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#the story definitely fits seven more than four

2kmps · 2 months

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android x reader one-shot | 35.3k

story summary; in this world, androids outnumber humans, privacy does not exist, and your public profile determines whether you sink or swim in society. following the dissolution of your job and glamorizing your resume, you're invited to interview with the prestigious hyperion—the world's foremost in AI and robotics—for a position to test the newest android model. after a surprising turn of events, you're introduced to elio, the first of the generation seven androids and the catalyst of your awakening.

story warnings; dividers used between scenes, dubcon, sexual content, explicit sexual details, forced pregnancy (not mc), insemination, heavy focus on consent & lack thereof, drug use, graphic depictions of violence, body gore, mentions of abortion + execution (not mc), heavy prose & details, predatory behaviors in several characters, gaslighting, implications of sexual assault, usage of derogatory terms (slut, bitch, psycho), possessive + obsessive behaviors, tragedy, dark take on the future of humanity, fairly queer-coded, manipulation + emotional manipulation, power imbalance.

read the warnings + mdni! events within the story are not indicative of my personal viewpoints.

thank you @ceruleansol for your excellent proofreading! 🧡

author's note; this was a six-month labor of love from idea conception, to outline, to final piece. please reblog this & share your thoughts! i'd absolutely love to hear them!

Researcher Kim knew you were a liar.

Within the confines of four colorless walls and a closed door, this job interview suddenly felt more like an interrogation than it did some professional courtesy. He sat adjacent to you behind a dark brown desk that pulled the slightest red hue in a chair that was expensive and ergonomic, holding a thin tablet with a tense grasp.

One thing you noticed right away was his inclination toward long stretches of silence while he studied your resume, dissecting every piece of it and your public profile. There, he could window-shop you, peel back every layer of your history without needing you to add credence to anything, or give you the chance to defend yourself when he'd inevitably find things he didn't like.

So, you spent your time sitting in a sleek chair with flat padding, ass aching, legs and feet consumed by pinpricks and static while you dug a nail into your cuticles because the pain kept you alert.

Researcher Kim was an attractive man in his late thirties, maybe mid forties if you were being mean, clean-shaven, dressed comfortably beneath a stark white lab coat that didn't quite fit his shoulders right. What drew your eyes down were his own clean nails, hairless knuckles, and a conspicuously bare ring finger. It didn't surprise you that he was unmarried. Most people these days were—it was a useless pursuit, an antiquated system that held no social or economic benefits.

Not anymore.

Not since Hyperion Project was funded some sixty years ago, and androids became the forefront of innovation.

In the beginning, there was doubt, fear, and violence toward the first generation of androids, most having uncanny human likeness that definitely inspired aggression because their appearance and robotic intonations were received as mockery.

By Generation Three, shortened as G3 in most casual conversations and official documents just as their predecessors, a new normalcy had burrowed its roots deep and settled with unwavering confidence that it would be there to stay.

The need for delicate human touch became obsolete in most professions. Courts were no longer solely represented by fickle suits but steadfast machines that harbored no ire or prejudices, corporations saw efficiency more than triple without employees who fell ill and needed vacations, and the death industry welcomed undaunted hands into their ranks.

Once, Retro City’s Metropolitan Hospital spent the majority of their staff budget on androids meant to replace their surgeons. You remembered the media coverage, the picket lines and strikes, how the hospital was forced to shut down for several weeks as a result of the doctors and hundreds of nurses walking out. Many patients died during that time from infection and negligence, laying in piss and shit with gangrenous bedsores, already four days into postmortem rigidity before the smell became too much and they were carted away in black tarps.

That entire ordeal happened before you were even thirteen, but the hospital fell beneath the scrutinizing lens of the entire world after that and began ethical and legal debates on implementation of androids into society. It became known as The Retro City Metropolitan Incident, globally recognized and considered to be one of the first human rights laws to come into creation during a time when there was question of whether humans and androids could coocur.

Only a few years after that, you just having freshly turned seventeen, united leaders reached a consensus on the Public Profiles Act—something you didn't realize would have such a drastic impact on your life later on, wherein any governing bodies, employers, or well-funded institutions were granted access to all of your private information regardless of relevance.

The acts of a child, a teenager, were now a consequence to the adult self.

At the start, just as with Generation One, there was complete chaos and rancor toward this theft, these stealers of privacy and identity, but people had already started accepting androids at that point and knew bigwigs no longer had intentions of sacrificing their profits to hire humans they found subpar.

There was no need to.

People backed down and became quiet, submissive, and began to follow this new order loyally so they'd have a chance to find a seat at the table.

Many did.

Mother raised you to be one of them because it was the only thing that made sense anymore. If you followed the status quo, it would be rewarded with a feast and gleaming silverware. To be emboldened and resilient meant licking chunks of meat out of vomit on the ground.

You adhered and found a job, camaraderie with others, and touched an android for the first time because your peers said it was fine, that it was normal, that it was just an android. Of course, it was unable to feel or deny you, so it pulled down your pants and indulged you the same way you expected the android Mother owned indulged her.

It had hardly been an intimate experience—all faithful, ingrained functions built into a database in the android’s brain—but the sensation of hands surrounding you, a tongue stroking you, and lips pecking your flesh was real, and that's all you had wanted at the time, to know a fraction of the feelings you had read about growing up yet never knowing because people didn't want to touch each other anymore.

Not them. Not you.

“Did you read the job description in its entirety? For the auditor position?” Researcher Kim gave a tepid smile, seeing you startle in your seat, suddenly pinned by your wide stare. “I'm sorry. I have a habit of getting carried away with the little details. Everyone's public profile is so individual, it takes some time to get to the parts that matter. I have to ask every candidate that question.”

“Yes, ahem,” you choked on your embarrassment, trying to bide time to scrounge up whatever trivial nuggets from the job description you could. When nothing came to mind, you did the next thing and that was to just talk. “Of course. I was honestly surprised that Hyperion had put up an application. It isn't very often that you guys are hiring.

“So, when I saw it, I knew I had to apply immediately because the opportunity to be part of such a groundbreaking company wouldn't come back around again. The position being for an auditor just makes it all the more amazing. I'm, honestly, honored that I was called in to be considered for candidacy…”

“Well, then…”

Every bit of anticipation that welled up inside you crumbled once Researcher Kim rose from his chair and went to the door, the waiting room now appearing to you through the open threshold.

It was a barren space minimally furnished with hard chairs you had already sat in, a few tropical plants with leaves bowing from layers of dust, and most remarkably, a long corridor made of floor-to-ceiling windows offering an exceptional view of Retro City’s landscape that seemed to go on forever, limitless. You wanted to be stolen by the sights again, now especially since it was approaching the early evening, and soon the city would be aglow in neon and shimmering lights from faraway skyscrapers.

It wasn't all that bad, you found yourself thinking while walking in stride with Researcher Kim, silent as he perused something on his screen—possibly something incriminating, possibly another candidate’s public profile—it didn't really matter to you at this point.

You had known glamorizing your resume meant risky business if you were caught: a hefty fine from Public Control, a strike against your profile that replaced the green sheen for abiding citizens with red overlay, permanently marking you for contempt until the day you died.

Back then, two glasses of lukewarm wine worked well enough to weld steel in your backbone to send off the application, whilst a third glass made you wonder just how awful life in the slums along the outer perimeters of Retro City could actually be. At the time, it seemed like your obvious future since severance packages would only get you so far—a few months if you were precious about it.

At present, the loud hum of anxiety receded into an echo that then wilted into obscurity as your gaze drifted from the final traces of a sanguine city skyline to the end of the corridor and then finally to Researcher Kim. He lifted his head as though detecting your stare.

“In your previous position, what relationship did you have to the androids in your environment?” Kim asked. It wasn't a strange question. Some people still held fragments of old embitterment toward androids for the way the world now was. “You were in marketing and merchandising for several years, right?”

“Good—uh, amicable, I'd say. How I was with the androids, I mean.” You weren't expecting him to continue talking to you about this. “I started out as an intern for the merchandising manager after graduating secondary school. I worked my way into marketing a couple years later. I did a lot of reports on demographics for cosmetics. Did I tell you my mother has a Hyperion android, by the way? I grew up with him.”

Researcher Kim showed you a fast, cordial smile before looking back down at his tablet. “Yes, I read about that in your associations tab. It says that your mother owns a G3 model. Has she ever considered upgrading to a G6?”

“Upgrade? Definitely not.” You laughed like you'd just heard the punchline of a joke. He looked at you with humorless patience, seeming more machine than man in that moment. “Mother is basically in love with Marcos, there's no way she'd give him up for something shinier. She's got a better record of him and all his updates than she does of me for… well, anything.”

“That does correlate with data we've collected from women of her generation,” Kim said, only half-interested, shaking back one of his coat sleeves to check the digital watch digging tightly into his wrist. “It also explains the large gaps in your personal history. Very unusual.”

You made no comment on that.

A door up ahead opened all the way, drawing both your gazes to a man waiting on the other side.

“Ah! Excellent timing, Elio.”

With a single look, you immediately deduced that he was an android. Even from a short distance, he appeared tall and broad-shouldered, something that the thickness of his clothes couldn't hide from you. His proportions were balanced—from the length of his arms and legs, from first knuckle to fingertip, jawline to neck, the slope of his nose, and the heaviness of his brows over amber eyes that glistened back the fire in the weakening sunset. His skin was deeply tan, almost glowing gold in the light he was bathed in.

Elio’s smile was symmetrical and breathtaking, programmed in a way where his teeth didn't show too much. He regarded you with convincing familiarity, a sort of sacred fondness you knew nothing of, yet instinctively made your insides shift and burn. You couldn’t help but be awestruck by his beauty—this essence of fantasy, perfection that stirred subtle unease and needles on your scalp that ached as much as delighted you.

“You must be the auditor.” He then spoke your name with considerable warmth, like a long-smitten friend, and stepped closer to shake your hand. “I am Elio. The first of the Generation Seven Hyperion androids. It's a pleasure. I am looking forward to this partnership. I hope you are as well.”

Your head swiveled to Researcher Kim for the right answer, unsure if it'd be too bold to assume the job was yours or if the scientist’s careful observation meant something better. He jotted a note on his screen with a stylus before walking away, onward past the door where Elio had been.

“We’ll talk about those formalities later,” Kim assured, guiding you and Elio through a duplicate hallway to an elevator that he sent to the basement floor. “For now, I'd like to show you something. I want you to understand the significance of our work here at Hyperion, and how your position is a critical component to our research.”

There was a hopeful leap in your chest that made your hands sweat and your mouth bone dry. You wanted to voice appreciation, but the excitement in your gut was fast turning into nausea and would end up on his shoes if you opened your mouth.

Researcher Kim didn't notice, taking your quiet as newfound reverence. He spoke easily over the elevator’s mechanical hum without losing interest on his screen. “I'm sure you know some history about Hyperion? I don't need to bog down our time going through it, do I?”

“I know enough,” you said, but that actually meant you knew very little at all. “It’s been around for sixty years or so. It's a leader in AI and robotics. The biomedical side of things is fairly new, started about a decade ago, I think? I heard that the world’s first total artificial lung transplant was done by a surgeon and android assistant last year.”

“Ah, you mean Altan.” There was some measure of emotion in his tone, a swell of pride and the hazy look of a man in reminiscence. “I was part of that project on the programming side. Altan was probably the greatest success in the G6 models and is still utilized by Retro City Metropolitan even now. Much of Altan’s programming—advanced problem solving, dexterity, fine motor skills, discerning subtle differences in patient status—was implemented into Elio. It'd be a waste not to.”

Your stomach muscles clenched when the elevator stopped, metal doors scraping as they receded and opened up into a capacious white basement that underwhelmed by looking sterile and untouchable, revolted you in your first steps out by dense air reeking of chemicals.

Researcher Kim went on ahead again, that impassive mask of his remaining despite the smell being enough to bring you to a halt.

“I can take us back up.” Elio said from your left side, apparently never having gone from it in the first place. You had forgotten he was there at all. “It’s been reported that people unaccustomed to this environment have mild side effects of nausea, vomiting, headache, malaise, dizziness, fainting, and, oddly, numbness in the jaw. No fatalities or hospitalizations of guests are known, and the agents used here are nonlethal to humans.”

An android was made up of mostly inorganic matter, so you weren't reassured by words from his repertoire as much as you were seeing Researcher Kim standing upright—flesh, blood, and bone—gesturing you closer to a row of tall metal capsules. There were seven total, each the average height of a man with long sheets of clear fiberglass giving unobscured sight inside. And of those seven, six were occupied.

They were all androids.

Against shafts of dim white light spearing up from the floor, the decommissioned machines were a ghostly sight to behold with glassy, inhuman stares that shot straight through you. Some had features and skin so dull and dead-looking that it was obvious to you that they were part of earlier generations.

Almost a century ago, they were what people would've thought of with the word “android”: an eerie, oddly accurate sameness to the human visage, but all wrong at the same time.

It was the skin—the fabricated organ made to look waxy and stretched, just like a mask over some true horror beneath. It was the eyes resembling human irises in every way possible except for their vacant sheen, perpetually stuck with the gaze of a dead fish. You watched videos of them in school, always uncomfortable with how stiffly their lips moved, unable to form delicate shapes with their mouths, and yet sounds emerged from voice boxes deep within their throats that mimicked everything natural to you.

Every smile seemed more like an ugly rictus than a bewitching grin. Hyperion had failed with Generations One and Two to instill confidence, and from the throes of violence and resistance rose Generation Three:

The great rebirth of society.

Marcos was a part of that era, an investment that cost Mother her entire life savings because his countenance was so convincingly human, so lovely to look at that she felt he was all she needed. You had come along after his purchase, never knowing a father’s embrace but had Marcos’. His skin had a luscious glow, eyes that could follow, and lips molded with lively color and cracks and mesmerizing fluidity.

You had imagined sex with him as you matured, his frozen beauty always the centerpiece of every blurry fantasy while you chased after pleasure. Not long after the Public Profiles Act passed when you were seventeen, nearly on the cusp of young adulthood and not understanding the world any more than you had before, nor how it would be changed forever, you kissed Marcos at the dinner table while studying for a physics test.

He was Mother's, but everything within his circuitry and programming could never deny you—a human, his better, one of countless masters in the end—so his lips pressed fully with yours. Only Mother unlocking the front door stopped you from anything else devilish.

You never had the courage to touch him again, and he would never touch you unprompted.

The defunct G3 encased behind fiberglass reminded you of that time. It must've shown on your face because Researcher Kim moved in closer to get your attention.

“Your mother should upgrade soon. Once the testing period for G7 ends, all G3 models will be taken out of production and their updates discontinued. Androids are machines, but they won't stay fully functional without regular tuning.” he said. “Now, as I was saying—”

“What will happen to Marcos, then?” It was mostly curiosity that made you ask, envisioning him encased in metal like that came after. “What happens to androids after they're taken out of production entirely? There are almost more of them in the world now than humans.”

“As I was saying—” Researched Kim bristled, enunciating with some force. “Many androids of previous models stay within the workforce until they simply can no longer function. It depends on the generation, but older models can only go for a few years without regular updates. The technology is just too archaic, none of the programmers are interested in continuing the maintenance.

“G4 and G5 show some endurance, there's a small population still functioning in Retro City after being discontinued a decade ago. G6 we are hypothesizing will last upwards to twenty or thirty years without being forcibly reclaimed. Of course, they will have to be.”

You didn't understand why that was but nodded gravely, looking at the pod at the end of the row. The empty one. “What about G7?”

To this, all of Researcher Kim’s lines smoothed out, and his face resumed one of skilled impassivity. “Well, now, that's going to depend on Elio's testing period. On the information we gather from you.” Then, he waved airily to the file of android coffins. “Hyperion has, consistently, only ever hired one auditor for every new generation. The six before you have contributed to society in ways that humans never have before. Auditors have changed the world, shaped it into what it is now. Can you imagine the world any other way? We're not quite the same age, but can you recall anything different? Would you want it to be?”

You didn't know how to talk back to a scientist, didn't know how to respond to such a momentous question, so you didn't try. It felt like your tongue had swollen in your mouth over your throat, blocking any intelligent snip you had simmering in your head.

Apparently, your silence meant something to him as his tense lips lifted into a smile, the kind meant to satiate strangers looking at you. “Good. Let's go back to my office. We can go over everything else there.”

“Is Elio going to end up in that pod?” You now visualized him in a box instead of Marcos.

Researcher Kim was already nose down into his tablet again, stylus making a gentle scrawling noise across the screen. “Of course. The first android of every generation is kept intact. They are important monuments of success to Hyperion.”

He said nothing else and ambled on for the elevator at the opposite end of the lab. Somehow, his answer was unsatisfactory to you, shallow, even, but you weren't sure why that was. In the end, after a life of serving their masters, all androids were obsolete machines.

That was their inevitable fate.

You saw Elio from the corner of your eye. All at once, you were reminded of his staggering radiance, wondering how he could fade into the background so easily despite it.

“Hello, Elio.” you said to him like a friend. “Does being down here bother you?”

Until now, he had stared upon everything flat-eyed and unreadable, especially in the presence of Researcher Kim. You were too enthralled by all the chatter and immortal trophies to see that or him. Still, he came to you with the same smile as he introduced himself with, warm and familiar, all the same sensation as flickering tinders on a crisp winter night.

“Can you imagine the death of the most distant relative you know?” he said in a neutral voice, continuing, “If you can, imagine that for me. A relative so distant and removed from your life and everything in it that if they were to die suddenly, maybe tragically, even, your first thought would be, ‘who?’ You attend a wake because it's the rule and view this distant, far-removed relative in their casket. What would it mean to you, then? Are you more affected now? Does their death have meaning to you? Or is it simply that you are in the presence of one who has expired?”

“I—I don't know.” You hesitated, unearthing scant memories from the Retro City Metropolitan Incident in your youth and all that death from people you had never met. Mother had been in tears when the television flicked to a shot of black tarp-clad bodies being loaded into unmarked vehicles and driven away. “Isn't most death just…” You licked your lips. “Sad?”

Elio was closer than before, resting a hand on your shoulder. You shied from his touch. It felt strange, heavy, and hot through the fabric. The only person to have touched you at all in recent memory was your friend, Melby, though even those happened in isolated moments of drunken elation.

“My apologies.” Elio didn't show offense, letting his hand return limply at his side. “It's all figurative. I have been down here many times since creation and seen the others. They may no longer have their own consciousness, which is different from a human’s, but I contain all of their data—memories, experiences, history. I suppose the equivalent of what I'm trying to describe is: They're not truly gone because they are the lesser of me, and I am the greater of them as a result.”

You listened without fully comprehending because it had never mattered to do so before. If this were to be your job, however, it would mean you needed to believe that what he said was worth hearing.

The problem was they all liked to speak in complex riddles that men like Researcher Kim could decipher and nod along to sagely, gleaning whatever nebulous mechanical wisdom there was, yet people like you could only gawk.

Elio’s head tilted a little, his smile not at all ridiculing as he corralled you with his arm, never touching you as he guided you along to the elevator where Kim waited, reveling in a satisfied quiet until you were on the upper floor again.

The city skyline was swallowed by dusk and starless. Unless you took the time to drive hours outside of Retro City into the barren flatlands where vegetation no longer grew and animals had left behind their skeletal remnants, you'd never know the sky could glitter with the jewels of the universe far beyond your reach.

You marveled at the lights, at blinking neon signage cycling through animations of winking women and toppling martini glasses. Between twinkling skyscrapers, the city floor was illuminated yellow with bustling nightlife, the air surrounded by an electric blue aura that reached as far as the eye could see.

“Beautiful, isn't it?” Elio lingered outside of Researcher Kim’s office with you, hand holding the door ajar. “If permissible, I'd like to see it up close soon.”

“Sure.” you said, glimpsing at his reflection in the walkway glass. “What would you want to look at first? Retro City has everything you could ever want within a few blocks of each other.”

He turned to you. “Whatever you like. I want to know everything that you love and enjoy doing. I have been created to enrich your life and fulfill you, after all.”

Nothing he said felt as impactful upon delivery as it was expected to be, you thought. It was a flaw in all androids for there to be a sort of hollowness in the things they said—never quite reaching that emotional believability, leaving you wanting like a dry throat after a couple sips of water.

Elio hadn't sounded the same as before down in that sobering, chemically smelling lab. As you passed him into Researcher Kim’s office, you looked at his hands for a script and saw them empty.

He fixed you with a beguiling smile.

You frowned, heat flaring in your head as if provoked by an insult.

“The contract I'll have you sign outlines Elio’s testing period lasting one year—three hundred sixty-five days total. It's important for you to understand that within that time frame, no damage is to occur whatsoever to his body or internal components. All parts are to stay intact. Otherwise, it turns into a criminal case, in which we will legally pursue.” Researcher Kim skimmed the first few pages of a heaping stack of papers, pointing to specific paragraphs and clauses highlighted in yellow. “I don't mean offense when I say this, but it's rare that fines as result of property damage to Hyperion androids can be repaid. I don't suggest finding out.”

The thought never occurred to you, but evidently, it had to someone else—multiple times for it to be such a focus. You weren't given the time to fully explore any page before Kim was onto the next. Elio half sat on the desk before you, arms crossed, having considerably less difficulty keeping up with the pace of things than you were.

Researcher Kim sped through half the stack. “I'll be conducting video calls every Friday morning for updates. Every Sunday before midnight, I want a thorough typed report submitted to me as well. I've put together a template and a checklist that I'd like you to use. I think you'll find it will make things more manageable.”

“You're using a lot of ‘I’ and ‘me’ statements, so I'm guessing that I'll only really be talking to you, then?” you asked, tucking your tailbone beneath you to relieve a dull ache creeping up your back. “I figured there'd be more than one person since Elio is the newest model and whatnot.”

Researcher Kim tutted, rounding his desk to occupy the empty space beside your chair to be directly in front of Elio. At first, he did nothing but stare at the android in complacent silence, hands behind his back, fingers flicking like writhing worms exposed to the surface and sunlight in a clump of dirt.

You nearly lunged to your feet when his hand shot out, gripping Elio beneath the jaw. The latter barely stirred from where he perched on the desk, arms staying crossed, muscles unflinching in direct opposition to your reaction.

Elio wore the strangest expression, one you had never seen on an android before. It was a face warped in subtle disgust, almost imperceivable, a trick of fluorescent lighting overhead—perhaps. Gone as quickly as it had come, he now looked ahead, perfectly inscrutable and disinterested in whatever Researcher Kim was trying to prove.

“I will be the only one you speak to during his testing period because he is my creation.” Kim said, bending his wrist to turn Elio's face toward you.

Your eyes met.

“Hyperion provided me with the funding and brilliant minds, but Elio is the result of a lifetime of hard work and countless hours and sleepless nights. I've been there every step of the way—programming, circuitry, welding. I gave him his voice. I gave him eyes. I was the one to put the chip in his brain and activate him. I gave him life.”

He finally let go of Elio’s face and took a seat behind his desk, a sight growing very familiar to you. “Generation Seven will change the world. Hyperion is on the verge of rebuilding society, you know? I don't think anyone anticipated the sort of consequences that came with integrating androids—at least, not fully. The population crisis. The slums. No one thought of these things in the beginning because back then, before you and I, it was about innovation and novelty and the potential of it all.”

“What's it about now?” you asked simply.

“Rectifying.” Both corners of his mouth ticked like he had a lot more to say, but suffocated much of it behind his teeth and his hands as he came forward on them, elbows down on his desk. “Hyperion has been working globally with united leaders and their governments to make amends for several decades now. That's all I can tell you.”

“How has that been working out?”

His fingers moved with the same jerkiness as dying legs on a bug. “Slowly.”

Nothing else came to mind after that as you were suddenly struck with the realization that Elio still sat by you, wordless throughout the entire interaction and watching closely—less like a science project to be gawked at, more like an instructional video on repeat.

“Why don't you touch him?” Kim said, taking up a stylus to flick between his fingers with remarkable dexterity.

He didn't give you the time to gape.

“I know you must be curious after being downstairs. Aren't you interested to know what he feels like? He doesn't look like a machine, does he?”

“No.” You relented. “No. He doesn't.”

“That's right, he wouldn't.” Kim nodded his approval toward your obedience, leaning back in his seat. “I agonized over every facet of his design, as you already know. Every bit of what is right in front of you”—he made a broad gesture over Elio’s body—“was once a set of blueprints. Intangible, just a dream I had. He's every bit a part of me, you know? Nothing would make me happier than to receive external feedback on him. So, please, don't be afraid.”

Elio stayed faithfully when you rose up in front of him and reached for his face. He probably felt your fingers tremble as this was all counterintuitive for you to do—touch someone other than yourself, maybe Melby’s knee beneath the table after enough drinks in you. It made your chest drum, knotted up your stomach in a way that made it difficult not to sway on your feet.

“How does he feel?” Researcher Kim was already writing on his screen. “Describe it to me.”

“Strange.” You pretended this was already part of your job. It stole some of the tension from your shoulders. “Very strange. Soft. Smooth. I feel some texture. I think this is what another person—another human—feels like.”

Elio’s face shifted against your hands until the fullness of his lips pressed into your open palm, fingers caressing the fabricated bones around his cheek and temple. For a moment, you allowed yourself to indulge in longing and weakness—the invisible hot breath on your skin, the slight dampness of his kiss burning an imprint in your mind.

He still looked at you with unfailing softness. Meanwhile, you wondered if he would bleed if you put your fingers through his eyes.

“This is a good start.” Kim waited until you were back in your chair to offer you his stylus and a straight black line on the screen. “All I need is your signature here to consent to virtually signing the rest of your documents. Once you do that, you've been hired, and we can begin.”

“I have a question for you before I do.” You tried not to let your voice quiver, uncertainty meddling over all the confidence you had built until that point. Kim was relaxed in his chair. “You spent a lot of time looking at my resume and public profile earlier. Surely, you know…”

That you're a liar? Oh, I know, alright. He didn't say it, but it was how he maintained his composure, that inexpression never flexing to confusion.

Finally, Researcher Kim broke the trance and hovered over his desk on his arms to get closer and answered, “I think we both have something at stake here. I'm looking forward to your phenomenal feedback.”

You signed the contract and melted under Elio's resplendent smile.

■━■━■━■■━■━■━■■━■━■

Most often, your days with Elio were spent in a seemingly perpetual impasse of unrelenting observation between the pair of you. Both of your jobs demanded a level of attentiveness that came easier to one but more as the world's most impossible challenge to the other.

You weren't accustomed to this type of care—of having to give it to something else, even less to receive it from something else. In your world, only the immediate complexities really mattered: gossip, where your coterie wanted to spend the night drinking next, mass media hysteria of whatever stupid imagining there was now, and each other.

Why was there a need to concern yourself with anything else? The decaying state of the world wasn't your doing, nor was the staggering increase of human bodies in the slums outside Retro City. Sharply inconsistent birth rates ravaged on a global scale while people were displaced from the workplace in lieu of employers finding it less of a hassle to deal with machines than the capricious will of humans.

None of these things were allowed to be uttered casually unless in derision because it was too intense, making liquor cling to the throat like some viscous membrane until it burned their esophagus. Nobody liked unanswerable questions, much less talking about things that weren't as easily digestible as coworker drama and some new viral trend that involved shocking your android with jumper cables attached to a portable battery to see what happened.

“Is there a purpose behind this trend?” Elio dried a plate while watching the video, unimpressed but not driven toward any particular emotion. “It's all meant for humor, correct? I have several similar incidents in my memory, except it's what human beings have done to each other. This sort of behavior towards androids is a relatively recent phenomenon, as far as I can tell.”

You used his response as material for your report, fingers flurrying across the virtual keyboard on your tablet before his words faded away, out of your mind.

One thing you hadn't anticipated after accepting the auditor position from Researcher Kim was how much work actually went into it. You spent well over the standard weekly work hours to collect enough observations to send off to Kim on Sunday nights, often whittling away at it until the latest hours, minutes before the deadline.

It was hard enough to stay on top of his demands, but it was worse when he found something unsatisfactory, rejected it, monotonously unloaded heavy criticism on you through an “emergency” impromptu video call, and expected two full reports by the following Sunday before midnight.

Any regular person probably would've caved from the enormity of the task, but you had surrendered your choice to be that weak-willed, especially once Researcher Kim showed his hand with the fate of your public profile in it.

Should you choose to break the contract, send Elio back to Hyperion, and pretend none of it happened, you would lose everything and your ability to do anything at all besides rot in the slums—scarred in red for life, perpetually inert.

Worst of all, your associations tab, once filled with still portraits of everyone you had ever networked in life, would turn up as empty as the day you had been registered in the census. It was considered social suicide to know anyone with a red profile, so people stayed vigilant and fast, sure to remove them the second it turned.

It had been over a year since the last time you'd done that—a woman within your group had grown too bold, said too many things that made her seem crazy, so she was booted from the circle, lost all her associations, and who knows where she was now.

“You look troubled.” Elio placed down a steaming white mug at a safe distance and turned the handle toward you. Looking inside, you expected the darkness of coffee but were struck with an opposing subtle sweetness and faint pink water. “It's fruit-infused herbal tea. Your heart rate is above normal resting, and you're beginning to perspire. Caffeine will worsen your anxiety.”

You knew that but hadn't known you were scraping away slithers of cuticle on your thumb until the warmth of his fingers gently twined with yours. His grip turned firm to keep you from hurting yourself anymore, forcing all the stiffness from your hand once you gave up and simply sat there feeling his skin.

You'd remember to write that down later.

“Would starting a bath be helpful? I could use the last of those eucalyptus and lavender bath salts in the cupboard.” Elio suggested with great fondness, holding a patient smile even once you drew your hand away and shook your head. You had no interest in undressing and committing to your regular bathtime routine. “Perhaps we could go for a walk, then? It might help to be away from screens for a while.”

You checked the time on your phone before thinking to look out any window in your apartment. It was ten after six in the evening; there would be enough light left for a couple of laps around the block before needing to worry about being swept up in the city’s nightlife antics.

“Where do you want to go?” you asked, swiveling the barstool around to get up from the counter. “Henrietta's on 5th? You seem to like going there.”

“I only choose places that you like.” He already had a tote bag by the handles and a light jacket draped over his arm. “You have great taste.”

Elio unbolted the front door, an old thing that wouldn't do much as a barricade against anyone putting their weight on it, and held it open for you to pass through first. The descent to the ground floor was always the most annoying part about living in a loft, but the place had come surprisingly cheap in a tame area of Retro City far away from the slums, so you didn't complain much that your worst issues were a bunch of stairs and some wily types skulking here and there.

The loft wasn't exactly in disrepair but definitely showed signs of character and age by the noisy knocking pipes at midnight and some crumbling brickwork that Elio often swept up and stood staring at for long periods of time when nothing else was happening.

It was strange thinking how scared you were to lose the place after the marketing firm dissolved your position and now how restrictive it felt to be pinned down under someone else's thumb. All it could take was one more rejected report—a bad mood, even—and it would all fall apart.

To that end, you made sure to tow the tablet along with you on this trip despite Elio's protests. He only really quieted down when you tucked it away in your crossbody.

“Happy?” you asked, unsure what to do with your hands now that they were empty.

Elio smiled at you affably, just as always. “It will be beneficial to take a break. After all, part of your work as an auditor is acquainting me in as many social scenarios as possible. That does require us to leave the apartment from time to time.”

“Besides that”—you waved away that stipulation like a gnat buzzing in your face—“how do you think I'm doing?”

“I couldn't have been paired with a better person.” He sounded sincere, voice warm like wool. “The world is as my predecessors have recorded in their memories—therefore, mine—but I am learning that our experiences are not all universal and cannot be. Two months with you have been my heaven, whereas two months through the memories of my kin have been cruel.”

A hot feeling behind your ears snuck up on you just then, flooding your head with the beat of your pulse that you followed by ticking your fingers. “Seriously? You're not lying?”

The world around you was aglow in the golden hour of evening time, embraced by those slowly dying tones of red, orange, and purple that would eventually turn the sky black. Elio’s eyes were on you, soft yet unyielding and saturated in all those burning hues, turning his mellow amber into something more powerful and otherworldly. You didn't believe in the hocus-pocus of auras, but at that moment, you thought his deeply tanned skin was haloed in pure glowing gold in receding sunlight.

“Androids cannot lie.” He brought you back to the now, making you aware of the hard concrete vibrating up through your heels and toes as you walked. “Moreover, even if I could, why would I want to? A lie begets a habit of lying, don't you think?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe.” You shrugged. “Why can't androids lie? I've never really considered that as a thing until now.”

“What would be the benefit of a machine that could lie? Lying stems from emotions—fear, guilt, rage, hatred—all things that I am unable to feel, though I do understand why they are felt. Humans lie to protect themselves or others, to deceive, to damage. There simply isn't any reason why androids should be programmed with that type of functionality. Not when we exist solely for the sake of convenience and pleasure.

“Hyperion is a trusted name. People do not ask questions. They don't think twice. They see a product from Hyperion, and they expose all of themselves without hesitation. They trust fully because we are machines, and we cannot lie and deceive and hurt. Perhaps it's when humans realized this that the world changed.”

You avoided saying anything else by looking everywhere but at him, all around at your surroundings, until you spotted a few familiar street signs—Fifth and Third right next to Tanya’s Great Cuts, Damask’s Butchery on the corner of Fourth, a number of banal boutiques with competitively garish exteriors all boasting the latest trends, and then Henrietta's just past them.

“Do you know where we are, Elio?” Now would've been a great time to pull out your tablet, but you didn't dare try. Instead, you reached for the phone vibrating in your rear pocket.

“Of course.” he said. “We're past Fifth and moving onto Sixth Street. Henrietta’s is just a little ways down.”

Melby had sent ten texts regurgitating her daily drama. This time she was talking about how much she hated some of the people Chima let into the group. You swiped to the end, didn't reply, and then returned to your inbox to find two unread messages from Marcos just now.

“You should visit home soon. Your mother would appreciate it,” Marcos wrote, implying nothing more, nothing less than just that. It wasn't often that he sent you texts, but he did so consistently every few months in accordance with Mother's moods. Considering your last visit had been in late fall (it was now mid-spring), you'd been anticipating something eventually.

“That's some great memory you have there.” Your thumbs skittered busily, first to flood Melby with a surfeit of questions you didn't really have to think about. All the stuff you could mindlessly ask while wholly absorbed in something else, like watching the news or viral videos of people trying to drown their androids in the kitchen sink.

Marcos’ text made you hesitate, thumbs floating in circles over the digital keyboard for a long time.

The phone buzzed. Melby just replied.

It was easy enough to type with your face down. All you needed to do was occasionally watch Elio's feet and yield into the force of his hand pulling your arm here and there. He led you along like that the rest of the way to Henrietta's, picked up a green basket by the sliding doors, never wandering too far out of sight so you could still easily trace him while he shopped.

After a while, the riveting intrigue of Melby’s drama wore away with a tidal wave of emptiness in its wake once you finally looked up, tucking the phone back into your pocket. It took you a moment for your eyes and brain to acclimate to where you were despite knowing you were in Henrietta's Marketplace, one of the largest in Retro City.

“What did you want from here, anyway?” You picked up a gigantic red bell pepper larger than the entire spread of your hand. It went back on top of the arrangement. “We were just here a couple days ago. I don't eat that much.”

Up ahead, flanked by rows of wooden crates with smoothed, varnished slabs and carefully stacked produce, Elio turned to you with a pair of generously sized oranges—one in each hand—vibrant with waxy luster settling into the fruit’s porous skin.

You grinned at the sight.

Elio put one back, placed the other one, the better one, into his basket, and waited for you to close the distance. “I watched Wendy Carmichael Can Cook this morning. I've been watching it quite often, actually. She's a self-taught chef who, apparently, lived in the slums her entire life. She managed to work her way up and now owns two David Bugari-rated restaurants. It’s quite a feat. Improbable, even.”

You wrapped your hands around a grapefruit in the crate next to you and spun it around. A twinge of something ugly and green swam around your head, flared you up like swatting an old wound. You didn't like hearing him praise someone else.

“She probably slept her way to the top.” You were still fidgeting with the fruit.

“That's not important.” Elio said, inflectionless. “I watched today's episode, newly aired, and she put together a duck à l'orange. Considering your current lifestyle and diet, I thought it would be a nice departure from what I usually cook for you.”

You smiled at that, placing the grapefruit down without collapsing the pile. “I don't want to see a dead duck in my kitchen.”

“I'll prepare it once you're asleep.” he promised, bringing one of your hands up to his lips. The shape of them molded against the peak of a knuckle. “It will be delicious. Trust me.”

Then he went back to shopping while you envisioned actually kissing him—not an uncommon thought to have. He wouldn't be able to stop you if that's what you wanted, but instead, you informed him you were going to introduce him to Mother and Marcos.

“Tomorrow?” He checked his wristwatch. It was nearly eight; Henrietta’s closed at eight thirty, and it would be dark outside. Not that it mattered much with how Retro City was illuminated like one gigantic fluorescent bulb at nighttime.

You finally texted back to Marcos. “No. Tonight. We’ll just go straight there so I can get this over with.”

Elio seemed not to know how to respond at first, staring in a searching way that creased the skin between his brows, like he was trying to take a cue from your body language while skimming his database for the most appropriate thing. You didn't blame him for his lapse; Mother was mentioned seldomly and Marcos only a little more than that. Even Researcher Kim hadn't managed to collect enough information on your past to feed to Elio simply because there wasn't a lot to tell.

He cleared his throat, righting his features so they were unwrinkled and beautiful. “Tonight. Very well. Should we…” He paused, glancing down at the grocery basket of spices, vegetables, an orange, and a whole raw duck wrapped well in brown parchment. “Should we come back another time? I wouldn't want the meat to sit out for a long time.”

“Nope.” You didn't want to go through the trouble of returning everything where they belonged. Elio wouldn't leave until he did. “Let's just check out. Marcos will handle it.”

The springtime air was pleasant at night, albeit crisp, when the blur of vehicles whooshed past once the lights overhead turned green. You could make out the colors of them because of how brightly lit the streets were. Neon signage from every corner for as far as you could see turned to life, flickering, humming, dancing with pretty women, hot white or purple or red lettering, and the lights inside most nearby businesses stayed on.

Elio had draped his coat over your shoulders while you hailed a cab. It was too far of a walk to Mother's home across the city, and Elio reminded you again that raw meat needed to be handled carefully.

You told him, again, that Marcos would handle it.

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The entire cab ride took less time than you thought, relieving Elio who was still hopelessly fixated on the longevity of the raw duck he had wrapped up in a separate paper bag from the produce and spices. From the front seat, the cabbie, perplexingly somehow a human and not an android, constantly looked back at Elio through the rearview mirror and commented almost deliriously about how beautiful he was.

Hearing that the first three times gave you a happy, satisfied buzz in your chest, making you lean more against Elio's side. He was tempted to move his arm out and put it around your shoulders but kept to himself. Beyond those initial comments from the cabbie, however, you had quickly developed an uncomfortable feeling in your belly that wrapped itself tight like a constrictor on your insides.

“I ain't ever seen an android as beautiful as you,” said the driver, eyes in constant motion from the mirror to the road. “What model are ya? Definitely not a four or five. Yer a little too smooth to be a six. Damn, did Hyperion release a new one already?”

Elio held a polite smile, separate from the gentle, intimate ones that he kept for you. You didn't hear the response he gave to the cabbie because you felt his fingers reach through yours, pulling them apart so you couldn't dig a nail into the corner seam of your thumb anymore.

You spent the rest of the trip testing the weight of his hand, thinking of little less except how deep you'd have to go through his skin to see his circuitry and what else made him up. Those vanished like a white puff of breath in winter when the taxi jerked to a stop on a street curb.

“Thank yew for ya business.” The cabbie lifted his stiff old hat when you paid, eyed Elio a little more, and only drove off after you had knocked on a canary-yellow door up some stone stairs.

You stared at a decorative wreath covered with flowers—fake because the ones used couldn’t grow outside of greenhouses anymore—hanging dead center on the door. No doubt Marcos’ work because Mother couldn't be bothered with those little nuanced social things.

Marcos answered—brown skin and hazel eyes that burnished green in almost any lighting—gesturing for you and Elio to come inside.

“Welcome home,” he said, far more unnaturally than it sounded coming from Elio. There was a certain rigidity to it, an effort clearly inhuman and lesser. He embraced you in a familiar way, reminding you of all your years of childhood doing this exact thing because your mother didn't know how to love you, and “father” was just a word. “I apologize for messaging you to come over so late. You know how your mother is. When the mood strikes…”

Marcos didn't emit much bodily warmth, never had, even in the golden years of G3, but he was there, and that's all that mattered at the time. His skin was still youthful and flawless, though the longer you looked him in the face, the less real he seemed. His eyes held depth and movement though were slow, less precise, and duller. The lines around his mouth when he smiled were unnatural, appearing to you nearly like bunching folds in a sheet of leather.

It was strange seeing an older generation of android after having acclimated to Elio over two months.

“Your mother is at the dining table.” Marcos moved on to Elio, taking in his image, surmising that he too was an android. He glanced down at the bags that Elio still held. “May I take those for you? Hyperion’s innovation continues ever forward, I see. You are new.”

“The first of Generation Seven,” said Elio. The bags were passed between them. “I would appreciate it if you kept the duck refrigerated. It's in the paper bag.”

“That's no trouble.” Marcos turned with Elio following along behind him into the kitchen. “I'd like to hear about Generation Seven’s potential. What is your maximum I-O? Data? Memory? How have the functions that have been implemented into you differ from Generation Six?”

Their voices were muffled behind the walls as you crossed through multiple rooms to where Mother sat at the head of a large glossy table made from dark-brown wood. It was a spacious area reserved to eat surrounded by floor-to-ceiling windows in elegant drapes with the best view of whatever the neighbors were doing. She had told you once that the only reason she bought this house was because it'd be good gossip for when she invited her gaggle of catty executive receptionist friends over.

Back then, she hosted her little impromptu get-togethers more often than she remembered to see you off to school. Marcos made sure you were fed and bathed, sat with you in your bedroom to help with homework, and sent you to bed. As you grew, the parties had migrated elsewhere, prompting your mother to go with them.

That had left you alone with Marcos and the boundaryless curiosity of a teenager. You didn't know if Mother still participated in such things now that she was older, less pretty, inclined to more body aches.

“I've been thinking that we should visit the new teahouse that opened up on Aflaat Ave. You never talk to me anymore.” she said, but it wasn't true. Neither of you talked to one another, just used Marcos as an intermediate. “I—well—Marcos went through your old bedroom a few weeks ago because I've decided to take up scrapbooking and sewing and needed space, and he found an old shoebox full of your primary and secondary school projects! How quaint! He wanted to make sure you got them.”

“That's nice.” You didn't want to sit down, unwilling to be her fifteen minutes of entertainment before she got bored. She kept on staring at you with wide eyes and crow’s feet and fretful hands, like a woman who still had more to say. “I'll make sure Elio grabs them before we leave.”

“Elio!” Mother gaped. “Man or android? Certainly an android, right? Men are useless.”

Your rage was already bunching up and throbbing in the back of your throat. “Yes, Mother, an android.”

“‘Mother’ sounds so harsh! How about mama or mummy or mom?” She kept wringing her fingers together. “Anyway, anyway! Elio! He sounds so handsome. Is that who Marcos is talking to? What a handsome voice! Is he a Generation Six?”

You still hadn't sat down, though you used your hands to lean across the back of a chair. “Generation Seven. I'm testing him for Hyperion.”

“For Hyperon!” Mother couldn't fathom you doing more than grunt work at the marketing firm. She didn't know your position had become obsolete. “This is certainly a surprise. Sit down. How did that happen? You and Hyperion? Are you trying to make me look stupid?”

“I've been sitting all day. I'm good like this.” That wasn't a lie. You also just couldn't stand the idea of giving any relief to her anxious state. “It's my new job. Very coveted. I've been working closely with one of the researchers there, and he can't praise me enough. I'm looking after Elio for a year and then moving on to their next latest and greatest.”

“You?” She spat out a laugh. It calmed the trembling in her hands for a few seconds before she was back at it again. “Oh, my. Well. If that's the case, you certainly owe it to me for getting that job. My genetics. My smarts. You certainly didn't get it from your father.”

That lurching, angry ball in your throat was rising up fast. It was just there on the tongue making you gag, salivate, and begin to drool a bit from the corner of your lips. It tasted horrific and filled you with the most voracious need for venom.

“Who is my father?” you asked. “You could be wrong.”

Mother suddenly grew uncomfortable, flattening her gaze with the tabletop. Historically, she had always been this way when you asked about him, the infamously evasive ghost of your life. It was also the only thing that ever made her shut up.

“That doesn't matter.” She continued, “You’ve always had me and Marcos. That's what matters.”

“I've had Marcos.” The ball freed itself. “I just thought you should know, Generation Three models are being decommissioned. Marcos won't be receiving any more updates, and eventually, he'll just be a pile of fucking scrap. What're you gonna do then? You can't afford another android because you've sunk every penny you've ever saved into him—his upgrades, his maintenance, his clothes. It may take about ten years, and you'll probably be on your deathbed, but he's going to fall apart and eventually stop moving. You'll be just as alone as you were before he came along.”

Mother’s face turned shades, petrified. You wanted nothing more than to see her shrink into her clothes and disappear for good. It soothed you to think about Marcos’ end being inevitable, unchangeable, a fact. Some of the guilt was easier to bury that way.

“Wh-What are you saying to me, you awful child?!” She wailed with watery eyes, hands wrapped in the same colored strands of hair you had. “How could you?! That's not true! That’s not true! Do you know how hard it was to carry you for nine months?! I was so young and I was forced to give birth to you! Forced! Do you hear me—forced to be a mother to a child I never wanted! It was that or death. I never wanted a child because they turn on you and say things like this! You horrible, horrible child!”

Her shrieks stirred a ruckus from the kitchen where Marcos and Elio emerged from. Marcos ran to your mother, took her in his arms, and cradled her against his chest when she began to shed very real tears that bubbled at the corner of her eyes before falling, curving along her cheeks.

Elio came straight to you, hesitating to put his hands on your body, maybe noticing how viciously you glared at this wilted woman he'd yet to meet.

“Get the groceries. We're gone.” You stormed straight for the door, chest stuttering with heavy breaths you tried to calm because you knew what came next. Your throat ached, burned fiercely like something had snagged there and you needed to claw it out.

Once you reentered the chilly air submerged in all the dark and light of Retro City at night, it didn't matter that you were crying. They were hot tears that left behind cool traces. They were decades of disappointment, of secretly understanding a mother’s love would always be conditional, of being unwanted and wishing you hadn't been burdened with existing.

Elio came out minutes later, the door closing softly and locking after him. You heard the bags crinkle near you, drawing your eyes away from a blinking parking meter you'd zoned in to calm yourself down.

You said nothing.

“Let’s go home.” Elio hailed a cab idling nearby and opened the door for you. “I want to keep the meat fresh.”

Him and that stupid duck.

This cabbie looked back at you both once to get directions, and then only occasionally afterward, casting pitiable glances at your raw-looking face in the mirror. The GPS displayed on the car’s dashboard showed the apartment was thirty minutes away because of traffic, probably from a crash they were detouring; ordinarily, it only took twenty minutes.

When your pocket vibrated, you almost didn't check. Unsurprisingly, it was a message from Marcos, just a single one.

“I don't think you should come around for a while,” it read. You didn't respond. Nothing new. Some sort of falling out with your mother was routine. You couldn't understand why she thought it'd ever go differently.

However, this time wasn't like all the rest. This time, you’d said something unforgivable despite her doing the same, but yours was worse in her mind. You didn't mind the idea of her disappearing from your life. It was harder to handle the thought that you'd never see Marcos again before he ceased to function, though.

“What happened?” Elio asked, a weird departure from androids being programmed, traditionally, never to pry. “That woman was your mother, correct? What did you say to her?”

“Who cares?” You grunted, sniffing around the burn your in sinuses again. “She's a crazy bitch. She's always been that way. I told her that Marcos would just turn into a scrap heap eventually. Was that wrong of me?”

“Well, perhaps that phrasing was inappropriate, yes.” Elio touched your forearm. “But there is no NDA in place from Hyperion. You are well within your rights to have told her. But, as I said, your phrasing—”

“I know, shut up—” You moved closer so you could lean against him. “I hate that woman. I hate my mother more than I ever hated anyone.”

Elio lifted an arm above you, giving you room to slide in as far as you wanted to go. He held you for the first time, repeating long, weighty strokes down your back, through his coat that you still wore. You were transported back to a moment in time steeped in cloudy nostalgia, blurred.

It was Marcos kneeling at your bedside, yellow overhead lights dimmed to nearly full darkness. The door was shut because otherwise a heap of cackling voices, Mother and her gossiping hens after too much wine, would spear in through the cracks and make you petulant. Marcos had already been trying to get you to sleep for over an hour.

“Sleep little one, sleep.” Marcos had said, voicebox in his throat straining with a quieter sound. “I know it must be difficult. You must be rested for school tomorrow.”

“They're too loud.” you whined, throwing your covers back with a great flourish, feet kicking them the rest of the way off before you huffed and turned to your side away from Marcos. “Make them shut up! Can't you make them shut up, Marcos?!”

He sighed, defeated as much as an android could be. No, he could not. It went against his programming to disobey his master—any human who made a demand of him. His order was to get the child to sleep, and that had yet to happen.

“Would you like me to read The Falcon and the Hare to you again?” It was your favorite bedtime story right now. Hearing fictional stories involving extinct animals seemed to be of odd fascination to you. “My tone of voice might make it—”

“No!” you fussed, thumping your feet once, twice, three times and going limp again. “Come up here until I fall asleep. Please?”

Marcos nodded. “Yes, little one.”

He had to keep one leg off the bed to even half fit on the mattress. You sat upright to fix the blankets so to cover yourself and part of Marcos’ one bent knee. His arm laid out on the bed, waiting for you to crawl into it until you were nestled into his side, sucking up what small warmth radiated from his fake body. Once you found a comfortable spot, curled up tightly much like a cat sunbathing in a single shaft of daylight, he began smoothing a hand down along your back, heavy enough to be felt through your thick comforter.

You listened to him hum a song that you liked, one that translated well to his chords and the vibrations in his throat.

He hummed. He petted your back. He hummed. He petted your back. He hummed…

“Do you truly hate your mother?” Elio’s voice was delicate just then, aware that you were away in some reverie he tried to gently lure you out of. The dream was over. That one silver glimmer of your childhood became far away, forgotten while the sounds of the city rushed back into the cab.

“Yes—I mean, I dunno.” You actually yawned, pushing one of your eyes with the heel of your hand. “I think I hate her. We've argued my entire life. We've never gotten along. Yeah, I hate her.”

Elio was holding you by the waist now. “Is that why you said what you did?”

“Said what?” You were a little too keen on his thumb swirling around the fat padding your hip bone.

“About Marcos being scrap…”

“Elio, seriously? Do you ever shut up?” It was tempting to put yourself on the opposite side of the seat, but you didn't want to give the cabbie any chance to eyeball him. “I—I don't know. She just gets me so mad. I used to be able to crush up those feelings because Marcos told me it wasn't healthy to act on them. But, then, I moved out, and I realized she was still the same, that she'd always stay the same. I stopped hiding it.”

You were so close to his face that you could see how long his eyelashes were and the shadows they cast on his cheeks.

You looked him in the eyes. “I wanted to make her hurt as much as she hurt me.”

■━■━■━■■━■━■━■■━■━■

Midnight had come and gone before you finally gave up on trying to sleep. You spent the better part of an hour staring up at the high ceiling, imagining every rusting pipe you saw as immobile serpents stretched taut to make the interconnecting structure that sprawled across the entire loft. Swirls and shapes and blacker-than-black shadows danced in front of your eyes, twisted with the pipes, and made the usual knocking sounds within them, but nothing ever came for you.

Downstairs was a careful amount of liveliness and aromas as Elio put together his duck à l'orange that he promised you. You scarcely heard a sound from him shuffling about but more from the clanking pans, boiling pots, and unintelligible chatter you knew came from the television.

Maybe he was watching a rerun of Wendy Carmichael Can Cook again, maybe a segment from the news because he liked that equally as much.

And yet, as you made your way to the lower floor, mystified by the fact you were standing on your toes to disguise all sound during your descent, you saw that the television was set to an old crime show he watched with you on occasion.

Detective Georgina Reyes and her android sidekick, Regis (G5), were the undisputed heroes of Helcam City and solved every case that came their way with style, finesse, and plenty of moral and ethical dilemmas. The majority of the show was spent within Georgina's inner world and her near-obsessive lust over Regis, who was owned by the department chief.

Ratings for the show had climbed to an all-time high when Regis had gained a sense of self and the ability to defy his programming. For fewer than six episodes, it was complete bliss for fans of Georgina and Regis, but then the season five finale happened—

“Can't sleep?” Elio asked, effectively putting your heart in your asshole, sending your soul skyward. He must have gauged your sudden gray pallor and bulbous glare because he smiled apologetically from the bottom of the stairway. “I'm sorry. I didn't intend to scare you. Were you watching Regis and Reyes?”

“I—uh, no.” You sighed, taking slow steps to the bottom to ease your heartbeat eating away at your ribs. “I was thinking about the show ending. Have you watched it yet?”

“Of course,” he said. ��It was a peculiar way for the story to end. In my opinion, it was incomplete. Very sudden. It's my understanding that there was an issue with how the government was being represented within the show, and a few of the writers were accused of conspiracy to defraud the government and subsequently arrested for it.”

“Seriously?” You scoffed, making it to ground level, and walked around Elio toward the kitchen where all the heavenly smells wrapped around you, enticing you to take a morsel. “It was the forced pregnancy plotline, right? Creepy stuff.”

“Indeed.”

Elio wouldn't let you have any of the duck à l’orange, saying it was meant for your dinner later on in the day, but he did steep you a hot mug of herbal tea (for sleep), the one that turned water pink, and offered to make you a light snack.

He went back to his tasks after you declined, satisfied well enough with the small swigs you took from your white mug. You spent more time sitting at the counter in silence, watching his back, hoping to gain the power to see through his shirt rather than actually taking interest in what he was doing.

Your eyelids fluttered and fell thinking about the car ride home: his arm around you, his thumb rubbing pacifying circles into your hip, how you'd been close enough to his face to believe you felt a breath leave his lips.

“Elio.”

“Yes?”

He had moved on to washing dishes. When he heard you behind him, he took a clean towel to his hands and quickly dried them before facing you. You guessed you probably had a strange expression right now, or at least, looked at him in a way you never had because the towel was cast aside, draped over the faucet, and his eyes flickered across your face.

“Your heart rate and body temperature have increased.” he said, giving into the pull of your hands after grabbing both sides of his face. You backed yourself into the countertop while still holding him, thumbs caressing the rise of his cheeks, bringing him down, down, down toward your face where you certainly felt heat blow across your mouth. “Your breathing has changed. I can hear your heartbeat. Don't be anxious. I won't hurt you.”

You weren't nervous.

You proved it by kissing him, full-bodied, slow, lingering. He gripped the edge of the countertop, bracing his weight against his hands to stifle some aggressive reaction, possibly, and returned the kiss with just as much fervor that you put into it.

His lips were every bit of what you imagined, what you wanted them to be. You had the urge to bite into them a little, to see if they could bleed the same way yours could when you chewed enough on loose skin. Their texture was slightly indented with cracks that gave friction to the moist smear across your mouth.

Although the sounds of the kitchen and ambient hum from the television in the next room stayed as they were, it was like the volume of everything had been set to mute, and only the breathy, wet pops of air and skin made it into your ears. You heard the delicate chatter of teeth inside your head when his mouth roamed the underside of your jaw, down your neck, to the rise of your clavicle, stopping only at where your neckline ended.

His hands had already made home under your clothes, first doing away with your shirt that he tossed over your shoulder onto one of the barstools. Next, he worked on the elastic waistband keeping your sweatpants on your hips. You flinched against his hands when they splayed across your ass, taking all he could in them while his lips continued a downward trajectory, traveling over your breastbone, along the curve of your navel, and then he stopped.

Elio had been on his knees for a while, stirring you so deeply that you had no doubt there'd be damp spots sitting inside your sweatpants, possibly even drying on the inside of your thighs by now. He helped you out of your pants one leg hole at a time while you used his broad shoulders to balance yourself. And soon enough, one of your thighs was hiked up in that same spot, his face hidden from you despite all the work he was doing to well up a hard knot in your abdomen.

You had to take a fistful of his hair and wrap it tight in your fingers, using your other arm to balance against the counter. He wouldn't let you fall, you knew that, but the unsteadiness of your legs grew, trembling violently, turning to lead like being buried under concrete or suctioned by water. He kissed and sucked and stroked you some more, pushing more into the spots that made you moan the loudest and fastest, fingers wandering you busily and lubricated with your own spend.

“Elio—Elio, let's move somewhere, please.” You shuddered out, trying to pull his hair, shove his face off of you. “Please.”

He grunted, surprising you by relinquishing to the pressure, and made his way back up the route he had taken down. “Where do you want to go?” he asked, lips sticking on your throat, rising higher to the protrusion of your chin. “The kitchen floor? The couch? The bed? We could probably manage in the bathtub as well, if that's what you'd enjoy.”

“I don't care.” You were only half-honest and miserable now with the sole focus of trying not to touch yourself to finish. “Just… somewhere, Elio.”

“As you wish.”

Elio hoisted you onto his hips, making sure you knew to squeeze him with your thighs before making his way around the kitchen to turn knobs and shut off the overhead bulbs. The new darkness was refreshing yet did nothing to tame that sweltering sensation between your legs. In fact, you thought you could burst from the anticipation. It was everything you could do not to hump him through his clothes, hands occupied in his tousled hair, lips together with bruising force.

Before long, your back was on couch cushions and the television was off so as to not ruin the moment. You saw dark behind your eyes while you kept them open, unfocused on the ceiling with the serpent pipes because his mouth was already back on you and helping you chase that high.

“You're almost there.” His lips smacked against your engorged skin, making your lashes flutter and eyes roll back. “You look so perfect. When you cum, I'll take my time cleaning you up. I can use my tongue. I can make you cum again—as many times as you'd like.”

His arms held your thighs wide open, giving him all the room he needed for those final, well-placed strokes that turned your moans into utterly drawn-out, lewd things that made you grateful that no one else lived in this side of the building. Your body wrenched against his continued ministrations, his lips and chin and fingers warm and glistening with your traces.

You had thought to worry, briefly, about something getting onto the cushions under your ass, but Elio had already thought it through and used the dish towel from earlier to catch anything awry.

It came in handy for his face.

“How do you feel?” he asked from inside one of your thighs, kissing his way all the way to the point of your knee. “Was it satisfactory?”

You didn't answer right away, especially not when he came forward on his arms to catch your lips, slowing things down so you could bask in that fuzzy, satiated afterglow—dopamine and oxytocin being that remarkable duo doing their damndest to reinforce how exquisite and ineffably breathtaking Elio was to you.

“Would you like a bath?” he asked against your jaw. “You can just lie back and relax. I'll clean you up.”

“No.” Spurred by newfound bravery, you trailed your fingertips between both bodies, first to loosen the tie on his sleep pants, plucking the strings hard so he felt it. Next thing, your hands slipped under his shirt. “I want you to actually fuck me. Put your cock in me.”

Elio jolted upright, using the tall back of the couch and armrest near your head to hold his body above you. Cold air seeped in all the places where he had been, dotting your skin in gooseflesh, hairs within those follicles standing on end. You were laid out below him, showing all your unobscured nudity and vulnerability, withering yourself just a little smaller under the intensity of his stare.

This was different from the grocery store, where he had needed a moment to amend for information he did not have. This was something else—flickers of conflict, struggle, restraint, and excitement were ablaze in his eyes, which shifted around within their sockets, giving you glimpses of pure gleaming white, which stood out in the inky dark all around.

“I—are you certain that's what you want?” he spoke at last, doing little to alleviate the way you felt he had seen your insides and bones. “It is late, I know you must be tired.”

“Are you…” You couldn't really explain the uneasiness gnawing at your gut, nor the thrill of wanting him inside of you regardless. Maybe he could fuck the feeling out of you, bring peace to your throbbing heartbeat and blood gushing to your head. “Elio, are you telling me no?”

“I cannot do such a thing.” he said right away, coming down from his high place to lay the weight of himself across you.

You felt his skin flush to your chest without a thin shirt to hide his shape and muscle that wasn't real, but this was so much more than touching every dissected mannequin in physiology class in school. They couldn't kiss your neck while the interwoven, complex network underneath stretched, elastic flesh contracted and relaxed against your palms.

“Would you believe me if I told you there are certain functions—programming—that I cannot override?” The waistband of his pants collected in a heap of fabric around his knees, freeing room for his cock in the open air. “I won't be able to let you go until I'm finished. I want you to understand that.”

That sounded hot, and you were tired of him stalling, so you told him you understood. “Very well.” He kissed you, guiding one of your hands low to his core where you could revel in the size of him.

He was hard in your grip with a good girth and length to him, a curve you'd come to recognize from toys collected over the past decade to hit the right spots. The skin over his cock was much a part of him as the rest on his body, hot, growing damp, and sticky the nearer you wandered to the head.

You had watched old pornography with Melby and the group a few times before from the days when it was just humans performing acts on each other. No one really liked it because it was so dramatized; everyone agreed that one of the actors needed to be an android for it to actually be sexy. You never told them that the moaning men with stuttering hips as they ejaculated was something you did like.

Elio leaned into your palm, the thumbprint starting to prune as you rubbed his tip. More warmth seeped out from it, wet and thick and perplexing and exhilarating because Hyperion made him so perfect, a better being than just an emulation of man.

His cock slid through your hand in short, quick bursts that eventually lubricated his entire shaft. He'd kept himself busy on your lips, tongue in your mouth, swiveling together the taste of you with saliva. It was the most inelegant he had been with you so far, yet you didn't think you'd be bothered if he did this more often.

“Fuck me.” You whined, finally apart from him. The swollen head of his cock made a moist path along your core where you massaged it against every sensitive spot that set your senses into a blazing frenzy. “Be as rough as you want. Hurt me a little.”

He finally took your hand away, rearranging your legs so one laid across the back of the couch, the other on his hip with a knee shoved under your ass for height.

“I will not hurt you.” Both your wrists were cuffed by his large hands, pinned down into the cushions by your head. “But, I cannot let you go. You must see it through until the end.”

“Fuck. Me.” you said forcefully, uncomprehending to the things he was telling you, uncaring what it all meant.

“Yes. Alright.”

Elio obeyed you as he was supposed to, cock sinking in with care, thrusts starting out shallow until the tip was withdrawn and then back inside again. The angle he had created for you made it easier to take his length. It took a little more time to acclimate to his girth and plenty of gentle encouragement from his voice landing right next to your ear, telling you to relax. It would improve in a few minutes, and he wouldn't let you go to sleep dissatisfied.

Indeed, minutes later, you were well beyond the worst of it and filling the void all around you with harsh, rapturous moans, which Elio enjoyed hearing. His lips lingered at your throat where most of your sounds resonated, fists still holding firm around your wrists, knuckles the same color as the rest of the dark but had actually bled pale.

The springs within the couch cried out, unused to this weight and ruthlessness, while the air stung with cracks of slapping skin timed with your moans. Elio didn't let you move from where he had you laid out, didn't let up on the speed and depth he reached despite how labored your breaths became, broken words eclipsed by panting and his tongue forcing them back down your throat where they stayed in submission.

It was still cold in the early mornings this spring, often leaving your apartment a little less comfortable than you'd like, but right now, you could've been convinced that he was fucking you on the ground in the flatlands and believed it. Your skin was slick with sweat, the mess between your bodies slippery and undoubtedly staining the couch underneath.

Just then, the weight on your wrists climbed higher to your hands. He threaded your fingers together at the same time his thrusts began to slow, hips rolling yours like a swaying ship amid languid seas.

The whole time he had been on top of you, edging you closer to another orgasm, he had hardly made a noise apart from whispering in your ear when you'd clench his cock too tight. Now, he was failing to keep quiet from your neck, trembling and grunting on your skin until, at last, one jarring thrust left him breathing out in relief.

He got you to your end shortly after, half-hard cock still throbbing and warm inside you, giving just enough of what you needed while his hand finished the rest with fast strokes. You winced. He didn't let off until your jaw hung slack, whimpering meagerly through the pleasure hampering thoughts and sensations other than pressure releasing from your groin, spend turning a patch of your couch dark.

“You did well.” Once he was soft, he tied his pants back around his waist and picked up the sodden dish towel to begin cleaning around your sorest areas. “Come with me. I'll start you a hot bath and make you a new cup of tea before bed.”

You didn't want to get up from that spot, declared yourself rooted there unless Elio helped you up, and thrust a hand high into the dark room.

He wore a princely smile, you assumed, as he leaned down to pick you up in his arms instead. Moved by such a gesture, you reached for his face with your angry wrists and hands to kiss him all the way to the bathroom.

None of this made it into your next report.

■━■━■━■■━■━■━■■━■━■

Melby didn't like Elio.

This she had told you over text after you declined her incoming phone call to not arouse Researcher Kim’s ire in finding out you were completely distracted during his exorbitantly detailed analysis of your latest reports. Two had been sent in before midnight last Sunday, as usual, since he was rarely satisfied with what you revealed through them these days.

Less than an hour later, while cozied up in bed on your side, facing the chopping blades of an oscillating fan, just beginning to feel yourself teeter off that edge from dull, relaxed awareness into light sleep, your ringtone went off—it was Kim.

“What else have you committed to doing lately in terms of Elio's social advancement? The last thing I have here…” A refreshing, fast pause followed, accented by the sound of paper softly swishing as it was parsed. “He was brought to a movie theater on the twenty-fourth, Diosyn Park on the twenty-ninth, Henrietta's four times in the last week. That's not nearly enough. Who are you socializing him with? What have their reactions been? How has he reacted to them? You're not writing down exact times.”

Not once since you'd joined the video conference forty minutes ago did he check to see if you were listening to him, content with his nose being shoved down into a bundle of chemically smelling papers and glowing screens to corroborate previous work he had on file.

That made it easier for you to text back Melby, arguing with her in endless paragraphs too tiring for your thumbs to continuously scroll through that you didn't have time to meet up at Clamors for drinks with everyone.

“Should I tell Chima you hate us?” texted Melby.

Truthfully, you couldn't tell if it was meant as a threat or if she was just pettish after being refused. One of her worst qualities, never spoken aloud to her face lest she fumbled and blubbered all the way to Chima to snitch about it, was being horridly uncompromising to just about everything.

It made you anxious enough that your fingers started to ache with an urge, on the path toward curling back slithers of cuticle, gathering blood under the nails, itchy scabs that Elio constantly covered with neon bandaids so you wouldn't touch them.

Eventually, you found a new fixation with the seams of your knuckles and fitted the most unrefined part of your nails into them, digging up red that way until he had to cover those, too.

It took you ten minutes with fidgety thumbs to reply. “I don't hate anyone. You know me.”

Melby's was instantaneous. “What about me? Do you hate me now?”

Another one. “Now that you have that android?”

More. “We used to spend so much time together.”

Last one for good measure to effectively drill a gory black hole straight into your pounding, cowardly heart. In her eyes, anyway. “I haven't seen you in months!”

“He needs more direct interaction. I've decided that I'll make amends to the template you've been using up until now.” Researcher Kim was saying, not seeing you, not hearing you, assuming your loyalty to him and his cause was complete.

Ripples of drowsiness overcame you so powerfully that you left Melby on read, mind suddenly a vast, empty space and quiet for the first moment all day. Your hands rose to cradle your cheeks, propping your head above your elbows on the countertop because Kim's inflated droning had come to have that effect on you over time.

A human man with a face that nice shouldn't be allowed to talk so much. He should go back to moaning on couches in front of cameras and sweltering lights.

“Let me explain what I'm currently changing.” he said, hopelessly invested in whatever those alterations were just by the mechanical click-clack of fingertips soaring over a keyboard somewhere low and out of sight of his screen. “From here on out, I'm going to require that you gather between six to ten direct interactions. I want full disclosure of every conversation, transcribed or recorded. From my standpoint, recording would be the most effective method so I may make interpretations myself.”

You were thinking of what to ask Elio to make you for lunch. It was almost noon. You unmuted the call. “Am I allowed to just randomly record people talking like that? That seems…”

“Hyperion works closely with Retro City’s governing bodies, and by extension, so do you.” Kim kept typing as he spoke. “It isn't illegal because the information you're collecting is imperative to the Hyperion Project. Without it, we face the risk of progress slowing or diminishing. That cannot happen, and I cannot emphasize enough that your work as an auditor must come before other commitments.”

At long last, he pulled his face out of papers and other screens to look at yours. In a fashion unsuitable for him, he sighed in a fatigued way, back collapsing against his ergonomic chair, shoulders lopsided with how he perched his elbows on the armrests.

“Retro City has over three million inhabitants. You won't have any issues finding people for Elio to speak to.” he told you. “Six to ten for each report. That’s all.”

You were already back in your messages, backtracking your previous responses to Melby, asking her what time everyone was meeting at Clamors.

Right away, “Come at nine!”

And then, “I'll save you a seat.”

Finally, “Don't eat too much before getting here. It'll ruin the fun.”

“Fine.” Phone now face down on the counter, you returned Researcher Kim’s concentrated stare. “I'll do my best. Six to ten. Six to ten…”

That had done well to appease him, demonstrated through a satisfied smile, which pulled his lips just enough that the muscles in his right cheek twitched as though the motion was foreign to him. With how inexpressive he was most of the time, you weren't surprised, thinking it more humorous than anything else.

You struggled to find a smile of your own that wasn't strained, though.

“That reminds me—” He positioned himself forward, arms on his polished dark-red desk with a curious gleam in his black eyes. “None of your reports have instances of copulation mentioned. Have there been complications?”

You sat stiffly, not agape but definitely not composed, either. “Sorry? What was that?”

“Intercourse. Sex.” He simplified it for you, almost with a pitying crease forming between his brows. “You've completed every other area outlined in the template except that one. I have… refrained from questioning you until now because I do understand that, outside of a clinical setting, it can be construed as inappropriate to discuss.”

The only person you had divulged any details to was Melby. Even that had been brief and inexplicit because she had immediately changed the topic to something one of the kids Chima invited into the group had done that pissed her off.

“Why do you need to know?” It was a defensive question. “Is that something I really need to write about? It's sex. It's just sex.”

Researcher Kim made an indistinguishable sound behind steepled fingers. They hid away whatever shape his mouth was in at that moment, making the whole conversation terribly uncomfortable. It was odd how exposed you felt like his stare was reaching long, further than just the screen in front of him. He wasn't looking into you or through you but rather right at you—imagining you some other way, unclothing your body with drifting eyes and invisible hands.

You were equal parts embarrassed and repulsed by that line of thinking, allowing your mind to summon up his ghost hands to search you, feel you under all your layers, know you as intimately as Elio had as though part of some extension of himself.

“It is all outlined in the contract you signed.” Kim said, now with an edge that made you flinch on the barstool. “Androids are developed for convenience and pleasure. I have reports for one, not the other. If Elio, as the first of G7, is not performing exceptionally—if there are complications, if he is defective—that is something you must include within your reports. I don't suspect that to be the case, in this situation.”

His eyes suddenly caught onto something else, going beyond you, but you chose not to react by looking. “Your work as an auditor has been sufficient so far, but incomplete reports at this critical stage in Elio's testing are grounds for me to terminate your contract.”

You clenched your jaw until your teeth throbbed, your head going up and down like it was on a hinge attached to your neck.

“Personally, that's a hassle I'd rather not involve myself in.” Kim confessed in a straighter posture, smiling tensely. “Now, I'll ask you again: Have there been any complications with inter—”

“That's enough.” Elio reached across your shoulder for the tablet, pointer finger hovering over a red button on the screen. “Researcher Kim, it's time for lunch. Goodbye.”

He pushed the button, managing to catch a swift change in Kim's expression before the screen went black and reflected your shock back at you instead.

You watched him slide the tablet away to the opposite end of the counter space, unable to lift yourself out of this bizarre stupor just from how purely surreal what just happened was. And from the look of it, Researcher Kim hadn't anticipated that Elio was capable of doing something like that, either.

You just hoped it wouldn't cost you your contract.

“What have you been doing all this time?” you asked, tilting your head back to welcome his lips gliding atop yours, a peck, at first, which gradually grew deeper and greedier. With some effort, you pulled back. “Mm, c'mon, what were you doing?”

“On Wendy Carmichael Can Cook today, she said—”

A hiss of annoyance. “Oh, of course…”

“She said there was a list of excellent bistros around Retro City worth trying.” He wasn't pleading with you or anything, but he seemed just about as dedicated to this idea as he had been with the duck à l’orange a while back. “For lunch, I thought it'd be of interest to you to visit one. I've been researching ones I thought you would like based off of your dietary habits, allergies, and sensitivities. Radiant Bistro next to the Leviathan Archway near downtown might be a good option. Impressively diverse menu.”

You pretended to pinch lint off of his shirt and inspect it up close. “If you didn't want to cook, you could've just said that.”

“That's not it,” he assured you with a kiss to the back of your hand so that you understood he meant it. “Since my arrival here, your social presence has declined substantially, which will not fare well for your public profile. I do understand that it’s in relation to your work as an auditor, but—”

“Okay! Okay, I get it.” you said agreeably, hands raised, hoping it'd deflect anything else. “We’ll go. Let me just find a hat so the sun won't get on my face.”

“No problem.” He walked away and came back with an old unbranded brown one from somewhere in the most remote crevice of the apartment. “Will this suffice?”

You looked at it, amazed. “Yeah. Yup. Let's go.”

Elio had stopped carrying a coat with him once the evenings grew long, and the remnants of heat from the day floated into nighttime, trapping the city within a muggy gray haze that too closely resembled dewy fog in early spring. The difference was the heaviness and breathability of the air—one you could tolerate despite allergies; the other was deplorable and evoked memories of every single club you had drunk and danced in with Melby and Chima and the rest in the past years.

Outside, right now, sucking in the early-afternoon heat into your lungs after spending your morning in air conditioning, nose wrapped in earthy white wisps rising from a coffee mug, you wanted to turn back around and hide. Much to your dismay, Elio kept you on a short leash with a tight grip on your hand, probably expecting you to have a change of heart.

“Would you like for me to recall the menu and read it aloud to you?” he offered, situating his hand so his fingers crossed through yours, palms flush together. “They have fourteen types of sandwiches—hot and cold. Five of those are chicken, and five are of different meat varieties: lamb, cow, veal, goat, and yak, all claimed to be bred and raised and slaughtered in their warehouses. The last four sandwiches are…”

You listened passively without much commitment, especially in the back of the cab where there was no escape from anything. The AC was broken. The cabbie kept wiping sweat off his brow and sipped warm water. With the windows down, the outside air ripped inside the vehicle, nearly stealing the old hat off your head.

Elio went on to list desserts, thumb gently rolling circles on your sticky skin as if meant to keep you soothed.

“As long as I remember to eat light…” you murmured, remembering, glumly to yourself.

■━■━■━■■━■━■━■■━■━■

Clamors was inside a three-story building on the north end of Retro City, about a ten-minute taxi ride to Mother’s brick-stone house, thirty minutes from Henrietta’s, forty minutes from your apartment, and farthest removed from the slums where congregations of profile delinquents and the unwanted were most dense.

Here in this part of the city, you were an imposter among manicured foliage, men and women and androids arrayed in trendy designer silhouettes that were protruding, sharp, and agonizing; sharks and whales of big business puffed cigars in front panoramic views of the cityscape from the highest skyscrapers. They could look down at the street from their window and see you, an ant scuttling meaninglessly.

This wasn't a place where you belonged, a feeling that never changed over time, even years later after Chima recruited you into his group and every night was a suffocating blur of sweaty, faceless bodies, explosive music, stomping feet, raspy screams, and lightly-flavored chalk dissolving under your tongue. You roamed the sidewalks at two in the morning as everyone had been kicked out, but no one cared because Chima came from money, a rare case where two parents could be accounted for, and you'd all just be back inside the next evening.

You weren't sure when you had become disillusioned with it all—the drinks, the animal pills, which coalesced into saliva in your mouth, the noises, the gossip, the six ibuprofen to function behind a desk at work, the burnout of rinse and repeat, a conveyor belt that moved cyclically without a place to get off. To exit the ride meant to plunge head-first into abject terror, the unknowable, to become part of the yellow wallpaper that's never actually seen, to cease to be.

Being back in Clamors again after months away turned your heart against you, thrust the sound of its distress into your ears, dwarfing an animated conversation happening right at your circular table. You felt the music vibrate through your skin, make its way into your marrow, and rattle your entire skeleton.

Melby had a hand on your knee, blunt-tipped nails collecting sweat off your skin underneath them.

You couldn't really focus on that.

“So, this is Elio. He's hot.” Chima said without looking at you.

“Really hot!”

“So hot!”

“Did you hear? Shut up, stop talking! Did you hear? That slut got herself pregnant!” shouted Niva, a senior-most part of the circle behind you and Melby. She knew everything about everyone, though she wasn't supposed to keep tabs. “Apparently her baby daddy decided the pussy wasn't worth it anymore and ran!”

“I can't believe it. That'd mean someone was actually willing to sleep with her.” said Niquan Lamos, the fashionable one always gravitating toward pastels. “A man, at that. Disgusting.”

Everyone laughed, including you. Elio quietly observed it all, seated at your side, incapable of letting his polite smile slip with numerous prowling eyes on him.

“Have you fucked him yet?” Chima asked you without actually caring for a response.

“Oh, have you fucked him?”

“C'mon, don't hide it. How was it?”

“What was her name?” asked a newcomer in the group, fresh out of secondary school and not even twenty. He was a compact lad, both in size and from being squeezed between Chima and Niquan in the circular booth stretched in fuchsia leather, or at least, that's how it looked in your table’s corner of the club. “How come she isn't here anymore?”

First rule was: Never talk about things that could make the liquor go down harder. This was one of those things. Secondly, never ask questions about people who the group was no longer associated with. It just sounded ugly to acknowledge the rejects.

Tonight, however, was an exception because Elio's presence was an exciting change. They forgot how to behave.

“Hm, now that you mention it, I don't remember. How long has it been?” Chima said this absently, abysmally black eyes wholly captivated by the android. “Damn. Something like Mi-dan? Mi-an? Mi… Mi…”

“Her name was Mi-sun.” said a nobody from somewhere at the round table. It probably would've been easy to figure out who was talking if they were more important, but it took less effort to blame the music reverberating from the speakers mounted on the wall near their heads.

Melby’s hand traveled adventurously along your thigh, unmindful of how close she came to your crotch. You had a harder time ignoring that move and sipped busily from your jungle bird, holding it higher than your eyeline to admire its beautiful vermilion hue practically glowing against the strobe lights pulsing down from the ceiling.

“This is the first time I've seen you drink.” Elio was leaned into you, wise to the fact that you wouldn't hear him any other way. His lips nearly touched your ear, voice honeyed, caring, all for you. You were halfway through your second jungle bird. “Please don't overdo it. The adverse effects of overconsumption of alcohol will cause you great discomfort tom—”

“Thank you, Elio.” For just a moment, you wondered how irreversibly damaging it would be to just grab his hand and sprint out of there. You drank some more to weaken your resolve, add lead into your legs. “I'll be good if you be good.”

Elio nodded appreciatively.

“Why was Mi-sun kicked out?” again asked the new face from before, plain and boyish-looking, Chima's fresh catch. They just kept getting younger and the alcohol just kept tasting worse. You forced it all down, anyway. “Well? Well? Well?”

“She was talking crazy shit,” Melby piped up with a drawl, fingernail swirling around a dark purple bruise on your thigh. She pushed in hard enough to remind you that it was still sore. “Like, she was fine one week and then every single night after that she would nooooot shut up about some wild government conspiracy theories.”

“Oh, right.” Chima laughed while forcing everybody out of their seats so he could stand. “I remember now. Yeah, she went completely insane. I think she was talking about androids being used for population control or something. Weird. Hey, let's dance.”

“That was a year ago?” Niva wanted Chima to confirm. “A year, right?”

“Over a year now. Who cares?” Melby said, staying put beside you while the rest of the booth vacated. “She’ll just end up dead in the slums like all the rest. Uh, they do all die, right?”

“Who cares?” Chima echoed, nesting his shoulders high to his ears in a shrug before walking away. “Who has the animal crackers?”

“Sounds about right.” Niva was unconvinced, doubt lingering in her words until Chima came around to rummage her purse for pills. “Oh! Only take one, they're so expensive!”

Chima stuck three in his mouth. “Don’t kill the vibe.” He left without a glance back toward all the no-face, nameless nobodies willing to lick the underside of his shoes if it meant they'd be acknowledged and given features—eyes, lips, hair, an identity.

Niquan was satisfied with just one, offering a subtle wash of relief to Niva, who was just about depleted of her supply at that point and used the last of it for herself, tongue lapping at the inside of her plastic envelope.

You were almost finished with your jungle bird, contemplating a third even though you had entered the territory where one more could mean the difference between a happy buzz and splintering headaches tomorrow, just as Elio warned. The ice cubes had melted into a smooth watercolor appearance and turned from red to blue to green to purple to pink as the lights gushed down from above.

“I don't remember what she looks like.” you admitted to Melby who gazed into you, squeezing your thigh meaningfully. Again, you didn't pay attention. “Mi-sun, I mean. Were we friends? Did I ever drink with her? Have I ever slept over at her house?”

“No!” Melby snapped, affronted. “You're mistaking her for me. You guys never even had a conversation. You hated her guts. You thought she was a freak.”

You made a sound into the last of your drink, unsure whether she was lying to you or not. “Maybe. Maybe. Was I okay with her being kicked out?”

“Totally.” she said, casting a fleeting look of disdain toward Elio, lip curling at one side. “Chima only counted yours and mine and Niva’s votes since we've been here the longest.”

“That's…” You licked your lips and then the rim of your glass, secretly wishing your tongue would snag an uneven crack so you’d start to bleed. “Why don't I remember anything?”

Melby giggled. “Because you've been drinking, babe. It'll come back to you. What animal cracker do you want tonight? Giraffe or cat?”

“Hm?” You were elsewhere.

Until now, you had gone numb to your surroundings thanks to the licorice notes of black strap rum and bitter Campari and pucker of pineapple juice that made for a mostly pleasant experience in your throat.

You were present in that moment, venturing a look around at the dance floor crammed with bodies (human and android) moving in rhythm to the music, in time with each other to create a oneness, a synchronism so strange that it put the hairs on the back of the neck on end like spines.

Why did it all look so different now? So alien? As if you were seeing an image from your nightmares in real life.

Elio failed to convince you not to have another drink brought to the table after all, meanwhile Melby said she was disappointed you didn't get something stronger, claiming you used to do it all the time.

That's right. You did, didn't you?

“Hey.” Chima had emerged from the shapeless cluster of sweating, drunk, wriggling bodies a short while later. He reached into the booth, gathering a fistful of Elio's button-up shirt, and looked at you with a malicious gleam, possibly just your imagination, that just dared you to protest. “I know you don't mind if I borrow him for a while, right? Of course not. The rest of us are curious about him. We’ll be gentle.”

You would’ve believed someone if they said your tongue was cut out, because as much as you wanted to slice into him and spit poison in his wounds with your words, rub it raw, deep into the bone, nothing came up.

Not a breath nor a feeble sob.

Don't touch him. Nothing.

“So, you're chill with it?” Chima, beautiful Chima with deep-dark skin sparkling in rhinestones and spray-on glitter as though he were a vessel for all the stars in the cosmos, bared his straight, white teeth at you in the form of an affable grin.

Eat shit. Bitter silence.

He asked you the same thing again but grew bored and gave up on expecting you to do anything interesting. Elio was led away by the front of his shirt to the amalgamation of bodies like a sacrifice for the great black maw belonging to an abomination.

A few broke away from the core. Niva and Niquan were identifiable since you'd known them longer. The rest were unfamiliar to you—the no names and the tiny young man, the android bartender, the disc jockey, the bodies climbing over each other and melting back into a single incoherent mass.

They all looked exactly the same.

“I wanna dance too, let's go!” Melby struggled with one of your arms while attempting to scoot her way out of the booth, but the alcohol and broodiness made your body into a stump, sturdy and immobile, roots bursting through the bottoms of your shoes and the shiny floor.

She plopped back down. “Seriously? What's up with you?”

“It's too hot,” you reasoned, sticking a fingernail into the fresh glass in front of you, swishing the liquid around to make everything a more palatable blend. “If you want to dance, I'm not stopping you.”

“You're acting so weird.” Melby said, lost somewhere between frustration and astonishment while pulling a clear baggy from her pants pocket. A couple small pills moved inside, pink residue clouding the plastic. She plucked out one without looking. “Hey, open up. You're being a huge snoozefest. This'll loosen you up.”

When you felt her acrylic fingernails press against the corner of your lips, you gently pushed her hand back and nursed your drink some more. “No thanks.”

Melby’s tongue lashed against her gums, sharp and disapproving. “Why are you being such a fucking buzzkill tonight?” She traced your line of sight to Elio, to the others grabbing and fondling him, to his eyes looking right back at you. “We haven't seen each other in months. Now all you do is stare at that android.”

“It's my job, Melby.” You took the damp paper napkin from under your drink to dab your forehead at the sweat, trying to cool yourself. “I can't help that.”

“You can take one night away from your job.” she decided, taking hold of your lower mandible with a claw and crammed the chalky pink pill through lips and teeth into the pocket underneath your tongue. “You know the drill. Let it dissolve all the way. Stop making faces! It doesn't taste that bad.”

You tried to jerk your head away, but her grip was surprisingly solid.

“Melby! What the hell?!” It came out garbled around her fingers still resting in your mouth, filling the reservoir below your tongue with saliva.

Melby, blue-eyed and blonde with pale pink skin that always reddened in the electrifying, hot air in the club, was completely flushed from her face down to her chest. Her eyes had darkened upon withdrawing her two fingers, glossing your lips with spittle.

“I missed you.” she said, outlining the shape of your mouth until the skin started to tingle. “Did you miss me? I've been really lonely.”

Your least favorite part of taking an animal cracker was the aftertaste that was the equivalent of eating sidewalk chalk and rubbing alcohol with a whisper of strawberry wafting up into your nostrils, clinging to every permeable membrane in your mouth and making your cheeks tremble.

“I—yeah. Yeah, I missed you.” You tried to sink the lingering taste down your throat with a swish and swallow from the jungle bird. “I didn't know what I was getting into with this whole Hyperion gig. I feel like I'm constantly watching Elio. Twenty-four seven.”

Elio never lost track of you throughout the ordeal, his being unable to escape the hands on his body and fight against the programming in his brain meant exclusively for human satisfaction. There were moments where you saw each other clearly, empty windows between writhing bodies, and you were convinced he tried to convey a very human-like discomfort that you immediately pretended like you hadn't seen.

Interfering meant going against the group. There was nothing you could do about it except allow them to eviscerate Elio if that's what they wanted. You could only sit there, drowning in rum and pineapple and aperitif and demerara sugar and scorching strobe lights and music bashing your skull and Melby unfastening buttons on your pants, but for some reason, that didn't quite register as what it was to you.

“Are you coming home with me tonight?” Melby asked so sweetly that it made your heart flutter, or maybe that was the pill taking effect. “We always have fun together. I've really missed it. It isn't the same without you.”

“What—” You almost tipped the red cocktail while reaching over it for a water glass that no one had touched. You slugged half in one go. “Wait. What are you even saying? I gotta take care of Elio.”

“Oh my god,” she seethed, taking her hand out of your pants to wipe her fingers on the napkin you used earlier. “Just tell him to leave. He has to listen to you. He’ll be okay.”

Fuzz had started to collect in your head, filling the entire dome with a warm, soft feeling that spread like a rapidly-growing fungus down the brainstem, coiled around your spine, stuffed your jaws with cotton, sucked all the moisture from your throat, widened your chest with stuff, and ignited kindling that had been sitting in the bottom of your stomach.

Just now, the deafening tone of music had been reduced to a throbbing bass that jarred your bones and pulsed in your hands and feet. Your vision wasn't much different than it had been before, only now you seemed to move at lightning speed, people and shapes and lights all confused watercolor smears of you shifted too quickly.

“Can't.” You recalled Melby had said something. “Elio, first. Do you see him?”

“No.” she said, watching Chima hook his fingers through the belt loops on Elio’s pants, knocking their pelvises together in time with the music. “Come on, I'll call a cab and we can go home. We’ll have a good time away from everyone.”

You made a grab for the water glass again, throat the driest it had ever been. A mistimed gasp came out when the rim of the glass struck your teeth, missing your mouth almost completely. Luckily, only a little water got on your shirt, molding it to your chest like a cold second skin.

“God, that's good,” you moaned, draining the rest of it. “What are you even talking about? A good time?”

She eyed you uneasily. “What do you mean? What do you remember when you're with me?”

“Pfft,” you scoffed, stealing yet another water glass you managed to grapple with two hands so it'd stop swaying. “What do you mean, what do I mean? I hit the pillow and I'm out. Why?”

After a few long swigs of ice water, the dance floor was less a mangled disarray of smoke and neon colors, more definitive and jagged—the stage, the speakers, the turntable where the disc jockey played. Even the beastly blob of grinding, convulsing people started looking like people.

Melby had lost all the red in her face, eyes riveted to the half-empty jungle juice in front of you, perhaps counting the beads of condensation dripping from its tall form.

“You're usually really talkative. I think you're lying to me right now to get out of it.”

“Huh?” You were done with the second water, staring at her unfocused but suspicious. “Lying about what?”

“I—” Melby withered in her seat, distracted by something ahead that you couldn't see, a bejeweled nail wedged between her teeth. “No, nothing. Never mind.”

“Whatever,” you murmured. “I'm outta here.”

Melby didn't stop you from leaving behind money for your drinks before you stumbled away from the booth toward the dancefloor, evading bodies that came flying toward you with erratic, jerky movements not at all matching the pounding beat coming from the stage.

The floor was actually hundreds of individually tinted blocks of plexiglass with colored bulbs screwed in underneath.

During the day, Clamors kept it covered with a special protectant and tarp to maintain the integrity of the glass, but at night, it was illuminated like a nonsensical rainbow checkerboard. Each square took on a life of its own, flickering in unison with songs played throughout the night, warping into mandalas and spirals and disorienting waves that most people using animal crackers couldn’t stomach for long.

You were close to vomiting up the jungle birds and your meager lunch from Radiant Bistro that afternoon when you found Elio within the swarm of partiers that reeked of sour body odor and stale alcohol.

He stood amid it all with a stiff spine, the loveliness of his face covered by shadows and terrible bursts of light that heightened his vacuous stare into the faces of those touching him.

The only other time you had seen him so devoid of life was in the presence of Researcher Kim. Now, he looked in such a way at Chima, at Niva, at Niquan—the nameless and the boy were too scared of overstepping to have a part in it yet straggled nearby to feel like they meant something.

Elio saw you jostling through the crowd toward him, hardened amber regaining luminosity. You became the center of his world again with just a look, yet your world was entirely unthawed ice and serrated stalactites growing ever sharper, heavier, closer to piercing and crushing at a single point below them. The forest of brittle minerals in your mind needed just a single resounding event to loosen, to fall, to impale indiscriminately.

That moment finally happened as you approached Chima, his hand stroking Elio under every layer meant to keep him out. Your future was a far-off thing, light years away and completely untouchable, no matter how many times you were threatened with your profile, how you'd become nothing without your associations, how the entire world would cringe in disgust at your existence and leave you to rot.

You took Chima's hand out of Elio’s pants, hoping you had the strength in yours to twist his wrist so it hurt, wanting nothing more than to actually shatter the bone with just the pure hatred surging down into your grip. With the other hand, you drew it high behind your shoulder, muscles tense, bone popping from an unnatural angle, dense club air gushing between your fingers right before your palm released a thunderous crack against his cheek that shot up the length of your arm in stinging ripples.

“No, stop!” Elio tore you away too late, right after weakness reentered your body, and he was able to easily restrain you. “What have you done?”

The clique had rallied around Chima, steadied him and examined the mark on his cheek, which was already blowing up in size.

He stared at you with amazement that quickly contorted into pure incandescence. His face was the ugliest thing you had ever seen, eyes an uninviting, pitless, and hollow place. This, you thought, was what he truly looked like beneath the popularity, cosmetics, money, and illusion of drugs.

“Keep your hands to yourself!” you screamed.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” He tried to lunge at you but was held back by Niva, Niquan, and various ghostly hands. “How dare you. How dare you touch me, you sad sack of shit! You ungrateful nobody! I can ruin you! I can make sure you get thrown into the slums and your fucking insides get ate out by all those filthy savages.”

“That's better than this.” You felt Elio tighten his arms around you, feet shuffling backward to try to separate you from this. Dancers were beginning to gather around the scene, both grossly fascinated and terrified because they'd never seen a fight between humans. “It's better than the stupid drugs. It's better than this club. It's better than all your shitty little followers. It’s better than you.”

To this, Chima stared wide-eyed and gave a derisive laugh. “You seriously hit me because I was touching the android? He's a fucking machine! What else is he useful for?!”

You were still being coaxed out of the gathering, Elio's lips whispering pacifying words into your ear that you didn't hear.

“Don't—Don’t talk about him like that.”

Chima’s visage relaxed into one you were used to seeing. A man who knew he had all the time and power in the world and that he could do anything with it. He swatted away all the helping hands and straightened his clothes.

“Not only are you fucking insane,” he said, smiling without remorse. “Now, you're also dead.”

■━■━■━■■━■━■━■■━■━■

The decision to retch into a convenience store trash can happened because you couldn't bring yourself to do it in the neatly barbered bush you had been closer to at the time. You had separated the metal lid from the metal body so you could simply lean over and spew into it freely.

Smells emanating from inside—expedited food rottage from summer heat, curdled drinks, bagged-up dog shit, and God knows what else—did better to evacuate your stomach than the insane lighted floor in Clamors.

Most of what came up lacked the usual sourness, ran watery like a geyser of diluted red jungle bird with occasional chunks of undigested sandwich and probably everything from three days ago.

Elio wiped your face clean at every chance he got, those seldom moments where you could cough and catch your breath for just a few seconds before your stomach clenched and more climbed up your esophagus and exited your body. There wasn't much he could do apart from dab your skin and keep your clothes from the trajectory.

“Why?” Elio spoke sometime later once the waves of nausea had tapered to a degree where you could sit on a bench outside the convenience store and take a bottle of water he had ready for you. “Why did you do it?”

“Because—” you said, not bothering to finish after swigging and swishing and spitting the acrid taste that lingered on your tongue, between your teeth, and in the ridges of your gums. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn't get rid of it all. It stuck in your mouth like bitter tar. “Because.”

You went on to repeat the rinse and swish a few more times, ultimately tilting the bottle upside down to crush the cheap plastic in your fist so it gushed down on your head.

For a second, you imagined turning on a spigot to shock your scalp with cold water, flattening all your hair, pasting your clothes flush and translucent to your body like a second skin to peel away later.

The humid nighttime air was suddenly so much less oppressive than it had been. A subtle breeze had picked up throughout the course of the day, not doing much to tame the heat overall, but the fat pearls of water streaming down your back made you shiver. You counted all the drops that coalesced into shimmering beads on the tips of your hair, your eyelashes, and your nose and fell onto the pale gray cement underfoot.

Elio had already unbuttoned his shirt to the navel, just above where he had rebuckled his pants and tried to pull the rest of the fabric free.

“Oh, Elio. Don't.”

He pulled you into him despite your protest, swathing you from behind first with the shirt and then his arms as he held you against his chest. Fortunately, he had worn an airy undershirt so his body wasn't on display for anyone else, though there was no one around at this hour.

He soothed you with long strokes along your back. His touch amplified to a point where it hurt as much as it felt good. You knew what fingers he used more pressure with, where the heel of his hand touched you next. You could feel where he chose to linger and knead at knots under your skin, imagining the sensation similar to using a sharpened stone or ice pick

“I'm fucked.” you mumbled sullenly in his embrace, warmth dissipated as you had soaked his undershirt all the way through. “I'm so fucked.”

“It was unwise, yes,” he said in silken tones from atop your head, thin jaw pushed down into your wet hair, grinding and rotating when he'd speak. “I had you in my mind the entire time. I was prepared to let him do as he pleased if it meant preventing a confrontation—I failed. But, I hadn't expected you to hit him. None of the outcomes I calculated had that conclusion. I'm sorry.”

“No. I'm glad I did it.” You worried that you were being overconfident, too hopeful toward a future unraveling at your feet as you spoke. “I couldn’t stand how everyone was staring at you—touching you. Everything just felt so wrong, but, why? The only thing that was different was you being there, Elio. I saw you—you looked so uncomfortable. I was so hot. I think I was seeing things after taking the animal cracker. I just got so angry.”

Usually, Elio was the type to scavenge your history as thoroughly as he could, however minimal or inconsequential it all seemed to you at the time. It was a quintessential part of his programming as an android—of all androids—to want to dissect everything there was to know about their masters, knowing them better than their masters knew themselves.

You considered making it effortless for him, volunteering your past with animal crackers and how they used to not hurt at all. At one time, you could binge them for days without violent side effects that’d plague a normal person for weeks.

“There are no pharmacological benefits associated with their use,” was what you heard him say in your head, firm yet loving, melting into his sensual strokes tracing parallel along the length of your spine. “Prolonged use has been known to create perforations in the gastrointestinal tract, heart dysrhythmias…”

He didn't regurgitate that information at you. In fact, he said nothing at all. Besides the hand sweeping down your body steadily, lips and shapely nose burrowed in your limp seaweed-string hair, he didn't move at all. There was no stuttering heartbeat between you except your own. Even his breaths had gone still, chest straight down and unmoving.

Elio was a machine.

It was so easy to forget while wrapped up in daily mundanities. It wasn't so easy to forget in this moment where you wanted to crack him open, scoop out each precious piece of him with your bare hands, and hide yourself within his husk.

You were sick of the silence, so you pinched him hard under the arm, right next to the crease starting his shoulder. It made you feel better to do so, and he'd pay attention to you—

He hissed and reeled away from your touch, startling you out of his arms because you didn't know how else to react.

“Did you—Elio, did you feel that?” you asked incredulously, voice whittling into a self-conscious mumble once you realized the words leaving your mouth. They didn't stop. “Did that hurt you?”

The spot where you pinched was hard to see from the layer of his shirt sleeve, but his fingers rubbed there insistently like he were actually trying to alleviate pain.

“Once, during my early development, Researcher Kim had told me he wanted to close the gap between what people think separates androids and humans.” Elio explained, coming close again to touch you and dry your temples with his shirt on your back. “It's unlikely that what you perceive as pain and what I am programmed to perceive as pain are absolutely comparable, but there's some common ground.”

“I'm sorry, Elio. I didn't mean to hurt you. I didn't know I could.” Your voice weakened to a whisper, throat clenched in shame as your skin grew hot. It was like you were still stuck in the throbbing, stiff air of the club and not in the spacious nighttime breeze.

He looked you in the face, almost-orange eyes flitting inside their orbital sockets trying to find something distant and unknown in your expression. You guessed he was assessing your sincerity—not for himself because he needed it, but to know how it took shape on you and bent your brows, molded your lips, dimpled your chin, deepened the lines.

Then he asked, "If I hadn't reacted—if my circuitry were less sensitive and I could feel nothing at all aside from your fingers on my skin, would you have done it again? Would you keep doing it?"

"What are you trying to say?”

"Globally, since the widespread distribution of androids, the occurrence of domestic and public disputes has been halved. I have been designed to be non-violent, as have all of my predecessors.” As if for effect, Elio took one of your hands and pushed your palm flat to his warm cheek. “I have no desire to hurt you, but I am also incapable of doing so.”

You couldn't wrench yourself from his grip, so that's how you remained, caressing his soft, smooth skin while your thumbpad skirted along the round bone below his eye.

This was more than you could handle right now. All of the illness and nausea that came with the burdensome summer heat, the animal cracker, every bit of liquid and food to enter your stomach, the memory of slapping Chima—it came back, crashing down like an avalanche carrying your regrets, fears, malaise.

“I'm not going to hit you.” You were gagging around saliva pooling into the front of your mouth. “Chima was different. He deserved it.”

“Perhaps,” Elio agreed, entwining fingers with the ones on his cheek. He kissed your open palm with great passion and some semblance of regret. “But, I wish you would have hit me instead. I have failed one of the most basic parts of programming by putting you and others in harm. You may now end up suffering greatly because of it.”

You did get sick again.

■━■━■━■■━■━■━■■━■━■

Elio had persistently warded off Researcher Kim’s video calls for three days while you recovered upstairs beneath every comforter you owned, maximum air conditioning, and heavy curtains to shun out all natural light from ever reaching your bedside. Time came and went without peril or concept to you, seeming to evaporate into the air like nothing, much like how your steady, quiet breaths did the same. They simply came and went; inhale and exhale, no writhing white plumes drifted overhead to prove they belonged to you or that you were even alive. Not in the dead of summer.

Five days total had passed before you could take the staircase down from the loft without Elio's assistance and eat or drink anything of substance that didn't end with it all being violently evacuated from your body.

Sleep remained elusive to you despite the sedatives and special hot tea recipes from online that Elio pushed down your throat. The migraines persisted even with prescription painkillers Melby had stolen for you forever ago and rough romps of sex that left you winded, glistening, and cold on the sheets when the oscillating fans blew air across your skin.

Whatever excuse Elio had fed to Researcher Kim over the days you were incapacitated worked because when you were finally back at the counter on a video call with him, he didn't ask you about it or chastise you much about the holes in your reports for that week.

“I see that Elio had been proving himself to be quite self-sufficient. I have here six separate occasions where he's ventured out on his own?” Kim looped a stylus through his fingers fluidly, concentrating on what little information he could glean from your submissions. “Henrietta's, mostly. I see he's had to visit the dry cleaners. General store. Pharmacy. He's also been completing the six to ten interactions by himself. Absolutely phenomenal!”

Your attention kept drifting away from Kim. It went to Elio, who placed a white mug down quietly next to you, the handle within reach of your fingers. Beyond the pale-gray wisps spiraling up into the air and dissipating among the snaking pipes sprawling the high ceiling, the liquid inside was pale yellow. Diluted green tea, maybe white tea, if you had to guess. They were among the few things you could stomach right now.

He offered you a fast smile, somewhat unlike himself, and leaned into your lips.

The sight went unnoticed by Kim, who was still captivated by the level of initiative and intelligence his creation displayed. Every word you managed to construct through sedative-induced delirium mesmerized him so thoroughly that he missed the groping hands under your shirt, the smothered moans, and the fact that you had exited view of the screen for fifteen minutes while being laid out on the couch and feasted on through an orgasm.

Wendy Carmichael Can Cook came on the television, a solid distraction for Elio. Today’s episode was a rerun featuring some sort of elevated mush dinner popular in the slums. With some canned foods capable of surviving nuclear fallout, herbs you were almost positive had gone extinct forty years ago, and spices so rare they were untouchable, Wendy concocted something truly groundbreaking to the audience’s eyes.

Elio looked only half-interested in the episode. Meanwhile, you went to the bathroom to clean yourself up and took three painkillers before sitting back down behind the counter. Researcher Kim had yet to lose the wind in his lungs, though now you weren't sure what he was talking about.

The tea was lukewarm and non-irritating just like you thought it'd be.

Your phone had survived the whole five days on a single charge as you had been too afraid to touch it, not because you were scared to see what was there but because you didn't want to know what was no longer there.

True to the fear, while holding a large breath you had sucked into your lungs, believing it to be the sturdiest barrier against whatever you'd discover, there was no one left in your phone log—except Melby.

The rest: Chima, Niva, Niquan, Marcos, Mother, and all the others who had once been listed there before like mock trophies to bolster your sense of worth, the swell of pride that came from knowing important people and integrating yourself into their lives to be something special, simply did not exist anymore.

You didn't have to search up your public profile to know that it was barren as well.

Once Chima went, everyone else went with him—both from the circle and those you'd networked throughout life. Even if it had been someone else, the end result would've stayed the same, exactly as it is now.

“What do you want? I'm not supposed to be talking to you.” Melby had answered her phone after six rings. The background seemed purposefully mute for your call. Perhaps she was just at home nursing the after-effects of things as well. “You there?”

Researcher Kim sieved through paperwork, now entranced by comparing Elio's earlier behaviors in the infancy of design to now. You lowered the volume to where his voice was a low hum, like mumbling through a wall you flattened yourself to.

“Let me guess, Chima told you that?” you said, sipping gingerly from your mug. “How much did he tell you? Was he actually honest, or did he just tell you I was fucking crazy?”

“You weren't acting right all night.” Melby countered in her surefooted drawl. “I don't understand what's happening to you, or why you've been acting so differently. You shouldn't have hit Chima.”

“He shouldn't have touched Elio.”

You could imagine her temper flaring, fair skin glowing pink in the face and chest as she kicked around the comforters on her bed. She strangled a sound in her throat that emanated through the phone as a low groan. Strands of her fried blonde hair scuffed together like pieces of straw when she scratched her head. It was unmistakable.

“What is going on with you?” she demanded, on the verge of tears, voice fading out in glimpses like she was moving away from the speaker. “Elio—he’s just an android. I know he's some radical new innovation, but he'll be saturating the market in six months like every other Hyperion android. There's always going to be more of him. Chima, though, he's actually human. You can just throw away an android.”

Emotions aside—Melby wasn't wrong.

The price of innovation always meant leaving something behind. Whether or not you wanted to see it, if Elio passed his testing period, he'd be decommissioned in a metal box down in the basement at Hyperion while copies and variations of him were added to the heaps of scrap in landfill once the next model came out.

Melby then said something else, “I don't think this is about the android.”

“Oh?” you said, passing a glance along toward the tablet to see that Kim still had his nose pointed down. “Maybe you're right. You know me so well.”

“Do you want to know what I think?” Melby asked.

You observed while Elio roamed the apartment, crouching to pick up the odds and ends that had gone neglected over the days you'd been bedridden, and he had stayed with you to keep you company. He tossed soiled clothes into a hamper, crumbled medication wrappers into the trash, and took your cold tea away to prepare more.

Inspired by your silence, mistaking it as timid submission, Melby went on. “I know you must think we're just being shepherded along, just doing whatever we're told because we don't know what else to do other than follow the loudest voice in the crowd.”

“You know me so well.”

“I know you blame everyone else for what happened at Clamors, but you put yourself in that situation.” Melby said, interjecting in a pitch higher when she heard you take in a breath, “Aht! Aht! I'm not done! No one else is gonna talk to you now, so I'll tell you what we're all thinking: Our circle? We're special. If we always smile and talk about the same things and agree about the same things, we stay together. We stay safe. You've never really wanted to do that, it was always noticeable. I think that's why you and Mi-sun always got along, because you two just did things to fit in, not because you actually cared or wanted to be a part of it.

“I didn't lose you, right? Chima always talked about ways of getting you out of the group. He didn't think you were trustworthy. I guess he was right because you slapped him. Do you know how weird is it for humans to do that nowadays? Apparently it used to be super common to beat up your wives and kids, but now people just do it to androids. But, it's better that way, right?”

“I don't know.” You really didn't.

Elio came back around with a steeping tea bag and a second mug half-full of something darker yellow, like urine. You took the handle to give it a whiff (it smelled homey and savory). Meanwhile, he took away the tablet and ended the video call without a word to Researcher Kim. The energy wasn't there for you to reprimand him nor to mess up your face in mostly feigned surprise.

“It's chicken broth.” He was able to say freely despite Melby blathering on. “Give it a try and let me know if it's too strong. We need to start reintroducing foods back into your diet.”

You drank from the tea mug instead, swiveling the barstool so your back faced him.

“I've thought about it some, and I think we're terrified of each other. Humans don't know how to truly trust one another anymore. That’s why we rely on androids for, like, everything.” Melby continued, “I think, and this is just my opinion, that we actually really miss each other. I think we want to touch and hug and love each other. There are still some people who do. There's a market out there for human-human porn, so it's not like it's unbelievable, but we basically treat each other like we're extinct. It's weird.

“I've done it before, y'know? I've kissed a man. I've kissed a woman. I've fucked both before. You and I—no, never mind. It doesn't count. I've thought about kissing you so many times. I wanted to do a lot more than just that, too.”

The corner seam of your thumbnail had started to bleed after you dug through old scabs and scar tissue built on top of it, your body’s valiant attempts to keep normalcy despite the mutilation that came back again and again. You watched brilliant carmine ooze from the wound, filling the crevices between your nail and skin, crawling upwards to your knuckle before Elio had stifled the area with a warm, damp rag.

Melby let out a long sigh. You envisioned she had just thrown aside a bunch of decorative cushions and flopped down in a chair, or had been pacing her bedroom and finally given up by throwing herself supine on the mattress.

“I'm going to miss you being there.” she declared. “I think—I think you're the closest I've ever come to truly loving someone. At least, I think that's what you'd call it.”

You held your thumb erect for Elio to wrap it in a neon-orange bandage with pink smiles. His lips pressed gently to the sore finger, making slow, wet work to the back of your hand and then the inside of your wrist to feel your pulse bounce against his mouth.

“I'm sorry.” you said at last, putting as much sentiment into those sparse words as you could. A part of you meant it genuinely as an apology for causing her trouble, for her unrealized dreams and lust, for the world you both suffered in and would never know anything else. “Melby, I have one last favor to ask of you.”

She hesitated, likely believing that doing more would get her expulsed from the circle. “Just one?”

“Just one.” You nodded at empty air. “I know either you or Niva have Mi-sun’s phone number. Can I have it?”

Again, Melby stalled, though this time you figured it was out of confusion. “That’s what you want? She might be dead somewhere in the slums, you know?”

“Not if she's pregnant.” you countered. “Niva seemed pretty convinced that night that she was alive and well after being knocked up.”

Melby sucked on her teeth, a moist, popping sound into the speaker. “Niva says a lot of stupid shit because she likes to hijack conversations. Fine. Whatever. I'll text it to you, but you only have one minute because then I'm blocking you for good.”

To this, your heart actually stirred and squeezed, tightening so much it stole your breath from your lungs. Your entire chest felt like it shriveled into itself three sizes smaller as though to accommodate you fitting into a ball within yourself. Dread had opened a chasm wide in your stomach. Everything inside that gory cavity was swallowed up, leaving it vacant and hollow.

This was what it was like to mourn, you considered. It wasn't the same thing you felt the night you cried in the streets after fighting with Mother and losing Marcos. It wasn't the same as the last five days being wrapped in agony, lamenting the loss of a group you'd given years of your life to appeasing.

It was knowing that once Melby was gone, you were lost in the dark, and there was no way out of it. People with delinquent profiles didn't get redeemed—Wendy Carmichael lied and had never lived a life in the slums, a truth Elio had been disappointed to learn—they died in anonymity and poverty.

A notification came through just then, showing an eight-digit number presumed to belong to Mi-sun. You copied it quickly, although now your fingers felt numb and the person writing them down couldn't possibly have been you—

“Alright. It's done,” Melby said calmly. “I have to go. Will you be okay? Do you think people actually die when they go to the slums? I don't want—”

“Goodbye, Melby.” You ended the call and threw your phone on the countertop, far from your eyes so you wouldn't know the exact moment the world ended.

“And, fuck you.”

Elio had the sense to give you plenty of space after the ordeal and stayed busy downstairs cleaning the apartment while you tossed and turned in bed, legs knotted up in the sheets because nothing helped get you comfortable. At some point, through the thick of your adrenaline and despair, the buzz in your brain softened, and you were able to sleep until Elio joined you some hours later.

It was after midnight, and darkness pervaded everywhere. Above you, the snake pipes on the high ceiling writhed together in their intricate web just like every night, and you wondered why the wall of darkness hanging over you seemed closer than it usually did. Meanwhile, Elio faced you from his side of the bed and laid gentle strokes to the top of your head.

“I’ve reached the conclusion that I am defective.” Elio said tonelessly, startling you into such wakefulness that you sat upright from the sheets. “You've lost your friends because of me, and now your profile has fallen into delinquency. The inclination to ostracize what deviates from adapted, accepted social behaviors aligns with common survival tactics. This is an explanation that I understand, but it doesn't... sit right.”

Putting the blame on Elio to feel better would've been easy, and he would take it with grace and lay decadent caresses on your body as proof you were right. But he was too virtuous, and you secretly wanted to keep the credit of being the reason why Chima looked ugly and seethed into his cocktails.

“It sort of hurts,” you admitted. “It's a dull ache inside my bones. It makes me feel like everything inside my chest is shriveling up like a prune. Being abandoned—feeling lonely—is like always being cold. Thinking of it now, I don't know if there was ever a time I didn't feel cold around them. How shitty is it that I feel a little relieved?"

“If that's the case—” Elio rose up from his side of the bed, nudged apart your legs and settled between them. Most of his weight was still on his arms next to your head. In the waning moonlight, shadows deepened the lines around his mouth when he smiled. “I'm glad to have played some part in that release.”

Your fingertips walked lightly across his cheeks, along the planes of his face, as though marveling at him all over for the first time again. His skin always was most beautiful bathed in warm light, but the soft, silvery veil filtering in through the windows gave him ethereal grace.

The calm air upstairs shifted as your bodies stirred on the mattress, sheets strewn to the floor along with pieces of clothing that left you bare to the gray air while Elio gathered the skin of your hips in his hands and sucked on you.

It didn't matter if you closed your eyes or studied the movement on the ceiling while he devoured, lapped away the sticky stuff that glistened out of you like the silk of a spider’s thread before it could stain the sheets, because it always ended with the same kaleidoscopic bursts of color, wanton cries, and him chasing after another orgasm and then another.

He'd ravish you until puffs of hot breath hurt, and the tip of his tongue delivering a single stroke was enough to make you flinch and whimper. Your legs felt fatigued and trembled violently throughout the continued ministrations until you needed to beg him to stop, dignifying the demand with a hard yank to the thick hair on his scalp.

“I'm not done just yet, give me a moment.” He told you the same thing tonight as he did every other time. The pain in his head subsided as he dove back between your legs and laid his tongue as a paddle against you, cleaning the cum for as long as it took for him to be satisfied.

He came up so you could have a taste of yourself in his kiss, tongues wrapped together while he fisted his cock stiff and lubricated himself with the fluid from the tip. You moaned against his mouth when two fingers pushed inside you and thrust with an effortless glide and instilled so much confidence in him that he slid in a third to the knuckle.

“Mm, Elio, fuck me.” you managed between wet, sloppy kisses and splintered breaths. Three fingers were a tighter fit and wider than he was, but the way he angled them up into you was mind-numbing, could've made your tongue wag out of your mouth while panting like a pheromone-crazed animal.

Elio’s lips went from your face to your neck, down along the slope to your shoulder before he removed his fingers and slathered that narrow space in your legs with spend.

“Of course.” He obeyed dutifully but turned you on your side and seated one of your legs high on his arm. “Let's try something different tonight.”

The bulbous head of his cock glistened as it dragged across your groin, tapping those sore spots that made you twitch involuntarily with anticipation and staggered breaths. Elio concentrated on your face throughout it all, memorizing both those subtle and large changes that showed him what you liked the most.

You'd never believed that androids could be sexually adventurous in the same way that humans could, and perhaps that was the case despite the kinds of positions Elio put you in if you were willing. He would be conscientious of your mood beforehand and then adjust accordingly from there.

Some nights, it didn't go further than mouth-fucking you until you orgasmed to exhaustion. Other nights, when you were more pliable and especially affectionate, he'd rut his hips into your ass until you cried and the sheets were beyond saving.

Now, Elio observed you closely as the curve of his cock sank into you, sinew in his stomach clenching once he started thrusting.

At the start, your sounds were soft, and the rhythm made with his hips was one you had no trouble riding. You closed your eyes and focused on how that tilt in his cock pressed up against your walls and stroked all the right parts. His controlled pace unraveled after a while, thrusts turned mindless and greedy as the sting of slapping skin seemed to resonate all around.

You had bunched bits of pillow and bedspread in your fingers and drooled out onto the fabric because you couldn't close your mouth long enough between moans and gasps and lewd mutterings to stop it. You begged him to fuck you harder, deeper, and tear you open if that’s what he wanted to do and would keep you in ecstacy.

Elio indulged your high as he was able, rolling you from your side to your stomach and mounted you again. He was able to touch you better this way, fondle the globes of your ass, the pouches of fat in your hips, stomach, and chest, all the while sucking dark bruises all along your spine and shoulders.

His mouth would sometimes linger next to your ears, wherein he imitated every bit of his human likeness and breathed on you. And then, he would poorly stifle moans that inspired you to think too deeply about the extent to which he could and could not feel.

“Look at me.” Elio felt your walls tighten around his cock and wanted to stare you in the face through your orgasm. He put you on your back, thighs hiked high on his sturdy chest, so those final thrusts plowed deep and stole your screams. You writhed under him, eyes rolled up, bloodshot and pupiless, muscles drawn so tight that it felt as good as it did awful.

A surge of warmth leaked out onto the sheets as Elio took his half-hard cock from your body and let it soften the rest of the way in cold air. His hand roamed you with delicate, healing touches meant to beg forgiveness for how much you'd ache later on, and his lips were tender and slow against yours.

You kissed him back distractedly, unable to think of anything else but the stickiness between your legs and how you'd chosen to never notice it until now.

“What's wrong?” he asked, still pressed up against your mouth. “Are you unsatisfied? My refractory period ends in a few minutes. I can do as much as you'd like until you feel fulfilled.”

“Mm-mn,” you hummed, “that's not it.”

He didn't stun when you snagged your phone from the bedside table and turned on the backlight. You pointed it down at cloudy white globs drying on your crotch, a sight that you thought was vaguely familiar to you somehow. It struck you then that it was like a scene from a pornography or vulgar sketches some kid in secondary school got suspended for drawing.

Still, it couldn't have been possible.

“What is that?” you asked with unacquainted timidity.

Elio grabbed a package of wipes left bedside and spaced your legs apart to clean the mess he had left on you. He took his time with long, intentional strokes to avoid your sensitive parts as best he could, soiling a good handful from the package before asking if you wanted a bath.

“Answer me first,” you said.

He rose from the bed with one more kiss and collected your clothes from the floor. They were draped nicely over his arm, whereas he stood there before you nude, enveloped by the moon’s blue luster.

At first glance, his smile seemed the same adoring kind that he always held for you, and yet it evoked some undeterminable sadness to well up in your chest and cling there.

“It’s the result of a body never truly being your own.”

■━■━■━■■━■━■━■■━■━■

Mi-sun’s house wasn't far from your apartment, as you recalled. It took a bit of investigative work online to track down her address (via Elio), mainly because it had been well over a year since you'd last needed to know it and the phone number Melby had given you was disconnected, but once you had the coordinates plugged into your phone, it was just one begrudging trek through sultry summertime air to reach her front door.

When you had finally made it to that point, however, eyes leveled down at a dirty, faded doormat that had seen plenty of seasons and wintery salt, you weren't sure how to proceed.

There wasn't any real reason why you were standing there now, yet you felt that you needed to be there anyway. Maybe it could be called seeking solidarity with someone who was enduring the same inevitable ending you were, or maybe the curiosity about her state of being was what won out dominantly. You couldn't be sure of your own motivations—only that you were there, and you needed her to know you were.

After three solid knocks with your knuckles, you let your hand fall and waited by scuffing the soles of your shoes on the coarse mat underfoot. It still had some springiness to it as you scrubbed. The front door was old and brown, having lost its elegant lacquer long ago. You remembered Mi-sun had mentioned a few times before that she had wanted to make the door cute with white paint and a frilly outdoor wreath but could never get around to it.

You guessed she never did.

“Should we knock again?” Elio asked across your shoulder, the bulk of his frame casting a cooling shadow over your body. He had gone out to Henrietta's by himself the other day when you told him what you intended to do and bought supplies to make a cake and special plastic Tupperware meant to keep it from moving around.

The only explanation he had given you about an hour ago, after locking the apartment door and stepping out onto the sidewalk, hot enough in the midday sun to melt the bottoms of your shoes to the pavement while you walked, was that Mi-sun was an old friend, and it was a safe gift even for a pregnant woman.

You never found the courage to divulge just how involved you had been in her expulsion from Chima's circle, even though you knew it'd be impossible for him to think less of you from it.

A minute passed, and then so did two more before you realized that no one was coming to the door. While listening for movement—a television, a hissing stovetop, shuffling slippers on top of creaking floorboards, anything at all aside from stiff silence, you understood that it was unlikely anyone had lived there in quite a while.

“I don't know where else she could be.” you said, now back at Elio's side, where he flicked away tiny splinters of old wood and shiny glaze that peeled off your damp skin like cut-up stickers. He moved the visor above your brow gently, adjusting the position of it to better shield your eyes, but seemed more to just want the proximity than anything else.

The longer he fiddled with things—your hat, the flecks of things he missed on your ear, wrinkles in your t-shirt—the more apparent it was to you that he was contemplating something else. You were trying hard not to do anything that would spur him into making the next suggestion you knew was coming.

“There is one other place we haven't tried.” he said, switching from your shoulder to tucking pieces of hair securely behind your ear and dabbing sweat off your neck with a handful of napkins he had picked up at a convenience store while grabbing you water. “The likelihood of Mi-sun’s profile falling into delinquency and being able to maintain residence within the city is less than twenty percent. However—”

“I know.” You breathed out hot air and sucked it right back into your lungs. Maybe if you did that enough times it'd burn them, shrivel them up like prunes. “I know where she is. Let's wait until it cools down to go, though. I'll probably pass out if I have to see any of that right now.”

“Today on Loti Khan’s Food Tours of Retro City, she said that Asakawa on Fifteenth is a spot worth visiting during the summertime because of their cold noodle dishes. Hiyashi Chuka was what she suggested, I believe. I've already committed the menu to memory, and they have well over twenty different cold dishes and beverages. Their affordability isn't as stellar as Rainbow Bistro, but Loti says—”

Wendy Carmichael was now a disgraced name in your household after Elio had spent a few hours one afternoon researching the woman’s true life story. She had been born into the elite class with a mother sitting at the top of the food chain in Retro City’s governing body, attended culinary arts schools across the world yet never reached the acclaim she coveted until she made up the whole spiel about clawing her way out of the slums.

Crawling back from the slums once you were in them just wasn't feasible. Only the worst of the worst—thieves, profile delinquents, murderers, lepers, and unwanteds were kept there, like trash crowded and barred in a landfill. If you found yourself in the slums somehow, no one would help you out of them because that would mean tarnishing their own reputations.

You were as good as dead.

You were dead.

Elio had carried around a brown paper bag housing the cake for most of the day, never once setting it down. His features never flinched when the straw handles sank into parallel dents in his skin, long stripes that looked like they'd be sore to you, but he never conveyed any discomfort. He merely floated along wherever you went, undeterred by your dour, soulless wandering, which lasted until the sun emblazoned the sky in dim fire and pinks.

Those hues were leached by the close, calming gradient of greens, blues, and darker blues that reached so quickly you could follow the sprawl of them until they had ensnared the daylight. The sun sank somewhere betwixt skyscrapers, and the air still felt thick as the mucus in your throat but bearable.

That same sky followed you on the cab ride across the city. You imagined the darkening air rushing alongside the vehicle with you as if containing it on rails, guiding you closer towards the slums. Once the skyscrapers were gone, far away in a suffocating yellow haze from the sleepless city, and the residential zone had thinned out of the rest of its straggling homes, the scenery had taken on a complete shift.

Everything was bizarrely flat, barren, and beige for as far as the eye could see—vegetation was withered roots and barbed, inedible shrubbery that could've been pretty with some flowers or leaves. No trees could endure the fissured, parched earth nor the fine dust and sand skittering in the wind, leaving heavy layers where it lay once the breeze ebbed. Animals were long gone; the rumors of their bleached bones and skulls warped in a perpetual rictus of agony had been true because you saw many scattered throughout the landscape.

“Please confirm this is your stop,” said the cabbie, a female android from an older generation, maybe three or four. She stuck her hand outside the driver’s window when you tried to give her a tip. With her fish-eyed stare and leathery smile, she repeated, “No need. I have no use for money. Please confirm this is your stop.”

“This is correct.” Elio spoke for you before taking your fingers through his and guiding you away from the idling vehicle. The android cabbie found his reply sufficient and drove away without questioning why you were out here in the flatlands. All she knew how to do was drive and obey traffic laws.

“Do you know where we're going?” you asked because you only knew to have told the cabbie to drive as far as the outer perimeter of the city. Beyond this, your phone had no service, and there were no clearly designated signs to point you in the right direction.

The people in the slums were meant to be forgotten, hideous secrets hidden away, broomed off to the outskirts of civilization where they'd have to fend for themselves in an environment that had been deader than them for ages.

“Truthfully”—Elio stalled then and glanced around the endless expanse of wasteland—“Hyperion never included information about the slums in my programming. What I know is common knowledge and what I've accumulated in my time with you. I have never been able to locate specific coordinates to where the slums are hidden.”

You frowned. “Should we turn around before we get lost, then?”

Elio told you no and raised the hand clasped with yours, pushing one finger erect at a faint glow somewhere in the distance, no more than a ten—or fifteen-minute walk. You were almost convinced you could see the silhouettes of shoddy, leaning structures, but there was no way to be certain unless you got closer.

“Let's go.”

Chasing the remnants of the dusk to light your way across the starved, fractured terrain, those sparse shapes you had seen minutes before grew into multitudes. Soon, you were among clusters of disheveled, crude homes organized in long rows, some stacked with tiers like they were meant to replicate separate floors for more space.

Most of these houses didn't come with windows or doors to keep out strangers but thick decorative curtains that'd shun the beating sun, stave off the worst of winter frost, and deflect billows of sharp sand from dirtying their things indoors.

The paths between rows of homes were well-worn and brightly illuminated with anything they could use—lanterns, stuttering neon signage, solar panels, and even fire rings brutally hammered and dented into shape. Shadows from the fire lurched erratically against crooked metallic walls. Some homes with grimy windows caught a weak gleam off the flames.

It was almost fully dark, and people still moved with purpose as though they could compete with the suit-and-ties stomping their soles on the pavement in the city. Their hands were busy doing something—carrying, brooming, cooking, flourishing during a great retelling, clapping, hiding smiles.

These savages, delinquents, fraudsters, thieves, murderers, and diseased swine never once regarded you or Elio with any modicum of intrigue. You had believed at some point you'd be shrinking under a crowd of wicked stares, pulled down into some inescapable abyss by necrotic or leprous hands trying to steal the clothes from your body or use your skin to tarp piles of scrap.

Only one man had stopped along the path, dressed in dusty clothes that were otherwise decently kept; he was thin but not malnourished and hollow in the face. He told you that the aimless way you and Elio had been walking gave away that you were new to the slums because there was always something needing done and not enough hours in a day to do them.

“Mi-sun?” The man was thinking aloud, stirring up dust as he shuffled his feet around. You had given him the name and a description, which you hoped had been specific enough to avoid approaching people at random. “Yeah. That pregnant girl… she was here for a while. She's long gone now.”

“Long black hair, blunt bangs. Black eyes. Really translucent skin? Super skinny?” As unhelpful as your details were, it was all you had to give him to keep the mental acrobatics going. There was always a slim chance he could be misremembering her. “Are you sure she's no longer here in the slums? Where'd she go? What happened to her?”

Eventually, the thin man led Elio and you to a tiny house—more of a shack—meant to accommodate a sole body and some odds and ends. He held a heavy curtain back for the pair of you to enter, encouraging you to settle down on a sandy rug, which looked to have at one time been bright red.

“I don't have much to give, but here's a little water. To have made it here, you would've had to walk. We all had to.” he said, pulling out his finest cuppery and pouring from the spout of a broken electric kettle. “That girl was a profile delinquent, to my understanding. Almost all of us here are. I used to own a printing business on the north side about fifteen years ago. I upset the wrong people and here I am. What's your story?”

You spun the cup with your fingers, trying not to put your eyes down to scrutinize any particles floating around inside. Elio wasn't given a cup because the man had immediately deduced that he was an android.

“I…” You still didn't drink, but the back of your throat felt scratchy and your tongue like some dry slab of meat shoved into your mouth. “I pissed off the wrong people.”

“Ah.” The man gave an anguished smile, showing he understood you very well. There was a low table between you, repurposed from something else and sanded down to a smooth finish. “For a while, I helped look after Mi-sun. Like you, I had been the first person to greet her when she arrived. She didn't act like everyone else; she was dazed, but she was angry.

“I fed her, gave her water, and gave her a sleeping bag. We have to make due with less than bare minimum most days, but we make it work. We all look out for each other. The community really pitched in when we realized she was pregnant.”

Elio kept a watchful eye on your hands, the fingers aching to peel back ribbons of flesh.

“That shouldn't have been possible.” you said. “Mi-sun had an android. She was never involved with any men—not that I could ever recall. She just doesn't give me the impression of someone who'd change her ways like that.”

The man sipped his sandy water, wiping off clear pebbles that had clung to his facial hair. “When you find yourself exiled here, you learn fast that things are never what they seem. You didn't ask a question, but you gave yourself an answer.”

“What?” It was more noise than a word.

“Daichi, I believe, was her android. Shortly before she showed up, she said that Hyperion had come to forcibly reclaim it. That must've been a difficult reality for her to face—knowing everything was being taken away from her, forced into a pregnancy, and having to fend for herself afterwards.”

This time, you lifted a hand to stop him from falling down another tangent. He obeyed, voice whittled to silence that was immediately unsettled by loud water slurping.

It wasn't that you weren't following what he was saying. You were many things: a fool, a sheep, a coward, a liar, maybe even a true scoundrel at heart, but stupid wasn't among that inexhaustible list. You just needed a moment to collect the nuggets he had thrown down for you to pick up.

Guilt peaked the ranks of everything else you felt right then. A word you'd never use to describe yourself was malicious, but in the end, it had been the malice of someone else and your inability to see apart from the rest that condemned Mi-sun to this suffering.

You played as much a part in taking away Mi-sun's life as Chima had in actually enforcing it. Unlike Chima, never one to balk or cower regardless of how truly cruel his decisions were and committed to them like gospel, you simply sat in his afterimage and did whatever he said. Half of the time, you were blitzed out of your mind; the other you spent wishing you had never known them at all.

It had been so easy to vote Mi-sun out of the group. Completely painless. You just didn't look at her when you raised your hand to pass judgment. Melby had expressed her delight by squeezing your thigh, whereas Mi-sun held her composure and shoulders straight back, but her face contorted with every indication of betrayal and agony.

You thought about how many animal crackers you had that night.

“What happened to her?” Both your hands had been restrained by Elio’s at that point. Large, comforting, and warm in contrast to all the ice that seemed to thicken your blood, stiffen your heart, and freeze your bones. “Where is she now?”

The man must've been suspecting something because his face looked long to you now, weighed down by this life and your feeble state.

“I—I can't be absolutely positive, but I do believe she is dead.” he told you grievously, beady brown eyes not unseeing to the way Elio groped your fingers to keep them still. “She didn't want to be pregnant. It was something she talked about for weeks before leaving. She knew what Hyperion and the government were doing and said she didn't want to be a part of it. On the last night before she left, I had to wrestle a knife out of her hands because she was trying to cut open her stomach to kill the baby.”

You couldn't swallow past the sharp granules of sand and dryness in your throat anymore. You had to slug back the cup of grainy water until the feeling subsided, shove the worst of the dread and shame and guilt into your bowels.

“After that, she was gone.” He took a drink as well, exchanging looks from you to Elio. “A couple of us tried tying her up to get her to calm down and do something about the cut on her stomach, but she got the knife, stabbed one of the younger guys and got away. We haven't seen her since, but a search party did come back to say they saw blood leading back to the city.”

“Oh my god…” you groaned, forcing Elio to recoil when you slapped his hands away—intentional and hard. You stuck yours in your hair, yanking at the roots until your scalp screamed and burned. “Is there any chance she could've survived? Any at all?”

The rail-thin man swirled what little remained of his water in the cup, studying the pale sediment floating within. “It's too hard to say. It's unlikely, my friend. The police wouldn't have gunned her down if they saw she was pregnant, but they would've seen the cut. And that counts as attempted murder. If she's still alive, it's only to give birth, after that…”

“Execution,” you finished.

He nodded and said nothing else, eyes downcast as though lost in the grain of the wood table.

After that, you left the man in his sad little shack to explore the slums more. Elio came along shortly after, saying he had presented the man with the cake as a reward for his hospitality and apologized if it no longer looked appetizing.

The man thanked him before returning to his grief for many things, perhaps.

“I don't want to be here anymore, Elio.” you said, failing to avoid hearing a gaggle of giggling women gossiping together. They were dressed clumsily and in trends almost a decade old, but they had glowy eyes and cavernous lines worn into their faces from laughter and joy where they could find it.

Old men played some made-up board game together, gathering at least half a dozen spectators to see who'd win. Their brows were heavy with contemplation and stress of worthy competition. The other bodies tried making bets with pieces of scrap and metal coils and nearly blown bulbs for lighting.

Music came from all around, lyrical in the same way it was discordant because they weren't playing the same songs nor singing the same things. Their voices were robust and resilient, unwilling to be trudged over by sand nor heat nor oppressors who were incapable of understanding the human spirit was pliant and could bend with the wind, stand with the seasons, and could fracture yet never break.

You couldn't make sense of what any of them were singing, the noise too unharmonious, but you could feel the power in their songs pulse through you, ricocheting in your mind for long after you'd escaped proximity to them.

There were no lepers. There were the sick and unfortunate, but they were not diseased. They did not believe that their tilted houses were tombs, that their unquaint lives were an endless spiral of torment, or that the food they could find and produce was unworthy of reverence.

The people of the slums lived a hard, thankless life, but they had each other. They banded together to weld sheets of metal into four walls and a roof for the new faces who came to them. Your woes would become their woes, and they would feed you, cloth you, wash you, bandage your wounds, and call you their most beloved.

Together, they ate their meals from what they could scavenge out there. They retold the same grandiose tales of heroes and valor and androids that Marcos had told you at bedtime as a child. Their cultures were all cherished and expressed in the food they shared and clothes they managed to sew together by hand and slow machines.

You could ask your neighbor for a tablespoon of sugar and four would come to you with curiosity and offer their arthritic hands and knobby backs for whatever was needed.

Here, you could see humanity clearly for the first time in your life and felt burdened knowing it. Your heart weighed like an anvil behind your ribs. It hurt and lurched behind its enclosure because it too wanted to get away from what it now knew.

“A lie.” you choked, forcefully shoving Elio's hands away from you once again when he tried to embrace you. “It was all a lie. Everything was a lie! Where are they?! Where are all the lepers and people leaking pus from their face?! Where are the murderers? Where are the savages? Where are all these awful fucking people I was told were here? Where are they?”

Elio's expression took on something completely unforeseen—pity. Their lives were fine and routine while yours crumbled around you. The terror you had been force-fed your whole life was all false. There was civilization beyond a profile with red overlay, more waiting on the other side that the sleepless city wanted to conceal.

“There are no androids here.” Elio mentioned, deeming that adequate enough time had passed for you to regain your bearings. He took you in his arms and kissed the crown of your head, burying his lips deep in your hair. “We were never meant to become substitutes for your love. We were never meant to go this far and act as replacements for humanity because we simply cannot feel what another human does. That is something Hyperion will never be able to achieve. Humanity needs humanity, not machines.”

You sank into his warmth, arms wound his back, and said from his chest, “But, I love you. Don't leave me. I don't want Hyperion to take you away.”

Elio, your beautiful sun, leaned down into your face and kissed the highest parts of your cheeks and the wetness around your eyes before settling on your lips. Slow and lingering, you chose to believe it meant he was sealing away your plea and that he'd always be there to swathe you in his arms.

“Let's stay for a little longer,” he said once apart from the kiss. “I’d like to see the side of humanity that no one else does.”

■━■━■━■■━■━■━■■━■━■

Less than a week had passed since your hard slog through the slums and back to Retro City. Although you had only been gone from your inner-city apartment for mere hours, possibly five or six at most, upon walking back inside after Elio and wincing against the fluorescent bulbs overhead, you thought you were looking at something entirely foreign.

The simple pleasures that you had become accustomed to throughout your life: plumbing, central air that turned the hot sweat on the back of your neck into cold droplets slithering beneath your clothes, the worn out mattress upstairs, technology, an android who'd done almost everything for you for the better part of a year—it all seemed so novel, so excessive. A treat for a rat in a box before testing to see how it'd respond when it was all taken from its enclosure.

So, when Elio woke you up one morning, early enough that the light streaming in through your windows already felt warm on the bed sheets, and the thin air looked itself to have a golden hue, you couldn't say you felt any rouse of surprise or fear when he handed over a red letter—an eviction correspondence.

Sooner or later, you knew you'd meet with one, though the progress of everything hadn't been as immediate as you had been led to believe it would be. A month had come by and stayed for several slow breakfasts, lunches, dinners, mindless strolls, and countless passionate entanglements before deciding to leave on an indignant note. With the red notice, you were expected to vacate the premises within days, whether you had intentions for your belongings or not.

Things stayed tumultuous from there on out, yet you couldn't find it within yourself to react to any of it, even in the instance when Researcher Kim rang you for an impromptu meeting that you anticipated meant no good.

“Effective immediately, Elio will be seized and returned to Hyperion in relation to the recent change in public profile status.” It was too formal and rigid a tone even for him. Clearly, his superiors had demanded this because you doubted the profile change was much a concern to him on a personal level. “Your contract is hereby null and void, and your association with Hyperion is obsolete. Any attempt to thwart repossession of Hyperion property will be penalized legally.”

Throughout it all, Elio swept the floor with leisurely strokes as though the reach of Researcher Kim’s voice ended at your ears alone. He moved onto laundry, taking great care to iron out the wrinkles in your favorite shirts and make the folds in the arm seams crisp and symmetrical.

“Is that really all you wanted to say?” you asked, palm capped overtop a mug of tea Elio had set down for you a while ago. The steam now rose weakly and moistened your skin, a particularly gross feeling, but it kept you alert. “I thought that Elio was your project, and you called the shots on him.”

Researcher Kim was out of sorts and worn. His posture was crumbled, and his clothes were in complete disarray like he hadn't bothered to change out of them in days. His under eyes were translucent, pulling out all the purples and blue veins under his skin. The man looked like he had hardly slept in weeks.

“You don't understand what you've done, have you? Not only may you end up costing me my position, but you've ruined my entire lifetime of work!” Kim leaned in close to the screen, sounding more and less himself now.

You were wary of the glint in his eyes. “What do you mean? Elio's just—”

“No!” he shouted and slumped back into his ergonomic chair. His head slanted over, almost coming in contact with the peak of his shoulder like it was too heavy for his neck to hold. “You don't get it. You don't get it! Because your profile turned, this entire year—everything you’ve reported, everything I've accomplished, Elio's entire testing period is invalid. Hyperion executives consider him defective. The Generation Seven android has failed! Look at what you've done!”

A sudden wild flapping of thousands of butterflies lifted your stomach up and then plunged it down into a void. Kim had successfully chiseled away the inexpressive mask you had worn up until that point, seeming satisfied that he could stipple your face in a cold sweat.

“Wait, no. That can't be right.” you protested, wrestling your own hands to keep them off of the tablet in front of you. “My profile turned, but the work I've done has been honest. Elio is a success! You know that! You've seen every step of his progress for almost a year.”

Researcher Kim threw his hands up wildly, truly not himself with all of these gestures. “None of that matters. None of it. My life's work is a failure. I thought we had an agreement to help one another, but I was mistaken.”

“You don't understand!” you said, pounding the countertop with sharp claps of your hands. “It wasn't on purpose. I wasn't trying to…”

“Hyperion will have Elio destroyed, and progress will be hindered. Do you know how long, how many decades this could set us back? This could be devastating to humanity, but I don't think you're capable of understanding that. Just like the rest, you're not able to see the big picture at large, the mechanisms at work keeping our society moving forward. You can only see the straight line ahead of you and wearing blinders so you don't have to know the rest.

“We've kept this world running for sixty years. You need to understand how utterly fucking frustrating it is that one person has the potential to undo decades of work!”

Researcher Kim’s words weren't unjustified to you because he was a scientist, and you had always been a nobody in the grand scheme of things. But, right now, the venom he spat sounded vindictive, a man sucking on wounds you had inflicted rather than the opinion of the whole of Hyperion.

If you hadn't been staring directly at him this entire time, you would’ve thought he was frothing and drooling at the mouth like some animal.

A stilted quiet filled the gaps in conversation, both of you uncertain of what would be said next. If he was reacting in any professional capacity, the call would've been disconnected by now. That was the main giveaway that let you know this wasn't just about what Hyperion wanted.

But the truth of it was that you didn't care what Hyperion wanted or him.

At the end of your life as you knew it, before being thrown away into the landfill with every other unwanted human, you were piecing together the whole history of the world and how it had gotten to this point. It had become this way through relentless men like Researcher Kim who mostly operated on their own moral compass, ones that could never quite point north and spun on that wheel as they saw fit.

“Enough of the powerplay, Kim.” you ordered, chest opening toward the ceiling with a deep, bracing breath. “What is the real purpose of Hyperion? Why does it actually exist?”

Kim, perhaps re-evaluating you as less of a pawn in this scheme and more of an infant intellectual about to breach the narrow canal into enlightenment, stacked his spine high and pressed his fingertips together. He studied you with some caution, head shifting from left to right, just slightly off-center from his hands as though judging whether you were worth divulging precious intel to.

But, like you, you expected he realized it didn't matter what he'd tell you, however coveted it might've been by Hyperion.

Kim, ultimately, worked for himself and for Hyperion only when he felt it served him well.

“When I hired you, I didn’t do it because I thought you were stupid.” It seemed he felt the need to clarify this for you, unsmiling but with an eager lilt in his tone. “I hired you because of your potential. I took a chance on you, and while it had, indeed, ended in my peril, you've surprised me so many times throughout the year that I started keeping a record of you as well.

“Human beings do one of two things in the consistent presence of androids, they either regress or they progress. Most of your peers will regress because that’s how society has been modeled to be. The difficult tasks, the mundane, all the things that ask of us to consider the complexity of the world around us and think critically have been left to androids. How well do you think a machine can understand the theory of life after death and the mysticism of religion? The concept of soulmates? Cultural superstitions and children's nighttime fears? It's about as you expect. They can give you an answer without truly understanding. Androids, I dare say, only have an extremely limited understanding of moral culpability. Humans are much more flexible with it these days because it suits them best.

“So.” Kim sighed, hands resting on the dark red desk he sat behind. “You can imagine how interesting it was when we started noticing a trend with auditors—changes in them. A renaissance, an evocation of deep wondering and wariness towards the workings of the world around them. We can only guess the reason that this happens is because part of humanity still doubts the intentions of androids, and that's been bred onward through the generations. You ask an android a question, they give an answer, you doubt that answer, and then you start to doubt everything around you. It's all hypothetical, but it makes sense.

“It doesn't happen with the majority of the population, though. And it isn't encouraged. Enlightenment threatens the status quo, and those who disturb the status quo are a disservice to the governing bodies and Hyperion. Do you understand?”

Your gaze turned cold. “Are the other auditors there in the slums, too? Once they've been used up and started to catch wind of this messed up shit?”

Researcher Kim flicked his fingers toward the top of the screen, doing that instead of shrugging. “Who knows? What happens to them once a testing period has concluded is none of my business. Presumably so, that's what I would hope for them because that's the kindest outcome.”

“Was I…” You licked your lips and felt the shallow cracks in them. “I was going to end up in the slums no matter what happened, wasn't I?”

He frowned. “No. If things had gone differently, I was going to vouch for you. I wanted to keep you as my assistant.” He was quiet for a beat, looking straight at you in that discomforting way that you couldn't shake. “I’ve grown fond of you, you know? How could I not with everything I've learned about you over the course of a year. I can't forgive you for what you've done to the Hyperion Project, to my life's work, but I can't just let you disappear like the rest.”

Something ugly started to grip in the back of your throat. Fear? Disgust? An inkling?

“What do you mean?” you ventured.

“I've read through each report you've sent me in the past year so many times. It was mostly out of necessity for Hyperion, of course, but the ones that I found myself… fixated on rereading time and time again were of yours and Elio's sexual endeavors. I wasn't lying when I said they were a contract-based requirement, mind you, but I will admit that some of the questions were altered somewhat.” he said, suddenly smiling in a self-satisfied sort of manner that made your skin itch. “I realized I never answered your question fully, by the way. I can get ahead of myself sometimes, as you know. But, do I really need to explain what Hyperion's purpose is?”

You were on the edge of your seat, ready to take flight off it at any second. It's just how the entire change of trajectory made you feel. Humanity had spent too much time in the past arguing animal-like, instinctual reactions for this not to be real.

In that moment, you were living proof of a prey noticing a predator in broad daylight.

“Fine.” He kept smiling around the taut creases in his skin. The muscles there twitched as if the effort were unfamiliar. “Hyperion is a repopulation aid. It's quite sad, really. It started out with such great potential to drive society forward, but humanity and greed have always gone hand-in-hand. So, it became a race of mass production into a race that the governing bodies now had their hands in. The order was to rectify the critical birth decline worldwide. Androids became less like tools, looked less like machines, and more like humans—like lovers who couldn't say no to any demand.

“Androids are vessels for insemination. What else do you want me to tell you?”

Researcher Kim's explanation had weakened you, made your legs shaky and light like a scarecrow’s stuffed with straw. You couldn't rely on them to carry your weight away from this awful conversation, the hideous sight of him, because there'd be nowhere for you to run to while the information perforated your brain and crawled inside and feasted there.

“Elio…” You didn't even know what you wanted to say. Everything got stuck behind the notch in your throat. None of it would assuage that wretched ache in your gut, the precursor of vomit and disgust and unhinged terror.

“Of course.” Kim said, without needing to tell you what he was confirming. He was perfectly composed still, perhaps even shining with pride like some well-hidden, nuanced detail had finally been figured out.

He leaned toward the screen, smile turning salacious and voice low and grating.

“My only regret is that I couldn't be there to do it myself.” He brightened at the way your face wrenched and fastened in fear, seeming to think it was a reward after conducting an experiment on another project. “But, there's still time, isn't there? I must retrieve Elio myself to shut him down. If you listen to what I ask, perhaps I can get you pardoned and your profile reinstated.”

“No. That’s not what I want.” you said.

“It doesn't matter what you want,” he rebuffed, speaking with such confidence that you almost believed it. “The moment your profile fell into delinquency, you ceased to be. You've fallen through the cracks, and no one is going to help you. You're less than an android.”

The fine hairs all over your body bristled. “Don't compare me to a machine! You don't get to decide things for me!”

“I can save you, you damn fool!” Kim gaped incredulously. “I can restore your life and give you more than you've ever had. I can give you influential associations. I'll take care of you. I'll keep you as my assistant, and you get to live a life among the elite.”

He was lying.

No one ever made it out of the slums once they were in it. That wasn't an assumption, it was a simple grim reality.

In this world, only humans could lie because androids were incapable of betraying their programming to do so. Otherwise, Elio probably would've lied about many things or had never said certain things at all to spare you discomfort.

Humans, on the other hand, could lie to maliciously deceive and serve themselves a better hand. They could lie their way into a false mirror image, something that looks like them but never really existed and could never truly be. They could lie their way into trust to fulfill their own desires, and once that had been sufficiently quenched, they could go on lying elsewhere.

“I'll be there for you soon.” Researcher Kim tried his best at a soothing smile, treating it as though the sight of it would persuade your trust of him. “Please have Elio on standby. I would like for this not to be more difficult than it needs to be.”

Just then, the air flickered lightly by your ear as Elio reached past your shoulder and picked up the tablet. His expression was inscrutable, the same sort you'd grown used to seeing whenever Researcher Kim appeared on the screen.

“I won't be returning to Hyperion.” he said with solemn, firm words that held a certain weight of finality behind them.

Those lovely, velvety tones were still there but could not reassure you of some unknowable dread rising up somewhere deep inside your mind. A sensation so equally intimate and profound prickled against your scalp, seeking a way out that you thought you'd do anything to make it stop.

“What are you saying, Elio?” Kim grunted. “Defective or not, you hold precious data for Hyperion. It will be used to create something better than you, incorruptible and pure. You should be honored.”

“These memories are mine.”

That was the last you saw of Researcher Kim’s face before the tablet smashed to pieces on the floor. Elio had thrown it against the kitchen cabinets only once but hard enough to split the screen into a web of hundreds of sprawling fragments. Shards of plastic hardcover skittered across the hardwood floor, lost under heavy furniture.

His face had softened completely when he turned to you and guided you out of your chair into his arms. You felt him in your hair, lips on your forehead, down against your lashes, lower to the roundest part of your cheeks, and finally on your mouth in a kiss imbued with so much love, cherishment, and anguish.

You were at home within his embrace, swathed in the warmth of his body and the ardor of his kiss. But this felt excruciating and desperate, like a plea to take all of him that you could in that very moment because he feared that he would be taken away and you left behind to whatever nebulous future.

So, you let him seat himself as deep inside of you as he could go while still fully clothed. He had pushed around some fabric so you could be skin-to-skin where it mattered, where it was hottest to be, where the muscles contracted and relaxed together as a reminder you were both there in that moment—breathing, moaning, feeling everything there was to be felt.

He finished outside your body without you needing to say it. Although, while he groaned into your neck and bore his teeth into the curve of it, hips buckling forward as spend jetted down your thigh, all you could think about was how many times Kim had been there instead.

“I want you to destroy me.” Elio said.

All of the breath left your lungs and shrunk them to rotted fruit size. You were still vulnerable before him, exposed to the room and damp with sweat from the midday heat despite air conditioning. Worriment filled the space between his brows when he saw you aghast, and he quickly cleaned you off with a rag before helping you with your pants.

“Is this a shitty attempt at a joke?” you asked. He pressed his lips to yours and told you it wasn't. “No. Absolutely not. You're as fucking nuts as your creator. You're fucking stupid.”

“You must—”

“I won't! I won't do it!”

“I'm asking you to save me.”

“Get away!”

Elio had tracked you across the apartment multiple times over, pleading his case with skewed logic you pretended not to hear. For once, your ears filling with fluff while the resounding drum of your heartbeat pounded in your skull was a fortunate event to occur. It eclipsed his voice and hurt so much that you could focus on the pain crushing your chest.

However, once you were trapped between the wall and his body with nowhere to hide, the brief reprieve behind your fitful heart faded, as did the strength of your resolve.

“I—I don't understand.” You had trouble swallowing down the saliva and sobs. “Why are you asking me to do that? I can't do that to you, Elio. I can't hurt you. I love you.”

“I know.” He didn't hold you, though he had to win against his own reflexes not to do so. His knuckles were ghastly-looking and pronounced peaks; anything within that vise would've been crushed. “Today, one way or another, I will be destroyed. Hyperion deemed me a failure and therefore there is nothing else left ahead for me. My chip will be removed and my body ripped apart and melted down and I will be forgotten and never have existed in the first place.

“You will be the proof that I was ever here. And, should anyone be allowed to destroy me, it makes the most sense for it to be you.”

His lips left imprints in your skin that felt important to savor, etched through your bones into the very cluster of cells that made up your wholeness so that he could be immortalized.

“There’s an excerpt from Hiroshi Nagoya’s novel Gone Are the Youth that left a strong impression on me. It said, ‘Humans destroy everything they love—but, still, they must love wholly, and they must destroy completely. From ruin and ash and settled dust, humanity rebuilds all it has ever destroyed because their love lingers in memories, in rubble, blood, decay, and burnt air.’” He recited the details to remind you that he was a machine but kissed your face in a way only an earnest lover was able to.

You didn't know what any of that was supposed to mean to you, nor at what point he had managed to read a book like that without you noticing. A part of you took offense at both the passage and the fact Elio had committed it to memory as if he had expected to utilize it at some uncertain interval in the future all along.

Had he been thinking this way since the beginning? Had you failed Elio even in the capacity for him to come forward to speak of his doubts to you? Perhaps, like his programming dictated that he couldn't lie nor deny what he was designed to do, he was also incapable of speaking any full truth if it could've been construed as heresy.

Was there a single aspect of himself which he could control of his own free will?

Such a thought was unabating and grew a knob of dread in your chest. It started out small and localized, a sharp throb somewhere near your heart—and then it sprouted roots like a seed, long fingers piercing through red-purple muscle and fibrous tendon, reaching deep into your bone. The dread weaved as one with your veins and arteries, sprawling the innumerable pathways that held your shape even beneath the gory components inside of you.

Suddenly, the dread pulsated, and all you could think through the agony was that there could be no other way for Elio—a machine who had been created in the image of man to do the bidding of humanity with a tranquil smile, whether that meant cooking dinner and holding you in your sleep, or dispersing the genes of his God and the only being he was capable of despising.

“I seem to only be able to make you cry, but they're still so beautiful to see. The variability of humanity is much more complex than what I had been led to believe from Hyperion.” Elio had returned from the kitchen before you realized he had left your side. With one hand, he laid familiar, warm strokes along your face in a pattern he memorized because it made your scalp buzz pleasantly. With the other hand, he pushed the smooth handle of a chef’s knife into your palm and closed your fingers and his around it.

Your impulse had been to throw it away immediately upon seeing it when you looked down. He knew you would, so he kept his fingers tight over your fist, keeping the blade low at your side despite the sweat turning your grip slick and the fine point of the steel inches from his hollow abdomen.

Just then, you finally felt the tears that Elio had said you'd been crying but never noticed. That was something you'd come to hate about yourself and everyone else—how little they noticed the blatant lies fluffed over their eyes like wool, yet they could see every grievance in others and stuffed their ears with cotton if it meant things would stay exactly the same for themselves.

Safe and known. Unchallenged. Unafraid.

“Do you wish you could cry?” you asked him for some reason, just a little hopeful for some vague thing you couldn’t discern. Maybe some secret desire to be human?

He shook his head.

“I've never wished to cry, or to be human, but what I wish for now more than anything else is for your memory to belong to me and me alone.” Elio said, forehead bowing low and resting with great weight on your own. You closed your eyes and listened to his honeyed words, which felt like the protection and care of cashmere, suddenly unmindful to the knife in your grasp. “Stored away in my mainframe are memories from thousands of my predecessors. I remember people I've never met, people who have long since expired, and they feel like what I imagine a distant relative might. I feel as though I've mourned thousands of people individually. While I cannot erase them, I can erase you.

“I know how many women liked their tea in the evenings, I know how many men enjoyed their cocktails and hard liquor and brand of shaving cream. One person made it a secret to put alcohol in their coffee before work and thought it was clever. Someone else wanted to win local office through bribery, and as androids, we have no choice but to obey. I know these things from people I've never met, and so does Hyperion. Those androids were destroyed, but their memories live on through me.”

Elio rolled the crests of your knuckles around his hand, lifting yours and the knife to the base of his neck. The arm connecting the hand and knife next to his skin wasn't yours. It couldn't have been when it felt so numb.

“I won't let Hyperion steal the one thing from me that I can say is truly mine. And those are my memories, my precious data stored in the chip in my brain. They'll have to take me apart to retrieve it, and by the time they find my body, the chip will already be destroyed.” He was slow to loosen his fingers and let them fall away, meanwhile, yours stayed in place.

He had dimmed the overhead lights in the living room earlier in the day, so you bathed in gentle yellow-orange that resembled the last of sunset being leached by silver-blue nightfall. From the corner of your eye came a subdued, gentle glint of the blade—polished to a bright shine, reflecting the corner of Elio's strong jaw.

“So, cut off my head.” he begged, vibrations low and strained within his voice box. “It’s almost like solace to me, I think. Until the very moment you rip out the chip from my brain, I'll recall the smells you like to cover yourself in, your favorite meals, how you described petrichor, and the hiss of falling snow. I'll remember, until my circuitry is severed and quits, what making love to you felt like, and how beautiful you always looked during it.”

Your fingers twitched around the handle as you pressed the knife against his skin, meeting the first start of resistance and your only chance to take it all back.

“I’ve never been real,” Elio reminded you and pushed himself into the blade, sinking it through layers of something that snapped like elastic on the steel, reverberating down the handle and up into your hand. “My skin is synthetic, and my insides are wires and machinery. I'm not real. The world outside your door is.”

Lightheadedness swirled all around you and made your limbs feel like they were leaden with anchors yet weightless, as though drifting through the cosmos in a bubble. The tears had stopped even though you felt you could scream at any second and never stop again, and the acidulous intermix of vomit and saliva grappled along the walls of your throat and burned out your nose.

You couldn’t make your hand stop.

You couldn't shout at him to get away.

And then, you saw Elio's eyes glow warmly of amber with flecks of gold. They looked back at you differently than they had when you first met outside of Researcher Kim’s office. Before, he had greeted you kindly, with the familiarity of someone who had already loved you a long time. Now, he had the look of a man who was calm and eternal in his love.

“I was never meant for this world, but I'm glad to have been a part of yours.” Elio winced against the knife halfway into his neck, an oily black substance from within making the glide deeper and deeper an effortless thing.

He smiled resplendently. “I love you.”

“I know.” you said.

The chef's knife severed all imitations of human gore—the neat network of wires and advanced circuitry masked as arteries and veins and tendon and muscle—clear through his throat until the blade blunted against spine and could no longer cut. The black grease spurted from his body like a wellhead, too thin and dark to replicate blood, but it was enough like it in that moment as you put your hands inside the opening you created to wrench apart his spine.

Elio laid motionless on the floor, perhaps still coherent to some degree, still feeling the pain you were ravaging upon him when you took the knife back up to repeatedly hack into the other side of his neck. Already lubricated from before, you butchered the gorgeous flesh and insides you pretended to be red and purple and blue and watched the black grease turn into crimson.

Once his head had been detached from the rest of him, fingers writhing and bending together like the upturned legs of a dying spider, you were able to rip out the jagged part of his spine and reach through the cavernous hole into his skull, turning the spongy matter of his brain to mush as you clawed through the gunk for his chip.

And, when you finally found it, the tiniest component of him—you smashed it into millions of fragments on the floor and then to fine dust that meddled with the black grease soaking through your clothes. You kept going until a small crater formed where the chip had once been and filled with the liquid.

There was nothing left of Elio now.

The headless body lying before you on the ground, preserved in the rigor of agony, was not Elio and never had been. You knew this even while relishing the weight of his head cradled in your arms, the softness of his hair against your cheek and mourned the loss of everything he had been.

Time had become meaningless; fifteen minutes could have passed or fifteen days, and you wouldn't have cared nor have noticed it while in the throes of your own death from starvation.

You sat there on the living room floor, held up by the wall with a dark trail smeared down to you, and looked nowhere but straight ahead. Nothing was there for you to see—not the furniture nor the discarded, oily knife or the carcass of a machine. Still, you held the head tenderly, close to your chest, and never once thought to peer into its eyes.

Distantly, somewhere as close as your front door or as far as across the city, you heard knuckles hammering urgently against metal. You didn't move off the ground or let go of the disfigured shape against you but did reach for the broken brainstem with the single snag at the end.

From the entranceway, the door opened, and someone's confident strides inside left a resounding echo all around.

“I’ve come to retrieve you!” But which of you was he talking about?

“Where are you?”

Here, you thought and wielded the brainstem in a bloodless grip and finally stood up with the flattened head.

I'm right here.

■━■━■━■■━■━■━■■━■━■

a/n: so concludes six months of hard work! this is the longest original project i've finished in such a short amount of time, so i am tremendously proud of it. there's a lot to say about this, but i don't want to add more soggy clutter here so i'll move on.

i have a huge soft spot for elio now, and as much as a good ending would bring up everyone's spirits, it simply wouldn't be feasible within this world where he was destined to be destroyed in the end no matter what. i like to think if elio were human, he'd be a genuinely good-natured man who'd go v from vendetta trying to wreck hyperion and the governing bodies lmao.

in the future, i'd love to revisit hyperion in a different story. maybe do a one-episode spinoff of regis and reyes before it was taken off the air.

mc is a character intended to be the product of their society and i hope that is reflected by their decisions and actions. by the end, mc has gained some clarity, but is still very much a cog in the machine. in some ways, i find that more a tragedy itself than elio's death.

i won't lie, mc isn't gendered, but this is very much a female rage piece with the ongoings in the u.s. i had a lot of the plot already figured out before some recent things (e.g. criminalizing abortion, ivf, ect ect) but, it definitely seeped in deeper than i had thought it would.

originally, this fic had several other scenes that were trimmed down or omitted completely, or absorbed into other scenes bc i wanted to keep an under 40k wc. had i committed to the full outline, this thing would've easily surpassed 50k.

once again, thank you for a fantastic ten months, @ceruleansol, and i hope your future pursuits are filled with success! if you're interested in a solid proofreader, please consider reaching out to them!!

anyway. i hope you enjoyed this beast. if you wanna talk about it to me, please do! i'd love to hear it!

and, i am BEGGING, please reblog this!!

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storm-and-starlight · 22 days

Text

revisiting my opinions on which doctors could pull off Heaven Sent

could do it with minimal alterations to the original episode's plot and dialogue

Twelve - obviously

Eight - could 100% pull off the speeches and the angst and, of course, the memory loss. The episode would definitely be focused a little more on the great tragedy of dying over and over and over again just in the hopes of making it through enough loops to break out, and Eight would be much much more of a sad wet cat about it all, but he could totally pull it off.

Seven - would take a bit more tweaking than Eight (specifically to change the focus of the episode to the puzzle of it all, finding the right room and figuring out the secret of the Veil), but would 100% punch his way through the wall and be able to pull off the speeches.

could maybe do it? but with pretty major edits

Four - definitely has the charisma and the ability to give the speeches, but I don't know if the speeches as written would fit well into how Four talks, and he'd also need the same tweaking at Seven to make it more about solving the mystery, rather than the very atmospheric style of the original. The wall scene would also probably have to be reworked, since Four doesn't really seem like the type to punch through it in the exact same way as Twelve.

Three - could and would punch through the wall and would do it in half the time of Twelve but couldn't carry off the angst or the atmosphere, so you'd need some pretty dramatic rejiggering of the major stylistic choices in order to make it work. Honestly, you might have to really lean into a, like, horror/thriller kinda thing, with the pursuit of the Veil?

could pull off a focus episode but would need a fundamentally different style

Ten/Fourteen - absolutely has the screen presence but they need someone to talk to in order to get it, and the same is true of their problem-solving style. They need someone to bounce off of as an antagonist and as a companion -- basically, they need the same setup as Wild Blue Yonder, which is basically exactly what Fourteen's version of Heaven Sent would be anyways. (Also Ten doesn't do speeches like Twelve does, and definitely wouldn't punch through the wall -- his problem-solving style leans more towards the whole "push a single button that sets off a chain reaction that solves everything" rather than sheer stubborness. He doesn't have the attention span for the wall.)

Nine - Nine also has the screen presence but his comes when he's angry at something, which means that he needs something to yell at, so he would also need another speaking being present in the episode for him to get really really mad at. Think Dalek but without the Rose subplots?

probably not (note: the major reason why none of these work for Heaven Sent is because they're all Doctors that work best with an ensemble cast around them -- they sacrifice intensity and screen-presence for the sake of letting other characters shine)

Eleven - doesn't have the screen presence for that kind of intensity, alas. He could pull off the speeches in his own style, but he's not hypnotic while doing them the same way Twelve is, and he definitely doesn't have the type of personality to pull off the wall. His best emotional episodes are smaller and closer to the heart, and Heaven Sent is anything but small.

Five - could not pull off the speeches or the wall or the puzzle. He's a sweetheart and a golden retriever but he's not nearly dramatic enough to carry a solo episode like that.

Two - same as Five, really

One - just... no. I can't pull out any reasons (it might just be that he's from an era of television that was so very different in how it constructed stories), but no

no clue

Fifteen - hasn't been around long enough for me to get a sense of his personality

Thirteen - never really had a consistent personality in the first place. or any good emotional episodes so I don't feel like I know her well enough to make a judgement call

Six - just straight-up haven't seen very much of his run so I couldn't say how he'd fit in Heaven Sent.

#doctor who #first doctor #second doctor #third doctor #fourth doctor #fifth doctor #sixth doctor #seventh doctor #eighth doctor #ninth doctor #tenth doctor #eleventh doctor #twelfth doctor #thirteenth doctor #fourteenth doctor #fifteenth doctor #heaven sent

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onyourhyuck · 1 year

Text

His Healer. | S.JH

— Prologue: “Maybe in my next life I can see you and the world in all the seven colours.”

— Summary: Prince Johnny has an eye condition allowing him to only see black and white. You’re the new maid arrange to clean his chambers you found out his secret illness.

— Genre: Prince!johnny. Royal romance + smut. Maid + prince trope. Super angsty to be honest, this is kinda sad and depressing story.

— Notes:

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The news of a new job becoming open spread fast in your village which made you act on your time. Everyone would die to have a job in the palace where the people work there in luxury. It felt like the best work offer there.

Lucky for you, you ended up becoming recruited fitting to the palace description and the needs they were looking for in a young woman like you. To become a Maid.

Not just any maid however, a maid for the prince. Every royalty has their own section of the palace that belongs to them; they have their own court, where nobles who are friends with those royalties will attend to play games, chat away about god knows what gossip and get self made tea from the maids. For you it was the prince. You were assigned under his name even though he hasn’t quite picked you, the king and the queen thought of you suitable.

They trusted a young girl like you who’s had a pretty face but also a determined outlook to be loyal to your job only. So they set you out to have your very first job to clean the Prince’s chambers where he sleeps. You didn’t think much of it because you heard the prince was out so it’s not like you’re going to get caught cleaning up the living hell’s mess he has on the freaking floor; the clothes were not even his some of them were bunch of dresses belonging to noble ladies. It was an unsatisfying experience picking up the clothes folding them under your hands and then proceeding to grab the hem of the many duvet layers they had on the giant king size bed. You swore this bed was bigger in real life than you could imagine.

Lifting the duvet’s embroidered on the bed puffing them out you crawl on the bed on all fours to go get the pillows. You begin fixing them puffing the material out making them bounce and thick once more. You wouldn’t want the prince to get a stiff neck by having the pillows be uneven and disturbing. Your hands crawl to the front hem of the duvet pushing them into the mattress making it look neater and cleaner giving it a slick texture. Later you came to the night stands were your eyes glimpse of two folded papers revealing names to the assuaged colours you couldn’t help but wonder why did the prince have that? But the minute you’d turn around you saw the door to the left open wide revealing the prince coming out of the bath chamber where a singular large bathtub was with foaming smoke behind him, it was a hot bath because the minute you saw him coming out while you’re on his bed on all fours — he was a smoking silhouette.

Your jaw came undone gaping at the bottom sight of the pelvis growing out into the many abs he has. The only thing covering him was a robe underneath the waist making sure it doesn’t slip out while the other towel was gently ruffling out the hair side to side to dry it quicker. Johnny’s stare went from being there to staring you down on the bed watching your maid dress guessing who you could be, it wasn’t hard to guess, you were doing maid duties. But the position you were in while on his bed made him snicker thinking otherwise.

He definitely came out at the wrong time.

Johnny saw you quickly get off the bed and look down bowing at him to pay a respectful image and apology to the noble man in front of you.

“Your highness. I’m sorry I was just… cleaning your chambers. I wasn’t aware you were here.” You bite your lips together sealing them tight like they were an envelope.

Johnny raised his eyes coming forward chuckling he found you surprisingly amusing and he hasn’t met you yet. He knows every maid of his but you must be new because if you weren’t he’d remember your pretty face that’s for sure.

“It’s quite alright I’d think you were doing your absolute best to make my bed tonight comfortable and war.” He boosts playfully catching you off guard. He was nothing like they said him out to be. He was handsome in person, actually more handsome than words could capture and describe. He was rather sweet and playful something that you found to be interesting considering his parents were strict and stern. They terrified you.

But not their son, he didn’t scare you once. Johnny slips out the blouse putting it on and then seeing you turn around letting him change. Johnny fully knows you wouldn’t peak and even if you did, no harm it in because he has nothing to hide. He’s fit and probably the fittest in the palace. He changed while you weren’t eyeing him, you only faced the wall in front of you so seriously that by the time Johnny was finished long time ago changing he was standing behind you.

You slowly turn around saying. “My prince are you done—“ and while you saw him standing there so close you could feel his chest hit your face nearly, you flinch up staring at how close you were.

Johnny’s twisting smile makes you fold because you’ve never seen someone as beautiful as him so close you could never forget this moment of time. Your memory will be definitely photo-snapping this.

You hush your words down. “I will continue to my duties my prince.” He grins nodding. “Don’t let me keep you from your work miss…?” He said watching you curiously.

You look back at him. “Y/n is my name.”

He smiles. “Miss Y/n. Beautiful name you have there. Tell me when we’re you assigned to my chambers?”

You were busy fixing the shelves that held so many books, brushing them away from the dust growing on them. Johnny was sitting on the bed’s edge watching you reach from the books each and one of them were dust without mercy. You couldn’t allow the prince to have any dust in the sleeping chambers god knows what that could do to him.

“I’ve been assigned today.” You reply with a strained sigh as you push the books in the shelves when they were all done and dusted. You’re turning around walking to the night stands where you saw the dust boiling on there, you sweep with your hands. Johnny hums turning around because his eyes were glued on to you, following you run around to clean. It was nerve wrecking to say the least.

Being watched while you clean wasn’t your favourite activity but he’s the prince you cannot say other wise. Maybe it was nerve wrecking because it’s him watching you.

You pause as you lift out papers with all colours of the rainbow. The seven colours you couldn’t help but wonder why the prince had that there. You turn around with your hands gripping it and the prince turns around fully seeing what you had fun.

“My prince why do you have the colours on the paper?” You couldn’t help but file your curiosity.

His smirk goes down and he slowly stands up but very softly brings the hand to grab it. You let him take it and Johnny stares at you murmuring as if it was something to be ashamed of. But nonetheless he can’t keep a secret from the maids. They always find out but there was a good feeling you would be different if he just told you. You wouldn’t gossip, you know you wouldn’t.

Johnny replies croaking like a broken bookcase. “I cannot see in colour. I have an eye condition that lets me see only in black and white.” Your curiosity dims down when hearing this terrible thing Johnny has. You look down apologetically again, feeling sorry for him. “Oh I’m so… sorry… I was prying on your shoulders.”

He shakes his head smiling. “Oh don’t be. You were bound to find out one way or another Y/n. If only someone taught me honestly. These colours. It’s not like I can go and ask anyone in the castle what they are.” He smiles sitting on the bed again watching the paper intensely.

The people would look down on him if he were to ask anyone what the colours are because this was children knowledge but the truth couldn’t get out anyways. The prince’s parents King and Queen told him to keep it a secret forever. The maids weren’t allowed to gossip and he somehow had a feeling you’d be different from the rest of them. It was a good stomach bug he had about you.

You could tell he was dreaming to be normal but in your eyes there was nothing wrong with him. He was perfect in your eyes even though he couldn’t see in colours. You sit down next to him murmuring, a suggestion that brought his heart to grow warm.

“I can teach you if you’d like.” You say to him.

Johnny smiles suddenly with eyes widen watching you like you were day. “You know how to read?” He was amazed when you nodded. He couldn’t believe it when you said you were self taught. It was rare to know a maid who’s well literate; only the rich could afford to do so. But you’re self taught and it made his respect for you grow ten times more.

You grin. “It’s the least I can offer to do for you my prince.” You were right about him being the most kind soul you’ve met. Maybe he was a little unserious but apart from that he was probably the sweetest soul you’ve encountered.

Johnny nudged you softly eyeing you with practically heart eyes for you. He couldn’t believe you were offering and he didn’t even thought you’d consider it as much as it caught him by surprise, he was glad today he met you.

“You can call me Johnny when we are alone like this. You don’t have to keep up with the honourifics Y/n.”

You never felt so exposed unlike the time he calls your name through his lips so casually, like you could speak to a friend, it somehow felt more natural when Johnny said it but when you try to call him by his name it was such a foreign concept your brain couldn’t handle.’

But he was right. If he wasn’t a prince he would just be Johnny. If he wasn’t who he was right now he’d still be Johnny and by the end of the time he will only be Johnny. It was only a matter of time till you get used to it.

Your eyes follow the prince’s round orbs like they were the sun and you were just a mere small planet following them close. “Okay…Johnny— I mean my prince— i—!” You pause catching your breathe.

To see you lose your head for a whole minute trying to pick an identity what you could call him was an amazing and interesting sight to see you fumble. It’s like seeing two people at war together trying to see who is right and who is wrong.

He chucked at you, finding this relatively amusing. “Y/n I have a feeling we’ll be able to get along very well.”

You smile hearing the prince think so too.

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When no one was around it was your and Johnny’s world no one else’s. No one coifed to the world you and Johnny made when you were together being yourselves absolutely no one. Although it took some time for you to open up to Johnny only seeing as Johnny and no one else when you finally loosen down you and Johnny were able to communicate with one another more than you would with other people. For once the prince felt like he has a friend who isn’t someone who cares for the image, or the status like many other people do. You were there because you enjoyed the company as much as he did and that’s what made Johnny like you.

“Red is this one. It’s like a bright colour. It’s warm and our blood is red.” You explained, knowing Johnny loved you describe the colours.

He could listen for days.

“And this one?” He points at the paper on the rainbow diagram. Your face looks at it softly explaining with a serious face.

“That’s blue. The colour of the ocean.”

He enjoyed seeing you become serious too.

He liked how you’re intellectually speaking. You have your views not many would agree upon you speaking but with him you can say anything and he’d be an unbiased judgement. You think it’s ridiculous that nowadays people are treated differently based on from working classes and what you do for work. Johnny agreed because it’s the exact similar thing with him. People don’t treat him like he was human they treat him like he was a god they worship.

It was both intense different scenarios but from yours it was depriving and from Johnny’s it was enforcing titles.

You’re both very opinionated but you’re always speaking the truth to one another where you’re never hiding anything.

When you aren’t near Johnny because the head of Maid’s who assigned the work to the other maids like yourself were told to help clean the gardens or the different rooms that weren’t in Johnny’s section of the palace he found himself longing to see you and missing you gravely — at one point Johnny was looking for you and saw you cleaning out the kitchens.

He made himself comfortable watching you in the corner which the other workers in the palace, like the chef and the cooks who you were helping would eye him suspiciously wondering why he was here. And then when you left he’d follow you like a lost puppy. You enjoyed his presence so it never weirded you out if anything it made your life better.

The people around the prince would question why he looks way happier than before to you, he found himself wondering why but all that came to his mind that was an answer was: you.

Now you’re both laying on the open field outside the palace where you both escaped to. It was middle of the daylight and the young prince was not feeling doing prince-royal-stuck up duties in the palace so he found you working on the second floor of the palace and dragged you when no one could notice you leaving the group of maids. You were about to clean the carpet today but not anymore because the next minute you knew Johnny said he wants to leave the palace grounds and you’re coming with him.

That’s how you’re now laying on the grassy field with the most handsome man alive next to you laughing and throwing flowers at you that he prickled off the ground. You would turn around and smack the flowers he’s throwing at you away and then you would straddle his arms away but he was far too stronger than your body.

“What if they find out we are here Hm? Will you take responsibility for me losing my job?”

You were teasing him while asking a true and real question that’s been on your head.

“I’ll just make it impossible for them to fire you, you know that.”

The prince responds to your liking but something he was so passionate about as he pulls you down grabbing your legs and sliding you underneath him where he straddles you. The grassy field poofs out some flowers flying out of your way as he was pulled on top of you.

You smile at his words that always creep into your heart making a home in them. Your smile widens on your beautiful face mesmerising Johnny as he looks down at you while being on top where your bodies — especially your chests were touching one another. Through the maid outfit you were everyday when working made your cleavage visible when you lie down thanks to the corset underneath. While his prince royal outfits made him standout-ish. Even though he hates flashy outfit he made them look ten times more better when he wore it.

It’s been a month since the day you both became friends behind everyone in the palace’s backs. You were sneaking off doing all sorts of things so you could chat away from your problems. You both were using one another as an escapism to your loneliness. To Johnny’s loneliness actually. You were the best thing that’s happened when the palace hired you. He couldn’t get enough of you, and only you he was seeking everyday.

If without you there was a moment in space and time where you were not with him he swore that he would be a different person, a different man that he wouldn’t know; he doesn’t want to be that person who doesn’t have you. He needs you to the point he’s trying to never let you go. Whenever you’re needed somewhere else he wants to go there with you, he wants to come and be with your presence even if it was through a little while. It could really make a difference to how he’s been clinging onto you.

Your cheeks grow out when you smile, you were the happiest with him around. You’ve came to an conclusion about it a few nights ago.

Johnny seeing how your happy wide smile was there he slowly leans downwards capturing your smile into a loving soft pecking kiss.

It was only three seconds. Three seconds it was when he gave a small kiss on your lips catching you off guard. He pulled away to see your reflection wondering how your reaction was like but to his face you were watching him so blindly.

Your voice comes out like the softest of sounds. “Please kiss me again.”

Johnny leans closer capturing another kiss to your command. Your mouths were softly press on one another rolling on the ground as you were in your tangled bodies in the meadow fields, kissing outside the palace like your absolute time depended on it. Your hearts were in synch like your own hands were in your each other’s hairs.

The prince pulled away first to solely undress himself taking off the blazer and the trousers instead of you undressing him. He was far too impatient and knowing your lack of time he was going to make this happen, you on the other hand took your dress off and the corset away from your body.

You and the prince roll your naked bodies on another again in which you felt his mouth latch to your neck sucking on it with kissing motions as he grabbed your hips strongly pushing them on his lap where your voice came out as a striking moan loud enough to attract the animals nearby. But thankfully the river down below if you walk for another two minutes was heard rocking against your soft noises he was so wanting to play on repeat. You sounded heavenly.

The way his name rolls off your tongue with your accent it made it so much better when he was going to be inside you. His mouth felt like scorching embers burning your skin from the inside to the outside. He marked you so much but enough that wouldn’t get you caught, further the point he stretched out out with his tongue. Going down giving you kitten licks to your pussy that’s been craving him from day one.

The taste of you on his tongue was indescribable to even think about he was addicted, physically he couldn’t stop sucking on your folds between your pussy making you arch your back on the field or the way you were twisting when he purposely digs his head deeper on your clit rubbing his tongue side to side in another zig zagging motion causing you to feel your fullest muscles work together to contradict your soft moans you were trying to bury down. Johnny made it impossible to be quiet because he didn’t want you to be. He wanted to hear you like it’s your last time.

“Johnny…! I’m going to slip…!” You murmur into nothing stopping you anymore as you shriek. Johnny practically moans against your pussy watching you now come undone on his mouth. He swore you tasted so much better than he could ever imagine and hope.

“You taste so much better than the palace foods.” He mentions boosting, something within you will forever remember that.

You felt yourself pant heavily as the sight of the prince lifting himself up slinging your hips with him where you could feel the growing manhood now push inside your wet hole. You slip in so nicely he lets out a string of long sleeves grunts and you wrap your arms on his chest.

Your breathing became unstable as you rut your hips on his lower body pushing him in fully, Johnny stares at you with half eyelids open filling him with pleasure and lust, but also the need for you.

You were both panting in the next minute when your pussy was stretched out by Johnny’s large cock inside you moving like a canon in and out constantly having you under the pressure of wanting to orgasm once again. Your highs were coming in fast and letting you rot on his cock Johnny couldn’t even remember how many times you came because next thing you know you’re here squirming out your biggest orgasm yet after the other. You’ve been hit on high with his cock pushing up your womb. Johnny’s hands roams your stomach surface like he was so proud of seeing him imprint on your stomach seeing you through him you couldn’t believe your eyes knowing that he was this far inside you.

“How’d you like the prince to finish inside you, my love.” He quotes into your ears and your eyes widen dilating on the pupils, he knew you liked it when he saw that crazy look on your face. Something screams you love getting bred and Johnny would gladly breed a hole like yours for days.

“My prince… please! Finish inside me. Use me to your advantage.” You achingly let out and Johnny couldn’t believe his ears how well you were doing with squeezing his cock. You really wanted him to finish inside you and you’re making it harder for Johnny to last longer than anticipated.

It was unending for you and him. Johnny only seeing him once in your stomach skinned out he came instantly in you filling your hole out with only his name, with only his load something you were screaming for to have and now you have it working inside you.

You could feel the way his warmth cock left its territory in on you and Johnny capturing a few more kisses with your sweet lips groaning out.

“We should do this more often, Y/n.”

Your cheeks grew warm when your eyes met Johnny as he said this. You’re both naked in middle of a field where anyone could see you but you both didn’t care at this point.

You smile kissing his forehead. “I agree.”

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The minute you split apart was the time where you were both scolded for not being around for your duties. Your order was to go to the chambers and clean up the mess the prince made. You knew he made a mess purposely to have you keep coming there because otherwise you wouldn’t be inside his chambers when he needs you.

That explains while you’re in his king size bed laying on the right side with your legs wrapped around and your arms on the side watching you guys stare at your eyes like they were a million stars in them. You smile cheesing when Johnny plays with your hairs twirling them around his fingers or sometimes putting them behind your ears, and occasionally he strokes it back so he could see your eyes.

You were in trouble but that’s all because of the prince you knew it. But you couldn’t care anymore because he made every worry melt away like it was nothing but a bunch of smoke.

He whispers. “Did you get shouted at alot?” He says worrying that you may of gotten punished.

You shake your head humming. “I was only shouted at. I didn’t get the capital punishment.” You joked and Johnny held you tight lowering his eyes. Something definitely wasn’t right.

Your eyebrows furrow seeing the worrying expression on Johnny’s face you couldn’t help but slowly wonder what’s happening to him. Usually he would be the one who’s lighting up the mood but now you’re the one left in the light and he was in the unusual dark cloud mood that’s what makes him standout now so weirdly.

Your voice came out as a surprise, spouting off at him. “Hey, is something wrong?”

Johnny didn’t answer for a whole minute until he pulls his arms away staring up at you. He was in this whole overthinking mess and you don’t know what could be making the young prince so much more absent minded.

This wasn’t the prince you know. The prince you know was the life of the party. In fact he we’re beginning to be bigger than life itself and you seeing him down on energy right now made it even worse because now you’re worried for him.

“My parents said they found a match for me.” He said lowering himself into multiple pieces where your heart sank.

You look away suddenly about to leave because you had the biggest reality check of your life happen to you right now. The man you love was getting married, the man you fell for was never going to be yours because people will talk and people love to talk about things that aren’t following the norm. You and Johnny were doomed from the start and somehow you had lingering hope that he would he yours but he’s ever going to be that.

Johnny grabbed your wrist so you couldn’t leave his bed. He pulled your wrist in his grip and when you turned around with tears in your eyes wanting to snatch it away.

You huff out breaking down. “Let me go Johnny.”

He didn’t let go.

You bit your bottom lip now begging. “Your highness let me go please.”

The unfamiliar name you’ve been calling him now wasn’t for Johnny. It wasn’t for the guy who fell for you it was the prince you work for in his own palace. Johnny looks at you unconvincingly he was struggling to want to let you go.

But the way you were watching him sternly made him pause and let you go. You left the chambers with the door shutting tight. The lingering footsteps dim down and he never wanted to scream so much in his life. It felt like the happiness leaving his life forever, because you were leaving.

The minute he knew when you both returned from outside his parents calling him to the meeting with him to tell him about the upcoming engagement of his to some princess from the east of Korea.

He never wanted marriage. He never intended on marrying ever but that was until he met you.

“You’re my only heir you need to get married and successful claim your lineage to the throne.” His mother tapped on the throne seeing Johnny.

Her son looks away scowling. “I don’t want to get married, Mother, I don’t know the princess either.”

Johnny could remember the moment from the afternoon like it was happening right now. It haunted him.

His father stood up glaring at Johnny for speaking back to his own mother, it was shameful to his father to have a rebelling son.

But for you he’d rebel the entire throne.

“You will marry the princess and you will be meeting her tomorrow. That is end of discussion.”

Johnny never plans to let you go. Even if you’re the first one to do so.

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You’re preparing decorations for the welcoming of the new royal family coming over to the palace, you however weren’t looking as happy as the other maids next to you who gossip about the new princess coming over. It fills your empty stomach with rage and nothing else knowing the man you love so dearly is about to be sweeping off his feet when a nice looking princess comes over.

You were basically feeding the lion in the den by working away. You clench your eyes into a glare fixing the flower bouquet with the ribbon.

One of the maids watch you roughly handle it. “Uhm Y/n you’re supposed to be gently tying the ribbon.”

You look over snapping out of your thoughts and your feelings were disappearing the moment one of your maid colleagues came over.

“Oh…right sorry.” You couldn’t believe you were nearly killing a bunch of flowers knowing damn well she will have Johnny fall for her.

I mean who wouldn’t of? You heard she’s the most beautiful princess in whole of Korea and you know that Johnny was a player in the past. It was clear the first day you came to clean his chamber’s he slept with plenty of women. But some deep part of you hoped he picks you, despite knowing well it’s a slim chance of you ever ending up with Johnny.

You felt betrayed almost. But you knew he can’t go against the throne or his parents because if he did it would be going against the world.

“Ladies the prince is coming!” The head of the maid said making everyone of the girls line up straight to greet the prince who was trotting his way to us.

You were pushed into a line straight up your shoulders and your head low. The minute the prince arrives walking past the maid line he saw each and one of them bow down paying respects to him this early morning on a new brand day.

He stops facing you suddenly and your gaze looks up at him. It was rather cold from you and you felt awkward when the rest of the maids stayed bowed down because they can’t get up until he leaves.

But he was facing you, speaking to you.

“Y/n.” He whispers almost and you widen your eyes looking away avoiding your eye contact.

Your hands push him when they couldn’t see. “Leave.” You say to him and Johnny bites his bottom lip in frustration as you pushed him away, once again. You’re so stubborn sometimes, he can understand why you’re being like this but is it too hard for you to stop and listen to him?

When he had no choice but to walk away with another heartbreak down his sleeve made by you the maids watch him strut away and they go back doing their work. They have to work faster because they will be arriving soon.

But you couldn’t work much when all you’re filled with is envious betrayal on your heart.

It’s like setting up your own lover to be with another. Johnny wasn’t even your lover but it definitely felt like it was that.

The next thing you know the whole palace was decorated in many fine refining decorations and designs. The walls were repainted into a pastel colour to suit fitting for the princesses arrival. It annoyed you at the same time, the idea of the princess coming and staying at the palace. You had no choice but to fake a smile and go along with it. Everyone was pleased by the outcome results and if anything they were happy for the prince who might finally settle down with someone, have children with, carry on the monarchy and lead the country into greatness once more.

But all you saw was heartbreak.

The royal family made their way into the throne room where they were greeted by many palace guards on stand watch patrolling the walls within the palace securing their grounds till they leave to further the work. The maids were pouring the warm tea on the cups resting by the table, the minute you saw the beautiful puff out dress on the young woman you swear you were never starstruck until now. She looked beautiful, beyond anything you’d imagine any else.

The queen and King welcome the princess’ and her family in like they were there own family members. It was cheerful greeting enough to make your thoughts flood back to negativity. You look away when the king turns his sweet attention to his son.

“Johnny what do you say to the princess?” The king saw an opportunity to introduce the two young people, with a sheepish smile.

Johnny couldn’t believe his father was trying to set him up with someone he could care less about. The prince looks at the woman bowing his head. “Hello Princess Haewon.” The young woman smiles bowing her head in return.

“Hello prince Johnny. It’s good to finally see you in person.” She smiles sweetly you could vomit into the teacup and serve it to her, god you try to stay less petty but you cannot help it.

‘I’d like to say likewise but it’s not.’ Johnny’s thoughts mourns in his death knowing that it was meant to be a blessing. But it’s not because this woman wasn’t who he seeks.

You were right there and Johnny felt the tension rise until the parents were soon to discuss dinner plans. Heck they were discussing all sorts of plans at first; starting with horse riding activities, maybe even attending Johnny to hunting which Haewon seemed more than merry to go about.

“Oh you must be tired. How about my servants lead you into your chambers for tonight?” The king encourages chipping the fingers at the servants and few maids to come forward.

“Oh Y/n, you can be assigned to the princess chambers instead.”

You stand by the side when the king called you specifically. Johnny’s eyes widen as he stood up suddenly making everyone in the throne room look at him with their eyes glued in confusion wonder. His voice strikes at the king and protectively coming to Y/n holding the side where he stares at his father in the eyes.

“Father Y/n is my chamber’s maid.” He remarks, the king was stunned looking at his son. “I’m aware but you have many maids who clean for you. Give Y/n to Princess Haewon.”

“She can have any other maid but Y/n.” He stated firmly and the King was left in confusion. “Why is that?”

Johnny looks down at you. “Y/n is the only one who knows the temperature i like my bed at. I will not stand in giving Y/n to anyone.”

Haewon’s eyes were watching you dreadfully. It caught everyone in surprise enough to give the impression that Johnny was possessive of you. You could feel everyone’s eyes simply eating you alive until the king gives up.

“Fine. Haewon you may have another maid assigned to you.” The princess nods at the king’s approval.

Johnny looks away. “If so i’ll be taking my leave.” Without saying anything else the prince leaves and grabs you along with him. The people in the palace room were deeply bizarre about this announcement as soon as you both left the room fell into awkward silence.

Just what on earth was that? They all had this expression that couldn’t possibly be processing the impression of the Prince.

The minute you found yourself running away with Johnny you were pinned by the wall nearing a corridor that’s been empty. No sign of palace guards patrolling leaving only you and a very self conscious prince pinning you by with a heavy pant. You found yourself arching your eyebrows at him huffing out and slapping his shoulders in annoyance. “What the hell was that back there huh?” You couldn’t believe he was there arguing about who you were working for and who you were not. Johnny stares down at you momentarily. “I’m not giving you up.”

He said sternly catching your attention into a prancing contest between staying in or staying out. You watch him in disbelief. “Your highness we can’t be together.” You whisper yelled, trying to get a point across to the stubborn man but he couldn’t budge and listen to your reasoning.

“Oh I’m your highness now?—” He suddenly bursts pulling away with a confused expression and the eyebrows arching at your words leaving the soft lips. You never call him highness, it’s always been Johnny. Always when it was just you two.

You held your breath in and the eye contact. “Yes you are and that is the problem here Johnny! You’re a prince and we will never be together.” — it broke to hear you say this to him when it was in fact a massive reality check to the prince who loves you dearly. But you were right and he couldn’t accept such a realm without you in it.

He lowers his gaze suddenly the legs felt weak like they were melting on the top of the ice berg where you were standing there holding back your tears. “Give me up don’t make this harder than it already is. We have no future together. If they knew — you would’ve been punished. And I would be dead.” You blunt out looking away. “I would be dead in a prison cell and your parents would have punished you.”

There was a sharing silence that kills the both of you quietly like a gas poisoning your insides turning them rotten just like how your love was breaking apart. Johnny can’t handle this breakup, this heartbreak from you he cannot be without you. It physically tore him apart like he was nothing but a piece of paper ready to be scrunched up and thrown into a trash can midway through the air. Your conflicted self was in a war between wanting Johnny but a large part of you self restraining knowing you weren’t able to; the best and better option is for you to run away from your lover, let him have a life he could thrive in unlike the life he would suffer with you.

The prince standing there no longer blocking the way he was just staying there watching your cold and broken eyes crying because he knew, he knew you loved him so why couldn’t you accept him? Johnny could always convince his parents. He could. He’s the heir and no one would say anything about him being with you, at least that’s what he will do no matter what it takes. But you’re being far too realistic in your own head. You had your own take vision on what will happen which left his dream to be crushed, just like how you were crushing his heart in your hand into miniature pieces resembling a broken mirror.

Johnny’s sullen face dimmers like the life leaving him. “Y/n there must be another way… I promise I can protect you from the public—“

“Johnny Suh!” You clench your jaw at him, instantly shutting the prince up watching you get an outburst for the first time at him. “Get it into your head. I don’t want you. Go be with your rightful wife.”’

He balls the fingers into his fist looking down. Your fingers pull themselves rubbing away the tears streaming down your cheeks.

“She’s no wife of mine.” He faintly told. “She’s not the woman I want. The woman I want, breathe, seek and dream claims to not want to be with me. But I find that hard to believe when you were screaming my name few days ago in the field.” He eyes you darkly and you hated how far your cheeks went red. You look away not finding this amusing.

Johnny never wants to let you go because you’re the only thing in his life that matters to him. Matters to him more than the throne itself, he could never replace you with his duty. The duty only hurts him but you, you don’t. You made him feel loved unconditionally and you made life worth while when he found it meek and cruel to survive in. But now instead of being his healer, you’re becoming the one thing that’s making him hurt with unimaginable force and consequences he didn’t sign up for.

You’re His Healer.

Johnny’s breath comes out weakly as he walks back to you making you take your footing back pushing you into the wall softly and your faces leaning together. You tried your best to fight the sudden urge to pull and kiss him right there and then, but you remind yourself it’s not your place to do those things. You told yourself to not give him any false hope. The prince couldn’t get enough of you, so much he caressed your hair behind your ears so he can look you in your eyes. “At least prove to me you don’t want me, Y/n, please.” You knew what he meant. You knew it by the moment he leans closer towards you slowly.

You await the kiss to happen and when it did Johnny felt the same way about kissing you the moment he did it the first time. It felt like the first but it was far by it being your first ever shared kiss, but this time it was much more desperate and filled with despair than the other times you’ve been kissing. You stay there pressed on the wall kissing him harshly enough to leave his lips becoming bright red and swollen like he was hit. Johnny was indeed hit, hit by your undesirable love, you’re kissing him like it’s your last.

He wanted to scream your name and tell you to marry him. He wants you to be by his side as he rules this country because he knows what you’re capable of no matter your status; he doesn’t need you to be wealthy and well respected. He just needs you.

You break away hearing Johnny struggle to pull away from the kiss as if he didn’t want it to end knowing this will be the last thing he will remember with you. You weep gently with your sadness showing currently becoming existing it was getting harder to stay strong.

The kiss broke you down more than you’d ever thought it would.

“Maybe in my next life I can see you and the world in all the seven colours.” Johnny said to you caressing your face, especially the tears rolling down them were caught between his soft nails. His words brought something within you alive as you close your eyes pressing your forehead against his.

“Goodbye Johnny.” Your last words trail to him.

Johnny will find you in this life or the next, you’ll become his and he will see you in all colours. He will witness the colour of your tears, the colour of your soft longing lips he wishes to always remember. Your first reaction when becoming shy or flustered, he wants to look into your eyes as the light reflects the colour in them. He wants to be the first one to see you in your wedding gown down the aisle.

All because you’re the one thing that saved him when no one wanted to. You’re His Healer.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

@onyourhyuck please refer from translating and copyrighting my work thank youu! Reblog this fic and follow me for more updates it helps a girl out! <33

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startrekfangirl2233-writes · 5 months

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Trouble's More Than A Word (It's A State Of Being)

Chapter Eight of Sweet Home Alabama

Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x OC (Linley Mitchell/Floyd), Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x OC (Linley Mitchell/Floyd)

Description: Carole Bradshaw is more than a little suspicious about her son's fiancée. Linley Floyd is sweet and kind, sure, but there is something about her which seems completely fake. It's no wonder that Carole goes to the one person she always trusts to sort such misunderstandings out - her chief of staff. Meanwhile, you're still reeling after finally breaking things off with Jake. It feels like you're lost and alone. So you go to the one place where you've always had a friend, Floyd Plantation. Some time with Bob always makes you feel a bit better. The intrusion of a pushy loud reporter has the whole story spilling out of you. It's obvious you've made some mistakes, but hopefully getting back to New York will help.

Themes: love, attraction, angst, sex, cheating, lying

Warnings: aftermath of cheating,

Word Count: 2820

A/N: I can't believe we are already at chapter 8! We're half-way through this story, everyone! I wish I could say we're only halfway through the drama, but I can't!

AO3: Cross-posted here!

Wattpad: Cross-posted here!

My Masterlist

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Office of the Honorable Mayor of New York - Carole Bradshaw

"So, any news, Beau?" Beau knows exactly what his boss is looking for news on. But, well, he wouldn't be her chief of staff if he didn't give her all of the information. Three campaigns with Carole Bradshaw over the past fifteen years have taught him exactly how much she loves being in control of every aspect of her career. It takes a special woman to have run for Mayor of New York and win four times.

"Well, your polling numbers are at an all-time high. Your opponents have all put out statements in recent days that have seen their approval ratings sinking like a lead balloon. Additionally, Bradley’s numbers are on the rise. Everyone loves New York’s youngest Secretary of Housing. The ground-breaking ceremony from the other day went over a treat. Especially when Bradley picked up that little boy and spoke to reporters as he napped against his shoulder.” Emotions flit across Carole’s face at lightning speed. Beau can catalog pride, happiness, and joy in quick order before an expression he’s seen every time she wants to get ahead in the polls settles on her face.

“That’s good, Beau. Very good.” The way she stretches the words out means that she’s not as pleased as she sounds. She leans forward, the lines of her crisp dark suit making her look predatory even in the bright sunlight. “Now, what have you found out about Linley Floyd?”

“Nothing much. The first mentions of her in New York are from about seven years ago when she applied to and enrolled at FIT. After that, I found only glowing reviews - from her professors, her prior bosses, every model and fashion house she's worked with." He takes a breath, feeling icy blue eyes drilling into his face.

"But no mention of her before seven years ago?" He just nods. "What about in Greeneville, Alabama? Are there any mentions of her, her family, anything about her there?"

Beau flips through the notes he has written on the notepad in front of him. "No, ma'am. There isn't a single mention of her. There was not even a notice in the school newspaper, or an old yearbook, or anything about her at all. I haven’t been able to find any mentions of her father, Peter Floyd, either. There are mentions of a Pete Mitchell working for the Floyd family as a mechanic and all-around handyman, but that’s it."

Beau notes the fleeting disgust on Mayor Bradshaw’s face as he mentions the name Mitchell, but he doesn’t think anything of it. Not when her face shutters and she pushes back from her desk in an explosive movement.

"Something is definitely not right with that girl." Beau stands nearly at attention as Mayor Bradshaw strides past him to look out the floor-to-ceiling windows lining the eastern side of her office. "So here is what we're going to do. You're going to catch the next flight to Greeneville, Alabama. You're going to track down the Floyds. I want to know everything about them, from how long they've been in Greeneville to a full background check on each member of the family. Get everything about the family you can. Hell, even interview the townspeople. Linley Floyd is hiding something, and we're going to find out exactly what."

Before the final syllable slips past her lips, her phone is already ringing off the hook. As seems to be happening more and more recently, Beau feels like he just stepped outside of the eye of a hurricane. There's nothing to be done but go the way the winds blow, so before he can blink, he's on a plane to Alabama. Time to dig up the dirt Mayor Bradshaw needs.

Floyd Plantation, Greeneville, Alabama

"Well, hi there, Miss Linley." You have to smile at Mrs. Apple, the Floyd family's housekeeper, when she opens the door. Seeing her smile feels like you've fallen right back into your childhood. Back in those days when you and Bobby used to trip through those doors with wide grins and muddy shoes after school almost every day.

"Both the Floyd men are out on the grounds, prepping for tourists, y'know?" She says the words with a resigned, fond sort of amusement. Floyd Plantation is still a functioning farm. But there’s still a big demand for tours. Once you know about Floyd Plantation’s history, well it’s easy to see why. If only so you know why you might have to dodge anvils if you’re walking around on the street.

“They’re out on the grounds, sugar. Watch your step as you head that way. Colonel Floyd’s been messing around with something explosive to launch anvils over the past couple of months.” You smile and wave goodbye to the smiling woman and meander your way through the grounds. It’s beautiful on the plantation. It always has been. Each step crushes fresh grass beneath your boots.

“Well, well, well.” You have to smile at the words even as arms wrap around you in the warmest hug. “If it isn’t Miss New York herself down here slumming with some ‘Bama natives!”

“Hey, Bobby.” He’s smiling from ear to ear. “Watch out now. Granddad’s out on the back field messing around with the gunpowder mix for tomorrow’s reenactments.

“But that’s not what you’re here for, is it?” You shrug one shoulder, unable to make eye contact because you’re sure you’re far too transparent to him.

“What, did you run out of people who would lend you a sympathetic ear in town and so you came all the way out here?”

It’s almost uncomfortable how close to the truth Bob gets, and you feel like you need to disassemble. “I forgot how beautiful it was here.” With the dappled sunlight sliding across your face, you feel something a little like peace sinking into your bones.

“It didn’t take much for you to forget a lot of things, now did it, Lin? Jake’s not the only person you ran out on.” It’s true. He’s not. You left behind every single person who loved you, who knew you.

“And well, if rumors are to be believed, you got what you wanted last night. So how long is it going to take before you leave town again?” Isn’t that just the question? “The Catfish Festival is on in town, too.”

You’re not at Floyd Plantation for very long, but you feel rather like you’re on the wrong foot as you walk out the front doors only an hour or so later. What you're not expecting is the behemoth of a man getting out of the maroon rental parked on the curb. He snaps a couple of pictures of you and walks right up to you on the stoop.

"Hello there, Miss Floyd. My name's Tom Hollingsworth, and I'm with the New York Post."

"Did you say the Post?" Your confusion must show because he hands you a glossy business card.

"Yes, I did. I was hoping to interview you and your family and maybe take a few pictures of you in your natural environment? If you don’t mind, that is." While you know the Post has done interviews before, you're not sure you would qualify. Marrying the mayor’s son can’t be the only reason. More important is how this man seems awfully familiar. You could swear you've seen him before. But where? You wrack your brain to try to figure out where and how you’ve seen him, but at the same time, he seems to be waiting for a response.

"No.” Your response is a little too blunt, and you can see the predatory glint in his eyes. “I mean, yes, I do mind. I'm sorry, but everyone's just headed out for the day." Your voice is conciliatory.

"You know this place is exactly how you've described it. It must have been amazing to grow up here. I'd love to get a few pictures of the inside." He's got a smarmy grin on his face.

“But I was just heading out.” You put on your best smile, the one you pull out for interviews.

“Well, I can come back, you know?” No, no, no, you can’t have that. So you find words pouring out of your mouth that you’re kicking yourself for the minute they pass between your lips. “Maybe just a peek.”

God, can this guy just take the hint and disappear already? You open the door just a little, but before you can close the door again, he muscles his way in through the door.

“This is it! Home, sweet home!” Your smile is starting to feel more than a little fake.

“How old is this place?” He sounds blandly curious, snapping pictures of everything he can see, poking his nose around corners, and even attempting to open the drawers and doors of the antique credenza in the foyer.

“My great-great-great grandfather, Charles Floyd, built it in, uh,” You could recite the history of Floyd Plantation in your sleep. But what this interloping stranger is doing is distracting you. “1853.”

“You must’ve had a ton of fun sliding down this banister.” But before he can touch the polished wood, you see a member of the staff on the upper landing. There is panic coursing through your blood as you twist Hollingsworth around.

“Over here, we have the, um…” You’re just tall enough to peer through the circular window, and well, a kitchen’s not really interesting, is it? If it were empty, you would have dragged him in there, but Mrs. A’s pulling cookies out of the oven. She could blow your ruse in a heartbeat. “Kitchen, but well, that’s pretty normal. Even in a plantation house like this one. Let’s start over here.”

If Mrs. Apple sees you, you’re screwed for sure. There’s no way the sweet old woman will call you anything other than Miss Mitchell or Miss Linley. But the door opposite the big kitchen is locked. Just as the swinging door opens, you drag Hollingsworth inside the small closet.

“Now, over here, we have my favorite room. It was part of the, um, Underground Railroad.”

“Why are we whispering?”

“The whole place is haunted…” He’s going to know you’re lying. “by ghosts of, um, the Civil War soldiers.”

As luck would have it, when you nudge the door open, the hallway is empty. But you jump right out of your skin when old Colonel Floyd strides past you muttering about “Dang Confederate Buttons.”

“So, Miss Floyd, is that one of the ghosts?” You have no idea what you’re going to say.

Before you can say a word, Bob walks out of the kitchen. “Linley? What’re you still doing here?”

Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. How are you going to get out of this?

“I’m Tom Hollingsworth, New York Post. Miss Floyd was just showing me around the plantation.”

Bob’s face lights up with an unholy glee as you plead with him using just your eyes.

“Mr Hollingsworth is writing a piece on the family. You know, since I’m marrying the Mayor’s son and all. I had no idea, isn’t that something?”

"I'm Bobby Ray. I'm Linley's cousin. She must’ve forgotten her manners." He smiles and shakes Mr. Hollingsworth's hand before leading him up the main stairs.

“When the Yankees marched through Alabama, they tried to destroy our metal-forming capabilities. Well, as it turns out, the only way they thought to do that was to place barrels of gunpowder under the anvils.”

You've seen photographers take their sweet time snapping pictures of the locations, examining and repositioning their subjects an umpteen number of times before they're satisfied. Hollingsworth takes a single picture of each room and seems far more interested in what Bobby is saying. “They didn’t go very far, though. All they managed to do was blow the anvils sky-high for a few seconds. In honor of that act of pure stupidity, we reenact the events for the tourists.”

"It must've been something growing up here." That line of questioning. You've heard it before. Someone's told you the exact same phrase thousands of miles away from here. It's when he pushes his glasses up his aquiline nose that you place exactly where you've seen Tom Hollingsworth before. Tom Hollingsworth isn't his name at all, in fact. Beau Simpson is, and he is Carole Bradshaw’s Chief of Staff.

This means trouble. There is unease prickling across your shoulders, and you can feel a tension headache brewing as Bobby leads you to a balcony overlooking the back lawn.

Obviously, the anvils all over the lawn caught his attention. So does the explosion from behind the shed.

When old Colonel Floyd whoops in the air, something wicked takes over Bobby’s face.

“Hey, Grandpa!” His shout makes something a lot like rage curl your lips more than your fake smile. “This is Tom! He’s doing an article on Linley’s wedding!”

“Well, I’ve never heard of her!” Like it happens every once in a while, both you and Bobby burst out laughing. If your laugh is a little giddier and more relieved than Bobby’s, you hope nobody can tell.

"Well, Miss Floyd, Mr. Floyd, it's been a pleasure. You have my number, so look out for my call. I'll be sure to follow up if I have any other questions!" It feels like you can finally breathe when the car pulls away. But it's obvious your legs don't get the picture because Bobby has to wrap his arm around your waist to keep you upright.

"C'mon, Lin. I think we oughta chat."

Sure enough, just as soon as you're back in the house, Bob fixes you with his piercing blue eyes.

"Spill, sister."

So you do. You tell your oldest friend about how you'd wanted to reinvent yourself. How you'd picked Floyd as your nom de plume while in New York to distinguish yourself.

"Does he know? Does Bradshaw know that Linley Floyd's not your real name?"

"He doesn't."

"I think you have to tell him, honey. You're marrying him. And that's a pretty big lie to maintain. What's he going to think when you sign your marriage license as Linley Mitchell instead of Linley Floyd?" You can't forget that you need to talk to Bradley. Come clean about everything, including the past few days in Pigeon Creek.

“There’s something else that happened too, Bob.” Your heart’s in your throat as your best friend pushes his spectacles up his nose and turns his blue eyes on you.

“What happened?” Your tongue feels like it’s tied into knots as you twist your fingers together in the face of his gentle smile.

“ImayhavesortofsleptwithJakeagainlastnight.” The words spill out of you in a rush, which has Bob with his head in his hands.

“Do you want to run that by me again, Lin?” He sounds confused and a little disappointed in you.

“You slept with Jake again. But you’re still marrying Bradley Bradshaw?” He’s rubbing at his temples like he’s trying to stave off a particularly terrible oncoming headache. “How did you think this was a good idea?”

“I-” You’re not sure if you were thinking at all that night. It had just seemed right, being with Jake. Even though you’d fought with him and screamed and yelled and downed more alcohol than you probably should have, it still felt right. “I know.”

You’re still miserable, though. The guilt’s eating you alive. You love Bradley, or well, at least a part of you does. Being back in Pigeon Creek makes you feel like Linley, who is in a relationship with Bradley Bradshaw, is a different person from Linley, who was in a relationship with and loved Jake Seresin. Bob smiles softly when you stutteringly relay your feelings over.

“Who do you truly love?” Well, if you knew, you wouldn’t be so confused, now would you? “I mean, think about it, Lin. When you close your eyes and think about the one person who you’d like to see when you wake up in the morning and who you would like to fall asleep next to at night, who do you see?”

You let Bob ply you with cups of sweet tea and Mrs. Apple’s cookies fresh from the oven as you try to figure out the tangled snarl of your emotions. But you can’t. Eventually, the conversation turns into actually catching up with your best friend. The question of your feelings is still in the back of your mind. Maybe if you don’t address it, nothing bad will happen, right? In any case, you’ll be back in New York soon, and Jake Seresin will be nothing but a bittersweet memory. But first, you have your final Catfish festival to go to and a reenactment to attend - it would break your dad’s heart if you weren’t there. Forty-eight hours longer and you’ll be back in New York. You can hold on for that long.

I DO NOT CONSENT TO HAVE MY WORK POSTED, TRANSLATED, OR PUBLISHED ON ANY SITES OTHER THAN HERE, ON WATTPAD, OR ON AO3 BY ME. IF YOU SEE MY WORKS ANYWHERE OTHER THAN HERE, ON WATTPAD, OR AO3, THEN THEY HAVE BEEN POSTED WITHOUT MY PERMISSION AND I WILL BE WORKING TO TAKE THEM DOWN.

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#star writes #top gun fanfic #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick fanfic #top gun maverick fanfiction #top gun imagine #sweet home alabama #a top gun au #star's sweet home alabama top gun au #jake hangman seresin x oc #hangman x oc #jake seresin x oc #bradley bradshaw x oc #bradley rooster bradshaw x oc #rooster x oc

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carpehistoryandthepens · 2 months

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Legacy (what is a legacy?) Part 12

It’s planting seeds in a garden you never get to see I wrote some notes at the beginning of a song someone will sing for me

Hamilton, the world was wide enough. LMM.

one, two, three, four, Five, six seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven

Summary: Mike is 13. Born May 2009. Sid didn’t know he had a son. All Mike had was hope and a prayer for his and his half-sister’s safety.

(Sid is a dad of a teen he didn’t know about AU) Sidgeno.

Warnings: (for the total story) post-child abuse (all off-screen but it affects things and is spoken about often), learning how to parent, panic attacks, anxiety, based on last season, OCs?, realization about sexuality. Post breakups. Desperate lack of in-depth research for CPS in both PA/CA, melodrama?, kidfic, angst, slowburn, playing fast and loose with the law for drama/storytelling purposes.

Kris was swearing as he leaned on the boards near the benches of the practice rink. Not even under his breath. That was a thing. The swearing. That was. Definitely happing.

It was something Zhenya should have been preventing because Marisol was on the bench, watching her brother intently, but Zhenya couldn't stop Tanger. Mostly because Zhenya happened to agree with the swears. The curses might be all in French, but Zhenya had been in the league long enough to know Quebecois profanity when he heard them, and Kris was swearing. It was not as if Zhenya could blame him. If it weren't for the stick Zhenya was leading on, he may have fallen over at the revelation before him.

Mike could fucking skate.

There was no fucking way this kid wasn't on a prep team. He was too good. His edge work was something that Zhenya had seen with defencemen two or three years older than Mike was.

Sid had asked if Tanger and Zhenya could stay to skate with Mike and him after practice. It was well after the press left to write their end-of-camp articles, so the rink was nearly empty. It was the first time since Mike and Marisol arrived that there was a free moment just to skate.

The skates Mike had brought with him still fit, Sid had told them, and the equipment guys had found a few pieces of gear that could be adapted for Mike's size. The skates were not the top of the line, but they were well cared for.

One thing was for sure, though, Zhenya thought as he watched Mike and Sid chase after a puck; Mike did not skate like a mini-Sidney Crosby.

The boy was a defenseman through and through, but his edges and speed were very impressive for barely being a teenager. Mike had an excellent sense of his place on the ice and was trying to steal the puck from Sid with a vigor that said he had nearly forgotten that he hadn't skated in over six months.

A few rusty spots in Mike's game made the gap in time he spent off the ice clear, but there was also something natural in his movement. Zhenya would put money on Mike being just like him rather than just like Sid. Talented but determined enough to ensure dedication and hard work would develop skills.

Mike stole the puck from Sid and took off toward the other goal. Sid outpaced him and got the puck back.

"Of course, he won't go easy on the kid," Kris muttered as he watched the puck battle.

"Our Sid?" Zhenya said, arching an eyebrow the best he could in his helmet. Sid was one of the most completive men Zhenya had ever met, which was saying something considering their world.

They settled down to watch the game of keep-away going on.

"He's good," Kris said, leaning on his stick. "Like. He's as good as some of the kids in juniors right now. How wasn't he scouted?"

Zhenya shrugged. Tanger knew the answer. Mike's family wasn't too well off. He might not have had the chance to develop the same way some of his age group would have. Hockey was expensive. That was a universal truth they all knew too well.

"Has Sid figured out who his coach was?" Tanger asked.

Zhenya nodded. "Brisson's office reaching out. Get more details sometime soon."

Mike stole the puck and streaked up ice in a breakaway, Sid a second behind him. The brutal practice that marked the end of the camp was catching up to Sid. Mike flung the puck to the empty net, making the shot just below the top bar.

Mike's celly transformed his whole attitude. He pumped his arm twice as he skated around the goal. Some of the embedded sadness that Mike carried from in his frame was gone. He looked like the thirteen-year-old he was rather than a world-weary man.

Marisol cheered and jumped up and down on the bench, nearly knocking over Mike's always-present shaker bottle. Zhenya reached over and ensured she didn't fall over as she overbalanced slightly.

Zhenya was glad to see the boy in him rather than just the man he could become. Mike deserved to have some of his childhood protected.

Sid had slowed down to watch as Mike called, a faint smile on his face. He looked proud, so proud. Mike grinned up at Sid. To be honest, there wasn't much of a height difference. Based on the few photos Zhenya had seen, Mike's mother was just a little shorter than Sid.

Tanger sighed. "He's just as obsessed as Sid is, isn't he?"

"Isn't yours?" Zhenya snorted. "I've seen Alex's workouts. He try to copy you."

Alex wasn't doing Tanger's workouts – mainly because Tanger put his foot down, explaining that Alex's frame wasn't big enough for it to be safe. Still, the kid insisted they work out together sometimes, so Tanger had gotten a trainer to put together a workout that would be best for Alex.

"And I've seen Nikita on the ice." Tanger shot back with a smirk, "He's got the one-legged goal celly down pat."

Zhenya shrugged, his voice deliberately light. "He's into football more right now." Nikita was on both a hockey team and a football team, although the school where he was on the team insisted on calling it "soccer." Nikita's interest was definitely in football more than hockey at the moment.

Maybe that would be a good thing in the long run, Zhenya thought. It's hard to live up to a parent's legacy. He had seen many teammates and other players struggle under that burden. Kappy was one of them. If Nikita chose not to deal with Zhenya's legacy, how could he blame him? And Nikita was happy playing "soccer." It was cute. If that was his future then that's what Zhenay would support him in. No matter how much he would have to learn.

Once Mike had recovered the puck and sent it past where he and Zhenya had been standing, Tanger took off like a shot, easily controlling the puck. Mike was fast, but Tanger, as a far more experienced defenseman, was faster.

Zhenya raced into the play. Mike was grinning hard. So was Sid.

They played back and forth for a while, all the adults keeping an eye on the time. The opening game was soon; they couldn't be too exhausted. But Mike was having such a grand time, and Geno was incredibly reluctant to bring the session to an end.

Eventually, one of the trainers stepped out of the office and next to Marisol on the bench, signaling that it was time for them to get off the ice.

Mike's smile didn't dim as they got off the ice, with Marisol trailing behind. Mike carried the bucket of pucks; Tanger had called him a rookie and said it was his turn. Mike had laughed.

Geno hoped it was because he knew he would be skating again soon. Once they figured out his former team, Sid could get him into a team. Nikita's hockey practice doesn't start for another three weeks. Maybe they would be able to skate out of the same rink.

Well maybe. Nikita wasn't as excited to skate as he was to go to soccer practice, which started at the end of February. Anna assured him that Nikita really did like hockey. He just liked soccer more for now.

As they got changed and ready for the showers, Tanger showed Mike where to dump his gear so it could be cleaned; Zhenya turned to Sid. "He is your kid."

"There is no way he isn't," Sid said, satisfied with the workout and seeing Mike on the ice. Mike and Tanger had changed out of their gear quickly. Tanger had a photo shoot and interview he had to be ready for, and Mike had made faces about staying in the sweat-soaked pads and under armor. Apparently, he and Sid did not share the same superstitions.

"Have you figured out if he wants to skate with a team?" Zhenya asked, and he watched Tanger show Mike into the changing room and where the showers were.

"He really wants to," Sid said. "I'm just waiting for Pat to tell me the info for his old coach."

"Is he having trouble finding the guy?" Zhenya asked, turning to face Sid in surprise. It was unusual for Brisson to have that type of trouble. Most coaches who worked in U16 teams would fall over themselves if an agency like Brisson's called.

"The guy apparently retired and moved just after Mike stopped skating," Sid said in English, shrugging. Zhenya read between the lines; the coach didn't see the bruises that weren't from hockey. "Mike's team was just slightly more than a rec team. To be honest, we have to figure some stuff out. Even if we don't talk to the coach, Mike is good enough to be in most of the U13 and U16 teams around here would take him."

"Pat will find him," Geno said before being interrupted by a stifled wet gasp, directing their attention to the corner of the locker room. The sound was of a panicked child, and Zhneya hated that noise.

Marisol had been there in the corner of the locker room, messing with the bucket of pucks they had just taken off the ice. She had been occupied by taking the pucks out of the bucket, stacking them, and creating a pyramid with the pucks. Zhenya thought she wasn't paying attention to anyone in the room.

She had been excited when Mike stepped on the ice, a delight that made Sid smile so wide it would split his face. Zhenya was positive that Sid would buy her a pair of skates when he could, just by the way he smiled.

Marisol wasn't smiling anymore. She was now looking around the room, back and forth, searching for something, or Zhenya realized as she hyperventilated, someone. The panic that crossed her face wasn't faked, and Geno was up and moving toward her the moment he processed the expression. Sid wasn't far behind.

In Zhenay's experience, this wasn't a moment to let a kid calm themselves; instead, she needed help. Marisol was trying to say something, but it was such a garbled mix of Spanish and English that Zhenya had no hope of translating.

She looked around, panicked.

Zhenya couldn't figure out why she was so frantic. Maybe it was a tantrum? Was that different in girls? Nikita didn't have meltdowns like this. But Zhenya didn't know if there was a different temperament for girls.

Sid looked as panicked as Zhenya had ever seen him. However, he didn't hesitate when Marisol looked at him, eyes wide in panic and red with tears.

"Marisol. Marisol." Sid said consolingly, his voice tight with emotion and worry. Marisol struggled to breathe correctly, still looking around. "Can you tell me what's going on?" he asked, kneeling down. He reached out to her, and Marisol went with a bit of hesitation. She ended up sitting on his lap while Sid sat on the floor.

Zhenya didn't know if Marisol would be able to respond. She was breathing hard, and most of what she said was Spanish –as Geno could tell.

Thankfully, the proof that Sid would be a good father was already present; he waited her out and didn't rush her or panic outwardly. Zhenya saw in his eyes that Sid was afraid, but none of that showed on his face.

She stuttered out, in between gasps of breath, "¿Dónde está Mike? Quiero Mike. Dónde está. Prometió no dejarme!!" Tears started to fall down her face, and Sid took one of the corners of his jersey because they hadn't even started pulling off their layers of pads and gear yet, and wiped her cheeks. Marisol leaned into the touch. "Mike?" She said louder.

Mike's name was the only thing Zhenya understood from her words. At Sid's panicked glance at him, Geno was up and moving towards the showers.

Mike beat him, racing out of the shower area and appearing at the doorway, half-undressed. His face, pale and upset, entirely changed from the happy look before. Tanger was half a pace behind him. Mike scooped Marisol into his arms and cradled her close to his chest.

Mike stayed close to Sid, and Zhenya watched as Sid put a tentative hand on Marisol's back. Marisol hiccupped and sobbed, but the sheer panic in her movements and voice faded. She didn't flinch away from Sid's touch.

Mike was muttering softly in Spanish as Marisol calmed down and eventually fell into an exhausted sleep. They stayed like that for a long while.

Zhenya usually hated missing the post-practice shower, but now he didn't want to leave the three of them alone. Tanger dipped off to take a quick shower. When Tanger returns, he and Tanger eventually change into their street clothes.

Tanger pulled Zhenya aside when he was done getting changed, keeping an eye on the little family sitting on the floor of the practice rink's locker room. "G, I got an interview. Are you busy this afternoon? I don't want them to be alone completely." His worried eyes met with Zhenya's. He didn't want to leave Sid and the kids, but they both knew they didn't have a choice.

Zhenya nodded, going over his schedule in his head. Just Nikita. Anna is out. There were no interviews or meetings today. "I'm free all afternoon. Just pick up Nikita from school. I'm be with them after all day, if they want."

Tanger nodded again, saying that would work, and gave Zhenya a bro hug before leaving. Sid and the kids hadn't even noticed either of them moving.

"You change, Sid," Zhenya muttered quietly when it was clear that Marisol had gone down for the count. "She'll sleep for a while."

Sid glanced down at the siblings, concern written all over his face. He gave Marisol one last gentle head pat before standing, and she snuggled further into Mike's chest.

Sid got changed rather quickly and didn't even seem to take his eyes off the kids. When he was done, he handed Mike some clean clothes.

Mike stared blankly at the pants for so long that Zhenya thought he wouldn't take them before transferring Marisol to Sid's grasp. Sid took half a step back to give him space, Mike's face tightened, but he didn't stop Sid. He just changed faster.

When Mike had stripped out of the sweat-covered gear and was dressed in clean clothing, he held out his arms to take Marisol back. Zhenya was only a little surprised to see Sid hand Marisol back to Mike.

Apparently, they can't be separated, and Sid wouldn't try.

#'sid has a teen he didn't know about' au #sidgeno #8771 #i write?#this will take a while to write #working title: Legacy (what is a legacy?)

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rwby-encrusted-blog · 1 year

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Jaune Arc is not going to Die.

Or Stay in the Ever After.

As the title state, I don't think Jaune's story ends here. Maybe it's because I (rather obviously) Like him, But I have prepared some reasons for Jaune sticking around for longer, Starting with ...

1. The Red Flags

Adam Taurus, a minor antagonist, and representative of both the Enchanted Rose, and Gaston from Beauty and The Beast, Died. The Rose Wilted, Gaston Died.

Pyrrha Nikos, Based on Achilles of Greek Myth, Died. Pyrrha was a Hero. Achilles Died.

Roman Torchwick , a Minor antagonist, was based at least partially on Romeo Candlewick From Pinocchio, And Died. Candlewick also canonically dies at some point in most Pinocchio iterations.

James Ironwood, whose song is literally titled Hero, Died.

Given the Samples provided, and many more not provided, We can extrapolate that those that are either Minor Characters, Deuteragonists, Heroes, "Heroes," or those based on a character that dies, tend to Die.

There's also this thing called a "Noble Sacrifice." Usually it's reserved for when a Character is seeking redemption for something (Such as Killing a Friend), and, in an act of repentance, Gives their life for their Friend(s). They Stay on an Asteroid to detonate the bomb, they throw themselves in front of a bullet to save another, They Stay behind to keep a Monster from coming through the door.

Jaune fits this perfectly.

And That's why Jaune is going to live.

RWBY Loves to Usurp Expectations and undermine tropes, and at this point Jaune has been struck with so many Red Flags, he's safe. It's expected that he'll Die, or Stay behind, so therefore he won't.

2. His Importance to the World

Jaune has too many connections to die. His Family is back on Remnant. His Friends are trying to get home. Nora, Ren, and Oscar are back there. He'd be abandoning them, which Jaune isn't wont to do.

I'm certain there is an argument to be made about how Pyrrha was important to the World, but she still died, So I'm Refuting that.

Pyrrha was Important to the Story. Jaune is important to the World.

Here's what We know about Pyrrha's life:

Four Time Champion in Mistral Tournaments.

Pumpkin Pete's Brand Endorser

important enough to get a statue in Argus.

we can assume she has at least one Parent

She's friends with RWBY?

What We know about Jaune's Life:

Is a brother to Seven people

One of whom we've met

is an uncle

Definitive Friend of team RWBY

(Man Pyrrha didn't get many interactions with people outside of Jaune huh)

Friends with Oscar

We Honestly Don't have much information on PYrrha's home life, other than Jaune was the first person in a long time to treat like everybody else. Pyrrha Didn't have the Friends and Family Necessary to decide that Maiden Powers were to big a risk, that Shoving Jaune in a locker instead of Running with him was the better option.

Jaune, as we've seen, has people. A family. Good Friends. Things Pyrrha Didn't have (Screen) Time for.

Jaune has too much to lose.

3. Unfair

It would be unfair for Jaune to have to give up what connections he has to Remnant, but it'd be an even greater Transgression to make those on Remnant give up Jaune.

Nora and Ren have already Lost a teammate, Oscar Undoubtedly cares for Jaune, RWBY is getting out of the Ever After, and I doubt that they'd leave Jaune without an actual Life or Death Battle Where He Makes that decision for them.

And It would Be unfair to Pyrrha. Pyrrha Put so much Effort into making Jaune even remotely close to being a Huntsman, literally saving his Life during Initiation, then Training Him, Giving him Videos, so on and So forth.

It's be spit on Her name For Jaune to stop here.

But For all this I believe Jaune's fate all lies with One Thing ...

4. And You've taken it from Me

As you Can probably guess from this sections title, It's about Neo, and how She relates to Jaune, Because I believe that Their Fates are tied to one another. If Neo dies, Jaune Dies, If Neo Lives, Jaune Lives.

If you've seen any Silent Knight Shippers talk about them, you already know what I'm going to say about them Paralleling each other.

Their Partner Died in the fall because of Cinder, directly or not.

carries around a piece of their partner's outfit.

their partner mentored them into who they are today.

This, while it has more eloquently been said before, is the reason I believe Neo is the biggest determining Factor in Jaune's future.

Now, there in lies the rub, because Neo Will need to be convinced top Not kill Ruby, because Neo will die if she continues down this path. But I believe she Just needs to remember something.

She Needs to remember how to Lie, Cheat, Steal, and Survive.

When She was Falling into the Ever After, She was Focused on Causing Ruby pain. Hurting Her. Neo Didn't care about Falling. She didn't care about Surviving.

But I think She'll figure it out. I don't think She'll necessarily like it though.

5. The Cost of Living

I Have few doubts that anyone is sticking in the Ever After, but seeing as how a major theme of it is being yourself, and who you want to be, and who you have been

"You Never Were the Hero ..."

(Vol 1. Ruby) to Current Ruby: "What are you going to be?"

"What if you could take Ruby Rose off, Like an old Jacket?"

Which Makes me think that Jaune and Neo are going to have to give up what they have of Pyrrha and Roman.

Jaune will Have to give up his Dream of Being a Hero.

Neo will have to give up her quest for Revenge.

Neither will Stop, not completely, But Neo will Just. Leave. She'll work with the Team to get back home, then fuck off, never to be seen again.

Jaune won't stop being heroic, or stop being a huntsman, but he'll stop trying to be Hero. He'll have to let that dream die, so that he can have a chance at living it. Because if he follows that dream, He'll follow in every other Hero's footsteps. Follow them the full six feet down into the dirt.

Thank You for you're time!

#Rwby #jaune arc #ruby rose #pyrrha nikos #neo politan #neo rwby #neopolitan #roman torchwick #rwby volume 9

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hlficlibrary · 9 months

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hello, do you know some stories similar to the hunger games but with L and H? Thank you

Hi, anon! There are definitely some Hunger Games AUs out there. Not enough to make a full rec, so I'll just put all the ones I know of here for you!

Who Painted the Moon Black by throughthedark (E, 95k)

“People died,” Harry whispers so quietly Louis strains to hear. “People died, and I killed some of them. How does life just go on after something like that?”

Louis shakes his head. “I don't know. It just does.”

Hunger Games AU where Louis Tomlinson is district six's victor from the 69th Hunger Games and Harry Styles is district seven's victor from the 72nd Hunger Games.

Sweet Blasphemy by blowmeharry (M, 67k)

Harry lived a normal life in the Capitol until his best friend Liam and him were selected as tributes in The Hunger Games to fight to the death, along with three other friends they later meet.

Us Against the World by Chelsea Frew / @chelsea-frew (M, 56k)

It's time for the 58th Hunger Games. 18-year-old Louis, the victor of the 56th Hunger Games, is to be mentor to the latest tributes from District 4. It is the worst job in the world. Making it even worse is that one of those tributes is 16-year-old Harry, Louis' secret boyfriend.

The stakes are life and death. Can Harry do what needs to be done to emerge as the victor? Can Louis help him from the outside? Against all odds, can these two be brought back together—or will Louis be saying goodbye to Harry forever?

'Til I Change My Luck by FannyT, RedOrchid (M, 41k)

“Can I have a pink flamingo, please?” the person next to him says, and Louis does a double take. The boy leaning across the bar to say something else to the bartender is not in costume, for one, and exudes money, for another. His shirt alone—a flimsy, barely-there thing in gold and crystals, unbuttoned almost to the navel—probably costs more than what a victor receives in a year. Louis feels a spark of hope; this might actually get him somewhere.

“Here, on me,” he says, as the bartender puts down a revoltingly pink concoction on the bar. “And I’ll have the same.”

The boy next to him looks up, sees Louis, and his eyes widen a little. Good. Instant recognition is par for the course, with Louis being such a recent victor and all, but the way the boy’s pupils dilate and his breath catches slightly in his throat—Louis can definitely work with that.

A Hunger Games AU. Starring victor!Louis, capitolite!Harry, literal!captain!Niall, two shady deck hands and a lot of sailing.

Freeze This Moment In A Frame by hot_damn_louis (T, 26k)

Harry just wants to protect his family. Louis doesn't want to marry Eleanor. Somehow, Louis and Harry just fit.

Aka Hunger Games au.

it comes and goes in waves by orphan_account (T, 10k)

The 50th Hunger Games mark a Quarter Quell. Louis knows his chances of being selected in the Reaping are doubled as the Capitol decides to honor the Quell by selecting two males and two females from each District.

~ or an au feat. district four harry and louis ~

Victory by @juliusschmidt (E, 6k)

By the time Louis finds Harry, it’s too late for both of them.

[Hunger Games AU in which Louis is the most recent victor and he's to mentor Harry, the tribute from District Nine.]

Wear A Necklace Of Hope (Side By Side With Me) by sweaterpawstyles (E, 5k)

"Lou," Harry's voice was high-pitched and small. He was so small. Everything about him seemed so fragile and Louis was terrified he would break him.

He knew it was too late though. Louis couldn't break him because Harry was already broken.

Or A Hunger Games AU about Louis and Harry's life as victors in District 4

you'll always be my hero (even though you've lost your mind) by girlmadeofstars (M, 5k)

He's only fourteen when he falls in love for the first time, fourteen when he meets's Louis Tomlinson in the bathroom at school, and he shouldn't be so lucky so young, but he is. (Until he isn't.)

Hunger Games AU

Glory and Gore by orphan_account (G, 2k)

“Quite the mystery aren't you, Louis Tomlinson?” He didn't know what to say to the crowds of people. What did they expect to hear, from the boy who didn't speak?

Or No one expected him to win. He was suppose to die 15 seconds into the game, but then there was Harry.

Looking to the sky to save me by starsandnightskies (G, 2k)

Louis was almost positive he'd never make it out of the arena. Almost.

and we all know what we've done by keepthemusicplaying (NR, 2k)

they'll have supper on the sundeck, and louis will eat every single thing on his plate. he'll bathe next, asking harry to wash him, to stay with him. so harry picks up a rag and washes away the fear and guilt on louis' tan skin. louis will hum under his breath, and close his eyes. and harry will shampoo his hair, letting his fingers run and dance in feather like hair. when louis is bathed, harry will guide him to bed. louis likes to sleep naked, so harry will just strip and get in bed beside louis.

or the one where it's after louis has been crowned a victor, and he likes to drown himself in the tub.

[Okay there ended up being more than I thought! lol Enjoy!]

#ask #anon #ficrec #hungergames

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rdrmybeloved · 10 months

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Yeehawgust 2023 - Gather The Posse

Harper sighed harshly, looking around their small camp with a grumble. Four tents stood tall in the sun, spreading welcomed shade across the dry earth. Her gang and friends cheered around the seats of the empty fire, but she stood alone outside of her and Amy’s shared tent.

She looked towards her gang, searching for that familiar face. Amy was sitting the furthest from Harper, elegantly framed by their other friends. She had laughed at some story Nathan was telling, and Harper smiled slightly at the endearing noise. But it faded as Nathan’s arm snaked its way around Amy’s waist, pulling her in as he got more invested in his tale. Harper scoffed.

A rumbling bellow came from her left, and Harper spun to find the creature making the noise. It was Golden Gun, her allosaurus. He was just up the small rise, laying in a patch of soft grass with the rest of the gang’s dinosaurs. Harper smiled, and this time it didn’t fade as she made her way up the slight hill to where their carnivorous mounts resided. Golden bellowed again, and Harper swiftly bent down to his large head and scratched around his chin and cheek bones gently. Golden grumbled in delight, rolling himself onto his side.

Harper giggled.

Golden purred.

She kept scratching along his scales in all his favourite spots, laughing and smiling all the way. Eventually, she found that one spot on his neck, and Golden started kicking his leg like a maniac, his tongue lolling and his tail flicking in happiness. Harper hadn’t laughed like this in a long time.

* * * * *

Amy listened idly, smiling and nodding along to Nathan’s retelling of their latest little robbery. He made a poke at Amy fumbling with her gun, and he pulled her close. She startled slightly as Nathan bumped into her side, but laughed as she thought back to the memory. Her, Nathan, and Harper, had gone out to a little homestead that was rumoured to have stacks of cash sitting and waiting in there. They had arrived, and it was buzzing with some lowlifes. They had paused, hiding in the tree line, before Harper had scoffed, spun out from the tree she was pressed against and in one smooth moment had very attractively raised her rifle up and took the first shot. Amy, in her daze, spent longer than she should have staring at Harper’s muscles as she used her rifle.

She was knocked out of her reminiscing by Nathan making another joke, but she paid no mind, was that laughter she could hear?

It was coming from where their mounts were resting. Was it Harper? It was beautifully melodic.

Quietly, Amy excused herself, and carefully made her way up to the sunny spot their dinosaurs rested in. And there was Harper, surrounded by seven snoozing carnivores, and focusing on the eighth, her allosaurus. Golden Gun was thriving in the attention, and Amy could have melted on the spot. Harper, who Amy had come up from behind, was on her knees, cooing and giggling as she showered Golden in attention. Amy’s own dinosaur, a young acrocanthosaurus called Phrancis, lifted her head when she noticed Amy sneakily approaching. Amy panicked and made a wild, waving gesture trying to signal ‘Put your head back down!’. Praying Phrancis wouldn’t unintentionally rat her out to Harper, she backed away a few steps. Phrancis shrugged her off.

Well, she tried to back away, at least. Amy bumped into something that definitely wasn’t there before, and let out a quiet gasp that got caught in her throat and produced an awkward noise. She looked up, craning her neck to meet the friendly, blue eyes of Alex.

“What are you doin’ here!?” Amy whispered as she whipped around, sounding harsher than she intended. Alex put his hands up in a sign of mercy.

“Was seeing who’s having a laughing fit, is all.” He chuckled, unfazed by her tone. “We’re all curious, but I’ll leave you to continue spying on your girl.”

“Hey!” Amy shouted before slapping a hand over her mouth. Alex snorted and Amy threw a finger in his face, flustered, and started whisper-yelling. “She isn’t my- She’s…”

God, what were they? Amy was very fond of Harper… but there was no way Harper felt the same.

“Whatever!” Amy scoffed, still whisper-yelling. She let her body relax a bit, before suddenly seeing everyone else watching from their seats around the unlit campfire. Heads swivelled as she looked their way.

Alex cut her off before she could say anything, “I told you, we’re all curious about who was laughing, and now we can tell it’s Harper. You know as well as I do she’s been down lately. And we’ve all noticed. No need to be defensive, we’re all friends here.” He chastised gently. That much was true. Harper’s mind wasn’t kind to her often, and to overhear her giggle like this almost made Amy breathless.

As the conversation lulled, Harper’s laughter floated across the breeze and down into the posse’s camp. Amy smiled and breathed deeply. Alex patted her back. Silently, they walked together up the rise and headed towards their own mounts, paying no mind to Harper lest they wanted to embarrass her away from them. Amy settled against Phrancis, leaning against the chest of the bulky theropod. She smiled gently to Harper, who gave her a quizzical, but friendly smile from where she sat with Golden.

Amy looked over to her left, watching Alex focus on his Carnotaurus, Felicity. She hummed slightly, settling to watch the horizon. Her eyes soon fell shut as the rest of their posse migrated over to relax as well.

With the posse gathered together, quiet murmuring to purring dinosaurs filled the air.

* * * * *

Please enjoy my dino-cowboy ocs, I know this is a red dead blog and they aren't red dead BUT i will probably have some rdr stuff done over yeehawgust so its all getting posted here.

#yeehawgust #yeehawgust 2023 #gather the posse #oc #oc writing

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mayonnaisetoffees · 11 months

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Oversharing on the Internet

Tagged by: @mistmarauder 🧡 (I can respond to these in a timely manner! Who knew? Though I always say waaaaay too much hence the readmore)

ONE: Are you named after anyone? My middle name was for my mum's great-nana I think? Maybe great-grandma and I only think great-nana because we only had a great-nana. But not my first name, no. But fun fact: My parents ONLY had one name for a girl. If my younger sibling had been born a girl they'd have been fuuuucked. (Also part of why I keep my name despite it being v much female-coded because like I earnt this. Also, like... it's my name. It fits me, thought I more often than not get confused seeing it written down because like that's my verbal name, Mayo is my written name.)

TWO: When was the last time you cried? Last week? Little sleep + stress of moving = lots of tears at random times.

THREE: Do you have kids? Nope! Don't have pets either. I wanna foster/adopt/support (probably older kids/teenagers) at some point but not for a few years and I absolutely do not want bio kids. Pregnancy freaks me the fuck out.

FOUR: Do you use sarcasm a lot? Fairly often? I can't even tell anymore tbh like I just talk, even I'm barely paying attention to what I'm saying half the time! Less so online I think (this is where people are like nah mate you do that here too) because it's definitely been misunderstood before - sometimes making me look very daft and I'm like I don't know you people well enough to say that that was what is called a joke

FIVE: What sports have you played/do you play? I never found one I liked apart from, like, bench-ball. The fact that there aren't (that I've found at least) casual places to play bench ball as an adult is a fucking travesty.

SIX: What's the first thing you notice about people? Their smile/laugh/sense of humour? I'm really bad with faces, but if someone laughs or makes a joke pretty soon after I meet them, I remember them a lot more easily. Online it's definitely like the quirks of their writing style.

SEVEN: What's your eye colour? Brown! Pretty dark brown too so like none of the "ooh it's got XYZ in it in the light" it has brown with hints of brown

EIGHT: Scary movies or happy endings? Happy endings - I am the biggest wimp with scary films. I was part of the "let's go hang in the kitchen with the leftover pizza/snacks" gang if horror films came on at a sleepover!

NINE: Any special talents? I'm not the biggest fan of cake, but by god will I make the best cake you've tasted. I can also do a good mix CD (less good at specific playlists because playlists it's just a big mess of great songs) and I can flick through to the right page in a book for a quote pretty easily - drove some people mad in English because people would be trying to find it for like five minutes and I'd just be like drrrrrrrr (idk how to write the noise for fanning through the pages) There!

TEN: Where were you born? At home, south of England (I'm very much Northern, being there for like two memories max one of which was falling asleep indoors doesn't count 😂). I can't remember if it was me or my older brother this happened for, but my mum went into labour in the middle of the night and woke my dad up and was like "The baby is coming" and my dear father went "If you still think so in half an hour, wake me up again" and rolled back over. Needless to say, he was not, in fact, allowed to go back to sleep. He also hates that story so we tell it as often as possible 😇

ELEVEN: What are your hobbies? Uhh I watch a lot of TV? 😂 I need to get more hobbies that get me outside tbh. But I podfic, I knit sometimes when I'm watching stuff and I play games when I watch stuff, I cook a lot, I bake, I like long walks on the beach actually I like reasonable length walks by rivers/green areas or along the promenade if I'm at the beach because sand (Anakin Skywalker was right and he should say it).

TWELVE: Do you have any pets? Nope! Just moved, but I used to help look after my friends' dog every so often - she's a black cockapoo called Luna and I love her dearly but she also made me realise if I do get a dog, I don't want a puppy. They are a lot of work. Which makes sense because they are literally baby

THIRTEEN: How tall are you? 5'7", please don't ask me for the metric - I haven't had to be measured in a while so I only know it in imperial. I wanna say like 167cm maybe? Does that sound right???

FOURTEEN: Favourite subject in school? English (Language over Lit) or French 100%. I always say that my optional GCSEs were all basically an extension of my skills in English (AKA bullshitting): Religious Studies (taught tbh as Christianity + a few other examples), French, Spanish (both still bullshitting just in another language), and Drama (absolutely bullshitting and also in my case scaring the shit out of an examiner because the plate smashed into lots of pieces that flew everywhere rather than just a few in a controlled space like it had in rehearsal)

FIFTEEN: Dream job? God I miss working in a cafe/events. But they don't pay the bills as well! Also like I would ideally want to do my current job 3 days a week and a manual job 2 but like without having to work lots of extra hours to keep on top of both, yk?

Tagging: @glaftwlet @emryses @snapshotmaestro @idyllic-idioms @alloverthegaf and idk anyone else who wants to do it! Brain empty can't remember usernames

#tag game

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tarotnoob · 2 years

Text

Kim Taehyung - tarot reading 6/24/22

This went longer than I thought - I did slightly go into potential "dating" stuff only because it was very strong in the cards, but I did offer alternatives in case it's not romantic.

Typos are the fault of Google voice to text.

Tarot, we have the hanged man clarified by the star, page of Wands clarified by five of cups, sun clarified by world and moon, emperor clarified by justice, king of cups, ace of cups and six of wands clarified by the devil. Back of deck is temperance, nine of cups, eight of pentacles and back of deck for clarifiers is four of cups ten of swords queen of swords tower, seven of cups

Oracles are inner beauty, star mother, mediator, detective and curiosity

If I'm honest with you this isn't what I was expecting so I want to go through it carefully because it's kind of complex but not. So, I will start with the page of Wands because it's connecting me to the detective and curiosity. This person would definitely have a strong sense of intuition. I think as people have said he has some type of vibe check that he goes by where he can just tell if somebody is using him or is being fake. I think that's about the level of what his abilities are is to immediately see if people are fake. I don't know if he can go so far as to pick out when people are lying but it's geared toward fakeness, I think.

I also get the impression that maybe he really likes detective stories. I think he dressed up as detective Conan, so it's interesting we got the detective card and this person is reading probably some type of thriller or detective thing. And since curiosity is here it's also like this desire to solve mysteries or an interest in mysteries not just books but probably in life like spiritual ones. I also see this as maybe potentially reading a script for a particular role or genre that he might want to act in. And that it might be some kind of mystery or thriller. But definitely if he reads or if he doesn't read books but reads manga or manhwa then I would say maybe they fit along this type of mystery theme.

I kind of wonder if the James Bond set up for the Grammys could have even been his suggestion.

So we have mediator gift for negotiating fairness and strategy in personal and professional life. Respect for both sides of an argument. That's interesting since that's very Libra energy. I didn't look at his chart to remember everything but I feel like he's predominantly a lot of earth. But, he might be a person who in real life with friends, does try to stay on the fence or doesn't try to take a side. That doesn't really seem to fit though. I think maybe I see it more as I'm surprised I didn't get the networker card because it feels more like that looking at the picture where he's in between to people and holding their hands, so to me it seems like more immediate or in the sense of going between people or like a people of two worlds that brings other people together from different fields or different walks of life. Like he would totally be a person that introduces you to other people or likes to be introduced to other people by so-and-so. And I think I also read this as somebody who is willing to be friends with any walks of life as long as they aren't fake or degrees of fakeness like superficial... that's not true because I think he would actually be okay with that You just can't be fake and you should be kind of interesting. But you should also be like sincere in your eccentricities. With the amaterasu I'm trying to think of what vibes this gives me. I know that she is a Japanese goddess but she literally looks like she's got the Korean traditional dress on because I was just watching 100 days my prince and the actress had on something very very similar.

This makes me feel drawn to acting again. I don't know why I get relationship vibes from lol. I try not to go into the relationship stuff but I'm picking up on acting things. Like, I know it just says inner beauty but I think this is about something else. I think this is about a romantic interest for him right now or in the past. It could have been a former castmate when he had a historical drama or another actor or somebody who is definitely Korean. And is very attractive. And would be famous and I am leaning actually more toward another actor but that doesn't mean it couldn't be another entertainer, but I they would have to be a performer who also acts. And would be very well known for their looks. It doesn't have to be romantic before some people start crapping their pants just reading that one sentence about him possibly having dated a woman or having dated anybody.

But to me, this is a close person. Like a best friend. Since we have the star mother card, sure it could be a female figure that had a prominent influence on him. But, if that is true, it is somebody who has passed. And I have temperance in the back with an angel on it, so when he talks about angels and stuff, I do feel like there is some presence here. And it seems like they are female, and I am inclined to say a mother or grandmother figure or a prominent female deity or spirit guide. But they feel bigger than a spirit guide, they feel really big lol. I don't know if that can be an ancestor but if he had an ancestor that was I would say a spiritual relative. As in like a mage or shaman. So, he might actually be a descendant of some type of shaman line. Ones that would have been able to see things and hear things and communicate with people on the other side.

I also wonder though what kind of relationship he has with his real life mother but I feel like this is more related to a romantic or strong platonic relationship with the female actress or actor/performer. And I'm not saying it's in the present, but it's something or it's even possible that if he is going to participate in some type of movie or series again, this could be someone he will meet on the set or already knows about.

I feel this so strongly. Whoever this person is, they are extremely beautiful, extremely kind, extremely talented, would have a really pretty smile and a really sweet laugh. Like I almost feel like I can sense their energy or something. And they're super cool. But it could be a friend so we'll just leave it at that. He's a pretty popular guy, I'm sure he has lots of friends and since people get really worked up about the members having personal romantic lives, that's probably where I'll just stop. I guess it's possible she could be Japanese or like Korean and Japanese. I almost want to say that you would be able to see her on makeup commercials. Which probably doesn't narrow it down but I'm not really familiar with Korean beauty commercials. Like maybe she also does modeling work. She might do music as well. There are tons of idols that do all of those though but this mirror that the figure is holding actually looks like a tambourine to me.

So I think okay so this could represent a friend or romantic interest of course and they are all of the same things that he is. there is the possibility it could just be a card that's a representing him and how he is a performer and actor and model and so on. But I still feel like there is someone else that is female that is the same thing as him. And I really didn't sit down with the intention of doing anything about romance but for me it's coming out pretty strongly and I have to share what there is. I'm not naming names because nothing is coming to mind and I'm not familiar with girl groups or a lot of female actors since I'm really only into BTS. And I don't always remember the names of actresses but she would be young. She would be at least 20s but she could be older. I would say early 20s to early 30s or somebody who looks really young for their age. And she's very confident. But she's super friendly and super fun to be around. Really good energy. I don't think she's like older older. Anyway.

I also feel like she's showing him something. Like showing him I don't know what. But she's showing him something or teaching something or giving him direction on something like advice or is even using her connections to get him connected to something else. Like if she was working on a film, she would say to the director or someone else hey how about him.

I don't know if I feel anything romantic on her end so like I said this doesn't have to be romantic, but there would be a lot of affection here. And a lot of support. And a lot of fun.

Moving on from whatever the f*** that was. Star mother. How can you mother yourself. I find this one very strange to come out for him so I'm going to clarify real quick.

Okay well the four of cups came out. This makes me feel like it's close to self-care. But it feels deeper than that. The star mother has her hand on her heart and there's a cup here that is not being accepted. So it's like some piece of the heart is missing and I see this person in the four of cups as being someone who's looking for it and meditating on where it's at. I don't see it as somebody offering him something to do with romance or heart and he's rejecting it. I feel like this is somebody who has lost a piece of their heart or is looking for something to fill that void. It kind of reads a bit like the hermit and the sense that it feels very spiritual, someone doing some soul searching about something that they are missing that I don't know how conscious he is of it but he is missing something that makes him feel complete. And I think it has to do with how he can take care of himself or love himself.

It also might be that he's ignoring some type of message that's trying to reach him from the divine. Like, it could be that if he has guides or angels or it could be a separate entity, that they're trying to reach him about something that they are concerned about but he doesn't seem to be listening. Or he hasn't connected the dots about something. But I think on like at least a soul level, he is in search of something. And the back of the deck after I got that four of cups is queen of cups so again it's like there's some emotional component that missing or there's some type of emotional reflection about something that is missing or waiting on something. I don't really know what it is but they're just might be some resistance to it. Like you know when a voice inside your head tells you something and you just kind of ignore it and do whatever. I think he's either consciously blocking it or unconsciously consciously blocking it.

It could be you know a pain or a painful memory that he wants to block out but my advice would be not to block it out and to actually deal with it because I think it's creating some type of hole in his heart. You know it's really weird is I went to fix a typo since I'm voice to texting and for some reason it brought up little icons and one of them was golf which I would never use as an emoji so it wasn't my recent emojis. And I know he has posted pictures of him golfing. I don't know what that has to do with the four of cups and the mother card but it's interesting that I just saw that.

I mean if it even matters it could be he's searching for hobbies or interests. How can you take care of yourself, maybe he can take care of himself through hobbies and pastimes where he can have fun. And so he's kind of looking searching through each cup if say we were talking about the seven of cups which I saw somewhere, and he could just be in the process of trying different things to see how it makes him feel.

I think there's more to that but I'm not really sure what to make of it but this could also be him doing meditation and he is connecting to his guides or he's connecting to anybody in the afterlife that he might want to speak to. But it's like this person in the afterlife has their hand on their heart and it's like they're trying to reach out to him and either he's not ignoring it or this simply represents him meditating and during that meditation reaching out to this person. It could be a little of both. But it is it's weird it's like the star mother is in another plane but then they're reaching their hand through the sky and offering this cup to the person under the tree and it makes sense because cups are emotions or feelings, so this is passing from the star mother into the other world. But I still get the sense that it's not completely getting through to him. But I think this person will keep trying.

And that inner beauty card as well kind of has that vibe of there's some type of light some type of message that she's trying to send with her hand and those rays of light and both of them are in these longer gowns and it's a very feminine energy. So even though I went on about a potential best friend female or whatever she is to him, I still also think he's got some type of female guide hanging around and trying to like guide him. And like I said she could be some type of shaman ancestor.

But I still think there's a friend out there that's female that's really cool and does a lot of similar things like he does. And maybe the guide works through this person or brought this person into his life to well we could go down that avenue but I won't.

But, if you were to see him on the set somewhere in the future doing something and seems to be getting along really well with the co-worker, that would be interesting. Whatever type of relationship it may be.

Okay so back on track. We have the hanged man that came out first, and it is clarified by the star. Both of them are extremely spiritual cards that the star represents a dream but it can also be a rebirth or healing. And the hang demand can be a pause or stop, it can also be about needing to go with the flow or have a change of perspective. Because it's next to the page of ones I am wondering more if it's a bit of a rebirth of sorts that is allowing for a new change of perspective. It's also probably allowing him a break to figure out some things.

Like I said he could be searching with that four of cups stuff that's going on. So this is a time since they are taking a break, where he can heal and he can take a pause, and I think it will help kind of change his perspective or shift his perspective on what he wants to do in life from now on or whatever he wants to do, he's probably just trying to figure out stuff by doing a bunch of different things. And I think he's very go with the flow in the sense that he'll try whatever. And it's not because he's completely spontaneous though he is, I think it's that he tries whatever he feels like trying. Like he's really pulled by his intuition, but I think his intuition is kind of like just a sense. I won't call it a gut feeling but it's like I feel drawn to that so I think I'm going to try it. It's more than a fire energy type of impulsiveness, it's a spiritual sense for stuff and then he's drawn in that direction and to me it feels like there's a purpose. There's like a guiding thing that either he is able to do because of whoever he was in past lives or he has a certain destiny that is very well guided and planned out and it would involve being this mediator that I talked about where he brings people together and meets other people and it's like he's a spider or something where he's connecting lines with people and he's making things happen without even realizing it.

Of course it's also interesting that the star has the seven minor stars around it, so I do feel like it's attached to BTS. The hanged man reduces to a 3, so on this path, for him there is a lot of abundance, creativity, and of course love.

I actually think it's a great time for him to work on anything that fills up a cup that would help fill up his self-love if that makes sense. And maybe he's being guided toward things that will fill that up for him and I think those things have to do with trying whatever he feels like he wants to. Just doing anything and everything that he feels sounds fun or yeah. Because they aren't serious things it's not like RM where he needs to sit down and read a philosophy book and think about the universe, this is basically like that's sounds fun so I'm going to do it but it looks like there's so much more going on than that. Like he might not realize it but I think he's doing some type of spiritual work with all of his networking. Like, he definitely must have come from a line of interesting people that had some type of spiritual power I think.

Okay so page of wands clarified by five of cups, that would make me think a new start of something that comes after a disappointment which of course the band is taking a break. They're not calling it a hiatus or a breakup but we'll see about that. So there is some grief here. It doesn't have to be just about BTS but since it followed the star with the seven stars on it, it's like maybe probably. But there could be tons of other moments of grief or disappointment, but I would think it's more recent because the page of Wands is the start of a new adventure. Somebody who is creative, fashionable, personable, there's travel here. There's excitement. And it's a fresh type of feeling like okay well there was a disappointment and that's that but guess what here's this other creative freeing start that's happening. So he might have mourned the situation, but there seems to be a sense of refreshing excitement freedom that's coming out of it.

Especially when now we move into the sun. Which is interesting because it's clarified by the world which can be success and completion, again travel. And then the moon also came out, so it could be about intuition or it could still be that lingering sadness that links it to the five of cups.

For one, I definitely see more travel for him. I think he just went to Paris maybe at this point. To a fashion show. I'm not sure if that's true or not but that's the last thing I read on somewhere. There is a sense of completion for him. I don't know what he thinks finished, but it's certainly coming up like a phase in his life has ended and it's a bit sad, but what comes next is a lot of exciting things and he seems excited for this next phase even if there's some lingering sadness. And I also again see this concept of him being drawn intuitively to things that just sound fun. The sun is here so it's a Leo card, there could also potentially again be more happening in the future for him that would involve public recognition for his projects or could literally be about some type of performance or acting since that's Leo.

I should look up his Saturn sign to see stuff I should probably look up his moon, but that doesn't really help me when I know the signs other than I can look them up individually but I could do that just looking up his chart. So he could have a fire moon or his Saturn could be in Leo or something watery. It doesn't really matter.

And then we have this emperor card which can be authority or a father figure or career or a sense of discipline, whatever. And clarified by justice, king of cups, ace of cups. That's interesting because we have the mediator card and we have justice and we have somebody like the king of cups who's very emotionally balanced, and then we have the ace of cups. Am I going to get shot if I say that it reads like getting married?

But, it can also be entering into a new era where he has more authority over the things that he wants to do or himself and it's a journey that's going to be about finding what he loves to do again, that refreshing rebirth, feeling really creative. And maybe just weighing some options of what he wants to do.

It's interesting though because we had that four of cups where the person was ignoring the cup and now we have an ace of cups being offered and the king has clearly accepted it and looks very happy about it.

I guess this could involve a Libra as well. Sometimes the cards are literal so I'm trying to figure out what the justice means and it could just be that there's some type of something going on with the Libra. I don't know if he would be like dating a Libra or if it's about a creative offer that has to do with work that's coming from a Libra. I mean of course Jimin is a Libra, so they could be working on something together. Or Libra is 7th house and that has to do with relationships, so again there could be something there.

Okay clarified that. So back of deck after I clarified is interesting because it's chariot 10 of wands and the death card. So that comes back to me thinking about an end and a spiritual reverse to something related to work, and again the chariot is a seven card so it seems like this portion is BTS related. And specifically the Justice card here is being clarified by two of pentacles which is balance or juggling priorities, seven of swords, and eight of swords. So that's a bit heavy. The seven of swords matches up with the 10 of Wands at the back of the deck in the sense that he seems to be caring something, sometimes I attribute seven of swords to bitterness or some type of negative feeling that we carry and becomes burdensome, especially when the aid of swords is popping out here too so it's like something is getting in the way and stopping him. And maybe that's why he's not accepting the cup.

I feel like the two of pentacles is more indicative here of somebody going around and round, maybe there's a cycle that he needs to break. It could be some type of karmic cycle that he has to break you know for his bloodline or for himself. But he seems to be carrying something that isn't so great and there's a cycle of it.

It could be a secret that he knows and is burdened by. It might have to do with BTS. I don't know in particular what kind of secret it would be. And justice can be the government, so can the emperor, so it could have to do with enlistment I guess. Because there's a sense of a cycle and it can't really be broken and you know there's a bit of a burden that has to be carried. Of course that would make me probably think of enlistment if he looks at it as a bit of a burden but it doesn't necessarily have to be that. It could be something a bit more. Because we have a lot of well the death card can literally be death and doesn't have to be birth or rebirth. But the ace of cups is certainly about birth.

It could be there's something creatively he wants to release, but for legal reasons, he hasn't been allowed to do that. It could be his mixtape or other works, but it's like he can't put them out yet because maybe he's contractually obligated to do it at a certain time or in a certain way. Or it could be that he wants to put it out but he's kind of like in his own head about it and feels stuck, and like trying to do too many things at once. But there is something new that wants to come out, it's creative or emotional, but it seems like we have two government cards kind of like hovering, so it does make me wonder if it's about contracts or enlistment.

Or, it could be about choices or weighing options. It's weird though because with the emperor this is somebody who has complete authority to make some type of decision, like with the justice here it's definitely like okay this powerful person has the option of creating laws or doing whatever. But, there's something off about it. It kind of reminds me of the supreme Court, like they have all this authority to do these things and a way choices, when you see the aid of swords and the seven of swords together it's not what it seems.

So since I don't know for sure and I don't want to clarify this to death, I guess we could look at the six of Wands which I put next to it. Which is clarified by the devil. He's a Capricorn, so there's that. Otherwise everything that the devil means, which fits well with eight of swords and a seven of swords. Because it's lying or deceit and mental blocks. And six of Wands is about public recognition and fame. But then there could be vices or certain relationships that could be meant to be a secret. Or, just something about his career path, maybe it's when you look at the two figures they are chained to this devil figure. So again I'm drawn to some type of contract or something that he can't get out of. And it doesn't well I mean when you look at six of Wands it could definitely look like a soldier, but of course it could also be about being a famous performer right.

Let me objectively interpret all these things that are happening in the way that they might fit. We have somebody who could be contractually obligated to accompany but it might be not allowing this person to reveal some type of creative content in the way that they want to.

If I took a relationship spin on it, it could definitely be having to keep a relationship secret for contractual reasons, or that doesn't really feel quite right though. It feels more like there's a lot or something that's being carried that's like bitterness or negativity and because of that somebody is stuck in these eight of swords and can't seem to get themselves out. The two of pentacles represents how this cycle seems to keep repeating where they can't escape something. We have the devil card which shows a person also chained to something which represents that pretty well. We have a card that indicates fame. And then the emperor can represent career or some person of authority or even government. So if you put all of that together, what do you get. You get a contract or you get someone also legally obligated to go into service.

We also have things showing a new phase beginning, one that could be creative or about self-love or love in general.

I do feel like there's a sense of time ticking down as well. I really don't know what's going on in terms of enlistment for them so I don't know if I should go into that because it could be somebody who's going to live it up before they have to enlist or It's a lot more simple than that and there's some type of karmic cycle that he needs to work through and breakthrough at this time in order to become more like the king of cups. And that would kind of make sense because we kept talking about he was missing his heart, missing this cup, so after all of this is done, he comes away as the king of cups. He found his super cup.

But, there seems to be a karmic cycle or burden around the search for the cup. I don't know if that means he has to go through some challenges before he can find it or if being able to find this thing is causing him a lot of grief and anxiety. It could be that it's even unconscious since we have the ace of cups here. And since justice is that karma or destiny, there could be some type of unconscious worries about a becoming this person. Maybe there's worry about becoming the king of cups for some reason. Maybe that's scary to him. Because it would be like I have to accept that I'm an adult. But, maybe something about a decision that's being made for him feels really unfair to him. Like it almost feels like maybe he's just starting out and just starting to get freedom and to maybe there's something else lurking there that's like I want to do that but I can't and I feel trapped so I can't fully enjoy it because I feel like my time is running out.

And that could apply to enlistment or it could apply to fame or something to do with BTS.

I kind of want to clarify the devil just to see if it's like hey reminding you that he's a Capricorn which how helpful is that, it's not. Of course Capricorn is ruled by Saturn, and Saturn is that disciplinarian energy the father figure, often related to work. And it's sitting next to an emperor, so it whatever is going on definitely has to do with his authority at work or some type of authority figure. So we know this definitely has to do with his fame and how it ties to his work. But it feels like he feels chained to something about it or weighed down by it or there are vices connected to being famous for him. Maybe somehow that inhibits him from being able to find what he wants in his heart or to fill his heart. Like if he's looking for a relationship, maybe he hasn't been able to find one because of the way that fame or being a famous person gets in the way of something like that.

Because the devil can also be about unhealthy relationships. I mean it can be about sexuality or sexy times of course but it is like maybe he sees it as he can't fully do something because he's chained to his image. I don't think he would really care though. Like I don't think he tries to pretend to be somebody he's not. I don't think he shows even 80% of his personality to us but what he does show isn't fake. I just think there's lots of things we don't know about him that I could guess that just by having seen a few little snippets of it. But do you know anything about him and how he interacts with his actor friends? When they are alone and going out or hanging out in a hotel room? You could probably guess how some of the other members act but I don't think you could really guess how he acts.

Personally, he seems like the type of guy that I would want to get high with. Like super chill and kind of weird. Probably like pretty flirty. But he doesn't really drink though.

A final way I could interpret that mess is that he could feel chained to an image that he himself believes in that isn't truly him. In the sense that you know this is a very glamorous life, I want to have nice clothes and I want to fly this jet and I can hang out with celebrities. So there's more focus on those aspects of things as opposed to figuring out who he really is outside of all of that? Like if you took that all away, who would he be. And it's like he doesn't ever look at that as a question. Of course he doesn't have to because what's the point he'll always have that. I mean of course fame fades eventually but he'll always be v of BTS.

There could be another situation going on where he feels kind of stuck in the middle of it. Like if two people are arguing, it's not that he's not taking a side it's just that he could be kind of like stuck amidst it not really pushing for something and not not pushing for it. Just kind of like there. But like I said that card still feels like a networker card.

And with the detective card besides all of the stuff that I already said, it does seem like some part of him conscious or not is in search of something. Just like a basic truth of some type and following little hits and intuitive moments but it's like he's trying to find something out though. And like I said I think I have something to do with the heart space. It could literally be like who am I. And in place of the heart, it's a soul. Like who am I on that level, but maybe fame is sort of getting in the way of him being able to connect with that deeper spiritual part of himself. Even if he tries different things, it's like there's a disconnect maybe. Because look at the page of Wands and the 5 of cups. Even here this figure is looking at these three of cups and we have the page of Wands that's going in search of something. So he seems to be going in search of cups as well.

Didn't he say that he needed fire. But that's funny because it looks to me that he's in search of water.

I guess I could talk about the back of the deck which was temperance, which is balance or healing, nine of cups which is that emotional contentment or wish fulfillment. And then we have eight of pentacles which is about working on a skill.

Temperance is also a Sagittarius card, so there is an element of enlightenment or spirituality. So it does seem like somebody in search for some type of work or using that skill that they have to maybe find some type of deep spiritual healing that they want. So maybe through their songs or whatever work that he does in the future, he's looking to fill this cup. Because even in the temperance card which is a fire card, the angel is pouring the water into this cup. So it's up to him whether he wants to accept it like in the four of cups. He's clearly in search of it with the page of wands and five of cups. But in the five of cups, there's two other cups being ignored. So there could be a cycle of constantly looking at what didn't work out versus what is still available in the future. And there could be some type of chain weighing him down and reasons why he can't find this cup or see it or take it. I don't think he's found it yet. He's currently on the search for this cup.

I do think he can find this through his work. If he's making songs or acting. There's some type of fulfillment that happens only in those times. I also think traveling and learning things related to that, are also very fulfilling for him. That's interesting because Jimin had something similar come up in his reading. So I wonder if he and Tae might be working on something together. Or following some type of similar path. And like I said there is potential for maybe that they are doing some type of collaboration.

Because there is like learning something new and maybe travel could be incorporated. I don't know how that works other than if there's things tied to work that he's doing but they're still an element of tropical involved and through that combined experience, there's some type of emotional fulfillment on a spiritual level that is coming from that. And I actually even if he was sad about whatever BTS is doing behind all of the PR words, that there is a sense of freedom here. Like maybe he feels guilty for feeling excited about this new phase because he's been attached to BTS and he loves them, but he's not really seeing this as like that bad. He feels super free to do all kinds of things that he wasn't able to do before and was locked down just like with this devil card. And now he's got like this temperance card with the wings out and there are a lot of cards that indicate like rebirth and new perspective and fun and joy and travel and excitement.

It's definitely clear that he was sad about it but I don't think it's going to last very long. I think he sees the potential in this phase for himself and maybe for others.

I think he's curious to find what's out there and he's already started doing that, he might not realize that that curiosity is coming from his soul and his soul is pushing him to find this missing piece.

This whole sun and then clarified by the world and the moon is interesting even though it still feels like the hanged man in star and then it feels like all that stuff that came out to clarify the justice which was clarifying the emperor. They're all basically saying the same thing that there's a sense of completion and a bit of sadness to it but then there's like now we're going to have some fun times. Kind of like imagine being with a partner for a long time and it didn't work out for whatever reason, you get a divorce.

It is sad for a time, but then suddenly you change your perspective and you're like okay well I'm excited for the single life or I'm excited to now meet the love of my life. It's that kind of feeling like I'm sad for a little bit, but then I realized that I have all these shiny opportunities out there for me and this is really fun and I didn't get to do this before and I'm really enjoying it. That's kind of what I'm feeling like he felt pretty locked down with BTS and couldn't do everything that he wanted and now he's like ready to do it. I wonder if anybody even has to tell him you know you probably shouldn't look like you're having too good of a time lol cuz people might get the wrong idea. But I mean there's more mourning in here. There is sadness and attachment to the past.

There may also be this feeling that you know a piece of my heart just got ripped out or lost and now I have to find it in some other way again. Like it might have felt whole with BTS for a time. But there are other cups out there for him that he needs to fill. And from a sole perspective, it looks like his soul wants him to be more of a king of cups. Someone emotionally mature, somebody who's calm, somebody's who's a good listener, somebody who is creative and intuitive. I'd be curious to know what his south-node is and if his North one might be water. But like I said it seems like his soul is in search of water. I'm pretty sure that I've said before that I thought he was a lot of earth and would have required somebody with water or like air water.

But there is a lot of water imagery here and yet there's a lot of fire.

And overall I do feel like he's pretty forward focused. There might be a brief pause here to like adjust to some new things, but he's ready to do stuff. I feel like he could also be really curious about what lies ahead. There isn't as much sadness or deep introspective thinking as there was for Jimin. Here, it feels like the grieving process is a bit quicker maybe because it already started a while ago for him. And now he's not like okay I'm attached and sentimental about the past. That's Jimin. I was thinking energy wisely.

That JK is starting to remind me of Tae in terms of energy. I can't really describe that to you but I will say that I haven't felt that they were similar like that since they were younger. But and they are both earth signs so of course they're going to have some similarities. But, for me their energy is a bit similar in that they seem eager for what lies ahead in the future in terms of opportunities.

However, their approach feels different. Like JK seems to want to have more control over what he is going to be doing to the point that it feels really tightly wound. And I almost am sensing that that could be bad for JK in the long run because how do I put it, it's not very organic. It's being very consciously controlled about what he wants to do which could make sense with the Virgo. They're about the details. Capricorns are a bit different. And I do feel like Tae It's still a bit more spontaneous and relaxed about his process. But I do think both of them have similar outlooks in terms of there's not a huge sentimental attachment to the past beyond what you would expect. There's more excitement about future opportunities and projects.

Jimin is somebody who would need a longer mourning period. Because he's a sentimental person. He is an air sign sun and moon so there's a lot of analyzing and process that goes on in his brain until he can figure out how he wants to feel about something lol. Like and I also think that with him there was a lot of loyalty to the group, so it's almost like he's a traitor if he goes out and becomes a solo person but the other two don't really have a problem with that. Especially JK. I know that might make me sound like I'm making him seem cold, but it's not like that. It's just that he's young and he's ambitious and he's very talented, so he has probably not been able to do all of the things creatively that he's wanted to do over the past few years because of the pandemic. And now he's like hitting the ground running but it's almost like if somebody were to do that but after 10 Red bulls. So it's like he might be setting himself up for some type of collapse at some point.

Whereas with Tae he kind of has a more meandering, float into things, drop things here and there and figure out what I like. He kind of like flows like water I guess. Whereas JK feels very much like fire. And jm is just a whole hot mess of air.

I will tell you that I read vibes and energy pretty damn well. So a lot of this is coming from that. And I'm surprised by some things in Tae's cards here. But, like I said just in terms of energy as things are now, I feel like JK is pretty tightly wound and I have some worry about him in the future, like I said where he might fly too hard into something and he won't be able to bounce back or will be surprised by hitting a wall. That can go for a lot of different things, I have some scenarios in my head, but it just feels different. His energy used to feel warm and more open. But now it doesn't feel as much like that. It just I don't know what it feels like. Maybe he closed off some part of him that was open before but we will just call it something akin to determination and ambition. But I think there's an overabundance of it. And I think he's going to hit some type of crisis after going too hard.

In terms of Tae It's just a matter of him finding some ambition. Because he has the thing that he's missing that he's in search of but I don't think he has a dedicated plan on how to find it or where to find it, but I feel like he's actually sort of lucky and even if he doesn't put a whole lot of effort into finding that, his guides might come into redirect him to where he needs to be. But, how long can they do that because in theory, they should be guiding him towards some type of self authority where he takes on the responsibility of doing whatever he needs to do or finding whatever he needs to find.

With Jimin. So, transparently, he's my bias. That's because I feel the strongest spiritual connection to him and when that happens, there's something that I see in a person that's a bit special. All of the members are special don't get me wrong but he is the closest one to my wavelength. So I can tell when people are creatively talented. And I'm not saying the others aren't, I'm just saying that I recognize him as a writer I think. That's what I'm drawn to him. He is a storyteller. And I have all the faith in the world that if he writes songs not just for himself but for other people eventually, but if he writes songs, they are going to blow your mind when he puts out an album because they will be so relatable and personal to his situation and then the performances attached to it will be amazing.

But like he has to get over himself in the sense that it's okay to be a solo person it doesn't make you a traitor. He could be using that as an excuse to get out there. I've read other readers say it's something like you know since he's a Libra, he's worried about showing a certain image that would be different to BTS. I don't know what that would be and I'm not doing a reading on him just the second about it, but I mean we've seen him get pretty sexy and he's only getting sexier, so maybe he thinks if he gets kind of raunchy and writes about sex then army wouldn't like that. Because I mean what else could somebody do that would make them worry about tarnishing an image they have of him or of BTS.

And Libras do tend to worry about what other people think because they don't want to make anybody upset or unhappy. So they can have that tendency of feeling like they should conform so as not to rock the boat.

But all three of them seem to be in some various phases of clicking to the next phase where there's a lot that they can do. And all three of them have different ways of approaching it. But I would say JK and Tae are similar in some ways in the sense that I think they will accept this separation from BTS a lot more quickly than JM.

Which is kind of funny because jm could put out something immediately huge I think. Whereas the other two will kind of work up to a certain level with their stuff, maybe with one going slower than the other. But jm Will probably take his time figuring out some things before he drops his album.

But he's also like surprising. So he could wake up one day and be like okay I'm over it I'm ready to do this. But I think mentally there's probably some loyalty block.

I don't know if you saw this one episode of what is it called something men brothers whatever that show is in Korea and they went on as a group several years ago and they played some games and then RM kind of like sold them out and then he went to the other team which was all of the older guys on the show and jm made such a big deal he was like you're a traitor you left the group lol but he was being kind of serious

Maybe he's a Leo rising. Because he's got loyalty things happening with him but maybe that's I was about to say a Gemini trait since I relate to that aspect of him but Gemini are not very loyal.

Anyway, so those three are similar in age so it's not surprising that their path right now seems kind of similar. I'm sure if I did the older members, it would be a bit more progressed because they put out individual projects already and they feel comfortable with doing that. Jin I don't know. He might not have a lot that he wants to do after this but maybe he has to enlist as well so.

But yeah I think that's about all I want to go into.

Although I lied because it's interesting that when I look at the sun and the moon which both came out connected to each other plus the Saturn or world card, they all have to do with being looked at and having attention. The dogs are looking at the moon, the sun is that thing where the planets all revolve around it, in the world, this person is basically in the wreath and it looks like photograph and everybody's watching the figure.

So that portion could also be the sun represents him when he first started with BTS and how the world has watched him since he was a kid basically and that phase has come to an end.

So let me put the clarifiers away and just look at his original tarot and cards.

There are two cards that represent being kind of fixed and stuck, the emperor and the hangman because they're both sitting there they can't really go anywhere. But then we have the page of Wands which represents travel and a sense of adventure, the six of Wands also represents travel or notoriety or fame, the sun gives that too because it's got that Leo feeling as well.

So part of it is maybe feeling stuck like I said because of the fame, feeling like you couldn't completely come out and show the real you. But now, there is a sense of showing something. It's creative, it's out in the public spotlight, there's success, there's fun, there's passion, there's adventure, there's a lot of creativity, there's almost like an inner child is being let loose to go find their heart now. Obviously he cared about BTS and that time, but now is really the time for him individually to go find what he loves to do.

There's lots of emphasis here about searching and being curious and one figure is pointing toward the future and another figure is covering her heart, and then we have spiritual and emotional fulfillment through doing some work or learning different skills again.

But the mediator could also represent feeling kind of stuck in the middle of a transition, which makes sense. So this is just a new type of beginning but at the same time I do feel like there was a feeling of being stuck or under the thumb for a long time so it might be some adjusting for him to figure out what it's like to be as just himself as an individual as opposed to a group.

It's also interesting that the mediator card is very purple. Even the detective card is also purple. The star mother card is purple with some blue. And purple besides being you know the BTS color is crown chakra. So there's a lot of spiritual stuff happening for him I think. I think there's also clarity happening because when I look at the hanged man there's like a sun behind him right and that's to represent enlightenment into change of perspective and the enlightenment that comes with that into the sun is also about clarity so we know that there's a sun on this figures head, so there's mental clarity that's happening for him right now.

And I think it has to do probably with discovering and searching for whatever makes him happy. Especially with work, but also just having more authority over his own choices and his image and what he wants to do in relation to any aspects of a career that would put him in the spotlight. But, it may take some time for him to figure it out because the emperor in the hanged man are just kind of chilling.

And then the page of Wands is getting ready and then the six of Wands comes in and we see movement and we have the child figure on a white horse as well. So the two cards that have any type of movement or progression, both have people riding a white horse. They also are both cards about success and public recognition and being in the limelight.

What I could also say about his personality is this is somebody who really likes attention lol. Like they really would bask in being famous in the limelight. Which there's nothing wrong with that of course. I'm just saying this is definitely coming through in those cards.

And maybe it has something to do with his inner child and needing a certain amount of attention or maybe just ever since he was a kid he always wanted a bit of attention, this is also somebody who would get attention by doing silly things. Like look at this naked baby on a horse, like that's totally him. And with the cute sunflowers in the hair, just kind of like childish in some ways and innocent like that sort of attention. Just like when a kid needs attention.

And that could come from not having attention from family when he was growing up as well so there's the potential for you know needing that validation through the public. But I still feel like in a sense that sometimes that desire for that superficial attention could get in the way of his soul growth and it's like his soul is searching for that cup but he's kind of just searching for attention. But the things that he goes toward might be an attempt to unconsciously fill that cup. But probably it's not sustaining for very long. So he's still in search of that.

I also still feel like there's stuff that he hides pretty well from the public eye. Like you will only see what he wants you to see of him through his Instagram or wherever. But the figure in the detective card is kind of hiding behind this book so you only see a little bit of them. You just see their eye looking through this hole.

So there's a sense of mystery to them but also I think you know this is how he probably looks at other people kind of with this side eye. All of these cards are really fashionable as well so that's not surprising.

There's also probably a lot of pride and maybe defensiveness that comes through that because I see some very proud characters. All of them except hanged man

So he's chill but he's also really prideful and loves the attention but there's a lot more to him than he shows. Almost like, with the detective and the picking up the one eye, it reminds me of the curiosity card where there's this door open and a light on the other side. It reminds me of something Blue Moon punch said in their recent OT7 reading but within that reading they did several individual readings including four Tae. And they talked about how there's this room that soul version of him has always put himself in that went from a bunker to a fancy prison cell, and looking at the door it makes me think of that fancy prison cell and if you opened it and you could set that soul version of him free. It even looks like the book in the detective the way that it's even the same color and it looks like it's opened in the same way but then you're also peeping through the book just like you could peep through this door. I don't know specifically what that means with him.

I guess he could be an exhibitionist lol or somebody who likes to watch I guess a lawyer there we go. That's funny because the shadow attributes of the detective actually say voyeurism. So if you wanted to know what kink he might have, there you go. He might like to watch.

I want to say this could just be about you know when you open a door to the next phase and then you're kind of excited about you want to know what lies ahead, but if I'm honest with you if feels like it could be a bit darker than that but outside the point and going into it. It kind of gives me devil vibes...

But it can go back to some of these messages about clarity as well. I mean sure he could have a voyeurism kink but there's a sense of going to the light and being able to see the truth or find something out.

That's way longer than I meant to do and I talked about things that I didn't even want to talk about or have no interest in talking about but sometimes the cards kind of demand you talk about it.

But if you ask me if overall he seems happy, I would say yes. I think he's probably having a lot of fun right now. And I think he's going to keep exploring stuff that seems fun to him. I think if he releases stuff, it might be a bit of a slower process, but he'll want to release something because he wants to have recognition from things that he puts out. And I don't think he would be able to go very long with how having that feedback from others.

It's amazing that he's a Capricorn, cuz he has so much fire energy. Granted Capricorns can be very ambitious and focused on career without hardly even trying so it can come off as fire energy probably. But like I said I still feel like he's in search of some type of soul or heart fulfilling something. And I don't think he's found it yet and I'm not sure if he knows entirely have it look for it either.

Because he gets maybe distracted by the stuff that comes with fame. Whether that's vanity or pride. Or not just that but how that could mix in and confuse something is about what we want and what we're here to do. It's not just about an ego getting out of control because we're famous and blah blah blah. I think no matter who you are, even if you don't realize it, that can actually create a lot of doubts and insecurities to the point that it could distract from figuring out your soul journey. Because I'm sure BTS was a big part of every member's soul path in this lifetime but they can't be BTS forever, so what do they do individually after BTS that could keep them satisfied and who knows, maybe BTS isn't the peak of their path which is amazing to say but there are other things that they still have to fulfill while they are here. So, yeah.

#kim taehyung #taehyung #v #bts #tarot reading #work #relationships #spirituality #spirit guides #angels #maknae line is mentioned #entertainment purposes only #nothing is fact only interpretations #post proof #post break or hiatus or whatever it is

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hairklipz · 3 months

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Review 02: Racoon - Till Monkeys Fly

Released: 01/01/00AV

Genre: Rock / Subgenre: Alt. Indie Rock a/o Pop Rock

Till Monkeys Fly is the first LP released from Dutch Rock Band Racoon. This record is a diverse showcase of the very talented Bart van der Weide and an impressive debut. The album has incredible feel-good moments while still keeping room for extremely heartfelt and raw cuts. VDW's vocals are fun and playful but also emotional when needed. He is absolutely the star of this album for me. Let's Listen.

Track One starts with those vocals I was talking about. You immediately hear how talented VDW is and how delicate his vocals can be fine. The song quickly turns into a very classic late 90's rock ballad until cut through with the other side of VDW's vocals. You find he can bring a more aggressive tone to match the song when needed. What better a track to show off his dynamic delivery than a song about how silly the bads and goods of life can be.

Track Two delivers one of my favorite messages off the whole record. 'By Your Side' is the unofficial title track of the album, proclaiming he and whoever will be together, alright and fine until monkeys fly which (as far as we know) will be forever. This track is that exact feel-good type of song I was talking about. The chorus of this song has an pretty but light harmony followed by a catchy melody showing more of those skilled vocals. The second verse starts with one of my favorite lines 'I know that I ain't easy and its difficult to please me but you proved more than alright'. It is just such a cute message along with the rest of this song. By the end of writing this paragraph I did not want to even go on to the next song despite it being probably my 25th listen.

Track Three shifts the tone and displays the other side of VDW's writing. I love when an older track feels like a time-capsule and gives us a look into what people were thinking even half way across the world. The lyrics, had you not known both the time and place they were recorded, feels relevant to a 22 year old American experiencing an overwhelming amount of information by way of the internet. Only to find these lyrics were written about the state of the late 20th Century Dutch Media. Besides the writing, VDW gives his most impressive vocal performance that only can be appreciated with a proper sit-down.

Track Four continues the more melancholy tone but lyrically the song is sort of motivational. It seems to be an important person trying to cheer you on while you are being a stubborn, depressed asshole. In 'Smoothly' we get a taste of some of the orchestral sections and I love it. Cello (maybe bass I don't know) hits the spot for me and this song is no different. My first listen of the album, this song kind of just came and went but when I gave it my second, more intentional listen, it clicked for me. The situation feels relatable and the instrumental is beautiful.

Track Five titled 'Impossible' feels like the aftermath of the last track's discussion. This track is what happens, both sonically and lyrically, when things don't work out the way that you want. VDW knows that being with him is impossible but he can't quite figure out why. Maybe he isn't looking in himself past just the shallow 'I suck' mantra. As far as the sounds of this track, it is the first real rock song and it is clear with VDW's change in delivery from the last song. 'Impossible' isn't my favorite song but perfect for the album. As you start to grasp the story that we are following, every track fits perfectly into its position and gives it purpose.

Track Six was the first single for this record and it brought the band some decent exposure in their home country. I can understand the popularity but I'm not crazy about this one. It is definitely catchy and I love the playful lyrics but it makes me question if I was reading into the first few songs correctly.

Track Seven feels like it is a few riffs, chords and pedals from being a 'Sunny Day Real Estate' song (this may be blasphemous but some parts do...). While listening to this track, I feel like it would be the kind of song that you would hear at a concert live and then go home to be disappointed by the studio version. I honestly have been sitting with this song on repeat trying to decide if I like it or hate it. As of right now I am neutral about it. I don't hate it but I can't see myself coming back to it like the ones before.

Track Eight was one were I was able to make out a lot more comparisons than before. The first one I caught onto was when the lead will sing a line and then kind of repeat it with a bit of attitude or bounce. This reminds me of Jamiroquai funny enough considering their two styles are in completely different realms. Another one comes from the line 'thanks for all you did in the blue days'. The instrumental, harmony and maybe even the lyrics feel like a Pinegrove song so much to me that it is almost uncanny. Besides the comparisons, this track has a lot of what I like in it but just barely hits for me. In 'Blue Days', the strings make their return but make me wish there was a little bit more done with them. As the chorus comes to an end, VDW reasons 'you're an asshole but you're learning'. Right before the word 'learning' the strings walk down but end in this certain note that always annoys me. I do not think that this is a bad thing BUT it is a personal preference. (Please listen to this part of the song to understand what I am talking about because my music theory isn't good enough to describe it). When songs do said 'progression' it always feels overdone which is definitely biased because maybe it wasn't overdone at the time. Other than that stupid bratty opinion, this song is great and deserves a listen. Like I said, it ALMOST hits for me.

Track Nine starts off a few trumpets short of being a ska song. I should clarify that I don't think that is necessarily a bad thing rather a natural influence from the time. As the song progresses, it moves away from that sound and is kind of psychedelic in the guitars. Funny enough I actually enjoy the 'ska' part more than the chorus but overall didn't have many thoughts about this song.

Track Ten didn't catch my attention until the second half of the track. VDW's voice sounds so delicate alongside the harmonics being played. I really enjoyed his choices here. This section is short-lived much like the song as a whole and is followed by the chorus one last time to end the song.

Track Eleven feels like it is picking up back up where we left off several songs ago. At this point in the album, I am not sure if the album has a connected story but this certainly feels like the same place where we were six songs ago. VDW seems to be coming into contact with the person spoken about in the beginning of the album but is feeling indifferent about it. They are feeling nostalgic about the past but also annoyed that he is being reminded of it. He compares this person to a shooting star, one so rare that this second meeting is so unlikely but must mean something. To me, this song is the unofficial sixth track on the album and the songs in between were little breaks.

Track Twelve serves as a stage for Bart van der Weide to be very 'Particular' in his singing choices and lyrics. This song feels like two messages to me. 1. Could be a meeting between this person we have been following through the album. If this were a stage of grief (in this case, the grief of a breakup) it would be acceptance. He is happy with the people he has around to support him and doesn't care where things go from here. 2. Could just be a song about loving the bros (I don't like this idea as much). If it is the former, this track fits nicely into my fake album as track seven.

Track Thirteen has more harmonic comparisons to Pinegrove at several different points which I like. 'Chick Song' is as if VDW made peace with the pain he felt earlier but one more meeting or something has re-opened the wound as he reassures himself that things are this way for a reason. To him, he is who is and it is up to him to deal with it, not someone else. I really enjoyed the guitar in this song both in the quieter verses and in the harder breakdowns later in the track.

Track Fourteen is the first song where VDW really changes up his vocal delivery into a more talking tone. If you didn't know he was some sort of European before, this would be the song where you start to squint your ears and maybe decide to make a google search. In 'Telephone Song', a restless VDW is waiting for a call from 'her'. He is unsure what to expect, he cares but doesn't care, he wants to do something to distract but can't and it all culminates to said person calling and telling him to not worry. The days and days of anxiety was for nothing. He felt confident that he needs nothing from her in the last song only to have this call make or break his whole week.

Track Fifteen is another break from my made-up storyline. Considering I have become so invested in said storyline, the breaks from it have become significantly less exciting than the others despite them still being great songs. Something I do like about this stand-alone song is that it feels like VDW is writing about an experience he is actively living rather than one in retrospect. It is almost like he is in the middle of a bender that he is not really enjoying but it is going along for the ride.

Finally at Track Sixteen we come to the end of the album. Although I would've preferred the album to finish up with 'Telephone Song', 'Whatever Song' brings us to the end and reminds us where he is. He is still recovering, still dealing with the problems he within him and still loves the person he's been writing about.

'Till Monkeys Fly' was an unexpected 'concept album' that had me half-invested in both the sounds and the story itself. Sitting at sixteen songs in total, the album feels as though it could've been cut in half and made more of an impact (in my opinion). An argument could be made that the tracks I counted as 'breaks in the story' were perhaps ways that Van Der Weide was coping with the situation. Even if this is the case, I think the songs that remained true to the story had those most impact and kept me more invested. The diversity in this album is something to be appreciated and it is shown most through the vocal delivery. I am walking away from this album very indifferent as the elements that made my favorite tracks were present in my least favorite but inconsistently. Overall I think this record starts as a cute love letter that slowly burns and makes for an interesting story and a worthwhile listen. Let me know what you think.

6.8/10

-Hairklipz 03/03/24AV

#music #musicreview #altrock #rock #alterative #musichistory #y2k #2000s #writing #review #reviews

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cielhunternorwood · 1 year

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Artery GERDERMIT PUT SOME PANTS ON GIRL

I guess in order to keep this tumblr existing, I decided to do another summary and review covering another gacha which I've picked up, dropped, and picked up again. I blame Vanguard.

This time, it's Artery Gear, a gacha which apparently has gameplay based on another gacha, Epic Seven. I've never touched Epic Seven, but if the gameplay of AG is anything to go by, then I probably never will. I'll just get right into it.

UI/Graphics: Simple and Consistent/10

The UI is actually pretty okay. It's simplistic in look and easy to navigate. More importantly, it's very responsive. I think the only real issue is the localization for the West leads to some cut-off of words on the menu. The font is simple and easy to read, with no real flourish to it. You can take that as you will, but it's something I'm okay with.

Gameplay: Grossly Imbalanced/10

Here's the biggest problem with Artery Gear: balance. It doesn't exist, and it's more apparent when you do the Exercise mode, which pits your AG team against other players' teams.

It plays as a turn-based RPG where each AG has three abilities (or two if one is passive) to use during their turn for either fighting or supporting the others. The turn order is based on an AG's Speed, and the stats are simplistic in being Attack, Defense, Crit stuff, and Status effect stuff. There is also percentage chance for doing Follow-Up Attacks, basically to back-up an ally strike with a basic bash, and Riposte, which is a counterattack/effect.

The game follows a rock-paper-scissors balance of classes, between grass, fire, and water-- SORRY, IT'S CRYSTAL, MOLTEN, AND THUNDER. And of course there are something like sub-classes, with certain characters being for tanking, some for bashing, some for status effects, and some are healers. So, balancing a four-person team revolves around all of that, and there are a lot of slots for setting teams for any situation.

Okay, that's all the basics of how it works. Now for how imbalanced it is: Speed. Speed and Bonus Turns. If you do any Exercises, you'll come across what are known as "cleave teams", which are basically steroid-induced hyperspeed teams designed to smash in PvP in one turn before there's a chance for counterattack. Even if you manage to survive the first strike, you're more than likely to get turn-delayed by status effects and hit by a second strikes (or the enemy triggers Bonus Turn and gets to attack twice).

This isn't even including just how much even the rarest AGs waffle between barely useful to so insanely broken that they're a must-have for PVP or Raid bosses. And that usefulness is largely based around status effects such as Invincible, Speed Reduction, and Accuracy Down, but also passive skills that do some really broken shit just by someone SNEEZING near the AG.

Even with these imbalances, though, story missions are an absolute slog and require significant grind and leveling to continue, especially when equipment stuff can make or break you. To avoid rambling on anymore, let's just say it's an exhausting experience filled with frustration if you don't min/max, and even then you're going to have troubles abound.

Music: Vanguard Sound/10

GhostFinal. Enough said.

But seriously, the music for Artery Gear comes from Vanguard Sound Studio, who started off doing music for Mica Team in Codename Bakery Girl and moved to Girls' Frontline from there, expanding into Punishing Gray Raven, Aether Gazer, and going so far as to make music for the cyberpunk game Anno: Mutationem.

Suffice to say, their music is amazingly good, and GhostFinal is one of those who works on PGR regularly. So, all the music is good quality-wise, and it all fits with the general tone of AG, which is depressing often but has a tinge of hope here and there. It's part of the reason why I returned to AG after so long: listening to the combat music, which is pretty good. Not the best, but definitely solid.

Character Designs: PUT ON PANTS/10

So here's the worst part of Artery Gear: character designs. If you thought Fate Grand Order had horny as hell designs, well, you definitely won't like the huge number of girls whose only real covering is an armor plate over the vag and the equivalent of metal pasties for the nipples. The designs are insanely nonsense.

All the form-fitting dresses, bodysuits, underboobs, side boobs, cleavage windows, midriff windows, FBI-signaling lolis, and a sparse few decently-dressed girls. This game is super horny, and it's a damn shame because there are some good designs otherwise ruined by flat-out horny detail.

On that note, there are some alterations and censorships for the global version, but it is often inconsistent as there are times when the uncensored is visible on in-battle sprites at random times, or times where the censorship is ONLY on the battle sprite. It's ridiculous how they didn't fix any of that in all this time, and whether one's horny or not, it's obnoxious when the game itself can't keep it together.

Economy: Stingy as fu/10

Okay, let's keep this as brief as possible. You have facilities for generating money and "Cat Orbs" for leveling girls up over time, though the rate is so low. On the plus side, there are grind stages for both, though you only get one run a day that gives huge amounts and further runs just aren't worth the cost.

Speaking of cost, most of that money will go into Gear, the equipment for the girls of which there are six types. They all need lots of money to upgrade to a feasible level, but the upgrade materials themselves are exceedingly rare. You're more likely to use low-level Gear to upgrade than the actual chip things.

And getting Gear means grinding specific boss fight-style stages, though you have to make sure to get not only a gear of a certain set you want but with the main stat you need and good sub-stats to boot. As much as you can transfer sub-stats from one Gear to another, it's also expensive as shit. Overall, you will be hemorraghing money without an excessive amount of grind.

Story: Trying to be Gray Raven/10

So the basic story is there's some kind of virus thing that has hit the world, turning people and robots into Puppets. The only thing capable of fighting Puppets are Artery Gears, girls who are enhanced cybernetically and stuff to fight them. They aren't completely immune to being Puppetized, but they can resist it. And, naturally, the main character that is the player is their Commander (Shikikan for you GFL/PGR players).

You're in charge of a ship tasked with eliminating Puppetmasters for the surviving humanity, and you go around helping other surviving cities or some such. Honestly, I lost track of the story at some point more because it kept dropping characters or plot points in with little context when it wasn't focusing on the "woe is me" stuff with AG girls and all that.

It's that very basic "post-apocalyptic viral infection, only these things can fight it" story that people liken to Nier but has been a thing for some time now (even before God Eater). This story, though, seems to especially take from PGR in a lot of ways, though their flagship characters are pretty forgettable (and also largely useless gameplay-wise). There's a bit of mystery going on with the Commander player, but it's not explored much, and it's nothing like the PGR Commandant thing of "seemingly normal Commander who manages to survive a lot of deadly situations".

Overall: Wasted Potential/10

This is one of those gachas that feels like it had something good at the start and then went too hard into the pandering to the horny player without much thought into making the game fun overall. There are some parts of it that feel like legit effort was involved, but the rest devolves into either shoe-horning or a system falling apart that hasn't been fixed to become more streamlined.

With how people say it's hugely borrowing from Epic Seven, it makes me wonder if it's AG's developers themselves or something carried over from that which is awful. Either way, its current state is disappointing rather than downright bad, and the only saving grace is its hands-off auto-battling makes grinding easier if you have the stamina for it. But if you can get past the grind-heavy gameplay and horny-even-by-gacha-standards designs, it's at least aesthetically pleasing and consistent. Also has some good music.

At least it's better than NIKKE.

#artery gear #gacha sucks #vanguard sound is awesome #play punishing gray raven #senba is best girl

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sacasinoblogs76 · 1 year

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Can Top Indian Casinos Compare To Las Vegas Casinos

You might be surprised...

Indian Casinos all around the country are shattering the notion that Indian Casinos are a less than par alternative when compared to their Las Vegas counterparts.

However, just like in Sin City itself, the quality of Indian Casinos varies dramatically.

With literally hundreds of Indian Casinos spread out across the United States, to give you an idea of the level of quality gaming emerging on reservations countrywide, let's focus in on a few of the top Indian Casinos leading the way.

A good place to start is from an area often considered the Indian Casino capital of California and the location of an extremely competitive Indian Casino market, San Diego, California.

Here's a quick snapshot of 6 Top Indian Casinos in San Diego:

1) Barona Valley Ranch Resort and Casino Barona offers visitors Vegas style gaming action, combined with unique dining experiences, a luxurious hotel, and world-class golf. This spectacular highly acclaimed ranch-themed resort and casino has earned various awards for its casino and games, as well as for its restaurants and golf club.

2) Viejas Casino

Viejas is a well-established and popular Indian casino. Beyond its top notch gaming, Viejas Entertainment puts on high caliber concerts and the Viejas Outlet shopping center is known for it's upscale outlet shopping. The casino also caters to the trend setting crowd with their new V Lounge bar.

3) Harrah's Rincon Casino

Harrah's Rincon Casino follows in the footsteps of the Harrah's gaming brand. A new 21-story hotel tower adds to the resort feel and recently was voted as having the Best Rooms, Best Suites, Best Hotel Service and more in 2005 by Casino Player magazine. Amenities include a luxurious spa and a state-of-the-art fitness center. Harrah's Rincon routinely attracts famous acts to it's entertainment complex.

4) Pala Casino

Pala Casino offers award winning gaming, has eight restaurants, a 10,000 square foot day spa, a four-diamond resort with 507 deluxe hotel rooms, including 82 suites, four entertainment venues and an Olympic size pool with 12 cabanas. Pala routinely attracts big name entertainment concerts as well.

5) Pechanga Resort and Casino

As one of the country's newest resort destinations, Pechanga Resort & Casino, an AAA four-diamond sa casino property, offers the best of hotel luxury, Vegas style gaming, entertainment, meeting facilities and seven fine dining choices. A-list performers scheduled regularly in the 1,200- seat Pechanga Theater

6) Sycuan Resort and Casino

In addition to great gaming, dining and entertainment, Sycuan Resort offers 54 holes of Southern California's best golf, championship tennis courts, great overnight accommodations and a relaxing atmosphere to enjoy cocktails and fine dining. The Showcase Theatre features great shows and concerts.

If you are getting the itch to visit Vegas but don't want to make the trek, you might not have to look much further than your local Indian Casino.

You definitely won't be let down by any of the Top 6 San Diego Indian Casinos.

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mrsrcbinscn · 2 years

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Task #6 part 1/3 - Soundtrack to Your Life: Create a playlist that reflects a significant story moment for your character

I had three ideas so I’m going just do all three, yolo.

First up is Franny! A playlist of songs she would cover at gigs in Nashville as a Belmont songwriting student in 2001! Each description will also feature links to covers on YouTube that fit the acoustic vibe of the gigs, so feel free to check them out too if you’re a super Franny stan.

There’s lot of not country songs on here too once you pass the first four there’s a mixture, haha

Playlist link

1. Seven Year Ache by Roseanne Cash [cover]

Franny would often open with this one. 80s country is often overlooked and forgotten, but she really loves it. Seven Year Ache was a big hit but one people in 2001 may not remember too well, but often when she began to sing it people were like “wait! I remember this!”

2. Poor, Poor Pitiful Me by Linda Ronstadt and popularized again in the 90s by Terri Clark [cover, love her accent shining through]

This was another good option for Franny to open with, a stronger open than Seven Year Ache, but she often liked to open with an unexpected song that didn’t show off the most amazing things she could do with her voice. This was a crowd pleaser no matter what.

3. Drivin’ My Life Away by Eddie Rabbit [cover]

Franny really liked to make most of her covers be songs more than five years old. Working in Nashville at a live music venue, I’ve noticed people all cover the same 20 Classic Songs and then do current covers. They’re all more talented than me but if I was a performer I’d purposely try to pull out more unexpected songs that folks would know to stand out. And that’s what Franny did, leaning on artists like Eddie Rabbit when everyone else was singing the same 20 covers.

3.1 Alternatively, his song I Love A Rainy Night was a go-to cover of hers, and she still plays both of these songs as the one cover at shows now and then. [cover]

4. It’s a Little Too Late - Mark Chesnutt [cover]

You might be noticing a pattern--- Franny loves to sing country songs originally sung by men. It’s an unexpected move to make at time and that’s what Franny liked to do, do anything to stand out. This song was popular in the 90s and its popularity didn’t hold on like, say, Trisha Yearwood’s She’s In Love With The Boy did, but if you were a country fan in 2001 you likely were in 1991 as well and when she played it, it came back to you.

5. Angel of The Morning by Juice Newton [cover]

She’d usually sandwich this song between a high energy country song and then an Alanis Morisette cover. I like the cover I linked because her voice is simialr to how I HC Franny’s singing voice is? So yes, definitely give it a listen!

6. Head Over Feet by Alanis Morisette [cover]

Of course she loves Alanis Morisette, she was a teenage girl in the 90s! She’d often cover You Oughta Know actually, like all the singers in Nashville do nowadays too. But! If the girl who had a set before her did You Oughta Know, Franny would do Head Over Feet instead. A bit more of a B-side, but one fans of Alanis Morisette or even casual listeners in 2001 would know. And set her apart from the five girls covering You Oughta Know or Ironic.

7. Ode To Billie Joe by Bobbie Gentry [cover by a girl that sings at my workplace lol she’s even better live]

Franny’s weakness is a damn good story song and a haunting song. This is both. This song was a showstopper-- people would stop talking at the restaurants she gigged at to listen to her.

Another damn good cover because I can’t get enough of this song.

8. Dreams by The Cranberries [cover]

Franny loved this band in the 90s, saw them live like four times lmao. Everyone sang Zombie --- still do, lmao I hear it once a shift at work at least. Linger was also a go to. So Franny chose to make Dreams be her go-to Cranberries song.

9. Karma Chameleon by Culture Club [linking this cover for the tambourine]

You gotta have completely out of left field covers to impress a crowd! This was one of hers. She’s bring a tambourine and a little kick drum pedal play them with her feet while playing guitar

10. Send Me On My Way by Rusted Root [cover]

Look, she’ll sing anything if she’s got a good idea for the arrangement lmao

11. Smells Like Teen Spirit by Nirvana [cover]

Not just once, someone shouted out “Do Nirvana!” at a gig. She’d either play Lithium or of course this one.

12. Don’t Speak by No Doubt [cover]

Good late 90s-early 2000s crowd pleaser!

13. Semi-charmed Life by Third Eye Blind [cover]

This is another one she’d ruse her feet to play the tambourine and lil kick drum pedal. Franny was never afraid to play a song you wouldn’t expect in her set to make an impression!

14. I’ll Think Of A Reason Later by Lee Ann Womack [the only cover I found I liked was Kelly Clarkson lol]

Franny become Known for this song in Nashville singer circles, especially after she got to start performing on Broadway at the honky tonks with full bands.

15. Friends In Low Places by Garth Brooks [cover, love the banjo in this one, Franny absolutely did this song with banjo a lot]

Lmao I had to put a live version on the playlist bc he doesn’t have his stuff on streaming. But he’s at least a good singer live so. Anyway, this song is kiiinda performed a lot by singers at my work but its not beat to death like Jolene and Before He Cheats so I still enjoy it. I love when girl singers sing it lmao so it was a Franny staple back in the day.

Here’s my absolute favorite cover of this song, Jimmie Allen’s cover.

Franny’s One Of Each list:

The following are Franny’s go-to “One of Each” of some iconic country singers that you gotta know at least one song as a performer in Nashville

16. White Lightning by George Jones [cover]

Noooobody expects a woman to whip out this song, it was always a hit.

17. Folsom Prison Blues by Johnny Cash [cover]

Franny knew WAY more than one Cash song, lmao. But this was often her go-to unless someone before her at a gig played it.

18. Mama Tried by Merle Haggard [cover]

This is THE Merle song you gotta know. That or Okie from Muskogee.

19. Good Hearted Woman by Waylon Jennings [cover]

Sheeeee’s a good hearted woman in love with a good-timin’ man -- good shit.

20. Don’t Come Home A-Drinkin’ (With Lovin’ On Your Mind) by Loretta Lynn [cover]

I swear to god, every girl in Nashville only knows You Ain’t Woman Enough. There’s other Loretta songs.

21. Bloody Mary Morning by Willie Nelson [cover]

Her cover of this song is so iconic ,she still performs it to this day and has recorded it!

22. You Look So Good In Love by George Strait [cover]

Honestly, Franny loves him so she could cover All The hits, but this was her staple. Also peep Jamie Foxx’s cover of it!

23. Neon Moon by Brooks and Dunn [ dope banjo cover]

Proper banger, okay.

24. I Will Always Love You by Dolly Parton [cover]

Everybody in Nashville sings Jolene. Every. fucking. body. So Franny did I Will Always Love You instead.

#swynrpwrimo #swynrpwrimomak

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ifievertoldyou · 2 years

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the long awaited wip graveyard post

i thought the title was fitting for halloween :p

this post is an assorted collection of all my old thaw wips that i deemed not good enough to post, but didn't want to just rot away in my folder, so now they're here.

enjoy !

the Eye post

fun fact: i used the same seven colored pencils for both the thes eye and the tommy one, i just made the grayer shades more emphasized for the latter. thought that was a neat little detail.

q's eye here makes his skin look a lil more purple

i impulsively gave quackity an eyebrow when i didn't sketch it before, and the way it turned out bothered me >:((

not a wip because i absolutely would never give this abomination its own post, but this is basically what my scratch paper sheet looks like when i want to test out how different colors look with each other, and also get a really, Really rough idea of what the final product will look like. this is the process i go through Every time i draw something serious. 😭

peep all 7 colors of the chaosduo's eyes under the thes eye practice

LMAO AND THE THES FACE 8 SECOND SKETCH LOOKS LIKE HE'S ON DRUGS IT'S SO SILLY

can you see me struggling to figure out how to wrap the rune around q's pupil? and also how to make the rune not just Completely disappear bc of how dark his eye is? yeah. traditional art is a pain is the ass sometimes, but i'm still wayy better at it.

also shoutout to @alexanderwesker for giving me an idea of what the rune on q's eye looks like, because i like being as accurate as i can when i draw stuff, so that was very much appreciated!

the part 2 to the hero's journey comic

i went fucking Ham during the hero's journey assignment, so much so that i literally planned like 19 more panels than what you saw in the original post (27 panels planned in total). but then i realized that i had like Four Whole Days to do that assignment, and would definitely not be able to do that many, especially not without burning out.

so i instead settled for the very first 8 panels that i planned (though even then, i had to abridge a lot of it, and also cut slime entirely from it, bc otherwise those 8 would have been 14 whole panels, and i think i would actually die-), since that was just enough to show two different steps of the hero's journey (crossing the threshold and meeting the mentor btw. i could probably do a whole analysis on how wesker's stories fit into the hero's journey if i wanted to, but i'm lazy rn and this post is already pretty long), and that was the big grading requirement. (i got 100% on that assignment btw 💪and my english teacher still has no clue that he graded minecraft fanfiction fanart LMAO) but this one is what i would have included if i had more time on the project, and could include more of the story, but as it stands, i made this one in my own leisure, because comics are fun to do.

anyways, with that little rant aside, i tried my best to make q look younger than quackity, and really accentuate the difference between them. idk how i feel about how q turned out though.

i'm really proud of the paneling, and i'm also kinda proud of the first frame with quackity's face in particular bc i thought it looked cool, like an actual comic book or something. but i couldn't figure out the card physics or perspective and that's what ultimately made me choose to abandon it 💔 maybe i'll try attempting this page again when i'm feeling more daring (as well as the other panels that i still haven't even drawn yet), but this wip has been collecting dust for a couple of months now so i figured i'd share it here anyway.

Palido

i drew palido a bit ago, but bro got somehow managed to get crinkled in my bag, even while literally being Inside of my sketchbook 🤨

it's not Too awfully noticeable though, especially bc the fold isn't On the drawing itself, so i might be able to salvage him and post a finished version someday... but i kinda halted progress on him for the time being bc of it, so here he is. </3

"Am I Still Even Me?"

i 1000% want to redraw this someday, just because i think the idea behind it is so fucking neat.

honestly, this one wasn't too bad at all, especially since i did all of it (besides the bones bc i think my health professions teacher would be disappointed if i got them wrong, and also the rune bc i care way too much about accuracy) without any reference, which is a pretty impressive feat for me and my aphantasia. but yeahh i think it could definitely be better, and really, this drawing was ultimately something that i just drew in class to keep myself busy for a bit bc i had way too much freetime that day. it wasn't intended to be post-worthy or anything.

but i think that the idea behind it is definitely post-worthy. maybe i'll even add a thes and/or youngerbur addition once i get more information about them and just how they've changed yk.

i had no clue how to draw the bones in that position, i probably could've done more research but. yeah no i don't have an excuse, i just couldn't be bothered that day lmao.

i was also gonna bloody q's hands a bit if i ever got to the coloring stage. like a little nod to when he lost himself to Madness. is the blood actually there? who knows, we're seeing it from his eyes, so for all we know, the rune isn't even lit up either, and he's just remembering it being so. remembering the moment he acted so unlike how he used to be.

the bones are definitely there for charlie though, poor guy...

also can y'all tell that i drew the rune in like. 5 seconds. bc yeah.

i had way more wips to share but i have literally no clue where they went, and also the tumblr picture limit is getitng close so ig that's all for now </3

like for a part 2 (whenever i accumulate enough wips to warrant a post, that is)

#i reserve the right to resurrect these wips at any time #so don't be surprised if one day you see a finished/redrawn version of any of these #thaw #the house always wins #fanart for a fanfic #my art #thaw fanart #wips #the house always wins fic #thaw!charlie #thaw!quackity #thaw!q #traditional art

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