#madbard writes

[madbard]

[madbard]

[madbard]

On childhood friends, and sacrifice.

Inspired by the Gemini AU, created by the talented @tangledinink

@/tangledinink - Haanya Yanagihara - @/tangledinink - The Neighborhood - @/tangledinink - Conan Gray - @/tangledinink - @/possumfan777 - Lorde - @/lovelysuggestions - The Mountain Goats - Victoria Chang - @/tangledinink - @/tangledinink - Oxford English Dictionary - AJJ - @/seth-whumps - @/tangledinink - @/holyaches - unknown - @/tangledinink - unknown - @/tangledinink - @/tangledinink -  unknown - Arcade Fire - @/tangledinink - Mary Oliver - Arcade Fire - @/tangledinink

[madbard]

“You came back wrong.”

Maybe I didn’t want to come back. Maybe you dragged me, kicking and screaming, from a death that while cold and final, was at least my own. When you placed my body on the dissection table, understand that I could not welcome your touch. When you stole back my life for me, understand that you stole it from me as well, because I was not able to choose this.

You chose it for me.

“You came back wrong.”

Maybe I did. Maybe you were desperate to hold on to me and I was desperate to hold on to myself, to keep believing I had any control over my own body, my own soul. Maybe in that moment of struggle between your fear and my will, you pulled too hard and left a part of me behind.

Maybe that was the part of me that you loved.

Maybe that was the part of me that loved you.

“You came back wrong.”

Oh, my love. What makes you think I came back?

[madbard]

[madbard]

Martin K. Blackwood

Jonathan Sims - @/art-crumbs-main - Anaïs Nin - Rainbow Kitten Surprise- Unknown - Jonathan Sims - Mary Oliver - Jonathan Sims - @/two-bees-poetry - Fun. - Jonathan Sims - Lemon Demon - @/divorcefemme - Bears in Trees - Jonathan Sims - Anaïs Mitchell - Jonathan Sims - @/likethexan - Jonathan Sims - @/stars-and-birds - Anaïs Mitchell - William Shakespeare - @/faustandfurious - Jonathan Sims - Anaïs Mitchell - Daniel Kwan and Daniel Scheinert - Jonathan Sims - Noah Floersch - Jonathan Sims

[madbard]

[madbard]

The Villain Donnie AU belongs to the brilliant @qoldenskies

- - -

Living things don’t remember their creation.

That’s a side effect of being organic, his boss explained to him one night, chattering into staticky darkness as the traffic cast colorful strobe lights across the distant, dirty wall. That’s why he goes through their footage, sometimes, or asks Shelldon to remind him of the smaller details he’s lost. He doesn’t hold onto it. Not all of it.

Not like Shelldon does.

He was made to compile, after all, made to learn. Every second of footage, once processed, is stored in files upon files of nigh indistinguishable data.

There, the jerk and swirl of neon lights, and distant police sirens nearly drowned out by the thrilled quaver of his boss’s voice. Green scales, hard shells, movements that grow sharper, quicker, the longer he talks. A vague sense of threat, the impulse to warn him warring against the delight at hearing him so excited, words stumbling over each other in their eagerness to be heard. Suddenly, bright red, the smack like falling onto concrete, expulsion of breath, ground sliding forward, voice cut off.

There, the shaky view of a smoky sunset, scattered flames seeming to light up the clouds behind them as his boss half-scurries, half-falls down a fire escape. A flash of blue streamers against the gathering dark, and suddenly the recording blurs, speeding past the frame rate into meaningless color before the sharp thud and skid, goggles sliding away across the concrete so he can see, for a moment, his boss’s crumpled form across the alley. Fear. Then his boss scrambles over, grabs the goggles, runs.

There, the shadows thrown by a long-broken window across the floor, bits of light catching tears and a defiant stance. Orange near glowing in the half-light, teeth gleaming as he yells. Last night, his boss stayed up whispering about this plan, just loudly enough for Shelldon’s audio processors to pick up. Now they’re here. Argument, explosion. The other one presses the call button, and video from the next split second is all but obliterated by the sudden glare. The next sound is a strangled, shaky breath. Then a sob.

Every moment Shelldon experiences enters storage, even as he processes it, and each moment of past footage is just as reliable as the new data constantly streaming in. The end result is that time does not move through Shelldon so much as it gathers, memory upon memory in the files. In his storage, his processors, it’s all always happening at once. It’s all him.

Now, as raindrops slide across the camera lens and dip the world into a blurry unreality, as he prompts his boss again and again, voice rising slightly in pitch with each repetition – now, he is the same thing woken up with a gentle whir.

It is raining.

It is raining. He has only just begun to exist.

“Did you fall?”

Video input starts out primarily purple, out of focus. A shake of the camera, pulling it back, and he registers eyes, mouth spread in what he will soon recognize as an incredulous smile. A hoarse, staggering sound, it takes a moment to process it as laughter.

“C’mon boss, you gotta get up, your internal temperature –”

Deafening rustle of fabric as the video blurs and the microphones are pressed against his creator’s shirt. Another laugh, more of the all-obliterating roar of fabric rubbing against the microphone, and then he stills.

“It’s too cold out, you could – there’s a chance of hypothermia. You gotta get somewhere warm, c’mon, hey –”

In that stillness, he hears a heartbeat.

“Please, please just get up, please – I don’t want to lose you, we can… we can figure something out – c’mon, boss, please –”

This is the first and only person he has known.

“Boss… please…”

He loves him, instantly.

“Please… please…”

Happy birthday.