated just how utterly brutal a death it would be. If not for herself, then for her loved ones; he couldn’t believe she was so far gone that she hadn’t considered how traumatizing it would be for Yvan to scrap her remains off the floor.  Perhaps she had simply thought they’d choke or bludgeon her to get the drug, and that eternal darkness wouldn’t come first soaked in red.  

Or maybe she did know, and chose to do it nonetheless; it’s not like she left a note to explain any of it. V swore it had been suicide by proxy and nothing else, and though it had certainly had been, Simon liked to think there had been more to it; that her recklessness had in fact been defiance, like a giant middle finger to the Fates that governed this world. It comforted him like a mug of hot chocolate, whenever he thought too hard about his own predicament, to imagine there had been meaning to an otherwise pointless end; to entertain that perhaps she had known, too, and sought her own exit. The theory that her own script prescribed that she always brought people down with her could be as good as any, after all; it was possible that she tried a scenario where it didn’t mean for innocents or her fiancé to suffer needlessly.

Not that she could verify it or that it actually worked even a teensy little bit; as such, he supposed Jehan’s choice of scenery made some kind of sense, at least on a symbolic level. Erika slept forever in her little plot of paradise, and the path to it was bordered with hellish gore; people who were crucified, dismembered, hanging by their entrails in a chorus of agonized moans that could be heard all the way up to the bridge like supplicants waiting to cross to the other side, her side, where forgiveness and peace might wait.

They certainly wouldn’t find any on this side. Identifiable as Jumin as Jehan might be, he had none of his Christian faith or capacity for mercy; and while V might have once have the heart to influence his friend, this version actually thanked him for being so gruesome.  Simon would have called it a perversion of the established order, but the recent events made him doubt he could even cling to that as a reference to what was supposed to be.

Hence why he was here.

“I don’t know where to begin, to be honest” he said out loud. Thoughts were bouncing in his head like in a ping-pong game, and it was hard to pick what was the most important. “I know you’d say to start with the beginning, but there’s not much on that side. We found the Chinese goods – thankfully, God, we did, otherwise I don’t know how many people Jehan would have shot to motivate us, I mean he was so pissed when his pet had her meltdown—” he rambled, then winced at his choice of words. There was really no hope if even he had internalized her as pet rather than girl, which was both the crux of the problem and not.

“It broke Yvan, in any case” he continued with practiced detachment.  He wasn’t sure if he had seen the girl or not, but the crazed look in his eyes when he had raced in his apartment left no doubt that he had pieced enough to understand, and, well — Simon had done his best to distract him with his dick, but hadn’t been able to stay hard very long once Yvan suggested he could be his puppy.  It wasn’t just the frail way he said it, like he was trying to make the girl’s plight okay by embracing it too, but his own reaction to the idea; for a brief second, he had been tempted to agree. It’d be trading a scar for another, sure, but Yvan would be happy, and—

He had snarled in disgust, at himself, as a warning, and Yvan hadn’t understood and ran away in tears, and he had been left... not caring, because he really didn’t, but... wondering. For all the worsening of the loop, it was still the first time he thought Yvan could have been happy.

And the girl was happy too, from what he understood. It was a horrible kind of happy, but she was happy nonetheless, blissfully so, apparently. Rumour had it that she rolled at Jehan’s feet every night in an imitation of a cat begging to be played with, with no sound out her lips but mewls of delight. Not that Jehan ever confirmed it, but the walls weren’t totally soundproofed, and she wasn’t exactly discreet in her appreciation of him. And if that was truly the case, then…

“I suppose I should mention her friend too, before going any further” he sighed. It hadn’t been pleasant to go behind his brother’s back and check the logs of his “volunteers” – poor saps who didn’t know better and were roped in with promises of a fat paycheck and an entry point into Jehan’s organization. Once they realized they were to be used as lab rats for his odopium’s experimentations until madness ensued, it was typically much too late.

He wondered if Maria had known the risks and still soldiered on for the sake of her friend, or if her demise at been by design. Another wish gone wrong, phrased wrong, “please, God, give me another opportunity to reach her”, and the next morning in the newspapers, that treacherous ad shining like gold—

Not that it mattered. The only detail of importance was that she hadn’t succeeded, because the previous times her role had; and while he at first had chalked it up to the worsening of the loop, suddenly he wasn’t so sure. Her death, cruel as it was, had after all reinforced the chances of the girl becoming Jehan’s pet, and thus, happy—

And, well, what if the loop wasn’t worsening every time, as he first assumed, but just… reverting?

Which was easily the most horrifying theory he ever had. To think perhaps what he considered the first world was in fact the last, and that the pendulum was just swinging back to its previous status quo, and that everyone would soon become so… twistedly happy again?

He’d rather die than ever having to find out what that meant for everyone, though he suspected dying wouldn’t be quite enough.

“I thought you would understand best” he confessed to the tomb. Since she made the same wish, in her way, it stood to reason she would give him her blessings was she alive.

“I’m going to make another wish to be free of the loop, ‘Rika” he admitted at last, his voice strengthening as his will took shape. “But not for myself, this time. I’m going to wish that every fucked up part of ourselves go their merry way to have their own brand of happy, in their own bibbity bobbity universe, I don’t give a shit as long as it let us return to what is right. Jumin will turn back into that good old robot we all know and love, and his Jehan part will go fuck girls into his obedient pets in another dimension, and it if it means I’m condemning a whole galaxy to misery, then so be it. I mean we’ll never know, right? We’ll be happy. And you’ll be too, this time, damn it.”

There was sudden gust of wind, a gentle breeze like a caress against his cheek, and he smiled one last time before pushing the words out his mouth:

“I wish…”

///THE END (…?)

A/N: “Puppy, why did you end it so quickly? We were just getting to the good part!” I hear you say. Not because I’m tired of writing, fear not, but because as I wrote this story I began to be more and more frustrated by the restraints of it being a fanfic – meaning I had to respect Jumin’s boundaries as a character, no matter how much I twisted him, and that severely limited me in what I could do with him. I dunno for you, but I want more – I want a story with a Jumin-type character where I can go all out on the kink scale without having to hold myself back because shit that’s not Jumin-esque enough. I want him psychopathic. I want him creepy as fuck. I want him out of his yandere mind at power 100000000000.

And so, I thought…why not? Better yet; why limit myself to written words? Why not a drama CD out of it, so we can lie on our beds and hear a sweet maniac romance us into being his pet?

For those still thirsting for MM, fear not, I still have Sharing is Caring to complete! For those who love the idea though, I leave you with this teaser while I prepare further material:

See you all soon! <3

[dorcasrempel]

Seeding oceans with iron may not impact climate change

Historically, the oceans have done much of the planet’s heavy lifting when it comes to sequestering carbon dioxide from the atmosphere. Microscopic organisms known collectively as phytoplankton, which grow throughout the sunlit surface oceans and absorb carbon dioxide through photosynthesis, are a key player.

To help stem escalating carbon dioxide emissions produced by the burning of fossil fuels, some scientists have proposed seeding the oceans with iron — an essential ingredient that can stimulate phytoplankton growth. Such “iron fertilization” would cultivate vast new fields of phytoplankton, particularly in areas normally bereft of marine life.

A new MIT study suggests that iron ferilization may not have a significant impact on phytoplankton growth, at least on a global scale.

The researchers studied the interactions between phytoplankton, iron, and other nutrients in the ocean that help phytoplankton grow. Their simulations suggest that on a global scale, marine life has tuned ocean chemistry through these interactions, evolving to maintain a level of ocean iron that supports a delicate balance of nutrients in various regions of the world.

“According to our framework, iron fertilization cannot have a significant overall effect on the amount of carbon in the ocean because the total amount of iron that microbes need is already just right,’’ says lead author Jonathan Lauderdale, a research scientist in MIT’s Department of Earth, Atmospheric and Planetary Sciences. 

The paper’s co-authors are Rogier Braakman, Gael Forget, Stephanie Dutkiewicz, and Mick Follows at MIT.

Ligand soup

The iron that phytoplankton depend on to grow comes largely from dust that sweeps over the continents and eventually settles in ocean waters. While huge quantities of iron can be deposited in this way, the majority of this iron quickly  sinks, unused, to the seafloor.

“The fundamental problem is, marine microbes require iron to grow, but iron doesn’t hang around. Its concentration in the ocean is so miniscule that it’s a treasured resource,” Lauderdale says.

Hence, scientists have put forth iron fertilization as a way to introduce more iron into the system. But iron availability to phytoplankton is much higher if it is bound up with certain organic compounds that keep iron in the surface ocean and are themselves produced by phytoplankton. These compounds, known as ligands, constitute what Lauderdale describes as a “soup of ingredients” that typically come from organic waste products, dead cells, or siderophores — molecules that the microbes have evolved to bind specifically with iron.

Not much is known about these iron-trapping ligands at the ecosystem scale, and the team wondered what role the molecules play in regulating the ocean’s capacity to promote the growth of phytoplankton and ultimately absorb carbon dioxide.

“People have understood how ligands bind iron, but not what are the emergent properties of such a system at the global scale, and what that means for the biosphere as a whole,” Braakman says. “That’s what we’ve tried to model here.”

Iron sweet spot

The researchers set out to characterize the interactions between iron, ligands, and macronutrients such as nitrogen and phosphate, and how these interactions affect the global population of phytoplankton and, concurrently, the ocean’s capacity to store carbon dioxide.

The team developed a simple three-box model, with each box representing a general ocean environment with a particular balance of iron versus macronutrients. The first box represents remote waters such as the Southern Ocean, which typically have a decent concentration of macronutrients that are upwelled from the deep ocean. They also have a low iron content given their great distance from any continental dust source.

The second box represents the North Atlantic and other waters that have an opposite balance: high in iron because of proximity to dusty continents, and low in macronutrients. The third box is a stand-in for the deep ocean, which is a rich source of macronutrients, such as phosphates and nitrates.

The researchers simulated a general circulation pattern between the three boxes to represent the global currents that connect all the world’s oceans: The circulation starts in the North Atlantic and dives down into the deep ocean, then upwells into the Southern Ocean and returns back to the North Atlantic.

The team set relative concentrations of iron and macronutrients in each box, then ran the model to see how phytoplankton growth evolved in each box over 10,000 years. They ran 10,000 simulations, each with different ligand properties.

Out of their simulations, the researchers identified a crucial positive feedback loop between ligands and iron. Oceans with higher concentrations of ligands had also higher concentrations of iron available for phytoplankton to grow and produce more ligands. When microbes have more than enough iron to feast on, they consume as much of the other nutrients they need, such as nitrogen and phosphate, until those nutrients have been completely depleted.  

The opposite is true for oceans with low ligand concentrations: These have less iron available for phytoplankton growth, and therefore have very little biological activity in general, leading to less macronutrient consumption.

The researchers also observed in their simulations a narrow range of ligand concentrations that resulted in a sweet spot, where there was just the right amount of ligand to make just enough iron available for phytoplankton growth, while also leaving just the right amount of macronutrients left over to sustain a whole new cycle of growth across all three ocean boxes.

When they compared their simulations to measurements of nutrient, iron, and ligand concentrations taken in the real world, they found their simulated sweet spot range turned out to be the closest match. That is, the world’s oceans appear to have just the right amount of ligands, and therefore iron, available to maximize the growth of phytoplankton and optimally consume macronutrients, in a self-reinforcing and self-sustainable balance of resources.

If scientists were to widely fertilize the Southern Ocean or any other iron-depleted waters with iron, the effort would temporarily stimulate phytoplankton to grow and take up all the macronutrients available in that region. But eventually there would be no macronutrients left to circulate to other regions like the North Atlantic, which depends on these macronutrients, along with iron from dust deposits, for phytoplankton growth. The net result would be an eventual decrease in phytoplankton in the North Atlantic and no significant increase in carbon dioxide draw-down globally.

Lauderdale points out there may also be other unintended effects to fertilizing the Southern Ocean with iron.

“We have to consider the whole ocean as this interconnected system,” says Lauderdale, who adds that if phytoplankton in the North Atlantic were to plummet, so too would all the marine life on up the food chain that depends on the microscopic organisms.

“Something like 75 percent of production north of the Southern Ocean is fueled by nutrients from the Southern Ocean, and the northern oceans are where most fisheries are and where many ecosystem benefits for people occur,” Lauderdale says. “Before we dump loads of iron and draw down nutrients in the Southern Ocean, we should consider unintended consequences downstream that potentially make the environmental situation a lot worse.”

This research was supported, in part, by the National Science Foundation, the Gordon and Betty Moore Foundation, and the Simons Foundation.

Seeding oceans with iron may not impact climate change syndicated from https://osmowaterfilters.blogspot.com/

[paulrennie]

What is Music?

The Wonderful Everyday…What is Music?

Music for All...

Cornelius Cardew was an English composer and marxist…the Scratch Orchestra was formed by Cardew at Morley College in London. Cardew was killed when he was knocked down by a hit-and-run driver.

The Morley group were dissatisfied with ‘established, serious music’; in other words, they were dissatisfied with the elitism of ‘serious’ music and its strong class image and with the repression of working musicians into the role of slavish hacks churning out the stock repertoire of concert hall and opera house.

The prevailing dry, limited, critical approach to music in the UK had for them killed spontaneity and simple enjoyment of music and reduced it to an academic and self-conscious ‘appreciation’ of form and technique.

In the Draft Constitution, the category of Popular Classics - where famous but now hackneyed classics were given unorthodox and irreverent interpretations - was a blow against the crippling orthodoxy of ‘musical taste’.

The attraction of a number non-reading musicians and actual non-musicians into the Orchestra through seeing the Draft Constitution was therefore welcomed. Here was a source of ideas and spontaneity less hampered by academic training and inhibitions.

Amongst the Scratch Orchestra members there was considerable support for the ideas of John Cage and Christian Wolff, etc.; that is, random music with a multiplicity of fragments without cohesion as opposed to serialism. Aleatory (chance) music seemed richer, unpredictable, free! But serialism, the tradition stemming from Schöenberg, was formal, abstract and authoritarian.

Most important was the social implication of Cage’s work — the idea that we are all musical, that anybody can play…

Cardew’s project was an attempt to articulate a music of ideas that was transcendent for both players and audience. For Cardew, this became an increasingly political project that he likened to a sort of political-consciousness-raising. In practical terms, the project was aligned with both the methodologies of skiffle and punk, but applied to the orchestral form.

I completely agree with this idea…as it developed out of the UK counter-cultural scene of the late 1960s. However, I can now understand that the high-minded intellectualism of Cardew’s efforts would have doomed it to fail…interestingly, all these ideas resurfaced in the Balearics during the 1990s and in relation to the sunshine, recreational drugs and high-energy dance scene.

I have been listening to an album of Billie Holliday remixed…(there’s a sister album of the same thing with Nina Simone). One of the songs is, I Hear Music (1940) by the US songwriter, Burton Lane, and with lyrics by Frank Loesser, for the Paramount Pictures movie, Dancing on a Dime.

Loesser is famous, these days, for writing the musical, Guys and Dolls (1950).

Here’s part of the song lyric for I Hear Music

I hear music Mighty fine music The murmur of a morning breeze up there The rattle of the milkman on the stair

Sure that’s music Mighty fine music The singing of a sparrow in the sky The perking of the coffee right near by

That’s my favorite melody You my angel, phoning me…

This was a really interesting idea for music in 1940…and is suggestive of John Cage’s musical experimentation from the 1950s and subsequently.

Since the Romantic period, composers have found inspiration in the sounds of nature. But this isn’t the same as saying that music is everywhere…In the old days, the music still had to be composed and transcribed for instruments.

Nowadays, you can record the sounds and assemble them in loops and structures that can go on, without repetition, almost for ever…everything can be sampled and re-mixed into something new…

The desire to find music, and art, in the wonderful everyday, is an important idea from design reform and the 20C avant-garde. The idea combines democratic and popular-front politics with aesthetics. Assuming that art, in all its forms, is elevating…wouldn’t be good if everyone could benefit from this moral elevation? That was an idea from Ruskin and Morris,  Brecht and Benjamin…The same idea re-surfaces, again, in the 1960s musical idealism of Cornelius Cardew  and provides the corner-stone for the transformation of culture through digital forms.

It’s amazing how this has been contested throughout…indeed, the dominant culture encourages various forms of instutionalised gate-keeping that try and keep art and the everyday in their different boxes…mostly, this is done by exclusion.

Ironically, the tendency of the avant-garde to over-intellectualise culture and turn it all into a form of capital has become one of the most effective gate-keeping mechanisms of exclusion…see, for example, Cardew writing about the tyranny of taste…or Crary on cultural capital and exclusion.

I’m not sure that the song lyric is actually about this strand of avant-garde thinking…it’s more likely about how love fills your heart with a feeling that is analogous with music…if your heart is singing, that is a kind of music too.

Actually, I don’t think this matters. The lyric is still expressing an important and sophisticated idea about the universality of music.

The late Sir George Martin understood this too…

All art aspires to the form of music; where form, content, and feeling, are each synthesised into a single coherent experience: the wonderful everyday…

Machine Noises (Kling-Klang)

There is a fabulous film by Jean Mitry called Pacific 231. It’s a film sequence of trains edited to the music of Arthur Honneger. The film is from 1949.

This film essay is in two main parts.

The introduction has scenes of make-ready with engines and rolling-stock being moved about against the background sounds of metal, steam and machine. The industrial noises of the machinery are a kind of music. There’s a wonderful sequence of images of the engine on a turntable.

The second part of the film is of the engine at speed and its journey. The train leaves from the Gare du Nord and is the northern express towards Lille. I’m guessing that, based on my knowledge of the shape of the train-shed canopy in the film.

The second part has the musical soundtrack by Honneger. Honneger’s music is an orchestral evocation of the power and speed of the train. It’s the music of industry and engineering and speed…

It turns out that Jean Mitry was one of the first people to write about film and cinema in a seriously academic way. His work covers aesthetics, psychology, semiotics and analysis. There’s a little about Mitry, here http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jean_Mitry

Honneger was not the only person to be thinking of the musical quality of industrial noise. The connection goes right back to the beginnings of the avant-garde and the willingness to interrogate the formal and structural qualities of art, music and literature.

The poetic experiments of the Italian Futurists kick it all off with Marinetti’s Zang Tumb Tumb (1914). The experiments of concrete poetry and everything else followed from that…

It wasn’t long before the musical avant-garde adopted the Dada strategy of making art with whatever was to hand. That opened the door, so to speak, for a repertoire beyond the established instruments…

It’s amazing how difficult people find it to accept “noise,” or even silence, as music. In the end, it comes down to a kind of political tolerance.

The machine music of Johann Johannsson is amazing. It’s made up of layers of sound derived from the machine noise associated with heavy industry, along with passages of the organ music and brass band music traditionally associated with working communities. These three layers are held together by a sort of low hum of electronic sound…

It’s a kind of music that doesn’t really have a tune; but is full of feeling. It’s a big sound by Johann Johannsson.

In the UK, this approach gave us the experimental music movement of the 1960s and the “scratch orchestra.” This was a kind of musical “flash-mob.” In Germany, Kraftwerk recorded a piece of music called Kling-Klang (1972) and gave the name to their recording studio.

If you watch the Mitry film titles, you’ll see that the sound recording is by “Klang-Film.” So, “Klang” is a sound that’s loaded with meanings for the people who might recognise this term.

Last night, I was rocked to sleep by the noise of the dishwasher cycle…It was pretty amazing listening, in the dark, to the repetition of percussive noises and watery gargles…

I began to imagine a process of sampling those machine noises, synthesising the sounds and making loops…to create a Dishwasher Cycle of electronic machine noises. Sort of Johann Johannsson, in the kitchen.

I could begin to do that with my macbook and garageband software…I just wouldn’t be able to do it very well.

Remember that what you have in the machine changes the sounds it makes too, and so no two loads play the same. There’s plenty of variety in this plan and much scope for happy accidents.

Then I wondered why Kraftwerk hadn’t done this in the 1970s…That was easy, no one had dishwashers back then. Not in Germany anyway. And hardly anyone had computers or synthesisers or anything.

We did have cars though, and Kraftwerk made Autobahn (1974).

But why stop at dishwashers? Why not go the whole hog and include fridges and microwaves and whatever…it could be the internet of things, in song.

I also designed the LP sleeve in my head. If I had ever made a record, I would have loved being able to have a hand-in the sleeve design.

So, front has a lovely even stove enamelled finish like you get on high-end household machines. The back cover has a picture of fly-tipped white goods by the roadside…

This was a great idea in the middle of the night…but I also realised that this was a project that needed doing 40 years ago. Against the prevailing ethos of punk, back then, this project might have seemed a bit up-its-own-orifice.

Actually, the Art of Noise did do something a bit similar…

And it all merged into the eclectic and hybrid scene that we have now.

NB I should point out that I have absolutely no practical musical skill and could never have realised this project, then or now. The bits of noise would still have to be made into something bigger…

There is a picture by Caspar David Friedrich, the German Romantic artist…it’s called The Sea of Ice, and dates from the 1820s. It shows the landscape ripped apart and splintered by the forces of nature…it must have seemed like a picture of chaos…and would have been understood, by people looking at it, as both beautiful and terrifying, and all at the same time.

This sense of a terrible beauty is what Edmund Burke was thinking of when he described the sublime as one of the founding sensibilities of the Romantic movement. Burke probably didn’t know about the frozen wastes…but he new about the alpine massif and the ocean.

You get the same terrible beauty from these black-and-white images from the expeditions to the Arctic and the Antarctic. Captain Scott’s photographer was Herbert Ponting…a sort of English proto Dziga-Vertov.

The frozen wastes were so vast that almost all the explorers made use if the latest tachnologies - balloons, airships, and motor-powered tracked vehicles. Keeping the machines going was a big challenge…and if they stopped, you died.

I was thrilled to find a piece of music by Thomas Koner, called Daikan. Apparently, it’s from a genre called ambient drone…it’s music expressed as an abstract kind of machine noise or tone.

That’s a different kind of terrible beauty…

Music All Around…

Charles Ives (1874-1954) was a pioneer American modernist in orchestral music, at a time when US musical culture was still pretty under-developed.

America has always done popular music really well…but it took a long time for its serious orchestral music to become something that could stand alongside the German, French, and Italian, traditions in Europe.

The Juilliard School, America’s first conservatory school, was only established in 1905! The school was first set up as the Institute of Musical Art, before being endowed by Augustus Juilliard, and others, during the 1920s.

Ives was the son of a military band instructor and he spent much of his childhood watching parades and listening to marching bands. That’s not so bad. Don’t forget that American marching bands have tunes by JP Souza (1854-1932), the March King.

Ives was not really a professional composer. He worked as an insurance saleman…and was quite successful. Academic research has revealed that Ives invented himself a little…

Anyone who has watched a marching band will understand that, as the band marches up-and-down, it has to turn on itself…that means that, briefly, there is music coming from two directions, at least…that’s a new and exciting noise.

Listen to

Country Band March (c1907?)

and also, the four part

New England Holidays (1919)

This fragmentation is the same kind if insight as cubism and as understanding that the straight-on view of the the theatre stage is a bit limited…we don’t hear the world symphonically, we here it as fragments that we assemble into a coherent gestalt.

Ives was one of the first people to try and describe this fragmented perception of life, and sound, through music. You get the same thing in the European later Romantics, especially Gustav Mahler (1860-1911)…but the Europeans tended to do it with bits of folk song and traditional tunes.

I was reminded of this as I found a contemporary interpretation and recording of Luigi Boccherini‘s (1743-1805), Musica notturna delle strade di Madrid from 1780.

In its original form, the music is quite formal and stately…it is music to promenade by…In Luciano Berio’s new interpretation, the street becomes much more dynamic and messy…that’s great; with bits of tune coming from everywhere.

The original Boccherini is familiar from the film version of Master and Commander (2003). I have been thinking about this as I listen to Gavin Bryars, a contemporary British composer who uses sampled fragments…hip hop, anyone?

The contemporary American composer, John Adams, has revisited Charles Ives in the autobiographical, My Father Knew Charles Ives (2003). Here are the notes on this piece from the John Admas, Earbox, site…

The march tempo announces itself and the familiar cadences kick in. Not to worry about the snatches of melody. They are as fictive as the title itself. As with the gaudy “ur-melody” in Grand Pianola Music, you’re certain you’ve heard this music before, but you are damned if you can identify it. Only a smirk from trumpets playing “Reveille” and, in the coda, a hint of Ives’s beloved “Nearer My God to Thee” are the genuine article.

I just discovered the fact, from Alex Ross, that the Hollywood film music composer, Lalo Schifrin (Bullitt ,1968, for example) studied in Paris with Olivier Messiaen! I love those sorts of connections…

People listen to incredibly complex and beautiful music in the context of film; but they don’t go to the concert hall (that much)…it’s all just music for advertising…

Unless you are familiar with modern British orchestral music, you probably won’t have heard of the British composer, and player Gavin Bryars.

Bryars was part of the avant-garde musical scene that more-or-less invented ambient. In the context of Britain, the 1960s counter-culture was formed from a lifestyle of youthful fashion and music. It was much less about politics than, say, the counterculture of the US, or France, or Italy.

Back in the day, there was no extended period between childhood and adulthood. I recall that, at school, most people followed their father’s careers and went straight into the world of work.

The post-WW2 expansion of higher education provided a space, for the first time, where it was possible to become something different…The universities and art-schools of Britain became a sort of test-bed for change.

In the context of the social-scientific methodology of the counter-culture, musicians began to question the orthodox understanding of musical form and aesthetics. By asking, for example, whether music must always have a tune? And what exactly is quality in musical playing, and how might this institutionalised consideration discriminate against access to the pleasures of music?

Luckily, the answer to these questions was suggested by new kinds of music…based on recorded industrial noise, repeated loops, and by the natural playing of untutored amateur musicians. The apotheosis of this experimentation was provided by the art-school pop of Roxy Music and, subsequently, by the Punk movement…

Bryars was a member of the Portsmouth Sinfonia - a Scratch Orchestra, derived from the ideas of Cornelius Cardew and formed from untutored musicians. The Sinfonia famously played the Royal Festival hall in 1974. Bryars, an accomplished double-basist was obliged by house-rules to play another instrument…Brian Eno (Roxy Music) was also a member.

Ambient music emerged from attempts to disrupt the cultural norms generally associated with musical performance, whether of orchestral, jazz or pop genres…typically ambient experiments involved looping sounds into structures that transcended the forms of established orchestral norms.

More recently, Jem Finer (Pogues) has created an algorithmic looping musical piece, Longplayer, that won’t repeat itself in 1000 years…Since nearly all musical forms are based on a structure of repetition; that’s pretty disruptive!

Typically, this kind of music has been dismissed as prosaic, and described as muzak…for lifts, and airports, and shopping malls. Brian Eno’s Ambient series, launched in the late 1970s, ironised this critical position. In the end, electronic ambient became part of the pop mainstream during the 1990s by providing a form of recovery from high-energy and drug-fuelled rave culture…

Gavin Bryars has been part of this story since the late 1960s. 

The Ox on the Roof, or Le Boeuf sur le Toit, is a famous Parisian brasserie and jazz club founded in the 1920s. The restaurant was popular with the modern artists (dada and surrealists especially) and jazz musicians of the time…famously, a painting by Francis Picabia (now in the Beaubourg) used to hang above the bar of the restaurant…

The restaurant, opened during 1921, was named after the surrealist ballet by Darius Milhaud and Jean Cocteau (1920). Raoul Dufy designed the sets and costumes for the show…

Le Boeuf sur le Toit is second only to Stravinsky‘s, Rite of Spring (1913) in significance.

Jean Cocteau held court at the restaurant for many years.

Milhaud was originally inspired by the popular street music of Brazil…where he heard a traditional song about the ox on the roof…the full story of Milhaud’s discovery of Brazilian street rhythms has been told by Daniella Thompson.

Milhaud is a crucial figure in the history of modern music. At the beginning of WW2 he moved to America, where he took an academic position at Mills College in Oakland, Ca. Over the years Milhaud helped many young muscians and composers. The list includes Philip Glass and Steve Reich, but also Dave Brubeck and Burt Bacharach.

The French were quick to acknowledge American jazz as an important new form of musical expression for the 20C. Le Boeuf sur le Toit became a famous venue for visiting American musicians. The house band at Le Boeuf was led, from the front, by the piano duetists, Clement Doucet and Jean Wiener.

Doucet is famous, these days for having played for Edith Piaf and for having composed, Chopinata (1924). This is a jazzy interpretation of some piano themes from Chopin. Interestingly, I believe that the original was composed so as to be played on a pianola…and is an early example of machine-music.

Milhaud was a member of the musical group, Les Six…who had direct connections to Piucasso and Miro etc…so full circle again.

Minimalism (Repeat)

Charles Hazelwood is presenting a double-header about US Minimalism in music on BBC4TV.

We watched the first episode yesterday evening, and it was terrific. Hazelwood is looking at four composers, and contrasting the west-coat and New York versions of minimalism that emerged in the 1960s and 1970s.

Hazelwood considers that these American composers; Riley, Lamonte Yoing, Reich, and Glass, provide the platform for the elaboration of 21C orchestral music. Part of this is the implied demise of the European tradition…that’s probably a tad over-stated, but never mind about that.

In California, the form emerged from the avant-garde and experimental, San Fransisco Tape Music Center…and from the first performance of Terry Riley’s, In C (1964). La Monte Young was the other major figure presented from the west-coast. From the first, technology has been instrumental in the deveopment of the form through repetitions and loops.

As always, the cultural geography of California played a crucial part in how the form evolved on the west-coast. Firstly, the Californians look across the Pacific and were open to the unfamiliar forms of Asian music, especially when linked to the transcendental potential of meditative repetitions…The link with emotional values, through transcendentalism, was important in keeping the avant-gardist forms of the music accessible…and in cementing the status of California as a kind of large-form utopian experiment.

Riley’s In C, is constructed from a selection of small parts played in sequence. The music is effectively made by the players and reject the usual top-down imposition of order upon the work. In practice, every performance of the work is completely original. The exact duration of the work is defined by the number of players and the process…

Riley’s work, is often performed in the US by school bands, and can seem a little unconvincing…my preferred version is by Africa Express, and is available on youtube…and reviewed, below (from Pitchfork)

The basic structure of In C is simple: Someone plays a simple, droning pulse on the note C, usually on a piano or marimba, and the other performers, whose number and instrumentation Riley did not specify, have 53 melodic phrases from which to choose. The musicians select the phrases they want to play and decide how long to play them. The effect is that the phrases overlap in unpredictable ways, creating shifts in harmony, evolving polyrhythms, tonal and timbral changes and the sense that nothing is constant, even though the same note repeats insistently under the whole performance at the exact same tempo.

There are dozens of recordings, starting with Riley’s own from 1968. Some are kinetic and exciting, others never seem to come together, but the piece is so dramatically different from performance to performance that it never grows old. Damon Albarn’s Africa Express project, which over the years has fostered collaborations between a huge number of Western and West African musicians puts a decidedly unique spin on In C. With an ensemble of 17 musicians—including Albarn on melodica, Brian Eno, Bijou and Olugbenga on vocals, Jeff Wootton and the Yeah Yeah Yeahs’ Nick Zinner on guitar, Cheick Diallo on flute, Badou Mbaye, Alou Coulibaly and Mouse on Mars’ Andi Toma on percussion, Modibo Diawara and Defily Sako on kora, Guindo Sala on imzad, Kalifa Koné and Mémé Koné on balafon, Adama Koita on kamel n’goni, and André de Ridder on several instruments and conducting—they have an earthy collective sound, and their dynamic interplay is quite distinct from any other version of In C.

For one thing, the non-tonal percussion included in the ensemble layers a dance vibe under the piece’s usual trance vibe. Diallo’s flute in particular is so dissimilar from every other sound on the recording that he stands out and shifts the emphasis briefly to melody, while the three voices lend it an ethereal quality. The mellow tone of the koras, kalimbas, and balafons, meanwhile, have a strange effect during the period cool downs over the course of the piece; they lend it an odd, cool darkness that I usually don’t hear in In C. These passages lend it a suite-like feel where the piece most often is structured as a giant crescendo followed by a long diminuendo. The most bold decision here comes just past the halfway mark, though, when the ensemble goes nearly silent, including the pulse, leaving just guitars and koras playing the slowest melodic phrases in a strange kind of canon, and then we’re treated to a brief spoken word passage (not in English) before the larger ensemble dives back in with even more rhythmic insistence than before.

This willingness to play with the form and shape of an iconic piece of music is one of the things that most fully sets this recording of In C apart from most others. It’s unexpected and enlivens the music just as much as the djembe that lends the evolving beat its weight. The overall form of the piece may be more premeditated than Riley originally intended, rather than the independently reached and unforeshadowed consensus of a large group of musicians, but this mostly serves to make it an engaging performance and worthy interpretation of a piece of music that’s so eternal it could literally be played eternally if someone was able to get musicians to keep showing up to play it. Africa Express keeps it to a bite-sized 41 minutes, and every one of them includes something to savor.

This structural process of elaborating the work was a cross-over from fine-art’s formal experiments of the early 1960s…that sought to combine process and practice; into praxis.

John Cage, Charles Ives and John Adams were all mentioned as parts of the bigger story…as was the link to more recent pop music and the work of Brian Eno, Mike Oldfield, and Portishead…

The programme about minimalism was followed by an equally interesting documentary about British synth pop from the 1970s. Basically, all these ideas came together in Ibiza 30 years later…and played very loud!

The history of the musical avant-garde in the 20C has been written by British composer, Michael Nyman. You can find the text, online, as a pdf.

[officialavasti]

I’m kinda stuck, so I’m putting half of it here

Detroit Become Human. 

A prompt I invented where Connor and Hank are hunting a serial kidnapper (They steal deviant androids)

posted in HTML because that’s how I post to AO3

Anyway, opinions or whatever are welcome

Connor sits back at his desk and carefully slides the card for Fowler into the envelope. Sympathy. The entire precinct had finally finished signing it, a few even donated money to gift Fowler’s family with a flower arrangement. Connor appreciated it, but he’d already purchased the arrangement and sent it off to the hospital, and signed it from the entire precinct.

He looks up at Fowler’s office, running a brief check on the ‘sub’ as Hank had called them. A woman, Grace Tanner. 37, promoted to Captain in Pontiac earlier this year, has a few disciplinary actions against her for aggression towards Android officers. Her father was the last captain and the officers in the area speculated at the time of her promotion that she was only chosen for the position due to her father’s influence.

Hank sits at his desk, holding a new cup of coffee, “Looking up our sub?”

“Yes.” Connor turns his attention to him, “Why do you call her that?”

“Sub, like a substitute?” He swivels around to look into the vacant glass office, “I have a bad feeling about this one, Con.”

“Her record is less than stellar. I’d wager she and I will have some recurring issues until Captain Fowler returns.” Connor sends the information to Hank’s terminal and he gives it a cursory once-over,

“Aggression towards Android officers? Recently?”

“Shortly after Androids were permitted full time paying jobs, yes.”

Hank chews on his lip, a bad habit Connor is <i>certain</i> is ADHD, but Hank denies vehemently, and eyes Connor’s LED, “You sure you wanna keep that thing in?”

“Pretend to be a human? I don’t hate the idea, but you know we can’t do that with our current case.” They’re trying to hunt down a human who kidnaps Androids, somehow keeps them Deviant but also makes them extraordinarily loyal. To the point where they’ve attacked delivery services and chased a ten year old three miles for riding his bike near the house. It’s been a long case, and the person is good at hiding their steps. Their current aim is to get the human to attempt a kidnapping on Connor.

Hank sets his coffee down, “How do we even know this sicko wants to kidnap you next?”

“They’ve been watching us investigate. I’ve noticed a computer with their IPN attempting to hack my system, so the only logical next step would be trying to claim me. Whomever this person is, they’re bold. They think they’re too smart and want to flex by getting a prototype police issued android.”

“I still don’t like it.”

“Neither do I, but I’d like to investigate before kidnapping becomes murder.” A sudden hush in the bullpen pulls their attention to the main doors. Standing there is Grace Tanner, greying brown hair tied into a brutal bun, and clothing so pristine she looks like a store mannequin. Her lips are pursed as she looks around, as if she smells something foul. 

Her squinted steely eyes land on each Android officer, showing a tiny smile when they look away under her scrutiny. When she lands on Connor, he holds her gaze with his normal, passive pleasantness. They hold each other’s gaze for nearly a full minute (All the time, Connor doesn’t blink) before she sneers and walks straight into Captain Fowler’s office. If Connor were prone to judgement, he’d make a snide remark about the cheap flats she apparently decided to don to come here. As such, he is not.

Hank is.

“All that attention on her appearance and she wears five dollar walmart flats? I know being a Captain is mostly desk work, but… Imagine running in those things.” He shudders and turns back to his desk, “I had a girlfriend who would wear those without socks and anytime she took ‘em off, the whole room would smell like fritos.”

Connor lets out a very unprofessional snort as he watches Captain Tanner remove said flats and sit at the desk. He turns back to his terminal just seconds before her eyes find him again. He’s never one to back away from a challenge, but this scenario seems better handled in silence, with his head tucked behind a terminal.

He starts sorting evidence again when both his and Hank’s terminal’s ping. An IM (not something this office uses very much, as Fowler is usually the type to just yell) from Tanner, requesting their presence in the office. Connor lets out a long sigh and looks at Hank, 

“I should have removed the LED.”

Hank stands, patting Connor’s shoulder companionably as they approach the office, “I’m here. I won't let her do anything.”

Connor nods and opens the door, stepping aside to allow Hank in first, then following shortly after. Connor doesn’t have senses, really, therefore he can’t really smell, but he can certainly detect obvious and potent signs of brevibacterium. The smell is likely even stronger, if Hank’s mildly subtle cough-gag combo is anything to go by. 

Either she doesn’t notice, or doesn’t care, because she starts speaking immediately, “I’m interested in your little case. A human apparently <i>kidnapping</i> androids? Where is your proof?”

Hank appears to be struggling to breathe, so Connor answers, “The full case file was sent to your email as soon as you were appointed temporary Captain.”

“I don’t want to hear it from the case file, I want to hear it from you.”

She looks with him with unmasked hatred, and he offers a placid smile, “Very well.” He takes a second to access the file and reads it off, word for word. Once he finishes, he rests a hand on Hank’s shoulder and offers another smile, 

“So you understand, <i>Captain</i>, why Lieutenant Anderson and I are eager to return to our investigation. Excuse us.” Connor turns back to the door, with Hank at his heels when Tanner barks out,

“I didn’t excuse you yet!”

Both men look at her, and Hank responds, “Was there something else you needed, Captain Tanner?”

Her nostrils flare as she glares between the two, “I want to be kept in the loop on your investigation. Any changes get reported to me first. Understand?”

“Understood.” Despite the clear subtext of ‘if you understand, you can leave’ they both remain standing, watching the woman expectantly.

She rolls her eyes with the abundant drama of a sixteen year old and waves a hand, “Get out.”

Finally given permission, Connor exits the room before Hank, walking to the Lieutenant’s desk and sitting on the corner. Hank slowly walks up beside him and touches his arm,

“You only sit here when something’s wrong. What’s up, Con?”

“She doesn’t think our investigation is worth it. I’m… Hank, I’m worried. If our suspect makes contact with me and pulls me in…. Who is to say she won’t meddle and mess things up? We are already running a risky job, using me as bait, but with an Anti-Android Captain being able to pull the strings?”

Connor’s LED is swirling an angry red and Hank pulls him into a hug, “Hey, hey.. I’m not saying the concern isn’t valid, because it is, but we have the entire precinct on our side. Even Gavin would stick up for you, Con. If it’s within my power, I won’t let her hurt you. Just make sure you record everything and save it to that hard drive thing at the house, okay?”

Connor nods, smiling at the gentle kiss Hank presses to the top of his head. He doesn’t miss how the man also takes a deep inhale, “Hank, did you just smell my hair?”

“Con, you can’t smell anything, so I don’t expect you to get it, but that office was rancid. Gah, why does that shit stink so bad?”

“Ah, brevibacterium. They eat the dead skin off your feet and after digesting the skin particles, the brevibacteria expel methanethiol, a gas that smells similar to rotten cabbage.”

Hank stares at him, a similar expression to the one their Sub-Captain wore into the precinct, “That’s disgusting, Connor.”

“You asked.” Connor lets out a shuddering gasp, his eyelids suddenly flickering, “Oh, they’re trying again… Faster this time…” Connor works around the invading commands and lets them connect to a ‘dummy android’ consciousness that Simon and Josh helped him set up. It gives the illusion that the attacker was successful, while keeping Connor fully functional. It also tells Connor what commands they input, so he can follow them and not give away his advantage.

He opens his eyes to a rather impressive group of officers surrounding him, all watching him with concern. One of the Android officers, a young woman named Blake, holds out a cup of Thirium. He accepts it, then looks at Hank,

“We have him.”

The following hours are a blur; Connor sends an update to their sub-Captain. Hank links his tablet to Connor’s network, allowing seamless and silent communication between the two. Blake readies a stakeout van for herself and Hank to be ready to infiltrate. Gavin and Chris prepare as backup to set out as soon as Blake calls for them. Finally, Connor leaves behind his badge and gun and they all set out the door.

Connor directs them, following the direction that the kidnapper feeds to the empty consciousness, and they arrive about four blocks away from the house. Within the directions is the advice <i>’if taking a cab, stop at least three blocks out. My house-mates sometimes set up a perimeter, and they don’t trust outsiders. Don’t worry. You’ll be safe.’</i> and it makes Connor shudder. There’s something saccharine about the instructions. He worries whomever is kidnapping the Androids is doing things like Zlatko did. Possibly even worse.

He steps out of the van, running through their checklist one last time and nods. Hank stays in the van, but crouches to Connor’s height,

“Be safe, Connor. Try to get a confession, but if you need out don’t hesitate.” 

They both lean in for a kiss. Chaste. More an unspoken promise than anything. Before he can lose his nerve, Connor steps away and smiles, shutting the door. The four block trek to the house is eerie. The area around it is outwardly residential, but whoever lived here before has deserted. 

Connor expected the house to be creepy, like Kara had described Zlatko’s house. But it’s not. It’s positively mundane. The paint on the exterior is kept, if not new. The shrubs, flowers, and yard is perfectly maintained, and the fence surrounding the property is sturdy. 

The kidnapper probably has a way of seeing how close Connor is, or there’s a lookout, because a man opens the front door. He’s comely, well groomed and wearing a black turtleneck. Stocky build and kind eyes and an outstretched hand. Connor understands now why Deviants flock to him. A quick scan of his face tells him the man is Benjamin Yates. No record. He sends the information to Hank and steps closer to the man,

As he opens his mouth to speak, Benjamin holds up a hand, talking over him, “Connor, right? Wonderful to meet you. We’d all watched your heroics on television, saving all those Androids? You’re even prettier in person.”

Connor frowns at the compliment, and the man continues, “I’m Benjamin, but you can call me Ben. Or Yates, as some of my friends here have taken to. Come in, come in. I’ll show you around.”

Connor walks in, performing a quick scan of the house. Three levels, main floor has the living room to the left and the kitchen to the right, directly before them are two sets of stairs, one leading up and the other down. 

Yates watches Connor look around for a moment, before motioning to the stairs, “Upstairs is where I sleep, and there’s another bedroom for anyone who would want one, plus a full bathroom. Basement is where most of my friends choose to stay. Fully furnished to their liking. Reminds me of a community center.” He laughs, as if he indulged in a shared joke, and leads Connor down.

To the naked eye, the basement is as promised. Androids milling about, talking with each other, playing games on a large table, watching tv, or lounging on couches, reading books. Connor sees beyond the facade and momentarily wishes he couldn’t. Behind a false wall, most likely a secret door, is a hallway of small rooms. Like little jail cells. They hold androids in them, one has at least ten and furthest from the group of ten is a single android. He forces his eyes away and back to Yates as the man turns to face him again.

“So you see? A place for Androids to be free! To find companionship and peace amongst the turmoil of the political world.”

Conscious to not sound too much like a cop, (Though, Yates <i>did</i> pull at him on purpose) Connor nods, “I wonder, though… How do they find you? Some of these Androids come from loving homes, why would they leave? And once they arrive here, do you let them out? Why are they so loyal?”

Yates’ warm smile slowly fades from his eyes, leaving a cold almost sneer on his lips, “They find me like you did, Connor. I imagine they left their houses for the same reason you left yours. Unwanted advances from their humans, or… maybe they only pretended to be loving.” He gently places a hand on Connor’s arm, and leads him towards an Android woman seated on the couch, knitting a scarf. “They are always able to leave. My door is unlocked, but… we have such a welcoming and loving family here… must be where the loyalty comes in.”

Connor follows, uncomfortably aware of how close they are now to the false wall. He looks at the android woman, running a scan and discovering no previous owner. He looks back at Yates, “Then, if I choose, I may leave?”

“You misunderstand, Connor. You need to be part of the family before you have freedom.” The woman drops her knitting and springs to her feet so fast, Connor nearly miscalculates his reaction. The world around him slows briefly, his far superior processor analyzing the surroundings and before the woman can grab him, he side steps, nearly bumping into Yates.

Then all hell breaks loose. Every android turns on him, fury in their eyes, LEDs glowing angry red. As they’re advancing and Connor frantically tries to preconstruct his actions, Yates holds up a hand, stopping the approaching androids and turns to Connor,

“That was inconsiderate of us. Maybe I could simply ask for you to let me put this on?”

In his hands, he holds a thin metal clamp. Connor recognizes it before he scans it. The scientists from his construction called it a Blanket. A small, but formidable clamp that attaches to the back of an android’s neck and makes them entirely pliable, able only to speak and follow basic commands. 

Hank’s voice sounds in his head, silent to all but him, <i>“Con, don’t put that thing on! Blake says it’ll cut our connection.”</i>

The concern is valid, but this clamp is an old prototype. Likely bought off the black market. Connor sends a silent message back, <i>”The original clamps didn’t work on me, this one definitely won’t. If, by any chance, we get disconnected, I’ll attempt a reconnect with Blake.”</i>

He slowly turns around, allowing Yates to connect the clamp. As Connor had expected, the connection is weak. Surely strong enough to force a normal android to obey simple commands, but not him. Still, he’s a fair actor. 

So, as it sends a weak current into him, he stands entirely still. Back to his default perfect posture and blank expression. Yates circles him, nodding and looking him over with far more hunger than he’d shown before,

“A prototype… at last. Can you hear me, Connor?”

“Of course. The clamp only negates motor functions.”

Yates somehow looks more excited, “So, you’re familiar with the Blanket, then? Good… good. Well, follow me.” rather than taking Connor through the false wall, Yates walks back up the stairs, and to Connor’s horror, up the second flight. Yates brings him into a well used bedroom and motions to an empty wall,

“Stand there.”

Ignoring the burning itch to punch the man’s lights out, Connor obeys, standing with his back to Yates. He listens to the man approach, hears his breathing grow heavier,

“Deviants are so… strong willed.” he clamps a thick metal cuff around Connor’s neck and attaches it to the wall, and rather than telling him to turn, puts his hands on Connor’s arms and manually turns him, sliding his grip to Connor’s wrists and connecting thick shackles to them too.

“All precaution, you understand. I’ve been looking for a partner for a while… and what better than Detroit Police’s best? And a prototype no less…” He reaches around Connor’s neck and removes the clamp and steps back.

Connor is sure Yates is expecting an attack, but he doesn’t move. He pulls too hard against his bindings, he’s likely to break them. He is more than happy to let Yates underestimate him.

Realizing no attack attempt is coming, Yates moves in, gripping Connor’s jaw and grinning, “So proud, you Deviants. Always so determined not to break. Don’t you worry, I’ll have my fingers in your wiring soon.”

The way he says it makes Connor shudder, pulling away from the grip on his chin but only succeeding in making Yates laugh, “Oh yeah. And you’ll be shuddering from far <i>far</i> more exciting things.”

Connor will not let that happen. “Is that how you do it? Play with the wiring? Change some settings or plant a virus?”

“Oo, curious. I suppose I’d be disappointed if a Detective Android didn’t ask questions.” He leisurely walks to the bed, kicking off his shoes and pulling at his belt, “But all in good time, sweet one. For now, I’m tired. We’ll play more in the morning.”

Having stripped himself down to his underwear, Yates lays under his covers and commands the lights off, leaving Connor standing in near perfect darkness. The chains holding him have enough length to allow him to sit, so he does, picking at his nails and wishing for the comfortable weight of his coin.

He, instead, reaches out to Hank.

<i>“Lieutenant?”

“We’re here, Connor.”

“Are you alone?”

“Just with Blake, should I be?”

“No, I don’t mind if Blake hears…”</i> Connor pauses his stream of consciousness and looks around the room again, forcing his artificial brain to cease it’s endless solutions. Endless conclusions that could come from this mission. Most are too awful to even consider and Connor swears to die before he lets the man snoring before him lay his hands on him. Treat him like a lover, a partner, an equal. <i>A sex doll, a glorified Traci.</i> 

Connor is shaken from his terrible thoughts by Hank,

<i>”Hears what, Connor?”

“I’m scared.”</i> He knows his voice is small when he sends it through. Knows how much that statement will twist Hank’s heart. He just wants to hug the man.

<i>”Just a confession, Connor. I told you, you’re safe. We’re just a few blocks away and we have the entire precinct on alert, just in case.”

“I know, but the things he’s saying… No. You’re right. I am not trapped here. I’ve always had the power to escape. Things probably won't continue until morning, Lieutenant. You should rest. Blake can keep watch.”

“If you’re sure, Con. Stay safe, I’ll talk to you in the AM.” </i>

Hank may not know it, but his words gave Connor immense peace. Just a confession. He can do this. 

He just needs to be patient.

..

The morning comes quickly, and Connor watches Yates stretch and shuffle out of bed and across the hall