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lydias--stiles · 1 year

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Love is Blind x Juke

For the past two days @thedeathdeelers and I have spiralled into a Love Is Blind x Juke fanfic in the dm's and this is what came out of it. So, a co-written Imène and Ophelia special for Juke Jeudi. Ta-da!

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“Hi,” a voice called out from the other side of the Pod. This was it. The start of this mess.

Luke perked up. "Uh, hey, I'm Luke."

"I'm Julie." A pause. Then a laugh. "This is really weird, huh?"

Luke laughed as well, the tension of the last twenty-four hours slipping away. One second he was drunk in his apartment with his buddies on the Netflix website, the second he was on a flight to San Diego for a freaking reality dating show. Or rather: a marriage show. Insane. But whatever. It wasn't like he was actually going to find someone. He was just gonna lay low, write some songs, and then dip after ten days.

"So, Julie, what made you sign up for this thing?" he asked, draping himself across the couch. A cup of rum and coke dangled in his hand.

"Um… I guess I wanted to do something I'd never do. I'm always waiting for love, you know, instead of… just going for it. So here I am. What about you?" Her voice was pretty, slightly raspy, yet melodic, and he felt himself listening to her intently.

"I'm here to write songs," he replied, blunt.

She laughed. "What?"

"Yep."

"You're here… for songs?"

"Don't take this the wrong way," he said, "but this is like a retreat for me."

"Well, that's excellent, actually," she replied, smooth. "Because I happen to be a songwriter."

***

Julie went into her second date after an hour long conversation about music and their favourite bands with Luke. She felt giddy, but knew a first impression didn’t mean anything in an experiment like this. Sitting down, she called out: "Hello?"

"Hi, I'm Nick," a male voice said.

Julie smiled. "I'm Julie."

"Julie," he repeated, and she heard the scribbling of paper. "So, tell me about yourself, Julie."

"Um… what do you wanna know?"

"Where are you from?" he asked.

Easy enough. "I’m from Los Feliz."

"No way!" He laughed. "Me too!"

Her brows raised. "Really? Where did you go to school?"

"LF Public High."

"Ah," she sighed, "I went to the arts school. It would be crazy if we've met each other before."

"Or maybe it's fate," he teased.

An amused smile twitched on her lips. Guys that flirted with the word ‘fate’ to wrap a girl around their finger; she’s met those before. "Yeah, who knows."

***

After three full days of jamming and creating music with Luke, somehow able to connect on such an intense level with a shimmery wall between them, they found themselves in amiable silence. It wasn’t awkward, somehow. The song they worked on had been rather emotional, about family and history and regret. It brought back memories she hadn’t dared to discuss in the Pods. But now…

“Not to like, um,” she licked her lips, “dump all my trauma, but—”

“It’s okay,” he whispered.

“My mom, uh, died… two years ago.” Julie took a steadying breath, though let the tears roll as they came. He didn’t see her. She could cry. “She’d been sick for a while—terminal cancer—so we were prepared, but… nothing actually prepares you for it.” She heard him hum, encouraging her to continue. “And that’s why I applied for the show. The day she died, I felt like I died with her. I’ve just been on auto-pilot. So, ‘Love Is Blind’ was honestly this, like, desperate attempt to feel again, but I didn’t think I’d actually marry someone. I just wanted to break free of this dead feeling… if that makes sense.”

After a beat of silence, Luke said, “It does. Trust me, it does. I’m sorry, Jules, for your loss. That’s the worst thing that could ever happen, I–” A curt laugh left him. “I wish I could hug you right now, fuck.”

“It’s okay,” she sniffled.

“You’re probably the strongest person I know, not gonna lie,” he continued. “Trying to keep living after that… you should be so proud, Jules.”

Julie’s lip wobbled as she sank to the carpeted ground and shuffled to the shimmery wall, pressing one hand against it. She hadn’t had a sip of alcohol today—even though the producers wanted her to—so she knew all she felt was pure.

“I am proud,” she agreed. “Only a crazy alive person locks themselves in a Pod for seventeen hours a day.”

A laugh barked out of him. Jumping off the couch, he sat cross-legged in front of the shimmery wall. His heart hammered a nervous beat. “I, uh, relate, to be honest, to, like, mom stuff.”

“Oh?”

“My mom hasn’t died, fortunately, but… when I was seventeen, we got in a really big fight. Like, we said some nasty stuff to each other. I ran away. I didn’t speak to them for six years.” He shook his head. “And I know it’s not the same. Trust me, I know. I left by choice. But it felt like the death of my bond with them. I felt like I was dead to my parents. They never tried looking for me. Maybe because they knew where I was, but… they never tried reaching out. Until I did it at twenty-three.”

Julie sighed, “I’m so sorry, Luke.”

“It caused me to produce some fire songs, but… I don’t know if it was worth it.” He chuckled, tears rolling down his cheeks in surprise. “I don’t think I ever told someone that before.”

Julie smiled. “I’ll keep it a secret. Thank you for sharing that with me, Luke.”

“No problem,” he tried to sound nonchalant, but to him, it came off infinitely grateful.

“How’s your relationship with them now?” she asked.

“It’s… it’s alright. It’s not perfect in the slightest, but, you know, I come around for dinner or lunch at least once a month, I keep them in the loop, they keep me in the loop, they’ve attended one of my concerts…” He trailed off. “We’ve come a long way.”

“That’s great to hear,” she smiled. “Family is so important to me, so I would’ve felt so bad if I wouldn’t be able to—” She paused, warmth spreading in her body and face.

Luke frowned. “What?”

“If, um, if I wouldn’t be able to, um, meet them,” she uttered awkwardly. They had come to the silent agreement that they wouldn’t marry and simply be each other’s confidante for the ten days in the Pods. Julie has never felt like this before though. She felt… she was in love. Which was crazy, but how else could she explain the feeling in her gut?

A smile grew on Luke’s face. “You wanna meet them?”

“Don’t goad me like that!”

Luke laughed. “I’m not! I’m not! It’s… it’s cute, Julie, that you wanna meet them. Y’know, I wanna meet your dad, too. He sounds cool.”

Julie smiled. Her heart felt like bursting. “He is.”

***

The next day, Julie stood in the kitchen of the women’s quarters stirring a carrot and bell pepper soup on the stove. Luke’s favourite. If they ever were to meet in real life, she’d introduce him to other, way better, soups, but this would do for now.

Suddenly, Carrie—another contestant—appeared beside her. “You’re talking with Luke, right?” Carrie asked.

Julie looked up. “Yeah, why?”

“Well,” she shrugged, haughty, “he's my number one, so.”

Julie frowned. Luke’s her number one? Since when? She had never heard Carrie speak about him. Did something happen in the Pods that she wasn’t aware of? “I thought Nick was your number one.”

The woman rolled her eyes. “Nick is so passive. I like Luke a lot more. I mean, musicians are hot, right?”

Carrie was baiting her, Julie realised, replying with a weak: “I… I guess…”

“Yeah,” Carrie affirmed, “so he’s my number one. I heard he’s yours, too.” The blonde tried to pull off an air of nonchalance as she inspected her perfectly manicured nails, but Julie didn’t bother with an answer and chose to add a pinch more paprika to the soup instead. She smiled; yeah, he’d like that.

Aggrieved Julie didn’t respond, Carrie continued: “So, why are you making soup?”

Julie threw a disbelieving look at Carrie. “It’s for Luke. For his birthday?”

Carrie, who had already lost interest in the conversation, suddenly whipped her head back towards Julie, hair flicking with the motion. “It’s his birthday? When? Since when?”

Julie rolled her eyes at the girl, and shook her head. Deciding to make a dig, she said: “I thought he was your number 1?”

Carrie frowned and pointed at the pot. “Can I give him some, too?”

"No,” Julie puffed, in disbelief that the woman even dared to ask her that. “That's honestly weird for you to ask, Carrie. It’s disingenuous."

"Okay, whatever," she grumbled and skulked away to talk to Kayla.

***

"So... I talked to Carrie..." Julie brought up after Luke had accepted and had taken a swig of her homemade soup. It had to be their sixth date at this point, but it has felt like forever.

The man looked up from his guitar in confusion, wracking his brain for the last time he spoke to Carrie. "Okay?"

"She said you're her number one."

His frown deepened. "What? Really? We've spoken maybe twice."

"Oh." A relieved laugh left Julie. "Oh, wow. Then she's super jealous, or something." Her cheeks felt warm. "I was a little worried for a second, to be honest."

Luke grinned. "Yeah?"

"Mh-hm..."

"Y'know, I was worried about Nick," he confessed.

That surprised her. "Really? Why?"

"‘Cause I know you did have a connection with him."

"Yeah," she admitted, "but not in the way that we connect. Nick's like... a friend. That's all."

"Then you should tell him that," Luke said, amused. "'Cause he thinks you guys are fated."

Julie rolled her eyes. "Oh, jeez."

***

It was his favourite time of the day—sprawled across the sofa, snacks littering the floor—as he scratched out a chorus to Sunset Curve’s new song.

But that’s not why it was his favourite.

It was his favourite because he could just about hear Julie scribbling in her own journal right across that damn shimmery wall separating them, almost picturing frown lines between her brows. Which was weird, ‘cause he had never actually seen her.

It was weird, right?

But that didn’t stop him. Luke felt a silly grin taking over his features as he hummed along what he imagined would be the pre-chorus, leg swinging over the armrest—

And then he froze, stopping all movement.

Because he could be hallucinating, but he swore he just heard singing coming from the other room. The one that contained Julie. The human wrecking ball that had already captivated him before he had ever seen her.

Or heard her, apparently.

Holy shit. Holy shit.

Luke nearly fell off the couch as he stumbled into a sitting position, jumping from his spot to the shimmery wall. He splayed his fingers as he pressed his palms against the damn thing keeping them apart, and then placed his ear against it.

He stopped moving; stopped breathing. She was singing. And it was fucking beautiful.

Shit. He was fucked.

He remembered Julie telling him about her complicated relationship with music; how she hadn’t sang in over a year. But now she was singing, here, with him, and he was finding it so hard to keep himself in check. He could clearly hear Alex’ voice in his head telling him to ‘cool it, Patterson. You’re going to scare her off.’

And that was the last thing he wanted to do.

Afterwards, Luke barged into the men's quarters and yelled: “I'm marrying Julie!”

Dean barely looked up from his paperback. “Yeah, we know.”

"You haven't talked about anyone else," Seth added.

"Oh," Luke said, scratching the back of his head. "Well, yeah. Now I'm gonna do it."

"Cool, man," Garrett grinned. "Get that woman!"

***

On the tenth day, Julie wore her prettiest dress. A purple number, nothing too special, as she hadn’t actually thought to get married on this show. The other women had ornate dresses, but she’d have to do with this one.

Then again, she wasn’t actually sure Luke would propose. He told her he loved her, but that didn’t mean he wanted to marry her in a month; that didn’t mean he wanted to go through with the experiment; the reality show.

Opening the door to the Pod, she heard Luke already pacing on his side.

“Hi,” she said.

“Oh!” he exclaimed. “Hey!”

She paused at the wall. “You’re nervous?”

“It’s the tenth day, so, uh…” Luke shook his head and stared at the silly velvet box in his hands. This was ridiculous. Insane. Every other synonym for that word. He wasn’t marriage material. He was a guy from an underground rock band that came here to get inspired and write. But here he fucking was.

“I don’t wanna say we’re fated, ‘cause I don’t believe in that shit,” he suddenly continued, the words flowing out of him.

Julie smiled. “Me neither.”

“But I do—I do think you’re my person, Julie. That we should be together outside of the Pods. When we make music it’s like–like–”

“Magic,” she finished, her smile widening and her hands pressing against the wall.

“Yeah,” he breathed. Sinking onto both knees, he kept his eyes on the box. “We’re magic together, I think. And I love you. I know that. I love you.”

Julie let her forehead drop against the wall as she giggled. Nothing about this made sense. No one would be able to understand what she felt right now. “I love you, too.”

“So… Julietta Rose Victoria Marie Molina…” He took a steadying breath. Now or never. “Will you do me the honour of marrying me?”

An elated sob left the woman, nodding profusely despite him being unable to see her. “Yes!” she exclaimed. “Yes!”

***

The white doors slid open in a swoop and their identities were revealed. Luke took a step forward and found his jaw falling slack at the short woman several feet away from him. She… was perfect. Down to those cute, scribbled-on sneakers.

Julie laughed, showcasing a gap between her teeth, and waved at him. "Hi."

"Hey," he grinned, his walk turning into a jog—he had to get to her—and grabbed her into a hug. "Holy shit."

"I know," she laughed, latching onto him. "Neither of us had a proposal outfit packed."

"Julie–Jules, you–" Pulling away slightly, he felt moisture building in his eyes from the shock and tension. His hands cupped her cheeks. "You're–wow."

"Thanks," she giggled, her eyes also wet. "You're wow, too."

***

After the couples arrived in the resort in Mexico, Julie and Luke settled into their suite. They unpacked their suitcases as they chatted about their flight, rosy-cheeked and happy. The camera flipped to Julie in the confessional, seated on the terrace in a pretty blue dress.

"Luke and I have arrived in Mexico," Julie said. "And it's definitely weird, suddenly, like, being able to touch him and see him, but it also feels so natural. We're just really excited to continue growing what we have and make more music."

"Julie's gonna do the speaking for me this vacay," Luke added next in his confessional, a big smile stretched across his cheeks. "I'm twenty-nine, guys, I've forgotten 10th grade Spanish, y'know."

“Yes, we’ve kissed,” Julie continued, shy, “on the plane. We wanted to do it away from the cameras, and um… it was–it was good.” Her eyes averted as her smile grew. “It was really good.”

Luke plopped down on the bed. “What do you wanna do first? Check out the pool? The beach?”

“The buffet,” she emphasised. “I’m super hungry.”

He laughed. “Sounds good to me.”

Julie slid beside him. “I also wanted to talk to you about something, now that we’re here…”

Luke nodded. “Okay.”

“Um… so we’re now sharing a bed…”

“Yeah.”

“I’d like to wait until after the wedding before we have sex,” she admitted. His face gave nothing away, simply listening to her. “It’s not that I’m not attracted to you, I am, but it’s something I want to honour, you know?”

“Of course,” he whispered. “I can wait, Julie, don’t worry about it.”

“Yeah?”

“Sex isn’t that important to me,” he said with a shrug. “It’s great, but it’s not everything.”

“Duh,” she deadpanned. “Music is.”

He laughed. “Exactly, you get it.”

The woman let out a relieved breath. She didn’t think Luke would be appalled, but she hadn’t been totally sure. Now, she could sleep beside him without the stress. Kissing his cheek, she said, “Besides, we can do other stuff.”

He wiggled his brows, mischievous. “‘Other’ stuff?”

With a roll of the eye, she pushed him away and got up. “Let’s get food.”

“Yes, Boss!”

***

The next day in Mexico, all the couples met up at the pool. It was the first time they all could see each other and properly meet. Neither Julie or Luke were worried their affection would sway, but they were nervous to approach Carrie and Nick. Both had claimed a connection, but now they were a couple themselves.

It especially bothered Luke, if he was honest. Julie was… incredibly beautiful, especially in that purple dress she wore tonight, and he wasn’t blind to the eyes Nick had been giving her.

Afterwards, Julie and Luke sat on the bed curled towards each other, discussing the events of the night.

"So... what did you think of Nick?" Luke asked, feigning nonchalance.

Julie smirked at his obvious attempt to seem cool. "He was… nice."

"Yeah? Got a crush on him?"

"Sure," Julie deadpanned, "and that was why the conversation ended after, like, two minutes, and I stayed by your side for the rest of the night."

Luke grinned and placed a hand on her knee. "Yeah?"

"Mh-hm." She caressed his tattooed arm. "Don’t worry. I... there's not a shadow of doubt it's you, Luke. Trust me."

Luke's smile melted into fondness. "I trust you."

***

After Mexico—where one of the couples devolved and split up, leaving four couples left—they all returned to Los Angeles. Unfortunately, they couldn’t move back into their regular apartments, but all had to share the same complex. Julie and Luke lived on the third floor in a shiny, white apartment. It was the furthest thing from Luke’s actual place.

On a positive note, they could finally introduce their partner to their friends and family. Like now.

"Today, I'm meeting Luke's friends and band members," Julie said to the camera, standing outside of Luke’s studio in the heart of Mar Vista. "I've talked with them on the phone a couple days ago, but this'll be the first time we'll be face to face."

Luke drifted on his heels as he barely looked at the camera, clearly addressing Julie. "I'm not worried. Julie's, like, the puzzle piece we've been missing. And I fucking love her. So. Yeah."

Julie and Luke walked in where Reggie and Alex were already seated in an old, leather couch. Reggie seemed nonchalant, but Alex often flitted his eyes to the camera.

"Hi," Julie greeted. "I'm Julie!"

"Ooh," Reggie cooed. "You're even prettier IRL!"

Alex eyed her in disbelief. "Yeah. Blink twice if you wanna escape our Luke."

"Awesome support, guys," Luke grumbled.

Julie worried that the boys perhaps thought that what she and Luke had was too good to be true—that it wouldn’t last—and all it would do was interrupt their music career. She didn’t stop worrying until Alex gently pulled her away from the guys mid-practice session, and took her on a short walk around the garden.

Somehow, he knew exactly what was on her mind—and exactly what to tell her.

“Luke’s a pretty open book with just about everyone, or that’s what people think. He likes to show everyone all the good sides to him; the music, the cheerful attitude, the constant pep-talks. But he’s never, and I mean never, talked to anyone about his mom as openly as he did with you.” Alex stopped to turn and face Julie. “He’s always worried about dumping all his problems on others and it’s been his thing ever since we’ve known him. He just hides it all to himself, until he explodes and writes a song about it.”

He shrugged, though Julie could see the worry in Alex’ eyes. “But the fact that he shared some of that stuff with you, let you hear ‘Unsaid Emily’… Julie, you’re it for him. And if you’re it for Luke, you’re it for us.” Alex grimaced at his choice of words, but didn’t correct himself, choosing instead to smile encouragingly at Julie.

A moved Julie nodded in relief and pulled the drummer into a tight hug. “Thank you,” she whispered.

That evening, it was time for Luke to meet Julie’s family, namely: her father, brother and aunt Victoria. The rest of the family would attend the wedding. Which, according to Julie, was ‘a lot’. She’d prepped him for tonight, but she still seemed nervous as she rang the bell and waited for the door to open.

“What’s the prob?” he asked.

“Well—”

The door flung open and an older woman in athleisure squealed at the sight of Luke. “Lukas! Come in, come in! Oh, mija, you did such a good job picking him!”

“Tia—”

“My name is Luke, actually—”

Victoria continued unperturbed and ushered them inside. He barely had time to soak in the interior as she continued babbling on. "Thank you, Lukas—" Victoria gushed.

"It's Luke—"

"—for taking my Julie off the street. Twenty-seven! Who would've thought!"

"Ah, yes," Julie drawled beside him, slightly peeved. "The old crone's age of twenty-seven."

“I think she was the one who took me off the street,” he said, throwing a smirk Julie’s way to ease the nerves a bit.

Her father and brother popped in from the kitchen, the former with a wide smile and the latter rather sceptical. “Is that my daughter’s fiancé I hear?”

***

"Luke is meeting my best friend, Flynn, today," Julie said outside of a bar. "I'm a little nervous, because Flynn is super protective of me, but I think it'll be fine!"

Luke smirked. "People love me. Everything will be great!"

That was, until Flynn said a quick hello and then shoved a ten-page questionnaire in his face. She smirked. “Just to see you’re not a serial killer and won’t break my friend’s heart.”

“Because those two are mutually important,” Julie replied, sarcastic.

Luke scratched the back of his head as he thumbed through the pages. “I–I have to do this now?”

“Why? Scared?” Flynn pressed. “Also—” She whipped a cotton swab from her pocket and grabbed Luke’s face, pushing his mouth open. "Just the usual," she muttered and swabbed the inside of his cheek. "Just normal DNA things…”

After the horrible bar situation, Julie paced along the kitchen island continuously apologising for her friend’s behaviour. “I swear she’s usually not like this, I’m so embarrassed, like she’s protective, but not—”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Luke grabbed her shoulders to stop her from pacing with a relaxed smile. “Yeah, it was weird, but it wasn’t the end of the word.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” He smiled. “You have a Flynn, I have a Reggie and Alex," he soothed. "It's all cool."

***

As Carrie and Nick argued for the umpteenth time at the Cheese Tasting Date, Luke and Julie were bent over Luke's songbook, scribbling and discussing the bridge of a song.

"No, no, there should be an inverse and then, like, the reveal, that he was never there at all," Julie said.

"I don't wanna write a sad song, Jules. It's a love song," Luke bounced back.

"I mean—" She popped a piece of brie in her mouth. "---it is a love song, just not a happy one."

A grin ticked up his lips. "Is it about Nick and Carrie?"

Julie swatted his arm. "Luke!"

"What! C'mon, Jules, look at 'em." He nodded at the pair currently shouting at each other outside, two cameras on them. "They're not exactly soulmates."

Another pairing, Vivian and Dean, joined them at their table. "Oh my God," Vivian said, "can Carrie and Nick just end it already?"

"Carrie wants those followers, she can't leave just yet," Dean added with a roll of the eyes.

"Yeah," Julie trailed, "it's... a lot."

"What're you working on, dude?" Dean asked.

Luke grinned. "A song, obviously."

Viv sighed dreamily. "It's so romantic, honestly, that you guys have, like, a 'thing'."

Dean frowned. "We have a thing."

His fiancée's brows raised, challenged, and Luke and Julie recoiled into their songwriting shell again.

***

The wedding was a no-brainer. After a teary-eyed dress fitting and a fun bachelorette party with the girls—where Carrie tried to disrupt her happiness one final time—Julie found herself in the hotel room of a beautiful ranch where she and Luke would officiate their marriage. Somehow, the month felt like a year and her relationship with Luke felt like a decade.

“Are you nervous?” Flynn asked, buttoning Julie into her dress.

She shook her head. “No, just healthy jitters.”

“Good.” The two stared at each other in the mirror. “You deserve this, girl.”

Victoria came in with glasses of champagne. “Well, I’m nervous, so drink up, my loves.”

On the other side of the hotel, Luke, Alex and Reggie sat in the plush chairs, ready for the wedding. Luke’s foot bounced up and down in anticipation, ready to hold her and kiss her and be hers. He knew he was a romantic, but he never thought it could get this deep.

“Do you think she’ll say yes?” Alex asked.

Luke nodded. “Yeah. There’s honestly not a doubt in my mind, dude.”

“But what if she does?”

“Then…” Luke took a swig of his beer as a salute. “Then we’ll have a killer album in no time.”

Soon after, the ceremony began. Luke first went down the aisle where he smiled and nodded at all his friends and family. His parents sat in the front and smiled proudly at him.

And then came Julie. Julie, in a beautiful gown and a shimmering face, taking his breath away. It felt like he had tunnel vision. She, too, couldn’t look anywhere but him, and felt her racing heart calm down the second he helped her up the steps. Her father had tears in his eyes as he gave her away.

“Hi,” she whispered.

“Hey,” he whispered back, smiling, “you look gorgeous.”

“Thank you.”

The officiator began his speech, Luke and Julie exchanged quick vows—though most has been said in the countless lyrics they’ve written together—and they sealed it all with a kiss. They were married. Forever.

For the final time, Julie spoke to the camera with shiny cheeks and sparkling eyes. “How do I feel? I mean, I think you can guess.”

Luke jumped into frame and picked her up, bridal-style. “You’re looking at Miss Julie Molina-Patterson, Netflix! Hell yeah!”

***

At the reunion, they were the only couple left standing. Obviously.

***

#juke #juke jeudi #happy juke jeudi!!!#jatp fanfiction #lib x juke

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singeratlarge · 4 months

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HAPPY HEAVENLY BIRTHDAY to Elvis Presley. When he turned 11, his mother Gladys took him to the Tupelo Hardware Company Store and bought him his first guitar: A 1947 Kay flat-top K19. He’d play this guitar throughout his school years and at his first Sun recording session. Also on this day: In 1956 his double-A single “Don’t Be Cruel/Hound Dog” went to #1 and stayed there for weeks. Fast forward to 1993 and the United States Post Office issued an Elvis Presley stamp.

Sidebar: 1n 1976 David Bowie demo’d the song “Golden Years” with Elvis in mind to cover it (for unclear reasons Elvis nixed it even after making a demo). Rewind to 1960 when Elvis recorded the song “Black Star” (later re-titled “Flaming Star”). That song directly inspired the Black Star theme of Bowie’s final work, and it’s remarkable that Bowie was also born on the same day as Elvis.

In 2022 Baz Luhrmann released the ELVIS film, a biopic that most people think “got it right,” portraying Elvis as channeling Pentacostal church rapture with juke joint energy into one voice, one vibration. He looms over me, be it through mindful study or cultural resonance—in 1989 I named my back-up The Rover Boys after the surname for The Million Dollar Quartet a.k.a Elvis’s legendary 1956 jam session with Johnny Cash, Jerry Lee Lewis, and Carl Perkins. Like many professional musicians, I started with cover bands playing in bars, and I’m certain I’ve learned many Elvis hits + in my solo set I do gospel songs that he favored.

Elvis’s “Can’t Help Falling in Love” is based on “Plaisir d’Amour,” a 1784 French chanson by Jean-Paul-Égide Martini, re-written by hit-making team Hugo & Luigi w/George David Weiss. The lyrics are informed by poet Alexander Pope and Bible verses. I always enjoyed the tune, but when I heard Bob Dylan cover it, I became inspired to play it. Dylan gave it a gospel flair, and that triangulation with God’s love is what I aim for when I do it. Here’s my cover of it with stories https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZEeb6uPiQWI&t=217s Meanwhile, HB EP

#Elvis #Presley #birthday #black #star #DavidBowie #GoldenYears #Martini #chanson #HugoandLuigi #DavyJones #Monkees #Epiphone #johnnyjblair #Kayguitar #HoundDog #Dontbecruel #king #milliondollarquartet #Johnny #Cash #JerryLeeLewis #CarlPerkins #BobDylan #Dylan #singeratlarge #postage #stamp

#johnny j blair #singer songwriter #music #singer at large #san francisco #pop rock #monkees #davy jones #Elvis Presley #black star #birthday #David Bowie #Epiphone #hound dog #carl perkins #Bob Dylan

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orbleglorb · 7 months

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hi o/ the blaseball zine jam is over! i did several pieces for different zines over the course of the jam. here's the zines i contributed to:

make it blaseball (blaseball aus of other things) - i did a blaseball crossover with the magnus archives. i noticed like 4 grammatical errors and typos after submitting this but it's fine. that's what i get for working on it in the wee hours of the morning and not proofreading

the big blaseball activity book - i did a discipline era crossword :3 however i completely forgot to save the answer key. sorry

how to say goodbye - goodbye, sim!

scraps from the zine room floor - some pieces i didn't get to finish, or finished pieces for zines that didn't happen

blaseball is a horror game - i wrote season 9 day x. it's not about the shieves vs. pods. sorry to disappoint

all players have been released - i wrote pieces for nanci grackle, khulan kebede, juke gnocchi, and rivers rosa

seven hour sprint - a personal zine i started and finished in the last 7 hours of the jam. tw for descriptions of inpatient mental health treatment

have fun! :3

#blaseball #blaseball zine jam

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groxglitch · 8 months

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Contact

Pain.

Every synapse and nerve ending in 621’s broken body burned. The sudden Coral surge was overwhelming. It felt like his brain itself was buzzing, his head spinning. Every sensor feed from his stricken AC was more noise than actual data. The last time he’d experienced this much misery in one place was his initial augmentation; unlike that time, he no longer had a larynx with which to scream. Everything was red. Outside, inside, even if he closed his eyes all he could see was that flashing, jittering, intense red. At the outer vestiges of his mind he could hear a voice; soft, feminine, surprised and curious, though he was far from capable of making out what was being said. He clung to the margins, fading in and out as his AC was thrashed around the interior of the Watchpoint. He was fairly sure he had faded in and out of consciousness a few times now. And what was that voice? He was no stranger to hearing voices - usually the med cocktail took care of them - but this was different somehow, more alien and external than a voice in his head had any right to be. Even in his dazed state, he could pick out angular changes in orientation, hear thrusters firing. Accelerometer data confirmed the changes, when his twice-fried brain could actually understand the signals. Was he doing that? Even his instincts had their limits.

“Raven.”

There was that voice again. At least she sounded soothing. Was this it? Was this the parting hallucinations of a brain that had figured out it was going to die? Something seethed deep inside him. This was not how it was supposed to end. He had not come this far to die in some Coral-filled hole in the ground. His AC systems read off a full readiness report he could barely even comprehend. He did make out “operator vitals stable”, so he probably wasn’t dying. Not unless the Coral in his brain decided to cook off, anyway. He also noted he had absolutely no outbound signal. He struggled to un-slump himself within the fluid of his control pod.

“Raven, you need to wake up. There’s a PCA craft on direct approach, it’s jamming our signal.”

Suddenly his mind snapped awake. Combat. The noise had died off and he could make heads or tails of what was happening, albeit with some difficulty. His AC was standing on the roof of the Watchpoint. How? He could figure that out later. There was a hostile incoming. If he didn’t get it together now he wouldn’t live to worry about getting out of the Watchpoint, or the voice in his head that was evidently not a dying hallucination. He was still struggling to function, though; his movements were sluggish and he was struggling to process his machine’s full bandwidth of data. Frankly it was amazing he was doing as well as he was given he should, by all rights, be dead.

“I’ll synchronize with your brainwaves and support you as best I can. Get ready.”

Synchronize with- what? 621 struggled to make sense of the statement, but it wasn’t like he had time to worry about it anyway. At the very least, his datastream had cleaned up, and his AC was moving better, though it felt almost as if it were moving of his own accord. Wait, is this voice doing that? Who the hell even is this? Radar tracked a large AC screaming down to the Watchpoint at high speed. It swung around and drifted to a stop opposite his position on the roof, a large biped with what looked to be an EVA extension pack on the backside.

“Scans indicate it’s an autonomous PCA interceptor, designation Balteus. Be careful.”

The machine physically reached up and dragged down a sizable MRLS rack, locking in for a salvo. 621 already registered the hostile lock tone. This is gonna suck.

“Main system: reactivating combat mode. Move, Raven!”

He didn’t need to hear the suggestion twice. He lunged his AC forward with a booster-augmented kick, dipping low to the right to drag the missile volley towards him before suddenly juking left, sending most of the flight slamming into the ground behind him as he loosed a volley of his own from the plasma launchers on his shoulders. They detonated against Balteus, a shimmering off-teal field shielding the body of the machine from damage. Of course it has a pulse shield. Fucking PCA. He staggered discharges from the laser rifle in either arm as Balteus started to move, bolts rippling across the shield as the autocannons on the support ring returned fire in kind. Damage reports were fed directly to his consciousness as stray shells splintered off armor plating. Balteus came to a brief halt, and 621 reflexively fired his machine’s lateral thrusters, just barely clearing a cannon shell screaming past his left shoulder. He took the chance to loose another plasma volley, slowing down the rhythm on his rifles to give the poor guns a chance to cool, thermal warnings whining in his head. Not like he needed them; he could feel the rain sizzling off the barrels. No pulse weapons on hand. The only way I’m getting through that thing’s shield is with brute force. He tracked Balteus’s orbit, keeping pressure on with his lasers as it came to a halt, gaining altitude over him. The lock tone buzzed in his head. Perfect. He fired off the transit thrusters on his AC at full power, scraping low again to drag the missiles clear before streaking up underneath Balteus. It started to evade but it moved too late, as 621 brought his AC’s foot up in a rocket-powered flip kick. Sensors registered the shield protecting Balteus drop, and 621 carried his momentum through, bringing his weapons to bear as gravity reclaimed his machine. This time his weapons struck true, plasma fields and laser beams finding purchase against Balteus’s reinforced hide. It started to move again, putting distance between itself and its target as more autocannon fire raked 621’s armored hide.

“Thermal spike, Raven, get clear!”

The voice called it out before he even registered it, but sure enough, gouts of flame built at either side of Balteus’ support frame. The machine came screaming forward, lashing a gouge of superheated fire across the roof. 621 barely jumped his machine clear of the sweep, firing off a wall of plasma bolts as he engaged retro-thrusters and put some space between them. Balteus came forward for another sweep, which he evaded only by slamming down to the ground. He dashed forward underneath Balteus, barely managing to keep his machine standing as he pivoted around to bring weapons to bear once more. The damned thing’s shield was already back up.

“Keep fighting Raven, we can do this.”

Gotta kick it again, it’s the only way. Back to square one. Focus. He kept skidding backwards away from Balteus, throwing in erratic changes in vector to throw off its aim with the autocannons. He shifted into a hard left at the edge of the Watchpoint, tracking as Balteus followed his movements along the edge and repositioned accordingly. It initiated a staggered set of dashes forward, firing off another cannon shell in the middle, before launching into another flurry of flame blade strikes. 621 struggled to keep his machine ahead of the assault, thermal sensors spiking well past the redzone as flames licked at his machine. Finally, however, Balteus slowed down. It’s energy was, for a short window, spent. There’s my window. Once again, 621 fired his transit thrusters and slammed feet first into Balteus with as much weight and force as his spritely machine could muster. Its shield flickered out and 621 proceeded to hammer it with as much firepower as he could muster at any one time, driving his weapons as hard as they could go. Balteus tried to regain it’s stability under his barrage, and he fired up the thrusters again, this time sending it drifting across the roof with a shoulder tackle. He kicked off high, continuing his barrage until the weapons forcibly quit fire. Flames poured from Balteus as it struggled to get itself under control. Flames billowed from several open blasts across the hull. Its thrusters gave out, and the machine tried to catch itself on its feet, swaying before buckling and dropping to its knees. It reached up and tried to drag its missile racks down for a final, spiteful salvo. However, in the midst of them sliding into place, several detonated in the rack, leading to a chain reaction that blew the entire craft to pieces. “Sympathetic detonation confirmed in enemy magazines; enemy craft destroyed. Well done.”

621 found himself huffing inside his control pod. Even if he hadn’t physically moved much at all, pushing an AC to its limits right after brushing shoulders with death takes a lot out of you. He took a second to collect himself. “Mind explaining to me who - or what - the hell you are, exactly?” He asked. Things weren’t adding up. Sure, a voice in his head could just be a hallucination, but his hallucinations never actively helped him drive an AC before. Short wave radio comms would pick up in his skull as well, but that PCA unit was very much jamming comms so that’s out, and there is zero chance of somebody copiloting an AC remotely over radio. “I am Ayre - a Rubiconian. We made Contact when you were subsumed in the Coral flow below. The surge of Coral throughout your machine allowed me a measure of direct control, and I was able to override the autopilot and extract you. The residual Coral in your machine is already fading, however… I am symbiotically bound to your implants.” Finally, a name to the voice- Ayre. It wasn’t just another mental side effect of his implants going haywire. Arguably, it was worse; he’d picked up a stray. How? Since when were there people in Coral? It was a mineral, a fancy sparky rock in the ground. It could do a lot of things, to be sure, but since the fuck when was Coral alive? “I understand that this is probably a lot to take in all at once. I tried reaching out to you before, but I… I guess you were still too far gone then to even understand me. Or maybe I hadn’t worked out how to communicate in a way you could understand.” “Well. Thank you for dragging me out of that pit, at the very least.” He said. “So, you’re in my head?” “Yes, specifically your cerebral implants. The Coral throughout your central nervous system acts as a resonator and allows me to exist within your brain, functionally as an extra brainwave.” “Well that’s grand.” 621 lamented. “As if I wasn’t enough of a wreck as-is. I’m going to guess you can rifle through my memories and the rest of my brain at a whim?” “That is correct, yes. At a surface level, that’s how I worked out your name, and worked out how to best coordinate with you in combat.” “Do me a favor then, don’t go poking around places you don’t belong. There’s places in my brain even I don’t touch anymore.” He chided. “I… will keep that in mind, Raven.” Ayre agreed. “Something you should keep in mind yourself: look up.”

In the gaps between clouds, as the storm overhead began to part, 621 could see the bare sky. Streaked through in red, churning as crimson lightning raged within. It traced clear back to the horizon, to the northern coast, where smoke and debris were only just beginning to settle. “That Coral surge you were caught up in was but a drop in the greater tide… and only a small taste of what is to come in Rubicon’s future.” “Fuck.” 621 found himself at a loss for words. How much Coral did we just release? What kind of well was that cork holding closed? “Raven, you need rest. Both you and your AC are in rough shape. I’ll re-establish communications with Handler Walter.”

621 looked to the-now smoking remains of Balteus. Maybe the PCA had a good reason for trying to keep the Watchpoint sealed.

#armored core 6 #armored core vi #fanfiction #this is probably far too long form for tumblr #i'm gonna do the whole fucking game sooner or later #still trying to figure out how to do raven as a standoffish asshole #ive done far too much concepting of them being heroic #hoist by my own petard #also tumblr is fucking the formatting #i can't fix it #ive tried

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angelloverde · 6 months

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"Mo Soul" Player Playlist 29 October

Brownout - 911 Is A Joke

Tower Of Power - Ebony Jam

Ernie Hinez & Kool Gang The Chocolate Buttermilk Generation (Jorun Bombay Edit)

Incognito - Incognito

Modulo 5 - Infected

J-Boogie's Dubtronic Science Feat. Rich Medina- Same Ol' Thang

Webster Lewis - El Bobo

Ron Disko - My Feelings

The Sure Fire Soul Ensemble - City Heights

Nightmares On Wax - 70s 80s (Rjd2 Remix)

Johnny Hammond - Call On Me

Alice Russell Feat. TM Juke - Hurry On Now

Brand New Heavies - Party

James Moody - First Thing In The Morning

Little Beaver - We Three

If you really want to enjoy music and help musicians and bands, buy their lp’s or cd’s and don’t download mp3 formats. There is nothing like good quality sound!!!

(Angel Lo Verde / Mo Soul)

#mo soul #playlist #music #soul #blues #funk #jazz #lounge #reggae #rock #fusion #house #r&b #afro funk #disco funk #acid jazz #nu jazz

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antilocaprine · 1 year

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I got an anon ask that wondered if I had any plans to continue this prompt fill, which is an AU of my already-an-AU Among Us/HLVRAI crossover Some Stars Are Not Enough. This is the result. (You don’t have to read Some Stars to get this, but you should read the prompt fill linked above, since this picks up right where that leaves off.)

45% Chance

The ship groans around Benrey as he sprints through the corridors. This time, he’s literally going through them - with no humans left on the ship, he’s free to clip through the structure. It slows him down a touch, since he needs to make sure nothing is exposed to the vacuum of space before he steps into it, but he’s got all his senses flared out like a net, his form warping into a dish-like shape with limbs in order to catch all the information he can get before he reaches the lab and the spacewalking suits.

Something cracks on the other side of the bulkhead he was just about to cross into and he jukes to the right, pounding through several hissing pipes and another bulkhead. He stumbles out into the lab and steps sideways to get himself free of the bed he’d walked into. Casting a frantic glance around, he lunges for the spacesuits and wrenches them out of their cabinet, breaking the door lock so he can pull them free.

The lock floats by his face and he pauses to stare at it, then at the rest of the room. The lab is a mess of floating jars and colorful liquids that are coalescing into wobbly balls, drifting aimlessly through the air. The gravity is failing, and that means the second reactor is close to failing, too. Benrey moves faster.

There isn’t enough time to try to rig the suits together. Benrey jams himself into the biggest one, which will allow him to keep his own suit on with its auxiliary oxygen pack. However, that means he’s down to two arms and two legs - the spacewalking suits weren’t designed to change with him.

The screaming alarms rise in pitch and distort, then fall silent with a strangled chime. Benrey whips his head around and listens. There is a faint whine coming from the rear of the ship, which is now below him - he had to brace himself against the wall to get into the suit in the failing gravity. The reactor is going, and he’s running out of time.

He’s not really sure what his plan was beyond this. He’s in a suit that will give him four hours of oxygen on top of the two hours of oxygen his own everyday suit contains. (The people who sent them on this mission - the humans, not the Supervisors - figured if something in the ship broke and they lost oxygen for over two hours, it wasn’t going to be fixed. Why waste resources?) Benrey’s own, ahem, unique physiology means that he can use the same amount of oxygen for about twice as long as a human. It’s still probably not going to be enough.

The ship groans in protest of what’s happening to it. Benrey feels a bit bad - it’s not the ship’s fault it was chosen for a mission that was doomed to fail. They’re all just playing pieces in a bigger game that none of them know the rules to. It’s not fair - but what is?

Gordon’s shocked face flashes through Benrey’s mind, and he takes a sharp breath. He shouldn’t leave it like that. If there’s any way to get back to them -

Probably not quite a 45% chance, now. Maybe 20%, at least? Benrey’s not great at calculations, but he can probably swing 20%.

The ship screams and something wrenches. Suddenly, half of it falls quiet.

“Hull breach,” Benrey hisses. “Fuck.”

He shoves the huge spacewalking helmet between his legs, locking his ankles around it. Upside down in the far corner of the lab, he pulls his torso out of the spacewalking suit and shoves more arms out, catching the walls and ripping them free. Rivets ping loose and tumble through the air as Benrey curls the walls around himself. He doesn’t need a lot of room - just enough space to keep all the suits folded inside with their fresh caches of oxygen. The tricky part will be getting a solid enough seal to maintain the atmosphere with no gaskets and no external bulkheads.

Unless…Benrey glances up through the narrowing space above his head. If he can reach the right wall panel, then maybe he could get a secondary layer. He’ll have to move quickly, though. Already he can hear cracks forming in the nearby bulkheads.

The vacuum is closing in.

* * *

“Dad? Shouldn’t you put your helmet back on?”

Joshua’s voice is shaky, and Gordon snaps back to himself. He’d been floating away, his eyes on the porthole window of the escape pod that is rocketing away from the stricken spaceship.

“Yeah - yes, right.” He shoves the helmet back on and engages the locks with a hiss. Then his eyes flick to the control panel and he curses. 45% oxygen? That must be what Benrey saw, what made him back out. Just Gordon and Joshua will be okay, but adding another adult would have shortened their conscious time by a potentially lethal amount.

“Is Benrey gonna be okay?”

The pod is traveling on a surprisingly straight path, and Gordon can still see the ship. The pod must be rotating - or the ship is, because it’s tilting nose-down in the porthole view. He finds himself thinking about terrestrial ships sinking at sea.

“I’m sure he’ll be fine,” Gordon reassures his son, though his voice is strangled.

He feels like he’s going insane. Benrey kissed him. What the fuck?

“Oh. Okay.” Josh looks around, but the jumpseat harness keeps him from moving too much. “Where’re we going?”

Gordon glances back at the control screen. “The pods are all - uh, they’re programmed to rendezvous with each other to form a raft. Then they’ll send out a distress signal, and someone will pick us up.”

“Okay.” Josh kicks his feet. “Um. How long?”

“It depends, buddy. Might be in ten minutes or two hours, or tomorrow.” Or a week, but Gordon isn’t going to mention that. Hopefully someone had gotten off a long-range distress signal from the ship’s transmitter while he and Joshie were locked in the stargazing room. Otherwise they’ll be at the mercy of interplanetary shipping schedules. All the planet-to-planet people transfers are limited to once a month, and they certainly don’t have enough air to hold out that long.

“Okay,” Joshua says, sounding preoccupied.

Gordon knows that tone. He tilts his helmet against the shoulder harness to look over at his kid. “You have to go to the bathroom, don’t you?”

Joshua nods.

Gordon sighs and checks the control panel. “Can you hold it for ten more minutes? We’re supposed to dock with the rest of the raft then, and after that you can get up and use the cubicle.”

“Can I go now?”

“No. If we get knocked around by something you could get hurt.”

“Okay,” Joshie sighs, and Gordon stretches himself up to peer back at the ship, now inverted in the pod’s window.

It looks…weird. Some sort of vapor is coming off the snout, and it’s tilting away from the wispy trail.

Gordon breathes in sharply through his nose. That’s atmosphere. The ship is venting atmosphere, which means there’s a hull breach, which means -

“Shit,” he swears under his breath.

“Huh?”

“Nothing!”

Joshua seems like he’s ready to protest, but Gordon holds a hand up. “I’m - watching the numbers, okay?”

Apparently that sounds boring enough to satisfy Joshua, and he ducks his chin and pats his legs in an off-kilter drumbeat.

Through the window, the ship cracks in half.

Gordon’s muscles are so tense his vision is starting to darken around the edges. His heartbeat is pounding in his ears, and he forces himself to breathe steadily as he watches the front half of the ship droop, then disconnect from the back half. A burst of debris is expelled from what must be the cargo hold - Gordon clinically picks out chairs, gas cans, crates, and tables.

He doesn’t see another pod. He’s not sure there were any left. Benrey was bunking with Tommy, and Tommy’s pod is blinking in the image of the raft on the control panel, so that means that, unless someone else hopped into that pod and left their own, Benrey’s trapped on the dying ship.

He must have a plan, Gordon’s sure of it. He must. There’s no way he would have sent Gordon and Joshua away without having a plan - right?

But he’d kissed Gordon. And it felt like a goodbye. It feels more and more like a goodbye with every passing second, as Gordon watches the field of debris expand into the vacuum of space.

“Dad, can I -”

Gordon can’t pay attention to what Joshua says, because at that moment, the ship explodes.

It should make noise, he finds himself thinking wildly. It should be making a sound, or there should be a shockwave that hits the pod and sends it spinning. But this is the void of space, and all there is is a bloom of terrible light that obscures the intact rear half of the ship. When it clears - fire can’t live without oxygen - the entire stern of the ship is so much blackened debris, scattered chunks of bulkhead tumbling away in all directions. Without air resistance, their momentum will keep them going practically forever. Maybe someday, one of them will end up crashing through the atmosphere of the planet the ship came from. Maybe someday, some tiny remnant of their vessel will find its way home.

The pod’s transmitter crackles with static. “...Freeman! Mr. Freeman? Can you hear me? Mr. Freeman, come in!”

Gordon reaches out and hits the transponder button with numb fingers. “I can hear you, Tommy,” he says, voice hollow. “Can you see -”

He can’t finish, but luckily Tommy doesn’t need him to. “We saw it. You’ll connect, um, you’ll be docking with us in just a second.”

Sure enough, a heavy clunk sounds through the bulkhead behind Gordon’s jumpseat, and the whole pod shudders. Some sense of motion that he hadn’t even noticed ceases. He twists his head around, but he can’t see past the helmet, and there’s no window back there, anyway. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. He doesn’t know what to think.

“Fucking finally,” Forzen’s voice snaps through the static. “What took you so long?”

“We were trapped,” Gordon rasps. “On the observation deck. The doors locked on us.”

Several voices clamor at that, but Gordon can’t pick any of them out.

“Dad!” Joshua whispers. “Can I go to the bathroom?”

“Yeah - yeah, go ahead.” Gordon unclips his own harness at the same time as Joshie does, but he kicks away from the jumpseat and plasters himself against the window.

In the distance, the ship continues to drift apart.

Tommy’s voice cuts through the chaos. “Mr. Freeman, is Benrey with you? He’s not showing up on the scans.”

Gordon swallows. “No,” he chokes out, then stops. What else can he say? They already know he’s not with any of the others.

“Oh,” Tommy replies, and then he, too, falls silent.

“So…maybe he’s the one who sabotaged the ship,” Forzen says after a moment, and Gordon’s vision whites out. Luckily, several other voices are jumping to Benrey’s defense, Dr. Coomer and Bubby flinging curses over the channel and Darnold’s voice trying to call for calm.

“It wasn’t him.” When Tommy speaks, the others go quiet. “One person couldn’t do that. Watch - look at it! It was broken from the start.”

The others go quiet, and Gordon’s throat is hot and thick with grief and fury as he looks at the desolation. Benrey was supposed to get out of that. How could he just kiss Gordon, push him away, and then - and then die?

How dare he?

“I got a signal out before the, um, the ship’s communications went down,” Tommy continues. “My - um, I mean, we should be getting picked up soon.”

“How soon is soon, my dear Tommy?” Dr. Coomer’s normally jovial voice is tight.

“Um, really soon.”

Light blooms across the pod window again, and Gordon flinches back, squinting into the glare. This isn’t the dirty yellow-orange glow of an explosion - this is the clean white light of a spaceship.

“Is that a courier?” Forzen’s tone is disbelieving. “Is that a fucking courier? Who the fuck heard you and has the clearance to re-route a fucking courier -”

His voice cuts out with a screech of static.

Please stand by, the courier says in a gentle voice. You will be relocated shortly.

“Dad?” Joshie has finally emerged from the tiny restroom cubicle, and pulls himself along the wall to reach Gordon. “Who’s that?”

“It’s a courier,” Gordon says blankly. “They’re - living ships, with a mind and everything. They’re the fastest commercial vessel in the quadrant.”

Joshua peers through the window at Gordon’s shoulder and gasps. “Is that our ship?”

“Um-”

“But where’s Benrey?” Joshie twists around to look up at Gordon in distress and ends up knocking himself loose from the wall. Gordon catches him as he floats by upside down. Zero-G is weird. “He was supposed to follow us - you’re supposed to get married!”

“What?” Gordon sputters, completely derailed.

“He kissed you, so he has to marry you!”

“He did WHAT?!” Several voices shout in unison from the control panel.

“Fuck,” Gordon swears vehemently. He’d thought the courier had cut them off, but apparently it had just overriden their speakers for a moment. “Uh - nothing! It’s not - it doesn’t…matter.”

He clenches his teeth and listens to the others yelling at him.

“Is Benrey okay?” Joshua whispers.

Gordon bites the inside of his cheek. “I don’t know,” he says quietly, even though he does know. No one could have survived that explosion. Hell, he’d probably been killed when the ship broke in half and started venting atmosphere.

He’s probably been killed.

The pod shudders, and Gordon’s boots hit the floor with a clank. He curses and stumbles, juggling a suddenly-heavy Joshua, and they both nearly fall before the gravity slips and they tumble weightlessly up into the air again.

My apologies, the courier says calmly. Please be seated for relocation.

“Shit - sorry! Let’s strap in, Joshie.” Gordon kicks off the wall and fumbles them both into their jumpseats, fastening Joshie’s harness, then his own. He looks over at the control screen to see that the raft of pods has detached and is rising in a steady line into the bright spot of the courier above them.

Are you fully secured? The courier sounds slightly tetchy.

“Yes - sorry, yes, we’re strapped in,” Gordon replies, and the weightless feeling disappears as the courier pulls them into line. On the control screen, Gordon can see the first two pods already vanishing into the courier’s cargo hold.

Thank you, the courier replies blandly. Gordon catches a glimpse of the vessel’s hull as the pod passes by, and it is just as sleek and white as the advertisements make it seem. Then the hold encases them and his view of space is cut off by the darkness of the ship’s interior.

The pod slows, then settles with a clank as some sort of mag-locks catch it with a hum. The view outside the window spins, then flips, and then Gordon can see two other pods facing him across the open hold.

Please remain seated and secured while retrieval continues, the courier says.

“Continues? Who’s missing?” Tommy asks. “Mr. Freeman?”

“We’re here,” Gordon replies. One by one, the rest of the crew responds.

There is one more signal to retrieve, the courier says.

Gordon freezes. “Who is it? Can you hear -”

One moment, please, while the signal is boosted. The courier sounds tired already.

Static buzzes, then resolves into the monotone beeping of a spacewalking suit’s emergency beacon.

“No fucking way,” Forzen growls, but even his bad attitude isn’t enough to keep Gordon’s heart from lifting in his chest.

The beeping stops. And now that Gordon thinks about it, it hadn’t sounded like an actual machine beeping so much as someone saying “beep beep” in the same tone as the emergency beacon.

He takes a breath, and hopes. “Benrey? Is that you? Can - can you hear me?”

“Uh…beep…beep…nope…beep…”

Gordon laughs in disbelief. “I heard that! Where are you? What happened? Are you okay?”

Fifty-three meters and closing, the courier says. Then it says, What is THAT?

“Uh…I’m fine, I'm in a burrito. Beep.”

“You don’t have to keep saying ‘beep,’ you idiot, we can hear you,” Bubby bursts in.

“Oh hey, cool, everyone’s here.”

“What happened to you?” Bubby snaps. “The ship blew up!”

“Yeah,” Benrey hums. “That was…kinda sucks.”

Stand by for relocation, the courier says.

“Can’t really stand, bro,” Benrey replies over the comms. “There’s, uh…no gravity out here.”

Please be secured for relocation, the courier tries.

“Yeah, this, uh, burritos’s not very secure.”

“Why the fuck do you keep saying you’re in a burrito?” Gordon laughs. Just hearing Benrey’s voice is filling his chest with bubbles.

“It’s a metal burrito,” Benrey replies, as if that’s supposed to make any sense.

The courier apparently gives up. Just don’t move, it tells him.

“Sure,” Benrey says easily. “No controls on this thing.”

The object that rises into the hold a few moments later defies explanation. It’s a long cylinder of metal that’s rolled up and twisted around itself at least twice like some sort of giant soot-smeared pirouette cookie. One end is blown open like a cartoon cigar, and it’s from that end that a battered spacewalking helmet pops out.

“You look like a weasel in a cardboard tube,” Bubby says.

“Thanks,” Benrey mumbles over the comms, and attempts to pull himself free.

What are you doing? the courier says sharply. Remain seated - remain still - stop MOVING.

“Kinda busy,” Benrey says as his makeshift pod spins. The spacewalking suits have darkened helms, but Gordon can see his head turning as he peers at each pod. “Where’s Freeman?”

“Over here!” Joshie bounces up in front of Gordon to wave through the porthole, and Gordon yelps and swipes his kid out of the air.

Can none of you follow orders? the courier asks in apparent exasperation as it closes its hull doors.

“Not - not really,” Tommy replies. The courier sends a burst of static over the comms in a machine version of a sigh.

Pressurizing atmosphere, the courier says, then it says, Seal lock. Atmosphere present. Gravity is not available at this time. For your safety, please remain seated.

“Fuck that,” Benrey mutters, half-out of his handmade pod and spinning around upside down. He seems to be hung up on the bulky spacewalking oxygen tanks.

Yeah, Gordon agrees. Fuck that. He plonks Joshua down into his own seat and straps him in. “Stay here, okay? I’ll be back when it’s safe to grab you.”

Joshua tries to protest, but Gordon is already keying in the sequence to check the outside conditions and open the pod door. The pod seems to open almost sulkily, and Gordon tumbles out and kicks off the hull in a trajectory he hopes will send him colliding with Benrey.

He almost misses, but Benrey flings out an arm and Gordon snags the oversized spacewalking suit’s glove. They spin together and smack into each other, and Gordon kicks his feet down and engages the mag-locks on his heels, slamming his boot soles onto the floor of the hull.

Someone is applauding on the comms, but Gordon isn’t listening. He needs to see Benrey’s face. He frees one hand to wrestle at the clasps of the spacewalk suit’s neck, popping them loose with a series of clicks. Once it’s free, he bats it away and it tumbles lazily through the air, fetching up against one of the pod windows.

“Hey, I can’t see!” Forzen barks.

Benrey’s eyes are golden, with a red ring around the outside of the pupil, and they glow. Gordon always figured it was just a bodymod, but now he wonders. The explosion certainly couldn’t have rolled this sheet of metal up so neatly. And Benrey had talked about “humans” like he wasn’t one.

“Hey,” Benrey smiles lazily, sticking sideways out of his horizontal tube. He reaches out with the massive, clunky spacewalk glove and taps at Gordon’s helmet. “Off, please?”

Gordon pulls Benrey’s other hand down and fastens it to his waist so he can reach up with both hands and pull his helmet off. He feels his hair float up behind him, and Benrey’s grin widens, his glowing eyes crinkling at the corners. He wiggles and pulls his free hand out of the heavy exo-suit’s shoulders to flick his own visor up so he can lean forward, but Gordon is already pushing in to meet his lips.

This time, he closes his eyes and kisses back. This time, he savors the touch of Benrey’s chapped lips, feels the rush of air against his cheek as Benrey inhales sharply through his nose and presses harder into the kiss.

The comms are a cacophony of whistling and clapping, cut through with Forzen complaining that his view is still blocked and asking for someone to describe what’s happening. Gordon leans back and opens his eyes. Benrey looks concussed, slowly rotating in his “burrito” until he is nearly vertical, with his head facing down. Gordon snorts and pulls his helmet back on.

Please do not engage in dramatic emotional moments in my hold, the courier says. Save that for the private rooms.

Benrey blinks several times. “You, uh, have private rooms?”

Of course.

“Can I, uh, request - oh, hey, where are you going?”

Gordon had started to pull away, but Benrey tugs him back with the grip on his waist. Gordon is suddenly very angry again.

“I’m going to get my kid, Benrey, so he can see that you’re alive. The ship blew up, dude! We thought - I thought you’d died.” His voice cracks awkwardly. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Bubby squeeze out of his own pod, muttering something about claustrophobia. Dr. Coomer soon follows, and Darnold joins them with a sigh, tapping something into his wrist panel.

“Oh…well, I’m okay, see?” Benrey spreads his arms, then has to grab Gordon’s waist again to keep from rotating away.

Gordon reaches out and smacks his shoulder, hard enough to knock him loose. “You’re an asshole,” he snaps. “What the fuck was your plan?”

Benrey’s makeshift pod bounces off the ceiling and starts to descend again. “Oh…you know.” He pulls both arms out of the exo-suit and wiggles himself free, kicking off from the metal tube, which flies like a javelin straight at Dr. Coomer. Dr. Coomer catches it and flings it away, where it slams into Forzen’s pod just as the door opens, knocking him back inside with an inarticulate curse.

“No, I don’t know, dude,” Gordon growls. “Enlighten me.”

Very suddenly, Benrey is in front of Gordon, both hands on his helmet. Gordon’s own hands snap up to keep him from pulling it off - but he’s not doing that. He’s holding down the comm button, which means they’re on a private, proximity-based channel.

Benrey leans in close, golden eyes flashing intensely. The red ring around the outside seems to be growing. “The plan was to keep you alive,” he says quietly. “Mission fucking accomplished, huh?”

Then he presses a smacking kiss against the curve of Gordon’s helmet and flicks his visor back down, pushing away from Gordon and corkscrewing through the air with a shout of “TOMMY! Did you see that explosion? Fucking sick, right?”

Please be warned that this hold is equipped with liquid water hoses, if their use becomes necessary, the courier says pleasantly.

“Uh - sorry,” Gordon waves a hand. “Won’t happen again.”

Please refrain from lying, the courier says.

Gordon ducks his head and clomps across the hold, heading back to his pod so he can release his child, who will probably immediately attach himself to Benrey and ignore Gordon for the rest of the cycle. He can’t win.

But then again…

He pauses and glances up at Benrey and Sunkist spiraling around each other, the giant dog apparently perfectly accustomed to moving in zero-G. The other crew members stand or float below, commiserating and complaining, but miraculously alive.

Then again, maybe he’s already won.

#hlvrai #half-life vr but the ai is self aware #hlvrbtaiisa #kiss prompts continuation #my words #45% chance fic #some stars fic #i really enjoyed the courier #i wasn't expecting her to show up and now i want to keep her #she's my new favorite character #picture the attitude of a 70s air stewardess #but she's built like a learjet and armed with multiple types of weaponry #neither snow nor sleet nor space pirates nor hail #none of these will stop the mail #yes she's a continuation of the usps #we don't have many things going for us but by god do we have a mostly-functioning postal service #and if the usps special cops are after you that's when you KNOW you're in trouble

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