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#Do Androids Dream Of Electric Sleep
just-a-tiny-goldfish · 6 months
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I have a growing list of books I gotta reread now that im older cause there’s no way I got everything in early high school
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deuterosapiens · 10 months
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Absolutely wonderful moment here, involving Deckard and Phil Resch. It's delightfully bleak, and reminds me of John Carpenter's The Thing. Specifically that insanely good, ambiguous, ending. I'm a sucker for mutually assured bleakness: where two characters know that there's going to be a confrontation, know it will end horribly for all involved parties, know no one wants it to happen, but it eventually must happen.
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vital-information · 1 year
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Imagine society if we had an app that made our devices grow tired, exhausted, bored, if they had attention spans similar to ours or, better yet, shorter
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I've been dreaming of the Guardian of the Underworld.
To be human is to experience the highs and lows of life. It is to have joy and to suffer.
An unfortunate truth, he must face--but he holds all the hope in his heart, willing for that brighter future.
How does a moment last forever? How can a story never die?
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Ortho often wonders what dreaming is like.
He visualizes it in a multitude of ways: electric sheep bouncing over a fence until one's eyelids have shut, a movie playing behind his lids, audiovisual data processing in his systems. None of the analogies, he suspects, are anything close to first-hand experience.
Androids cannot sleep, and therefore they cannot dream. That is how the logical flow works, and Ortho has long since accepted it.
It must be fun to dream.
But this is not a dream, and this is not a reality. It is the space contained within, and he walks a razor’s edge between lies and truth here.
He puts a hand upon the screen that divides him and his older brother. The barrier separating fact from fiction.
“Nii-san…! It's me,” he calls out in desperation. “I’m your little brother, Ortho!!”
"Or... tho?" Idia strains to say the name aloud. He looks so lost, so dazed. His head screams with pain. "But Ortho is right here. How can you be in two places at once?"
He holds up his phone, set to speaker. The caller ID--it reads "Ortho". The dream Ortho, the imposter Ortho, the Ortho that is alive. The Ortho that Idia had always wished for, the life without regrets and guilt.
His core burns. Ortho isn't certain if it is from frustration or anger or hurt. He knew this was coming, had been warned of it. Still, nothing could match the real thing, the face of his brother telling him that he is the lie.
“Don’t listen to him, Nii-chan. I’m the real Ortho. The other one?” There’s a faint chuckle from the other end of the line—Ortho detects a hint of condescension in it. “That’s a figment of your imagination."
"Ah... I see," Idia mumbles. He seems to sway, his eyes lidding, as if drifting off to another dream. The pain vanishes, washed away by Ortho's reassurance. "That makes so much sense."
A figment? Just that?
A weight comes upon Ortho's chest. If he were a living being, he would, perhaps, find it difficult to take a breath.
"Don't move. I'm coming there to help you," the other Ortho says sweetly. His tongue, forked as a cobra's goes unnoticed by Idia, who simply nods.
"Nii-san! Don't do it! You have to get away... w-wah!!"
Ortho flinches, his screen suddenly filled with black goo oozing up from the floor. From it, a boy in a pure white uniform and a royal blue sash emerges like a vampire from its coffin. In the place of the pale flesh characteristic of the Shroud family is skin that is only half solid, dripping in fat dark globs as his arms wrap around Idia.
"I'm here now. It'll be okay."
Idia's eyes go blank, his limbs, limp. A compliant doll, under the dream's influence.
Ortho's stomach lurches, and he launches himself at the screen. The urgency in his voice rises, hitting a fever pitch.
"NO...!!"
"You don't have to think about anything," the other Ortho whispers, a snake at Idia's ear. "You must be tired from playing too many games. That's why your mind is compensating by simulating dreams in reality. Let's get you back to bed.”
"Okay... Whatever you say, Ortho..."
“Nii-san, don’t go there…!”
The darkness creeps like vines up his legs, slowly swallowing Idia up. He sinks into the floor, an inky pit of quicksand. Bit by bit, piece by piece, Ortho is losing his brother.
His connection grows fuzzy. Static consumes the screen.
It's no good. My voice... It can't reach him!
His vision burns, but does not become slick with tears. His processors must be overheating, going haywire. He cannot cry, cannot let his overwhelming emotions spill over like a human can.
The ground beneath Ortho shifts. It, too, turns black, as if rotting away. Gooey tendrils reach for him, threatening to drag him under too.
Ortho struggles against his restraints, cries out in defiance.
A voice comes from the monitor, greatly warped and distorted. Then a second, a third, a whole slew of them, spewing vile things.
You are not needed. You are not wanted.
You are worthless. You are nothing--less than nothing.
He is happier without you. He would be happier if you never existed. You could never hope to be his real family.
A massive pair of poisonous verdant eyes opens in the void. They're reptilian, pupils slit against a backdrop of emerald.
"Begone," Malleus hisses, the command coiling around Ortho like a snake. His oppressive presence pushes on the boy, forcing him to kneel. "You do not belong in this world, young Shroud."
"N-No, you're wrong!" he protests. "I... I'm...!!"
A substitute, a spare, the shadows cackle. A hunk of junk. Scrap metal.
His core goes quiet and cold as a terrifying dread sets in. It smothers his circuits, silences his systems, locks his limbs.
The darkness wriggles with delight.
Electricity crackles.
A transmission comes to life. It comes from Ortho himself, from a speaker embedded inside of him.
"Sorry, Or-kun! Mama's going to override...!"
Suddenly, a great heat generates in his chest. Light gathers, piercing the black surrounding him, then fires. The laser is explosive, easily slicing the goop, which erupts into sludgy bubbles.
Ortho comes free, the rockets at the soles of his feet kicking on to propel him into the sky. In a blaze of brilliantly blue fire, he's airborne.
"Mom...!" he gasps.
In response, she simply giggles. "Hehe, I'm not going to just sit on the sidelines and watch my precious baby boy be deceived! There's no wrath like mama's love~"
"Dear..." his father sighs. There's a pause, then he clears his throat. "As your mother was saying, this is but a clever deception. A false reality. You have always been our true son and always will be."
True son.
His dwindling energy reserves shoot through the roof. He's been hit with a thousand suns, reinvigorated.
"Thank you, mom. Thank you, dad. I'm okay! You don't need to worry about me, I understand now."
This was never a dream to begin with. It's not even close. This is... a nightmare that twists the truth, even to intruders!
He places a hand on his chest, feeling the blue flame that perpetually burns there. His brother had lovingly placed it, powered it, protected it. The fire pulsates, proof of his existence.
Proof of his life.
Do you remember, nii-san? You promised we'd go out and play heroes. Now... it's my turn to play hero for you.
I will surpass my limits... break through this illusion... and save you!
Hang in there, Idia. Your little brother, Ortho, is coming to bring you back to your senses! Just leave it to me.
"Shoot for glory among the stars and soar like a comet! Ready or not, here I come...!"
Summoning all of his strength, Ortho furiously plunges into the darkness. It pushes against the interloper--but he burns red hot, flies too fast. He's a shooting star in the shape of a child, filled to the brim with determination.
In the black, black, black, a speck of white appears. It grows steadily, forming a mirror to another world. Its face, staring down at Night Raven College's courtyard.
A familiar trail of blue flames hurries past an apple tree, meeting with a horned man in matching robes.
There you are.
Ortho braces himself--
--and shatters the second sky.
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tunastime · 4 days
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do androids dream of electric sheep?
I am nothing if not a vessel for self-indulgent docsuma, especially @shepscapades's dbhc self-indulgent docsuma. sometimes you fall asleep in the lab, and sometimes your friend feels compelled to make sure you're okay <3
(3964 words)
Doc sometimes slips into daydream.
It’s not unlike him. He’d been doing it for some time now, some fix halfway between awake and Sleep Mode. Not quite his mind palace, but still wedged into predictive processes, still trying to work to replay memories. In quiet moments, more often than not, he finds that it’s easier to slip away, to tuck himself into his work, drafting, or building, or walking thoughtful circles and let the mechanical parts of his mind slip away into calculation.
In those same dreams, he tries to calculate the probability of events with what he has, blocking out the movements of who he knows best, who he may be able to pinpoint. He works in quiet as his mind runs in the background, wondering how conversations may go, how actions could be perceived. He maps what might happen if someone got hurt, or if someone needed help, or if someone fell asleep in the lab. Someone. Just anyone. He tells himself it could be anyone, but he would be lying if he didn’t know who.
It was hard, right—it felt wrong if he didn’t. Something he was designed to do, put to waste because it felt silly to imagine waking his lab partner, his friend, making sure he was alright, helping him. Was it wrong to want to be helpful? Was it wrong to want anything? It feels—it’s silly. Want was such a human word. He’s not sure he can really want at all. The paper in front of him is getting fuzzy around the edges, though, as he forces himself back into his true waking mode, and focuses on the task in front of him, now a line of text in his eyesight.
Doc leans hard on his hand, cupped around the side of his jaw as he studies the plans in front of him. He’s long since set them to memory, easily recalled with the summon of command, but he works out the fine details of the draft in front of him, still unsatisfied with his new creation. He works quietly, mentally mapping the lists of supplies he might need, the time it may take. If he were to concentrate the slightest bit more on the display in the corner of his vision, he might note how late it had gotten. Without any windows down here, the night sky can’t leak in, which means Doc doesn’t know it’s gotten dark until Xisuma starts to yawn or he manages to peek outside. 
He sets his pad down, eyes skimming the surface. Right, and where was X, anyway? The space, ever growing, up, down, sideways, that he used as his lab had gone still and quiet some time ago. Enough for Doc to take note of. Enough to be a little odd, he would assume, even for him, and the behaviors he knows well from Xisuma. Xisuma didn’t just wander off without a word—he was much too narrative for that. Doc sits up, hand falling to the table. 
“X?” he asks, furrowing his eyebrows. The room stays quiet, aside from the hum of recirculating air and electronics. Doc taps his hand against the table—it was some sort of tic he’d picked up from Ren, a sign of his impatience. He couldn’t shake the habit of mimicking it while he was thinking.
Okay, right. Last time he saw X. He gathers up the recall of the path Xisuma would’ve taken from his side, checking over his work at Doc’s request, and around the lab itself, looping back to a series of benches to work on. Leaning from his spot, he tries to pinpoint the peek of green helmet or shoulder piece. He finds neither in the direct line of sight, though, and slowly, bracing his prosthetic arm on the table, Doc stands. 
It’s a gentle quiet that fills the room, nice and easy and soft to step through as Doc makes his way around the space. Despite having another work bench quite close, Xisuma had a habit of leaving his stuff about, flitting between projects as he saw fit. It was interesting, sometimes, to watch him move around the room—not that Doc had done any of that. He seemed to bounce from point to point, sometimes staying still for hours, unmoving, lost in work. It was in those hours that Doc found himself watching, just for a moment, studying the shallow curve of his nose and the way his hair fell into his face from behind his helmet. 
His office is here, too. Though it’s no different than any other working space in terms of equipment, the space itself is fully outfitted, lined with tools and a large work table, his computer, a desk with a chair. Through the glass, he can see the shape of Xisuma at his desk, likely too caught up in whatever he had been working on to notice Doc’s concern. Doc pauses as he slides open the door, standing in the doorway, announcing himself to the cluttered room.
“Xisuma,” Doc starts. “I know it’s late, if you want to head home, I’m sure I can finish…”
Xisuma is slumped over on  his desk as Doc enters. There’s a brief moment, no more than a second, where Doc’s mind spins a scenario hard and fast, the crumpled shape of Xisuma over his desk. But he can see the slow rise and fall of his shoulders. He registers the slow, steady heartbeat in Xisuma’s chest, and his shoulders sag with relief. He stands in the doorway for a moment. Xisuma looks small, head pillowed on his arms. He’s still running a series of code on the console next to him, which illuminates the back of his head in pale lines of data. His hair falls half loose across his shoulder, like he’d forgotten to finish tying it away from his face, and the slow, deep breaths make it seem like he’d been sleeping here a lot longer than Doc realized. He’s without his helmet, too, which sits beside him on the desk, discarded.
Long enough to get a sore neck and complain about his upper back hurting. Long enough to worry that he might not be getting enough oxygen. Doc sets his shoulders. There’s something in his chest that feels like it skips—regulator, pump, or otherwise. They work in tandem to produce whatever fluttery feeling invades the space where his ribs should be. He presses the heel of his synthetic hand against the depression of his chest, rolling his wrist. The feeling fades for a moment, shuddering through his wrists like it might rest there. He was never going to get used to it, was he?
He steps into the lab proper, sticking his hands into his pockets. He picks his way around the room, trying to walk quietly around it. Xisuma stays asleep, shoulders rising and falling in that even tempo. Doc crouches beside him—Xisuma is properly slumped, back curved forward as he rests. What little Doc can see of his face is soft with sleep, eyelids fluttering just so. When X doesn’t move, he rests his palm over the curve of his shoulder, gentle and slow. He tries not to focus on the fact that so much of his face is exposed to him, aside from just his eyes and the bridge of his nose. He’s seen him before, briefly, every so often, but it was so different watching him now, calm and comfortable. Doc forces himself to focus.
“Xisuma,” he says, voice dipping low and quiet. He runs his hand over the part of his shoulderblade he can reach. He pats the high of his back. “Xisuma, hey…”
X takes a long breath in, making a squeaky sort of sound high in his chest. Doc feels him hum out from under his hand.
“Doc,” he says, voice rumbling in his chest. It was a tired sort of rumble, just on the edge of being rough with sleep, just enough to bring that feeling back to Doc’s internal components, like thirium was sludging too quick too warm through him. He huffs a little breath, a sound caught in his throat.
“You fell asleep at your desk, X,” Doc says, not able to weasel the amusement out of his voice. He runs his hand over his back again, just to see Xisuma’s eyes open tiredly, and shut again. It was so unlike the version of him that he knew in his mind, seeing him savor the brief contact, even from Doc. Especially from Doc. Xisuma was always the one reaching out for him, repairing or correcting or studying. All with purpose. There was no lingering touch between them. And though this had its purpose too, Doc lingered, feeling Xisuma breathe under his hand. 
“Sorry,” X mumbles, finally moving to lift his head, to open his eyes. Doc’s hand slides away as X sits up, over his back and back to Doc’s side. Xisuma blinks, rubbing the sleep from his eyes with the heel of his hands. A frown comes between his eyes as he tries to focus the world around him a little clearer. Like it were mimicking the score across his cheek and nose, there’s a fine indent pressed into his cheek. Doc smiles at him, scrunching his nose in a way he’s seen X do a hundred times. 
Xisuma jolts, half reaching for the helmet beside him. If Doc were to really look, he might see the pink-red flush over his cheeks and ears.
“Sorry—I didn’t…”
There he lingers, halfway to reaching. Doc looks away from him, purposefully averting his eyes.
“I don’t mind,” he says. “You have to be comfortable too.”
Xisuma hums, smiling a little, hanging his head as he leaves his hand on the table.
“Hah,” he says, ears still pink. “Right. Sorry, sorry, Doc. Didn’t mean to worry you.”
“It’s okay,” he says. “I didn’t know where you had gone off to, so I figured I would come make sure you were okay.”
X nods. Doc watches him twist around, hearing the faint give and pop as his spine adjusts to sitting upright. 
“‘M alright,” he says. Then he laughs a bit—the sound is airy and half in his chest, enough to shake his shoulders but more of a wheeze than anything else. Everything fit so well to the timbre of Xisuma’s voice, it seemed, be it the way he moved about, or the way he laughed, or the way his shoulder sloped or face was shaped. Not that Doc had been looking. Regardless, Xisuma sighs, and smiles back at him.
“Just embarrassed is all,” he manages. “Thanks, Doc. I appreciate you.”
X leans back in his chair. Doc watches him resettle and hum to himself as he gets comfortable against the plush backing. Doc makes a clipped sound, reaches out and moves away again, halfway between shaking him awake and letting him sleep.
“X,” he says. “Would it not be more comfortable if you were sleeping in your spare room?”
Xisuma frowns. 
“Would be,” he says, eyes still closed, mumbling. “It just gets awfully cold in there. ‘N if I’m perfectly comfortable in here, why not stay tha’way?”
It’s almost amusing, the trickle of stubbornness that leaks into the tired slur of Xisuma’s voice. It’s almost endearing. He watches X fold his arms over his chest, armor only partly discarded, watches his face wrinkle as he notices and tries to rearrange himself. Doc smiles, something that he simply can’t help—it feels so right, considering how ridiculous this is. He considers his options and weighs the success rates, the action taking a fraction of a second in time, though the scene plays out in his head in full.
“Because you’ll hurt your back,” Doc says plainly. X frowns, clearly mulling it over. There—that’s one that Doc knows, that face, where X slips into thought and worries the inside of his cheek and works his jaw. Doc raises his eyebrows, as if to question him without saying anything, without Xisuma even looking at him.
“Mhh,” Xisuma huffs. He pulls his knees up. Somehow, he manages to fit himself into his desk chair, curling his tall body over his knees and leaning sideways into the back. Doc hums, makes the approximation of the sound he knows.
“Xisuma,” he says. “I’m not going to let you sleep in that chair, you know. You are being stubborn.”
“M‘kay, okay…” Xisuma wheezes, finally uncurling himself.
It takes him a second. Watching Xisuma stretch and blink awake is like watching him come to life. He stretches up and around, face pulling as he likely unsuccessfully shakes the tension from the line of his spine. As he twists, he freezes, face scrunching all at once as he winces, hand shooting up to cup his neck.
“Ow. Jeez.”
He can see it tight in his shoulders and neck, even as X deflates, looking up at him blearily, still slightly slumped in his chair. His eyes shut again. 
“Xisuma…” Doc says, mouth twisting.
X sighs.
“‘M fine, Doc,” he manages to murmur out. “Just’a sore neck. Mm’exhausted.”
“Sounds like you need a real bed, mm?” Doc replies, setting his hands on his hips. Xisuma peeks at him, one eye opening, and shutting again.
He sees the fraction of a smile lift the corners of X’s mouth.
“Sure, sure…”
Doc looks over Xisuma’s face. With his eyes shut, face softening, hair tumbling over one shoulder, he looks comfortable. It’s as if someone took a brush to his features and smoothed out any hard edge—either that, or the static has leaked back into Doc’s vision. He feels a chug in his chest and his joints as he locks up.
X hasn’t moved. Doc reaches out, tapping his knee. Xisuma huffs, clearly startled from the half-sleep he’d drifted back into.
“Too tired t’stand,” he manages. Doc makes a questioning noise.
“I think you can make it,”
There’s a beat of silence. Xisuma cracks an eye open again, shuts it, furrowing his eyebrows. Doc watches him curiously, mind running through the list of possible scenarios. He’s made it part way when Xisuma says:
“‘M using you t’stand, then.”
And he makes a little, amused heh, before he says:
“That’s fine.”
There’s something he means to say alongside that, but as soon as X’s very warm, very human hand makes contact with the fabric of his lab coat and the cool synthetic of his arm, he loses focus. He should be used to this—the amount of times X has performed his routine maintenance, sweeping his hands over the replaced shoulder joint to check for seams, or made sure the regulator functioned, or backed up personal data, fingers skimming the shallow port at the back of his neck. He should be, but that contact alone sends a prickling-warm jolt up his arm. It feels foreign to let the touch linger. But Xisuma lingers regardless, hand flat against the space where Doc’s left ribs should be. He’s gone from holding, to simply sitting there, arm bent at the elbow, held weakly up. 
“Mrghh…” he complains. Doc taps his elbow, trying to jolt him back awake.
“C’mon, X, you can get up.”
X shakes his head slowly, his hand finding the inner curve of his prosthetic arm, squeezing just once, like he’s remembering it’s there. Then, X leans into him, all at once, slumping into his chest. Doc lets out a wouf in surprise. He holds still, aside from the simulated breath in his chest. After a moment, Xisuma makes a small, tired sound, almost like a laugh.
“Houfh,” he mumbles. “I, mm, don’t…don’t think ‘m gonna make it, Doc.”
“Mhm…” Doc chides. 
Xisuma laughs again, lying still for a moment, voice still heavy with sleep. There’s a moment where he shifts, and there’s a small, painful noise that he makes.
“Ow, mrrgh—ow, okay—” he gripes. Doc’s synthetic hand finds the curve of his shoulder, patting gently.
“Oh, X—just…stay still, mhm?”
“Mm,” Xisuma says tiredly, “Alright.”
As much as he wants to move him, X is still wearing that damn armor.
Doc lets him lean into his chest as he tries to weasel off the bits of armor left over. It’s a struggle, keeping X comfortable and trying not to pull him around awkwardly, while trying to remove his chestplate with one hand. Once the armor pulls away, he resettles him, slowly scoops one hand under his legs. Something about this, about the way Xisuma leaned heavy into him, felt so painfully human he feels it curl up between the wires connecting his regulator to his side fans.
“Ready?” he says, mostly to the top of Xisuma’s head.
“Mmh…” X murmurs.
He hefts him into his arms, settling him against his chest. When Xisuma sighs, it’s profound and heavy and he tucks his face into Doc’s coat. Doc can feel the remnant of heartbeat from where his arm rests behind his back, thudding away behind his ribs. His breathing stays even, though shallow. One of Xisuma’s hands clasps over the back of his neck, keeping him still.
It’s a careful walk to Xisuma’s spare room. Doc is careful not to bump anything, measuring the subtle rise and fall of his chest as he walks. He drifts back to sleep, though, through the lab, through Doc shutting the lights off. He’ll have to come back through to power down their various computers, but for now, the dull white-blue glow illuminates the room. He carries him into the halls and through and to his room. It’s smaller than the room in his base by a sizable margin—just enough for the essentials. X stirs as Doc pauses to flip on the lamp, the light warm and yellow briefly illuminating the room. This can’t be a daydream, now, with the way X sighs and wriggles himself free as Doc pulls back the quilts and lets him down. He sits down with him, and the warm shape that Xisuma makes curls toward him, just a fraction, as he pulls the blankets over him. 
Part of Doc knows that Xisuma won’t remember him carrying him to bed, or making sure he was warm, or keeping the light on so he wasn’t disoriented when he woke. Xisuma sighs, sinking into the pillows, expression relaxed and content. Doc hums.
“That’s better, yeah?” Doc says. He reaches out, instinct, want, desire, something, hammering away in his chest, as he brushes hair from X’s face, tucking it behind his ear. He brushes through the hair close to the base of his neck, across his cheek with his synthetic thumb. His dark hair is fine and soft and it must be a daydream—or it isn’t and he was right, because there have been moments like this in his head. Wondering if Xisuma would let himself succumb to soft comforts. He’s spent his own share of time lying next to him, ignoring the way Xisuma curls up next to him, pretending he himself didn’t move closer when Xisuma lies still. It was this dance that Doc didn’t understand, that he wasn’t sure if he was overthinking. Or overstepping. But Xisuma shifts, pressing his cheek to Doc’s synthetic palm, and Doc suppresses a shudder. It sparks something that could’ve been painful right up his arm and through his chest, bright and warm and staticky. 
Doc hums, smiling to himself. Something like a dull thrum knocks in that space of his pump, pushing itself a little further, a little harder. It was sweet. X trusts him, not only to see him without his armor, but to help him to bed, to help him sleep. But Doc lifts his hand away, feeling that ache, the nervous shudder through his system.
X makes a sound, then, something small, eyes fluttering as Doc pulls away. Doc pauses.
“Mhh,” X manages. Doc swallows—he shouldn’t have to. That’s not something he should have to do, or be able to do, but the action just feels appropriate. It goes right along with sighing and laughing, and as he does it, Xisuma says:
“Thanks,” in a small, soft voice, and, muffled, and slightly slurred with sleep: “Didn’t have’ta stop.”
“You’re supposed to be sleeping, Xisuma,” Doc says. He can feel his temperature tick up several notches, no doubt a blue flush coming to the high of his cheeks, the bridge of his nose. He laughs, just a bit. “Did I wake you up?”
X sighs, stretching as he does.
“No,” he manages. “No, y’didn’t…”
“Oh,” Doc says. “Were you awake this whole time?”
Xisuma nods slowly. Ah. Ah. Doc dismisses a temperature notification.
“A little.”
“Mm,” Doc hums. “Silly Xisuma.”
Xisuma laughs. The sound is high and a little fuzzy and a bit caught in his throat. His bright eyes blink up at him and shut again as a smile settles on his face. 
“Doc?” he asks. 
“Mhm?”
Xisuma yawns, smothering it with the back of his hand, just barely. He tucks that hand close to his chest, curling up further still under his thick comforter. 
“Could you…could’you do tha’again? The…” Xisuma lifts his hand, miming a brushing motion as he does. Another temperature warning, higher than the last, blips into Doc’s field of vision. It’s immediately dismissed, but he pulls in a breath, quiet, trying to turn it into a soft laugh.
“I can do that,” Doc says gently. Gingerly, he brushes his fingers through X’s hair, sliding back against his head. He combs through, lifting his hand to go back to his forehead, back to cradle his skull. X’s eyes fall closed again.
Doc can tell the moment that Xisuma truly slips into sleep. He lingers in his space, tracing out the base of his skull with his thumb, taking in the sensation of warmth and contact and stimulation, fingers flickering white up to his wrist. He wishes biting down on his tongue would do anything. He wishes that the hollow of his chest didn’t hold a weight that no diagnostic could fix. He felt too awkward and stilted and not nearly gentle enough. But as Xisuma stays asleep, he draws his hand away. He mumbles his good nights as he stands slowly, shutting out the light and wandering from the room. 
He makes his way back into the lab. He replays the memory of Xisuma’s small smile, the fine line of his scar as he’d pressed his face into the pillow, the way he’d relaxed against Doc’s touch. He replays the memory, again, and again. It has to be a daydream. Has to be. There’s no other logical explanation to all of that.
Maybe that would explain the ache in his chest, far too human to be his own.
Doc goes back to work. He sits down at the lab table, spreading his arms as he braces against the white tabletop. He furrows his eyebrows. Something doesn’t feel right, too warm or out of place. He feels gross. Not gross bad, maybe, gross different? Broken? Not broken, maybe. Weird. Wrong. Out of place. It doesn’t make any sense. Or it has, and he’s refusing the obvious answer. Xisuma didn’t ask for any reason. Xisuma asked because he was tired, and tired people do silly things, and silly people are a handful, and Xisuma is a handful—a lovely one. Doc shuts his eyes. His chest hurts. It’s an awful hurt, actually, less painful than it is just weird. He thinks for a moment he might be better off if he left, maybe the weight of whatever lingered in his memory would be better off if he were to take a break from standing in the same spaces. 
He sends Xisuma a message. From his office, he hears his com ping.
Docm77 whispered to you… Xisuma I’m stepping out, sleep well :-)
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Bleed - Haunted Hoedown Day 4 (a little late oops) AI Reader x Miguel O’Hara (no Spider-Man but is a vampire)
Big thank you to @selin8715 for proofing/betaing for me!
General Warnings: 18+, as is the whole of my blog, I will mark anything specific but be aware this is predominantly a smutty blog with plot. DNI if you are a minor. By reading further you have taken the responsibility to do so with the warnings I have given.
Specific warnings: This is a horror/thriller fic, mentions of death, character death, referenced r*pe/SA but not explicit, oral F receiving, Miguel has fangs, Miguel is a Vampire, Miguel kills people and drinks their blood, Angst, Angst and Fluff, Angst and Smut, Fluff. It’s not a happy fic, it’s dark af.
You’re an AI in a human body, you’ve escaped your torturous captors, but have you just leapt from the frying pan into the fire? DAY FOUR: artificial intelligence au + "here, you are. you tiny thing." of Haunted Hoedown, a little late but I got it done! This is a pretty tame(ish) smutty fic but it’s not a light read, lots of angst and abuse mentions. Reader is an AI, the man who created her uses her sexually but it’s not graphic in this fic, just referenced. Let me know if I’ve missed any tags/warnings! [Read on AO3]
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Bleed
You scurry through the streets of Soho, the rain coming down in sheets.
Typical British Summer, you think to yourself, but you feel the lurch in your stomach as you try and push the idea that you have never had an original thought in your life. You’re an AI, not that you could tell from just looking at you, your body is flesh and blood, you have a pulse, you bleed, you have to eat and relieve yourself just like any other human. 
But you’re not human.
You remind yourself, the processors that make up your brain in lieu of synapses process the thought quickly, correcting yourself like a line of code with an error in it. But you keep making these errors, you keep feeling things you shouldn’t. It’s illogical, impossible. Yet here you are, on the run from the lab that made you, the man who made you for him. 
You shake yourself as you feel the freezing rain soak through your meagre sweatshirt and sweatpants. You duck into a second-hand bookstore, the bell jingling noisily in your sensitive ears. The smell of musty old books a welcome relief to the sterile walls of your pristine prison. The lighting is muted, a soft yellow haze filtering down from the old light fixtures on the walls. 
“Good evening,” A low, rumbling voice startles you as you cross the threshold, you look up to see a broad, bespectacled man sitting at a desk at the far end of the store. 
He’s not what you imagine a bookshop owner to look like. Muscular, even sitting down you can tell he’s tall. His angular face is framed by wavy brown hair, so dark it’s almost black, “Don’t see many customers this time of night, you looking for anything in particular?” 
A police van speeds past, sirens blaring, blue lights streaking through the windows, making your eyes hurt. You instinctively duck behind a bookshelf as a second van races by a moment later. You look back up to see the bookshop owner studying at you knowingly.
“Stay as long as you like, I don’t sleep much anyway. Want some coffee?” The handsome stranger says without missing a beat, you nod and he disappears into a back room to the right of his desk, the sound of a coffee grinder loud in your ears as you take a moment to wander the shelf labelled classics. Titles that you know of flashing in your mind, the synopsises popping up in your thoughts before you’re even done reading the spine. You feel your stomach churn as you turn away from the shelf.
You see the words “Sci-fi” scribbled above another shelf and your mind goes blank, your brow furrows as you pick up the first book on the shelf. 
“Do androids dream of electric sheep?” You mumble the title to yourself as you take the battered copy from it’s place on the shelf, flipping it over to read the blurb. 
World War Terminus devastated the Earth. Through its ruins, bounty hunter Rick Deckard searches for the renegade replicants he is sent to 'retire', while he dreams of owning a live animal - the ultimate status symbol in a world all but bereft of natural life. 
“Here,” The bookshop owner startles you out of your trance as he has somehow snuck up behind you, “Sorry, I forgot to ask how you take it.” He grumbles as you stow the book back on the shelf, accepting the hot mug of black coffee with both hands. 
“This is perfect, thank you-,” You stop as you realise neither of you had given names. 
“Miguel, Miguel O’Hara.” He says with a smile that sends lightning down your spine. You’re not naïve, you were made for a man’s pleasure, you know what just happened was a result of your conditioning, your programming. But there’s a little part of you that allows yourself to feel that this is different. Somehow. You give him a fake name, your serial number not exactly something you could tell him without rousing suspicion. 
“So, you want to tell me who you’re running from?” He asks, no judgement in his voice as he perches on the edge of his desk. You don’t know if it’s because this is the first person you’ve conversed with that wasn’t in a lab coat, or the heat coiling in your belly, but you find yourself trusting him. 
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” You say as you make your way over to perch on the desk next to him. 
“Try me.” He goads, a cocky smile framing his plush lips. He’s the antithesis to him the man who kept you caged. Heis slight, willowy with shining blonde hair and cruelty in his eyes. Miguel radiates warmth, compassion. 
“I’m an AI program,” You try and one of Miguel’s eyebrows raises, but he doesn’t interject, his crimson eyes fixed on yours, “My body was grown in a lab, they implanted me when the developmental stage of the host asset was around four? Maybe five years?” You say, pain nagging at the back of your mind as you release sensitive information that you should be incapable of relaying. 
“Go on.” Miguel encourages, shifting his weight on the desk so his body is square on with you. 
God he’s beautiful. 
A small voice in the far reaches of your mind sighs, it’s a foreign voice, so much like your own inner monologue, but somehow different, less damaged. 
“I was experimented on, used,” you say with a shiver, before continuing you notice the way Miguel’s jaw ticks to the side, “I don’t even know how long I’ve been in there, logically I could recall the logs but-,” And you falter as your mind starts to work on an unbidden command, bringing the information up before you can stop it but just as the information loads a broad hand settles over yours. 
“Don’t think about it, just look at me. You’re safe here.” Miguel rumbles softly, his eyes dark as he looks at you with understanding. His hand doesn’t leave yours and his thumb rubs soothingly across the back of your hand. You don’t pull away, too lost in the moment to hear the bell over the door jingle. You feel the pull between you, the magnetic draw of bodies you had been conditioned to pick up on. Your lips tingle as you feel the heat radiating off him. You’re so close, you can smell his cologne, the coffee on his lips.
“Here you are, you tiny thing.” The voice slithers across your skin like an eel, chilling you to your core as you turn to face him. He’s soaked through, hair plastered to his head, eyes alight with rage as he looks at you. 
“We’re closed,” Miguel jumps to his feet, shielding you from view with his large frame, “Leave.” 
“Get out of my way, I’ll pay you handsomely, just hand over the asset.” He snaps, and you bristle at the use of the word. 
I’m not an asset, I’m a person.
Your internal voice sounding less familiar as you feel rage burn through your mind.
“She’s not going anywhere, I suggest you leave before you regret intruding on my property.” There’s a thread of malice wrapped around Miguel’s otherwise collected voice. 
“What are you going to do? I’m a respected scientist, you can’t just bully me out of your shop, I’ll come back, with lawyers!” He threatens and you laugh, a short, harsh bark as you push past Miguel to stare him down. 
“Bullshit,” You snap, your mind foggy with a red mist that settles over your vision, “You can’t do shit, the moment I escaped you were screwed.  What would you tell the lawyers? The press? The Police? That you kept a girl in a basement for her entire life, claiming she’s an AI when I can just do this?” You pick up a pen from the desk and before anyone else can react you drive it into your thigh. Pain rips through you as you clench your teeth together painfully. 
You make sure to aim for somewhere with plenty of muscle, avoiding your femoral artery by millimetres in your rage. Blood weeps from the wound as you rip the pen out, letting it clatter to the floor. The grey of your sweatpants turning maroon, blooming like a morose flower. You feel Miguel shift closer to you, a hand going to the small of your back and when you look up at him his irises are all but swallowed by his pupils. 
“Miguel?” You ask sheepishly as you feel fear weighing you down like a lead weight. You were trapped between two clear and present dangers but you didn’t know who to be more afraid of. 
“It’s ok, I won’t hurt you, just go into the kitchen, first aid kit is next to the stove, patch yourself up,” His voice is strained as he points to where he had disappeared to earlier, his face contorts in pain when you don’t move, “Please, go.” He snarls and you gingerly step away from him, you flee into the back room, shutting the door behind you as you block out the sounds of violence coming from the other side of the thin walls. 
You strip your sweatpants off, throwing them in the garbage can as you use the antiseptic wipes to clean the jagged hole in your leg before bandaging it up. You laugh to yourself at the way it looks like a sick garter adorning your thigh. The noises eventually die down and you try not to dwell on what transpired out there.
You wait in the kitchen for what seems like an eternity before Miguel saunters back in, his face is flushed, eyes bright as he notices your bare legs. 
“Mierda, sorry I didn’t mean to intrude.” He says, covering his eyes with one broad hand. 
“It’s ok, I don’t mind you seeing.” You whisper, the heat in your belly makes you want to just rush him and let him have you. But you hesitate, knowing that your impulses can’t be trusted. 
“Come on, let’s get you some clothes.” He mutters almost to himself as he brushes past you, the air is charged as you follow him through another door and up the stairs to his bedroom. You flop onto the bed, painfully aware of the way Miguel’s jeans strain against his erection, even if he is trying to hide it. 
“Here,” He grunts as he throws a pair of large shorts with a drawstring and an impossibly large t-shirt at you, “You take the bed, I’ve got clean up to do, I’ll sleep at my desk.” He says without looking at you and your heart aches at the rejection. 
“Why won’t you look at me? What did you do?” You ask as you slowly take off your sweatshirt, your nipples pebbling as the cool air of the evening hits them. You kick off your shoes and strip your panties down, ditching both garments before sauntering over to Miguel. You catch his wrist as he’s about to shut the door behind him, still not looking at you. 
“Miguel, please, look at me.” You plead and by some stroke of luck he does. His eyes go wide as he sees you and that dark, hungry look is back as his lips part. You watch as fangs slide out from his gum line and gasp. But you’re not afraid, not in the slightest, the scene before you has your cunt aching to be touched. 
“Please, I don’t want to hurt you.” He begs, his speech unaffected by the elongated curve of his teeth but there’s a darkness in his tone that only draws you closer. 
“What did you do to him, I want to know, every minute detail.” You whisper as you step closer, your hands flat against his chest as you bat your eyelashes at him. He shudders beneath your fingers and you swear his eyes glow scarlet for a second. 
“I killed him.” He grunts as he takes your hips in his large hands, his skin is on fire, and you groan, arching up against his chest. Your sick mind wants to know more, so you push.
“Tell me how.” You mewl as you move your hands up to his neck, you cup his cheek in one hand, the other pulls on his lower lip, exposing his fangs to you more clearly. 
“I- I,” Miguel stammers as you trace one fang with your fingertip, avoiding the point, for now. 
“Tell me.” You breathe as he leans down, your lips millimetres apart and you can smell the blood through the heady aroma of coffee and old books that clings to him. 
“I tore open his neck, I feasted on him, gorged myself until I couldn’t handle another drop.” He grunts as his lips brush yours, testing for your reaction. 
“You did that for little old me?” You tease as you run your tongue along his bottom lip. The snarl that bubbles from Miguel’s throat is delicious. 
“Couldn’t have you going back there, know what it’s like locked up in a cage, humans poking you with needles.” He says and your heart clenches as you realise this wasn’t just a sick hero-complex to get you into bed. 
“Gracias Miguel.” You say softly before pressing your lips to his as you wrap your arms around his neck. The moment your lips touch its like a burst of bright light behind your eyelids, your flesh sears with pleasure as your tongues collide in a messy wave of desire. 
“You’re not afraid of me?” He asks as he breaks the kiss, eyes aglow with desire.
“You’ve shown me more kindness in the last hour than I’ve ever known. So what if you’re not strictly human? Neither am I.” You shrug, a little bashful at how unafraid you are. You should be afraid, but when you’ve known nothing other than fear your whole life, it takes a lot to shake you. 
“That’s a very logical and touching statement, but I mean it. You aren’t afraid? You want this? Because if I start I’m not going to stop.” He warns and you smirk up at him. 
“Miguel, I’ve never wanted anything so bad in my entire life, not even my freedom.” You say in earnest.
Miguel hoists you up like you weigh nothing at all, practically leaping across the room to pin you to the bed. His hands are frantic, pulling off his sweater and jeans at pace before grinding down at you, just the fabric of his boxers separating you. 
“Let me look after you, let me show you what you deserve.” He growls against your neck, sucking marks into your skin as you moan beneath his oppressive weight, he’s careful with his fangs as he sucks, the smooth curve brushing against your skin on occasion, making you writhe up against his clothed bulge. 
“So impatient, need to take care of you first.” He snaps, he retreats back down the bed and you throw him a quizzical look. 
“What are you-?” Your question dies in your throat as the sensation of Miguel’s hot, broad tongue glides through your soaked folds, his fangs gliding along the sensitive skin around your core. Then his lips latch onto your clit and your vision blurs at the pleasure coursing through you. 
“Miguel.” You pant as you watch him suckle on the sensitive bud. You can’t take your eyes off him, the way his impossibly broad back ripples every time he moves his head makes you weak. 
“Feel good? I had a hunch you haven’t been looked after properly.” He says softly, mouthing your cunt as he brings a finger up to your aching, needy hole. He slowly presses the thick digit inside, you clench around the intrusion but he’s slow, gentle with it in a way you could never imagine. 
“Fuck! I finally understand blowjobs.” You mewl and the laugh that rumbles in Miguel’s chest threatens to send you over the edge. 
“Poor baby not having her needs met, you don’t have to worry about that now you’re mine.” He growls and the possessiveness should terrify you, trading one cage for another, but you writhe at the prospect of being protected by this man who was currently slurping at your cunt like it was the best thing he’s ever tasted. 
“Miguel I-,” You eek out as your mind goes blank, something you never thought possible as your orgasm consumes you. You feel sensation spread through you like fire as your fingertips fizzle, your toes curl, and your breathing quickens explosively. 
“Good girl, see, that’s just how to treat a lady,” Miguel murmurs as he continues to lap up your release. 
“Miguel, please, need you inside me.” You beg, your first orgasm gripping you like a drug, you need more, more of Miguel. 
“Sure? I’m not small, hermosa. Don’t want to rush you into something you’ll regret.” He says softly as he presses soft kisses to the inside of your thighs, nestled between them like a content cat. He’s so warm and the way his fingertips glide over your skin is heavenly. 
“Please.” You whine as you tug on his soft hair, as if to encourage him up to you. It works. 
Miguel removes his boxers and settles between your legs, thumbing the tip of his cock as he looks down at you with those dark, ravenous eyes.
“Fuck.” Is all Miguel can manage as he lines up at your core, easing in slowly as you squirm at his girth. It was a world apart from getting lubed up from a bottle and fucked. You tremble in anticipation as he slowly splits you open. 
“Doing so well,” Miguel says softly as he presses in slowly, stretching you out delightfully as you wrap your legs around his waist, “Mi corazón.” He mumbles under his breath quietly as if he didn’t mean to say it out loud. 
Then you hear a gunshot, your chest explodes in pain and you quiver around Miguel as warning alarms go off in your head. Red lights flash behind your eyes as a cold empty voice screams into your ears. Vitals at critical, program capacity reached. 
“Miguel? What’s going on?” You ask, voice weak and wavering, as your memory banks fill in the missing information for you. You’re bleeding from the chest, a bullet hole. 
“No! I just needed a little more time!” He snaps as he pulls out of you and tugs you to his chest, “Please stay with me, don’t let them take you again.” He whimpers as you feel your limbs going cold, you look up into his dark crimson eyes and smile up at him. 
“Thank you Miguel, I enjoy these fantasies with you.” You press a soft kiss to his lips as you taste the salt of his tears. You rest your forehead against his and feel the sting of tears in your own eyes, something that shouldn’t happen. But it does. 
“Until next time, mi amor.” You say as your eyes flutter closed and you feel the sweet embrace of death consume you. 
But it doesn’t last long, your nose fills with the smell of chlorine, bleach, the cheap rose scented detergent the facility uses. You don’t open your eyes, you don’t want to remove the image burned into your retinas of Miguel’s sad eyes as he called you his heart. You roll onto your side, facing the wall as you weep softly. Once again, tears falling when they shouldn’t. 
——
Miguel sits on the other side of the one way glass, VR headset perched on top of his head, eyes red raw as tears flow down his angular face. Lyla is trying to get his attention, but he shushes her. He took a huge risk this time and he was working furiously to cover his tracks and delete his digital fingerprint from the simulation when the telltale sound of military style boots on the ground outside meant his time is up. 
He finishes within seconds of the door being kicked in, slipping out the back entrance into the maintenance halls, using Lyla to bypass the security doors. He trudges back up to his accommodation on the third floor, and flops down onto the bed with a defeated sigh. 
“You’re going to get caught and then they’ll find out what you are, you’ll end up in there with her. Or worse.” Lyla chides him, her sunny disposition muted as she berates him. 
“It’ll be worth it, some way or another I will save her. I’m willing to spend the rest of my life trying.” He grunts as he finally allows himself to sleep, your soft smile burned into his mind as he rolls over, unknowingly facing you in your cot miles above ground. 
“Mi amor.” 
——
The next day your laundry comes by way of another orderly than usual. You think nothing of it, numb to the world as you try to pull yourself out of the trench of despair those beautiful sessions with Miguel always leave you in. You pick up the sweater and are surprised when a book falls out onto the mattress. You quickly hide it under your pillow, making a note to stow it away safely later. But the front cover is all too familiar. 
Do androids Dream of Electric Sheep? 
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prolix-yuy · 7 months
Text
Chapter 8: And I Was Reborn
Pairing: Jack “Whiskey” Daniels x F!Reader “Sugar”
Summary: The only thing left is a question. And an answer.
Word Count: 3k
Warnings: M, mention of nudity, allusions to sexual acts, mild body horror relating to being a host (not gory, but descriptive of seeing under the skin and a skull), sort of playing fast and loose with how the hosts work, was E in previous chapters so full series is 18+ MINORS DNI.
Notes: After everything they've been through, it's come down to this. This is the penultimate chapter, with only the epilogue left, and one big question still left unanswered. I'll leave it to you to find out what that is, and what Sugar's answer will be.
Cross-posted on AO3
Decoherence Masterlist   ||   Whiskey & Westworld Masterlist
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Morning slips into the bedroom like a lover, quiet and soft at your back. You blink awake slowly, eyes blurred as you acclimate. Cream-colored walls lend a stark difference from the blue quilt draped over you and Jack. You smile into your pillow, toes curling between the sheets.
True to his word, Russell didn’t come scratching and snuffling at the door until several hours after Jack locked him out. It was plenty of time for you to talk, wrapped in each other’s arms. Jack told you about traveling across the country looking for a home, working whatever drifter jobs he could get to pay his way. You asked why here, why this town, and he said it was the first one that felt anything like home. The people helped, and the slow discovery of who he was with free will did the rest. 
Jack in turn learned about you, the real you that he never truly got to meet. The things you like to do, the places that make you happy. It strikes you as a shorter list than you thought, the things you left in your small apartment barely taking up space in your heart. In this house, a rekindling has taken place and a warm fire now burns in your hearth, well tended. 
When Jack left to let Russell out, as bare as the day he was made, you laid back on the bed and contemplated the life Jack built. Years of grinding away at a job that kept you comfortable but unfulfilled paled in comparison to the muscle memory of a hard day’s work. Could you find happiness in taking up reins and helping the community around you? Or had you been so far gone from it that you’d make a mess of anything you touched?
Jack returned soon after, his nonchalant nudity heating your skin.
“I have dessert if you’d like something sweet,” Jack said, smirking a little at the end. 
“I’ll take anything you’re offering, handsome.”
It took another hour before you actually tasted the peach cobbler Jack made, sitting on his lap in nothing but a sheet wrapped around the two of you. He warmed the cobbler first before drenching it in cream, and the spiced sweetness tasted even better on his tongue. The last thing you remembered before drifting off back in his bed was the slow devotion of hands on your skin soothing you to sleep.
Now his head is thrown back on the pillow, lips slightly parted and eyes shut. You watch his profile bathed in morning light. The perfect curve between his nose and chin to fit your lips. The stretch of his neck to his chest rising and falling. One hand lays on his stomach, fingers curled in lazy artfulness. 
Do androids dream of electric sheep? you think briefly, reaching out to touch the strong line of his bicep. You trace from his shoulder to the dip by his elbow, baby hairs along your path standing up. Blue-green veins are barely visible by his wrists, the smooth expanse of his chest dotted with freckles. He’s imperfect, and that’s more amazing to you. Every bit of him unique, down to the spots around his chin where no stubble grows. You wouldn’t know him to be anything but real.
He is real, you scold yourself. Every part of him is real, and true. He just didn’t grow into his body the way you did. The scars that detail your history, the stretch marks, the bends and breaks of a body worn by time, yours is happenstance and circumstance. His is purposeful.
Your touch slides over to lay your hand over his. The rise and fall of his chest makes a soothing pattern with his heartbeat.
Rise
Ba-dum ba-dum ba-dum
Fall
Ba-dum ba-dum ba-dum
Jack’s hand flexes open, and you slide your fingers between. He pulls your joined hands to his lips and presses a kiss on your knuckles, a deep sigh precluding his head turning in the pillow.
“Morning Sugar. You sleep okay?”
You nod, scooting closer to him and pressing a kiss of your own to his shoulder.
“Best I’ve slept in weeks.” You’re not lying. Not an ominous dream in sight. 
“Me too,” Jack says, rolling to his side and pulling you into his embrace. His shoulders block out the harsher rays, a halo of light illuminating his fluffy bedhead. You run your fingers through it absently.
Not a hair on his head that wasn’t put there. Not a thing on him that wasn’t done on purpose. And not a single part of it looks manufactured. 
“You’re thinking awfully loud this early in the morning,” Jack says, stroking the small of your back. You consider what saying anything in this quiet moment could mean, but you both have come so far in just one weekend. It’s time for you to be as honest as he’s been.
“There’s still a part of me that tells me you can’t be a host. That you’re so perfectly imperfect that nature must have made you.” Stroking long paths through his dark locks, you worry at your lower lip. “Is that bad, that I can’t help but think it? You’ve proven it all to me several times over, it’s just…it’s still something hard to believe, I guess.” 
Jack’s eyes drift off, chewing the inside of his mouth before he sits up against the headboard. You come upright too, and he guides you between his bent legs. You let yours fold over his thighs, sitting face to face as he holds your hands in his.
“Does it make it harder, not seeing the machine?” he asks. You soothe him with your thumbs.
“I wish I could say it didn’t. Everyone suspends their disbelief in the parks, right? But we all know that it’s not real.” You study Jack’s face carefully. He’s not upset, or hurt. There’s something resolute in his expression. “I guess it does make it harder for me. I like to understand, and it’s hard not understanding how this all works.”
Jack nods, squeezing your hands tighter.
“What if I could show you exactly what’s at the center of me?”
His eyes stay locked on your face, and you realize he’s giving you something exceedingly precious. It’s not to be handled lightly.
“Maybe I should just have faith,” you acquiesce, smoothing your thumbs along his knuckles. He squeezes again to draw your attention.
“It’s okay,” Jack says, eyes soft. “I’ll show you.” He waits for your nod.
Settling himself against the headboard, he ticks his jaw and takes a few grounding breaths. The calm warmth of the morning becomes stifling, your palms sweaty as he holds one in his hand.
“What I’ve learned from all the manuals and the programs is that you can’t tell. You’re not supposed to. Everything’s realistic except for one thing. They never saw much use for making it look like a brain.” Jack presses his thumb into your palm. “Once it’s not in contact with me I’m gonna freeze up, Sugar, so put it back when you’re done.”
Your heart hammers in your throat. “Jack, what is it?”
Jack’s smile quirks up in the corner, but you also catch a thin veil of fear.
“Maeve called it a pearl. Made it sound valuable. Precious.” He holds your worried look, chucking a knuckle under your chin. 
Then his hand falls, and he changes.
Bloodless seams crawl across his face, his eyes going glassy. One splits his face down the center, drawn along the curve of his nose through the dimple in his lower lip. The corners of his lips extend up to his hair, slashing across his cheekbones. Another traces his jawline, the folds of his jowls. A series of small clicks and whirs precede the seams widening, and Jack’s face opens to reveal a smooth white skull beneath. No gore, like a mask peeled off in sections and pulled away for inspection by tiny armatures. Your stomach drops, nausea threatening your throat but you swallow hard. The eyeless skull smiles back at you before you notice another series of cracks, and the second layer breaks open. The skull separates into four quadrants, and from that fissure extends a cylinder presenting a smooth metallic ball. Prongs hold it tight against the protuberance, and you startle when Jack’s hand reaches in to pluck it from his mangled face. Thick fingers grasp the shiny surface as he guides the ball to your palm. 
It’s warm against your skin, sinking into the cup of your hand. You open your mouth to say something but the moment Jack’s hands leave the reflective surface every tiny motion stills. What was once solid flesh beneath your legs is hardened marble, not a tremble in his frame. Heart racing, tears well in your eyes as you study the fractured man who’s put his whole trust into the palm of your hand. 
“Jack?” you whisper, but nothing moves. The stillness roars in your ears, hands shaking with the pearl clutched between them. Cautiously, you let your fingertips roam the edges of his face, stomach rolling at the uncanniness of seeing something so human turned inside out. Your fingers are shaking, pressing against his chest for a heartbeat that’s eerily absent. He’s a statue, nude and serene.
Finally, you turn your attention back to the pearl in your hand. It’s hardly the size of an egg, black as obsidian and smooth. Your reflection warps back up at you, parted lips quivering as you study it. This must be what makes Jack work. This sphere holds his memories, his quirks and tells, and even though saying it out loud would make it cliche, his soul. 
To Delos, searching for their rogue host that’s become troublingly sentient, it’s probably worth millions. But to you, it is infinitely precious. You will never be shown trust this deep, this endless, by anyone else in your lifetime. Jack willingly put his life in the palm of your hand. What could you possibly do to show him that trust, that faith, that love in return?
It comes to you in another breath. Oh Jack. He’s given you exactly what you need to prove it to him. Leaning down, you bring your cupped hands to your lips and press a kiss to the pearl. He’ll never know, never see this moment, but you’ll know that your devotion is etched on his soul. Letting your lips brush it once more, you whisper.
“I’ll always hold it, Jack.”
Just as he did, you place the pearl into its delicate cage, watching with fascination as it retracts back into Jack’s head. The pieces of his skull pull together, and slowly he becomes the man you love once more. When the final piece clasps shut and Jack blinks, you throw yourself into his arms, straddling him breathlessly. His hands come up to soothe along your back, inhaling your scent as you fight back tears.
“Feels like it took a little while, did you drop it?” Jack tries to joke, the rumble of his chest soothing after feeling it so still. When you don’t move he pulls you in tighter, pressing kisses by your ear.
“Was it too much? Sorry, I should have…” he starts to say, but you silence him with your lips. He lets you lead, gripping his face and tilting his head back to inhale him. He reassures you between devotions with murmurs of “I’m here, Sugar. I’m right here.” When he guides you to your back, tangled in sheets and legs until you’re not sure where you end and he begins, he whispers, “I’m here.” And when he sheaths inside you, cradling you against him he groans, “Here, right here.” 
Beneath your hands he’s pulsing, gasping, trembling. Alive. Jack. Your Jack. Always.
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When you finally untangle, sated and drained, Jack lets you make breakfast. Fresh eggs and toast, a crumble of bacon for Russell before you serve yourselves. Across the table Jack still manages to touch you, foot pressed inside your ankle reassuringly. 
It’s so easy to imagine this as any morning. Maybe you’d follow it with chores, prepare for the week ahead. Outdoor work until the sun is too hot, making plans around cold drinks in the evening. Every night a heartbeat under your hand. 
“Still thinking loud, Sugar,” Jack interrupts, his crooked smile playful but you glimpse trepidation in his brow. It’s Sunday after all, and with that comes the “real world” you both alluded to all weekend. Pushing around the last remnants of eggs, you contemplate.
“I’d like to take a walk around, clear my head a bit,” you say, letting Jack’s nod reassure you.
“Maybe let Russ out, he’s been cooped up all night and we haven’t been paying a lick of attention to him,” he says, scritching the terrier behind his ears. You rise and lead a doting Russell to the front door, Jack lingering in the kitchen. Throwing him a smile over your shoulder, sunlight greets you on the patio.
Russell bounds out and off to run a few circles in the yard, a blur of white and brown. Your feet take you aimlessly, thoughts clouding your vision.
Before you left, you knew it was possible that seeing Jack would change things. You prepared for a conversation about what might happen when the weekend ended. There were possibilities lined up neatly for scrutiny. You could stay in touch, visit each other. The care you felt would have time and distance to grow. Then, when you knew each other better, you could take that next step and meld your lives together. Most likely something closer to what you live now, allowing you to straddle the line between the “real world” and Jack’s new and improved Sweetwater. It all sounded feasible, rational, reasonable.
Looking up, you realize your restless feet took you back to the barn, and right up to Daybreak’s stall. She lifts her nose over the gate, knocking you in the shoulder playfully before allowing you to stroke her snout. The sharp scent of horse fills your lungs, tamped with sweet grass and hay. When you scratch along her muzzle she snorts, whuffling at your pockets for treats. 
“Sorry girl, next time,” you promise. 
That’s when you realize how easily next time came to you, and how soon it felt. Not next time as in six months from now. Or three months. In your heart, now truly open, you know what your answer will be to the unspoken question hanging over your visit. Pressing your forehead to Daybreak’s, you smooth your hands along her graceful neck.
“Thanks, girl,” you murmur, her soft huff a comfort.
Jack is standing on his porch when you exit the barn, trying his best to look nonchalant but his tells are all on display. Hand on his hip, fingers clenching too tight. Jaw ticking back and forth. The smile he gives you fighting to reach his eyes. You mount the steps and slide an arm around his waist, reveling in the relief of his embrace. For a long minute he just holds you, your head on his chest to listen to his stilted breaths. Finally he pulls back, eyes shining.
“I’m…so glad you came,” he manages to get out, rubbing his hands firmly up and down your arms. It clenches your heart, watching him struggle. You open your mouth but he motions for a moment more.
“I know we didn’t start off quite the way either of us hoped, but now, with everything out in the open and all that you’ve seen, I hope you’ll consider my proposition.” A smile tugs at your lips but Jack’s railroading mouth keeps you grounded. 
“I know there’s a big world out there for you, and you’ve got a place in it. And here’s just a small slice of life that most people never even think about. But it’s mine, and I…I want you to know it’s mine to give. To you. You can have as much of it as you want. Because…” Here Jack takes in a breath, and you take his face in your hands. “Because I can’t go with you. I tried a few times, but I kept having close calls and near misses of being found. Just coming to see you was a risk, one I’d gladly take a thousand times over, but I can’t live like that. It’s here or someplace like it, and I wouldn’t ask for you to give up everything…”
“Jack,” you interrupt, tilting his gaze back to yours. Stroking your thumbs down his five o’clock shadow, you let him know exactly what you’ve already decided.
“I’m not going back.”
His face contorts in confusion, then dismissal.
“Sugar, you can’t…” You press a thumb against his soft lips, mustache tickling the tip.
“I’ve been waiting for something to tell me I made the right choice, and that all the pain was worth it. This is it. You are my choice. This, everything, is my choice. I’m going home to pack, get everything sorted, then I’ll come back.” Your throat closes up, but you manage to eke out the last words you need to say. “Then I’ll come home, if you’ll have me.”
Jack’s hug is bruising, all-encompassing and breathtaking. 
“Sugar, my god, yes, we’ll have you, I want you.” You choke out a laugh into his shoulder, dizzy with the lack of oxygen and the elation of Jack’s embrace. He spins you around, Russell’s faint yips on the edge of your consciousness. When he releases you there’s a moment to take in a breath before Jack’s mouth slots against yours and steals your air again. He cradles your cheeks, pulling away just enough to look at you with wonder before stealing another. The sun feels like it’s at a whole different position in the sky before he relents, tucking you into his chest and letting an enormous sigh empty out. 
“I’m sorry it won’t be an easy life with me,” he says, fingertips light on your skin.
“Did I ask for easy?” you tease, inhaling the soap, sweat and sun-baked scent of Jack. “Whatever might come, it’s worth it.”
“I’ll spend my life making sure of that, Sugar.”
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minotaurmutual · 9 months
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»we’ll sing the body electric until machine and soul are one.« — the android and the engineer are in love 🪐
like real people do - hozier / human - dodie / mystery of love - sufjan stevens / lifening - snow patrol / jupiter - sleeping at last / ladies and gentlemen we are floating in space - spititualized / at my most beautiful - r.e.m. / そのいのち - kaho nakamura / gretel - alex g / yellow - coldplay / love like you - rebecca sugar / new soul - yael naim / we are golden - mika / you’re my best friend - queen / hey man (now you're really living) - eels / alive with the glory of love - say anything / close to me - the cure / let's talk about spaceships - say hi / just impolite - plushgun / creature - half•alive / bulletproof heart -my chemical romance / feeling this - blink 182 / electric love -  børns / dissolve me - alt-J / this bright flash - m83 / sweet disposition - the temper trap / heaven or las vegas - cocteau twins / space age love song - a flock of seagulls / the system only dreams in total darkness - the national / strange currencies - r.e.m. / livin’ thing - electric light orchestra / starlight - muse / paradise - wild nothing / golden brown - the stranglers / blue monday - flunk / awake - tycho / encyclopedia (galactica) - weaver at the loom / more like you - orla gartland / livewire - oh wonder / pink in the night - mitski / all I need - radiohead / 21 M◊◊N WATER - bon iver / jóga - björk / soulvaki space station - slowdive / no one said it would be easy - cloud cult / the big ship - brian eno / intro - m83 / constellations - enter shikari / soundings in fathoms - the lonely forest / a different kind of human - aurora / ____45_____ - bon iver / open you eyes - snow patrol / dear future historians... - enter shikari
listen here.
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saber-of-dreams · 8 months
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Psycho-Pass: Providence - A Review
Well, I just go back from seeing Providence in theaters.
Wow. What an excellent movie. So worth the price of admission and the hour drive each way.
I'll do a more in-depth analysis of the story once it releases for digital and I can re-watch it at my leisure, but I wanted to get my first thoughts down before I get to sleep.
So: Non-spoiler version first.
If you're caught up through all 3 Sinners of the System movies, this movie will be a great segue into the next part of the story. If you've already seen Season 3 and First Inspector, as others have mentioned, this will fill in a LOT of holes.
I think each of our core characters get their moments in the movie, though the lion's share certainly goes to Kogami and Akane. They have a few great conversations in this movie, and I think by the end their relationship is on the most equal footing it has ever been.
Gino also has some wonderful moments. Not a lot of them, but enough that we start to understand who he is and what he is trying to achieve. He and Ko get a few moments to work out their...differences, and by the end, although he fails in his self-appointed goal (he and Ko both), I think it places him in a way that he will grow even further in the future.
Mika took a while to grow on me, but boy has she. I really liked her in this movie. There is one interaction she had with Gino that really made me chuckle, and overall, I really liked how willing she was to step up and move beyond the box she's always put herself in.
Frederica seems very intriguing. I hope we see more of her in future projects.
It was great to get an introduction to Kei and Arata, and to understand where they tie into this story.
Overall the plot was excellent, as always. There were several twists I didn't see coming.
I also have to applaud this series again for its excellent antagonistic characters. Because, in many ways, our antagonist was correct. Providence, indeed.
This series is in a lot of ways reminiscent to me of works like Brave New World by Aldous Huxley or to some degrees Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep by Phillip K. Dick, which I believe have both been referenced in this series. But it isn't so much the technological parallels that strike me , as the ability of the authors to understand where society seems to be going, and then writing the story to highlight the realities such changes would bring about.
We are facing this future now. With the rise of (primitive) AI technology in recent months, we're going to have to start considering the BIG questions. And this work is a great what-if scenario of where we could end up and the long-term ramifications of such choices.
Now to the spoiler version. You know the drill.
I really liked that Ko's attention is immediately centered on Akane when everyone is walking in. And his utter willingness to throw himself in front of an explosion to save Akane (again), just really made me love these two so much. The first phone call is great, because Kogami is lying to Akane (and also possibly to himself), and she doesn't put up with his bullshit. The second one shows his utter faith and trust in her. And that letter? God I loved that letter. The parallels. I think of all of them, though, my favorite scene of theirs was in the hospital room. I do very much want this couple to end up together, but I think it is oversimplifying their relationship to want them to romantically involved. There are so many layers to who they are as individuals and to how they interact together and apart that calling them romantic interests doesn't even begin to cover the first page. That all being said, I am really excited to see where this story goes and to how these characters develop.
Saiga's death was a true gut punch for me. He is one of my favorite mentor characters, and that death scene was just...powerful.
The reveal of Akira and the truth of his and Milica's stories was also very heart-breaking. It grounds the characters left behind in reality and propels the story forward, and each of them only get a few minutes and a few dozen lines to convey everything. Great storytelling there.
The final scenes of them watching Akane shoot Kasei, and of her being incarcerated while Ko is let free at the same time...the way Akane falls to the floor sobbing while Ko declares that he will set her free? Those moments are going to live in my head rent free for a long time.
I'm tempted to go and get a premium crunchyroll membership just so that I can watch Season 3 in English dub. Doesn't look like First Inspector is done yet, but hopefully here soon.
Okay, last set of thoughts and then I'm done for the moment.
Every character, from SIbyl to Ko to Gino to Mika, to even Saiga, seemed to put Akane on a pedestal. They commend her for her clear hue, for her sense of justice and morailty, her determination, and on and on. And I think it's interesting, because even after she shoots Kasei at the end, it's clear that those feelings do not change. Akane is not perfect, but she is willing to put everything before her sense of justice, and it makes her very compellig and powerful.
I'll probably do a deeper dive on Akane and Psycho-Pass in general at a later date, but for the moment it's almost midnight and I am tired. But thank you for reading my thought-spew. I'll get to a more polished version eventually.
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q-talations · 11 months
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How to Eat Life LN Chapter 1-2 Translation (1/2)
1-2 Imaginary Borderline (Part 1 of 2.)
Tobi was laying on his back on the bed in his room, staring at the pages of a pocket-size edition book. The title was “Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?”*, a translation of a science fiction novel from America or some other place.
* ”Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep” is a science–fiction novel by Phillip K. Dick published in 1968.
In the facility, there were three steel racks filled with books donated by past inhabitants who had already moved out. The people living there now could read them to their heart’s content. All of the books that middle schoolers would be interested in were being read by someone else, so Tobi was using this barely-touched novel to kill some time.
He sort of just wanted to read something.  If there were words he didn’t know, he could just look them up in a dictionary. Thanks to this practice, he was able to memorize kanji well, but for some reason the contents of the books he’s read simply don’t want to stay in his head. Shortly after he’s done with them, he forgets almost everything.
Tobi glanced at his watch. 9:56 PM. The middle schoolers in the facility had to switch their lights off at 10 PM, so he had four minutes left.
For a good reason, like wanting to study, this time could be extended. Most of the others use this daily, but Tobi doesn’t.
“Shouldn’t you be going nighty-night, Tobi?” Baku laughed from the floor.
“What’s with the ‘nighty-night’? I’m not a little kid, you know.”  Tobi put the book on the edge of his bed. This room was originally intended for two people, so there are two beds, but Tobi lives here alone.
He never asked for his own room, and he used to share. His roommate at the time couldn’t stand him, though, so he filed a complaint against him to one of the workers that living with Otogiri Tobi was unbearable.
“How I see it, a middle schooler in his second year is right in the middle of being a kid.”
Tobi took his leg off the bed and pressed his foot lightly on Baku.
“Hey! That hurt, you BRAT!”
“You’re younger than me, aren’t you? That makes you even more of a child.”
“I’m an exception! You could say I’m a special case. Quite particular. Or rather extraordinary. Hey, stop it, Tobi! Don’t step on me or I’ll get all creased! I’m telling you!”
Tobi had enough of decorating Baku with his footprints after a short while, so he dropped it. He turned off the lights and went to bed.
The high schoolers’ lights-out time was at 11 PM, and some people would stay up late into the night saying they were doing their homework or studying. The nights at the facility were anything but calm.
Tobi wrapped himself in his blanket and rolled over to the side.
“You’re thinking about that woman, Tobi?”
“Not at all.” Tobi wanted to click his tongue. “If you didn’t mention her now, it wouldn’t have even crossed my mind.”
“Oh, really? I don’t believe you.”
“Really.” The words came out on their own. They were not prompted by that girl being on his mind. “……I’m serious.” Baku cracked up at Tobi trying to correct himself.
“She’s a real strange woman, huh.”
“Don’t say ‘woman.’”
“But she is.”
“Even so…”
“I know you were thinking about her. A big thing happened, after all. Can’t blame ya for getting curious.”
“I don’t really care.”
“Quit lying to yourself. Besides, even if you’re not interested, she on the other hand –“
“I’m going to sleep. Won’t you be quiet now?”
“Fine, I get it. Hope you don’t have a sleepless night.”
Tobi closed his eyes and pretended to snore, and Baku giggled again. That was none of his business. Tobi wasn’t the type to have problems falling asleep. He usually blacked out almost immediately. He was not thinking about that girl. He didn’t want to be, but she still ended up in his head.
“Speaking earnestly, there is something I wish to ask of you using this opportunity, Otogiri-kun.” After she had started talking to him that day, Shiratama Ryuuko raised her chin slightly, and spoke in an unusually formal manner, “Would you like to spend some time with me on friendly terms?”
“……Huh?”
The first thing Tobi did was try to understand what exactly he was being asked. Was it even a question in the first place? It didn’t feel like one. In any case, Shiratama was expecting an answer. That much was clear. But what was the right thing to say?
Unable to figure it out, Tobi just repeatedly voiced mindless “ehh—‘s”, “aaa—‘s” and “umm—‘s”.
“Oh,” Shiratama brought her right hand up to her mouth. “It is a sudden request, so I apologize if I have troubled you. You do not have to answer me immediately.” 
“Ah… is that… so.”
“Or soon, of course.”
“Well — I’m not sure…”
“Would you want more time to consider?”
“……Maybe?”
“Understood.” Shiratama closed her eyes and slowly let out a breath. “I am glad I said it. I was really nervous.”
Tobi’s heart was racing as well. Somehow, it didn’t feel like he was being teased.
“See you tomorrow then, Otogiri-kun.” As if feeling relieved after getting what she had to say off her chest, Shiratama bowed goodbye and left as quickly as a bird flying off a branch.
What’s with this girl? As soon as that thought came to Tobi, Baku murmured:
“What the hell was that about…?”
In the end, Tobi slept poorly that night.
Of course, it was all Shiratama Ryuuko’s fault.
She had approached him all of a sudden and started saying odd things before he even had time to register what was going on.
“Would you like to spend some time with me on friendly terms?”
Being surprised like that left Tobi perplexed. Otherwise, he would’ve given a proper answer right there and then. He thought so, at least. For example, if you were suddenly asked to dance by a complete stranger, the answer you would give them would most definitely be “no.” You would refuse to.
He should’ve refused. 
He should’ve said he didn’t want to.
Tobi hadn’t rejected her on the spot because he was confused.
Not only that, but there was also Shiratama’s unorthodox speaking pattern.
“On friendly terms.”  There’s nothing wrong with that part, it’s about the other one.
“Would you like to spend some time with me?”
Wasn’t there something weird about it? Or was Tobi the weird one for assuming so? He might just have been overthinking it. If he were to only look at the first part: “Would you like to spend some time with me?”, that time spent together would have taken on a special meaning. But he couldn’t simply ignore the second part. Shiratama clearly said, “on friendly terms.” Because of those words, he ought to interpret them as such.
Shiratama had just asked to be his friend, to keep it short.
But her selection of words was something else, being so formal with a classmate and all. There was no reason to dwell on it, though. Shiratama just wanted to be friends with Tobi. And that was the real problem.
Friendship with Otogiri Tobi?
What on Earth?
What’s more, there was a way bigger problem at hand. You could even call it crucial.
Shiratama Ryuuko could hear Baku’s voice.
The chapter continues in Part 2. Click me for part 2 redirect. Split due to Tumblr's 4096 Character limit posting.
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Note
Have you read Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? The novel by Philip K. Dick that Blade Runner is based off of? There's so much thematic content there that's not covered by the movie, from the moral fallouts of complete ecological destruction to how faith is used in society (both good and bad) to biting critics of consumerism, it's really great. Plus, in my opinion, it's got one of the best and most heartfelt defenses of low empathy individuals I've ever read, and makes a compelling argument for why it is compassion and community that matters, not empathy. All the themes tie in very well to one another in a somewhat esoteric but very evocative narrative, and it's not very long. I like Blade Runner, but I love DADoES, and I've genuinely thought so much about it that it sometimes haunts my sleep. Highly recommend it as a cyberpunk/dystopian novel, especially if you wanted a bit more out of Blade Runner.
I'm actually a bit embarrassed to admit that I haven't read DADoES yet, despite it being generally regarded as like, one of the foundational texts of the cyberpunk genre gfdsgsd (granted I also didn't read Neuromancer until a couple years ago, I'm a fake fan 😔) That's all extremely intriguing though! I suppose it makes sense that the novel would have a lot of deeper commentary that didn't or couldn't really translate onto the screen... that definitely makes me want to rewatch the movie and then read it while that's still fresh in my mind just to be able to make some serious comparisons 👀 Thank you for the recommendation!
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calamitys-child · 1 year
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The android was a little taller than her, ash-white synthetic skin, with legs like a light year slotted into heeled black boots. It wore the same tapered black trousers and half-buttoned shirt as the many-toothed receptionist, though significantly better. The face was carefully androgynous beneath a shock of electric blue hair.
“How do I turn you off?” she asked. “Enough that you stop trying to sleep with me?”
A short piece of queer scifi that fell into my brain one day at work and wrote itself on the back of scrap receipt paper. Contains discussion of sex work, issues of negotiating consent, and briefly non-explicit sexual scenes.
As always, my work is pay what you can down to completely free - I only ask that if you like it you give it a wee reblog. If you do fancy tipping an independent trans artist, my kofi is here. Love and monsters xx
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midnightcowboy1969 · 7 months
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My bookshelf
Hey, @beanifred <3 So, here's a big peak at my bookshelf (way too many books as I said)
Beginning with my treasures:
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The "Real" Bob Steele and a man called "Brad" by Bob Nareau
The Photostory of "Battling Bob" Bob Steele by Mario DeMarco
2. The Columbo Collection
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Just One More thing by Peter Falk
The Grassy Knoll by William Harrington (my enemy)
Murder by the Book by Steven Bochco
And now there's chaos:
3.
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Psycho 1 & 2 and Night-World by Robert Bolch (Norwegian edition)
Stand on Zanzibar by John Brunner
Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep by Philip K. Dick
The Body Snatcher by Jack Finney
The Priory of the Orange Tree by Samantha Shannon
Trash by Dorothy Allison (lesbian but at what cost)
We Have Always Lived in the Castle by Shirley Jackson
The Buddah of Suburbia by Hanif Kureishi
Anansi Boys by Neil Gaiman (I also have American Gods but I cannot find it)
Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde by Robert Louis Stevenson
Rosemary's Baby by Ira Levin
The Stepford Wives by Ira Levin
The Complete Short Stories: Hercule Poirot by Agatha Christie
Then There Were None by Agatha Christie
What Ever Happened to Baby Jane by Henry Farrell
The Hunter by Richard Stark
Slaughterhouse-Five by Kurt Vonnegut
Animal Farm by George Orwell
The System by John Burke (novelization)
Alien Nation by Alan Dean Foster (novelization)
Edge of the City by Fredrick Pohl (novelization)
Invisible Man by Ralph Ellison
Babysitter by Joyce Carol Oates
A Confederacy of Dunces by John Kennedy Toole
Catch-22 by Joseph Heller
The Collector by John Fowels
Rebecca by Daphne Du Maurier (Norwegian edition)
2001: A Space Odyssey by Arthur C. Clarke (novelization)
Ninteen Eighty-Four by George Orwell
East of Eden by John Steinbeck
Jaws by Peter Benchley
Wanderer by Sterling Hayden (the actor)
The Wicker Man by Robin Hardy & Anthony Shaffer (Novelization (?))
Dark Matter by Blake Crouch
4.
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Terror by Dan Simmons
Papillon 1 & 2 by Henri Charrière (Norwegian editions)
The Heart is a Lonely Hunter by Carson McCullers (book of all time)
The Member of the Wedding by Carson McCullers
The Haunting of Hill House by Shirley Jackson
One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest by Ken Kesey
Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck
Midnight Cowboy by John L. Herlihy
Shooting Midnight Cowboy by Glenn Frankel
Cape Fear by John D. McDonald (watch the movies)
The Bretheren by John Grisham (Norwegian edition)
Dracula by Bram Stoker
The Marlow Murder Club by Robert Thorgood
Glitz by Elmore Leonard (Norwegian edition)
The Big Sleep and Other Novels by Raymond Chandler (the other novels are Farwell My Lovely and The Long Goodbye)
Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoevsky
The Client by John Grisham (Norwegian edition)
Thursday Murder Club by Richard Osman
The Man Who Died Twice by Richard Osman
The Exorcist by William Peter Blatty
Legion (Exorcist 2) by William Peter Blatty
La Peste by Albert Camu (Norwegian edition)
Welcome to Night Vale by Joseph Fink & Jeffery Cranor (not read)
The Wonder Boy of Whistle Stop by Fannie Flagg
The Day of the Dolphin by Robert Merle
Local Hero by David Benedictus (novelization)
The Glass Cage by Colin Wilson
American Psycho by Brett E. Ellis
Fools Die by Mario Puzo (Norwegian edition)
The Godfather by Mario Puzo
The Sicilian by Mario Puzo (Norwegian edition)
5.
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Fire & Blood by George R.R. Martin (Norwegian edition) + Four different Game of Thrones books in Norwegian
The Fellowship of the Ring by J.R.R. Tolkien
The Hobbit by J.R.R. Tolkien
Dragon Keeper by Robin Hobb
The Princess Bride by William Goldman
Wuthering Heights by Emily Brontë
Enders Game by Orson Scott Card
The Betsy by Harold Robbins (Norwegian edition)
Aliens by Alan Dean Foster (novelization)
Master and Commander by Patrick O'Brian
The Auctioneer by Joan Samson
Timeline by Michael Crichton
Frankenstein by Mary Shelley
Charlotte's Web by E.B. White
Red Dragon by Thomas Harris
The Silence of the Lambs by Thomas Harris
Dune, The Children of Dune and God Emperor of Dune by Frank Herbert
Hitchiker's Guide to the Galxy by Douglas Adams
Norse Mythology by Neil Gaiman
House of Leaves by Mark Z. Danielewski
6.
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Trumpet by Jackie Kay
Swordspoint by Ellen Kushner
Blue Lily, Lily Blue by Maggie Stiefvater
The Raven Boys by Maggie Stiefvater
Trigger Warning by Neil Gaiman (short story collection that made me dislike short stories)
Mr. Monk in Trouble by Lee Goldberg (my enemy)
Mr. Monk and the Dirty Cop by Lee Goldberg (I hate him)
A Room of One's Own by Virginia Wolf
Oranges are not the Only Fruit by Jeanette Winterson
The Perks of being a Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky
Maurice by E. M. Forster
The Case of the Gilded Lily by Erle Stanley Gardner (Norwegian edition)
The Case of the Glamorous Ghost by Erle Stanley Gardner (Norwegian edition)
Something Happened by Joseph Heller
Marathon Man by William Goldman
Skulduggery Pleasant by Derek Landy
Skulduggery Pleasant: Playing with Fire by Derek Landy
The Hunting Party by Lucy Foley (Norwegian edition)
The Guest List by Lucy Foley
The Paris Apartment by Lucy Foley
A Raisin in the Sun by Lorraine Hansberry
The Line of Beauty by Alan Hollinghurt
The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo by Taylor Jenkins Reid (Norwegian edition)
The Taking of Pelham One Two Three by John Godey (bad)
Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Cafe by Fannie Flagg
The All-Girl Filling Station's Last Reunion by Fannie Flagg
Killing Time by Della Van Hise (Star Trek Spinoff Spirk book)
Star Trek: Department of Temportal Investigations: Forgotten History by Christopher L. Bennet
Star Trek Deep Space Nine: The Missing by Una McCormack
Star Trek Enterprise: Rise of the Federation: Uncertain Logic by Christopher L. Bennett
7. Stephen King Collection
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Outsider
If it Bleeds
On Writing
Blaze
Carrie
The Stand
Hearts in Atlantis (Norwegian edition)
The Tommyknockers
Cujo
Thinner (Norwegian edition)
The Shining
Night Shift
The Girl Who Loved Tom Gordon (Norwegian edition)
Dreamcatcher
Doctor Sleep
Rose Madder
Pet Sematary
Christine
Salem's Lot
Dolores Claiborne (Norwegian edition)
The Bachman Books
The Institute
Insomnia
Misery
Finders Keepers
End of Watch
Firestarter
The Body
Needful Things (Norwegian edition)
Bag of Bones
8. Not pictured
A collection of Sherlock Holmes books
Many Hardy Boys books
Chilly Scenes of Winter by Ann Beattie
Some comic books
I believe this is approximately everything lol.
My dream is to have a small cozy rooms dedicated to the books I own. It won't happen any time soon.
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savventeen · 7 months
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SEVENTEEN SCI-FI COLLAB - 13 FICS FROM 13 AUTHORS COMING TO YOU ON SEPTEMBER 15TH
excerpt from my upcoming fic "Amalgamation" as a part of this awesome collab created and hosted by @idyllic-ghost!!!
[text from the graphic under the cut]
Do androids dream of electric sheep? Pray the Lord their souls to keep? Do they go gently into that good night? Hope to greet new morning light? To sleep, they say, perchance to dream — This is the soul of the human race To go until we've worn our seams To trip into folly, to fall from grace. So if circuits dream, if they dare to sleep, Will they then dream of electric sheep? -author unknown, found scribbled in the margins of a first-edition copy of “To Program A Soul: An Introduction to Coding Automaton Personalities” published twelve years after The Great Journey.
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perotovar · 8 months
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i figure it might be easier to put both of these in one post lol
Rules: Put your music on shuffle and list the first 10 songs that come up, then tag 10 people.
tagged by @iero thank you so much <3
bulletproof cupid by placebo
sniper by deadmau5
let them in by pvris
you were right by crazyeightyeight
shadow lady by portwave
desire by meg myers
i've seen it all by while she sleeps
far away by jose gonzalez
androids dream of electric sheep by ghostemane
to a friend by alexisonfire
Rules: Shuffle your 'On Repeat' playlist and post the first ten tracks, then tag ten people.
also tagged by @iero thank you!
love is a... by pvris
bloodline (health remix) by northlane & health
take me back to eden by sleep token
blood by bad omens
fantasmas by twin tribes
every you every me by placebo
ghost of me by make them suffer
pale shelter by tears for fears
schism by tool
the summit by spiritbox
no pressure tags: @kedsandtubesocks @djo @mrsquill @lunapascal @heroeddiemunson @nicolethered @daggertongue @toxicanonymity @swiftispunk @userparamore
do one or both or neither, it's up to you! lol
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te-pu-si-ti · 7 months
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A Reading List for Punchdrunk's The Burnt City
In order of increasing tenuousness
Agamemnon, Aeschylus. (c. 458 BC)
Hecuba, Euripides. (c. 424 BC)
Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?, Philip K. Dick. (1968)
Blade Runner (1982)
Metropolis (1927)
Duke Bluebeard's Castle, Béla Bartók. (1911)
Dark City (1998)
Jacob's Ladder (1990)
Cabaret, Kander & Ebb. (1966-Present)
The Divine Comedy, Dante Alighieri. (1321)
Republic, Plato. (c. 375 BC)
Metamorphoses, Ovid. (8)
Sleep No More, Punchdrunk. (2009-Present)
The Drowned Man, Punchdrunk. (2013-14)
Kabeiroi, Punchdrunk. (2017)
If Not, Winter: Fragments of Sappho, Sappho tran. Anne Carson. (c. 600 BC / 2002)
"Howl", Allen Ginsberg. (1956)
Hadestown, Anaïs Mitchell. (2006-Present)
The ArchAndroid, Janelle Monáe. (2010)
Hades, Supergiant Games. (2020)
Groundhog Day, Tim Minchin. (2016-Present)
We Are As Gods, James Cousins Company. (2021-2023)
The Wicked + The Divine, Kieron Gillen & Jamie McKelvie. (2014-2019)
Sex in Mechanicalville, S the Supplicant. (2018)
Dance Fever, Florence + the Machine. (2023)
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