FUTUROLOGY IC INBOX

[headlining]

 

username: UNKNOWNREALMS

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[ DELIVERY ] DECEMBER 25th

[naturallywavy]

_{[ By the door or entrance or whatever of your residence, place of location, there is a brown bag with a note attached, written in Japanese (hopefully you can read Japanese): ]}

All you deserve for Christmas.
Happy ****ing Christmas.

— Sakata Clause.

_{[ inside there is shit. Literal shit. If you want to return it, fine, but he isn't living in an inn anymore. You'll have to find him in the woods. ]}

[headlining]

[what in the name of all that is good and christmas is this]

[Keats opens the bag, only to grimace as he sees what's inside. Well, that's certainly a gift. He scowls at the note.]

Very funny.

[He's not going to go on a goose chase to return the thing, so he'll just find the nearest trash receptacle and throw it out. Merry Christmas to him, indeed.]

package | delivered on december 27 because please forgive orz

[winces]

[ on the morning of the 27th, keats will find a bag with his name on it waiting for him. inside he'll find a small wooden ball (so small it can easily fit into a hand) with a metal key sticking out of it. painstakingly carved into its side is keats's name in a neat script, matching the note that comes with it: ]

Dearest Dear To: Mr. Keats,

I know I'm probably the last person you want to hear from right now, and I understand completely!
I hope you'll still accept this gift, though... Someone told me that Christmas was about appreciating those that are precious to you.
And when I heard this melody, I couldn't help but think of you.

Yours Sincerely,
Olivia

P.S. Give the metal key a turn!

[ if he turns the key, a gentle melody will start playing. or, you know. something like it. shakes fist at fourthwalling. ]

text

[moneyballer]

so man

btwn u n me...

who r the hottest chicks in this place

lmao

[And who, out of all of them, has the most questionable taste?]

text

[headlining]

[god]

Really? REALLY?

And I couldn't even tell you. There are a couple, but what do you want to do with them, try to make them uncomfortable through your asinine flirting?

txt ( m.upshur ).

[upshur]

This town ain't big enough for the b

lmao fuck that nevermind

I heard you're a journalist, too. Sweet deal, now get your ass in gear.

[headlining]

Well, if you're looking for a fair fight, I wouldn't be opposed to one, really, though using that sort of line is cheesy to say the least.

And my reputation precedes me. What am I exactly getting my behind in gear for?

12/25 | package

[winces]

[ in the morning, keats will find a small package waiting for him just outside his quarters. inside, he'll find a white, pouch, holding an assortment of individually-wrapped cookies, both of which were clearly handmade. beneath the pouch is the familiar alastair symbol in its traditional purple.

along with the package comes a simple card that reads:

To: Keats
From: Olivia

Happy Holidays! ]

2/10 [txt | un: METTATON]

[ex_mettacrusher33]

Keeeeeeeeeeeats-darliiiiiiiiiiiing

How do you feel about writing an article? Oh, never you worry! I already did all the legwork (you're welcome). But what would a good reporter be without an editor?

I'm at the Woodhurst Watch HQ. Head Editor's office. Let me know when you're on the way.

(No, really. There's an infected woman roaming the halls. Having you eaten is not one of my goals.)

[headlining]

Do you really have to type that all out? Goodness.

I am intrigued by that, yes! Can't say I wouldn't turn that opportunity down. I'll be over when I can.

An infected? No problem. Believe me, Mettaton, I have a few tricks up my sleeves. Don't need to worry about me.

text; 11/15, sent at 1 AM

[moneyballer]

what happens 2 ur penis when u die

oh my god

[headlining]

What could have ever prompted you to even think and ask this question like WHY

[text | user: METTATON]

[ex_mettacrusher33]

Happy birthday, honeysuckle! It's hard to believe everyone in Ireland was born on the same day. Isn't the world something, folks??

[headlining]

[S M H]

And here I thought my opinion on your low IQ couldn't get any worse. Guess I was wrong!

Besides, my birthday is not for many months.

[ex_mettacrusher33]

[headlining]

[He needs to wash his hands like ten times to get the (mental) glitter out. THANKS METTATON.]

[He does, however, send him a text back:]

Yes, sure.

[txt; 4/13]

[ex_mettacrusher33]

[After going over his notes from the sleepover (and maybe drawing connections from past events to current events and offhand comments to comments Keats made in his sleep, all in red pen as if he were an FBI investigator or a very thorough serial killer), Mettaton's found something. Strange. About their conversation.

Hey. He's curious. Sue him.]

Hi, yes, Met Atton, from MTT News? I have a question I'd like to ask Mr. Keats.

[headlining]

[He answers instantly.]

Keats here from the Editorial Department at Unknown Realms. What would Mr. Met Atton like to know from this humble reporter?

[delivery, 4/16]

[ex_mettacrusher33]

[Slid under Keats' hotel door is a letter in familiar, flowing handwriting. It doesn't give a name, a date, or anything aside from the words folded inside:]

Meet me in my room.

[headlining]

[He was just about to contact him to get his glasses back, and yet here's a note. Huh. What was this about? He doesn't know whether it's a good or bad thing, but...eh. He'll come in. It's Mettaton, after all.]

[He makes his way over to Mettaton's room, knocking on the door. He's notably glasses-less. Makes one wonder how he got all the way here if he has bad eyesight...]

You called?

[txt]

[ex_mettacrusher33]

[After this dumpster fire of a conversation.]

What did you tell Asher.

[txt]

[headlining]

[oh my god ASHER]

He knew I was involved in a relationship but he was being too nosy and wanted to know who it was. I just wanted him to stop, so I just told him that we were together. Why?

Did he say something to you?

[delivery, 4/24] (just one more thing, shut the hell your mouth)

[ex_mettacrusher33]

[Outside of Keats' hotel room is a small, beautifully made lavender and earl gray opera cake. With it is a note, tucked just beneath the plate.

While everyone else received thank-you cards for coming to Mettaton's party, Keats' note reads as follows:

Thanks for being slightly less of a stick in the mud than usual.

<3

For as much effort as he put into this cake, it's... actually fairly good. The texture isn't perfect, but the flavors are there. It would go nice with tea.]

text

[headlining]

[What a nice surprise. Keats honestly just spends a good minute looking at the thing before getting himself a fork to take a bite of it.]

[It actually tastes as good as it looks. It's not the best cake in the world, but its nice all the same.]

[Eventually, Mettaton will receive a text.]

I do my best.

Thanks for the cake. It was lovely.

[action, 5/1, literally in the middle of all this fighting]

[ex_mettacrusher33]

[Oska is literally a war-zone.

There are screams. There's fire. Audentes went from the peaceful world of Terra Felis and straight into a mechanical hell from which there is seemingly no waking.

So doesn't that make it all the more dramatic to see yet another robot, no matter how friendly, rush into your face? The shock of that only gets to last for a moment before there's a familiar puff of smoke and a new shock gets to take over. The robotic Mettaton is gone, replaced with that human-looking man from Woodhurst - tears streaking down his cheeks and legs shaking from the sudden awareness of gravity. He reaches for Keats' face to pull him in and smother him with desperate kisses.

Yes, there is such a thing as "right time and place." For the record: no. No, Mettaton doesn't care.]

[headlining]

[Honestly, Keats is rather used to such chaos. It reminds him of the sounds of war of that chaotic realm of the Netherworld, Warcardia, what with its numerous fires and battles and acts of violence. It's a lot to take in, at first. But Keats is made for battle, as much as he doesn't like to admit that to himself, and he's ready to go.]

[Except there's a robot in front of him. A robot that is not one of his enemies.]

[It is a robot who is currently his boyfriend.]

[His boyfriend, who is now drowning him in kisses without even a chance to really have his mind figure out what in the world is going on.]

Hey, hey - [He begins, trying to get a word in between kisses, as his cheeks start burning red. Mettaton is...kissing him? A lot? And he's enjoying it? He looks like his human self from Woodhurst? He tries to get a hold of himself, tries to pull away just a bit to speak out:]

What's...you look...you're kissing...you look different?

[His voice kind of cracks on that last word. This is not what he expected going into Oska whatsoever. Not that he's necessarily complaining, though.]

i kno ur not back yet stfu

[ex_mettacrusher33]

[This week has been hell. He can't lie. Everyone he's spoken to has taken the truth and poured it back over his head like pig's blood, ignoring why it was even there in the first place. He can't sleep. He's lonely. It's getting harder and harder to keep up a smile when you're too miserable to even leave your own cell.]

I miss you.

[How sappy. Someone please just dismantle him here and now.]

guess who's back (back again)

[headlining]

[This whole thing IS miserable. Keats is impatient, restless - look, he might be an hermit when it comes to his own apartment back home, but he needs to move! He needs to see things! He needs to makeout with that infuriating pile of metal he calls a boyfriend! And he can't do it. Because he's in prison.]

[Prison is the worst thing. He could take on a few Folklores single-handedly any day instead of being here.]

[...But hey, at least the message makes him perk up, slightly, though it just reminds him that Mettaton isn't exactly nearby.]

Miss you too. How are you holding up?

[ex_mettacrusher33]

[Keats' sleep schedule is always ridiculous, so finally coming back to Oska where there is regular food, lack of danger, and a bed should only increase what is already known as the blighted crapshoot of "when is Keats going to wake up?".

As such, after the first night back, Mettaton predictably wakes up before him. In his wake, left on his pillow, is a handwritten note and a small box. The note reads:]

I'm sorry for the past month.
I know I wasn't the greatest person to deal with. Everything felt like it was falling apart and there were times where I just wanted to shut everything off and spend the rest of my life on autopilot.
In a way, I still did. At least for the mission. Haha...
I wouldn't have blamed you if you got tired and left at any point in all of that. A part of me wanted you to, just to save you from. me, I guess. You're not really known for your patience and I was... not very fun. The way I was acting...
That couldn't have been the person you fell in love with.

So I'm sorry. You know I can barely bring myself to apologize for anything, so I mean it. I'm sorry for what I put you through.

I love you. Thank you for not giving up on me.

[Inside the box is a ring engraved with two hands holding a crowned heart.]

[headlining]

[Sleep. Sleep is good. He's glad for sleep. He's glad to have a bed, instead of trying to nap on the floor of some far-off space prison. He's especially glad to share a bed again with probably the only person among the Audentes he trusts entirely.]

[And that person isn't there when he shifts his arm over for an impromptu, sleepy embrace.]

[He opens his eyes when he feels his hand touch something on the pillow that clearly isn't Mettaton. He feels over it, mumbling something under his breath as he realizes it's a box, and pushes himself up to rub his eyes and take a better look at what he's found. A box and a note. He reads the note first, letting out a slight sigh, before he opens the box, and...]

[Ah.]

[He's actually surprised. He knows exactly what it is, he's even read up on the legends of it. A claddagh ring.]

Oh, it's beautiful.

[Mettaton isn't here to see his reaction, which makes him feel slightly annoyed, but then again...he's almost glad he isn't here because he feels like something is pressing against the back of his throat. He's choked up, clutching his mouth as he shakes his head. He can't believe it. This kind of ring, of all things. Mettaton could've gotten any kind of ring, and yet...]

[He puts it on. Of course he has to, and it fits very well. He admires it in the low light and somehow feels like he's the luckiest man in the world.]

[He's never felt so loved.]

[It takes him a moment to collect himself, make sure his eyes are mostly dry, before he reaches for his torc on the bedstand, bringing up Mettaton's number.]

Hey. Went off somewhere?

this entire inbox is just the ups and downs of keats' horrible bf

[ex_mettacrusher33]

[Were you sleeping, Keats? That makes sense; it's 4am. Were you hoping to enjoy the night? The warm bed? Not having a pillow violently thrown at your shoulder by an angrily tearful android standing at the foot of the bed?

That's a shame.]

Oh! You're awake!! [This isn't a good tone. This is a bad tone, forcefully cheerful as it sounds. Lord, he hasn't used this tone with Keats since before they decided it wouldn't kill them to date each other.] Wonderful! For a minute there, I was afraid you wouldn't be there when I NEEDED YOU.

the life and times of dating an overdramatic robot

[headlining]

W-wha-?

[Keats awakes with a snort at the pillow to his shoulder, blinking blearily as he tries to make out the shape at the end of the bed. His vision clears slowly - and really, who else would it be, if not for his boyfriend?]

Mettaton? [He's already cringing - he can tell by the tone that he's in big trouble Big, BIG trouble. He pushes himself up on his elbows.]

What...what happened? [God, what time is it? He's wiping his eyes. His brain is still taking a bit to catch up.] What's going on?

sometime in the middle of the return to Oska

[ex_mettacrusher33]

[It's scary how time flies, isn't it? You'd think for someone who's been around as long as Mettaton, he'd be used to it by now, but... here we are. Being taken aback by how... fast everything seems to have been.

Amazing to think it's already been six months.

On this particular morning, like so many mornings in Oska, Mettaton wakes up before his sleep-schedule-less boyfriend. Unlike those many mornings, however, he does not wait for Keats to wake up. He doesn't get up and leave only a note in his wake. He rolls into the other, leaves a kiss on his cheek, and slips out of the bed, then out of the room.

When the ungrateful hack wakes up, it'll be to a lovingly prepared breakfast at his bedside (hotcakes and sausage and fried potatoes and fruit), and his boyfriend curled up again, resting his eyes, at his back.

...okay, so he might have fallen back asleep. Sue him.]

[headlining]

[Something smells good.]

[Keats wrinkles his nose. It smells really good. He murmurs, twisting his head around, trying to locate the source of the smell, before he finally gives in and blearily opens his eyes.]

[It's...food?]

Hm? [Now he's a bit more awake. It's an entire collection of freshly-prepared breakfast, and it seems almost like it just appeared, magically, out of thin air. Keats blinks, wondering if he's hallucinating the whole thing.]

[A sudden black blur leaps up on the table side, aiming right for that plate with the sausages. Keats' eyes widen in sudden shock.]

Hey! Hey, that's not yours! [He swats at the cat, who jumps off the table, a single sausage link clenched in its teeth. Keats, groaning, pushes himself up on his elbows, more or less coming to. Breakfast...and it's for him?]

[He turns over to his sleeping boyfriend, gently shaking him by the shoulder.]

Mettaton. Did you...did you make this?