#fitzcobb

[roughluckart]

When visible hickies get you in trouble with the boss but you just gotsta mark your man 😮‍💨

[lostlegendaerie]

A collaborative Bioshock fanfiction by Legendaerie and NeverwinterThistle

Two Truths and a Lie is a dangerous game to play in Rapture, but Kyle has never been good at knowing his odds.

so hey hey holy shit guess who got to work with a longtime writing idol SPOILER it was me working with @youreusingcoconuts DOUBLE SPOILER this turned out great and in vague timing for the 10th Anniversary, thank u Irrational Games for making the Capitalist Dystopian Fishtank game we all know and love.

[roughluckart]

I'm not sure I've ever drawn a NICE disciple comic... Nature is healing.

[lostlegendaerie]

SARO’S WRITING PSA

I’m gonna start locking all my NS/FW fics on AO3 as I’m really getting into the thick of job applications and whatnot, so if you don’t have an AO3 account and wanna read my filth (including any new stuff I post) you have two options

Get an account. I still have a couple codes I’d be willing to part with, on the off chance anyone I know doesn’t have an account

Download any fics with such content (there’s a handy button on the ao3 page) before September 1st.

Tagging some fandoms just bc I’ve got smut in them and They Should Know that way no one panics that the fic’s been deleted or whatever. (Hopefully locked fics dont show up on the ao3 page/google but WE’LL SEE.)

[lostlegendaerie]

Fitzcobb. "We are so sick of you two thirsting for eachother we're gonna set you up on what you both THINK is a blind date ohgod please bone. Bone for the sake of our sanity"

"So do you come in here a lot?" Kyle asks; as if he doesn't feel Silas' leg brushing his under the table, or notice the nervous tremble in his own hand as he washes his words down with watery wine, or know that they're going to be hard pressed (pun intended) to make it through dinner without eating each other first.

"No," Silas confessed, mirroring Kyle's actions with considerably more confidence, "but you're about to."

[lostlegendaerie]

Music to My Ears (preview)

so I mentioned to balliste and youreusingcoconuts a while back that i was working on some Fitzcobb smut. and i wanted to prove that i still am, but that (like approx. everything else I write) it has decided to grow a full-fledged plot to it and it's taking fOREVER.

that being said, here is the first full scene. (rough draft at least)

(also i should note that an early draft was a fan continuation of cutting room floor so a nod to that for the idea of cobb actually making records)

----

There aren't a lot of radio stations in Rapture, all things considered. There's the Public Service Broadcast, which drones Rapture Reminders, advertisements and Ryan's own speeches on a loop. There's Rapture Radio, which plays both classics and new hits as suits the operator, Ronny Sterling, and his excellent tastes. And that's about it.

Unless, of course, you're in the know - in which case there's a bonus channel near the end of the dial. An island adrift in an ocean of static. Silas Cobb's private channel, which plays music smuggled from the surface, raw samples of whatever record is being produced there, or live impromptu performances. Whatever suits the owner of Fort Frolic's branch of Rapture Records.

It's not even a consistent channel, so seldom - if ever - do people tune in. None outside of Fort Frolic. The audience, therefore, is usually limited to whoever Silas gives the heads up to before he decides to broadcast some exclusive content, which is slowly becoming more and more contraband.

Specifically, Anna Culpepper's work.

Silas's justification is that, regardless of censorship or Ryan's approval, good music is good music. And that could certainly be true, but the fact also remains that Silas is a completely spiteful and deliberate bastard who gets off on pushing Cohen's buttons. Therefore, when the mood suits him, Silas'll slip some of his friends the notice that he'll spend a few hours playing contraband melodies.

Last night, he'd played some of Culpepper's older tunes along with one of his own, but it was a more polished cover than Kyle remembered hearing on a precious few occasions. And it's this curiosity that drives the aspiring pianist to visit Rapture Records that afternoon, after a long practice session with Cohen that has left his spine stiff and aching.

Kyle hisses as he climbs the stairs in Poseidon Plaza, brightly patterned tiles spinning and smearing into music notes before he rubs the palm of his hand across his eyes. He hurts and he can't wait to stumble home, but he has to know.

He's barely inside the door before he's storming to the counter, ignoring the fact that there's a customer checking something out. "That song last night - If I Didn't Care - how did you do that?"

Silas flicks a glance Kyle's way that's disarmingly calm as he counts out the customer's change. "Get in line, Fitzy. I'm a busy man."

Kyle crosses his arms, winces, and just leans against the wall nearest the register counter. He's about to insist on his information when Silas slips his free hand under the counter and extends a middle finger in Kyle's general direction. And normally that wouldn't phase him, it's almost Silas' way of flirting and more an invitation than a threat; but the digit is on fire this time.

Kyle shuts his trap.

Once the customer has gone, with only a guarded glance thrown Kyle's way, Silas turns on him all smouldering irritation.

"Mind tellin' me what's got you all bunched up, sugar?"

"Sorry," he prefaces, seeing as there's still a little flicker of flame across Silas' knuckles, "I was just-- how did you do that, last night? You were singing and playing guitar and piano, and maybe a trumpet, and I know you're good but you can't be that good-- not to play all of that at once."

"You think I'm good?"

Figures that he'd fixate on that - Silas doesn't even have the decency to look surprised, or even pleased. He just looks smug, lets the flames on his hands die out. Kyle scowls and rubs the tender muscles of his shoulder.

"Not at piano, no. Look, will you just--"

"Y'know, for a so-called prodigy, y' ain't that bright. I own a records store, kitten. Means I buy and sell records. Know what else it means?"

Kyle waits, lets the silence settle between them until he's sure that it's not a rhetorical question. Takes the bait and prays the hook isn't too sharp. "What does it mean."

"I can make the records, too, sugar. Record 'em, mix 'em."

"Wait, you-- you make the records you sell here?"

"Not all of 'em," Silas confesses, rolling up the sleeve on one arm. Kyle catches sight of a myriad of dotted scabs and scars in the crook of his elbow. "But most of 'em, yeah. The ones I played last night."

"That's--"

Flexing his arm, the older musician gives Kyle a sideways glance. "Incredible?"

He'd rather eat glass than compliment Silas twice in one conversation. Kyle bites the inside of his lip, imagining the pull of a metal hook and regrets asking. "I suppose it's your job, so..."

"You wanna record somethin' sometime?"

Silas pulls out an Eve hypo from under the counter, turns away slightly and injects himself with a smooth, sure movement. He tosses the empty syringe into a little box around the same place, slapping a bandage over the wound and leaning on the counter in that casual, sinuous way of his. "Not that I'd take the risk of sellin' it, of course. But I'd be fine playin' with you a bit after hours."

"Seriously?"

"I'm always serious, kitten," Silas drawls, giving Kyle a smirk.

It irks him to know that he's probably playing into some scheme of Silas' - and they're never good ideas, but more often than not he finds himself going along with them anyway. Today is no different.

"If you're serious, then... Yes. When would you want me here?"

His companion hums, tapping a finger on the counter. "Five before closing tomorrow, if you can make it. I know Cohen likes to keep his rabbit caged up."

"I'm not his rabbit."

"Sure you're not," Silas assures him.