#than a scene or character study as most of my pieces are.

[ehlnofay]

19 for the worldbuilding prompts + Torr?

the profound quiet of a small settlement at night

North Eastmarch is freezing cold all over, but it wears different outside the city than within.

Torr would never call Windhelm warm – not even in summer months, no matter how used to it they are – but what little heat it has it clings to with great determination. The walls huddle together, trapping the air so that it’s either still and muggy or a howling wind, like each close-knit house is breathing in tandem. The heat of the people run up and down its streets, blood through its knotted stone veins. The city is alive, an ecosystem unto itself; its snow, dark with footprints, runs sludgy down the roads; a fireplace is always burning somewhere.

Outside of the walls, surrounded by nothing but empty air and snow-laden trees, a slow-moving stream running with barely a burble – it feels dead, in contrast. Silent. Branches reach needle-sharp across the blue-black sky, the ground is gleaming white and undisturbed by anyone else’s footprints, and the nearest fire is the barely visible gleam of the Kynesgrove mining camp, up the hill and through the sporadic spindles of the trees. The breeze ghosts past Torr’s neck and whips the mud-stained snow into a flurry.

In the city, Torr’s comfortable sleeping almost anywhere – as comfortable as they ever get, anyway. Some of the buildings have great gaps under the porch where the snow can’t reach and no-one ever finds them; there’s places in the nooks of the walls, and sheds built into the side of the house that people don’t lock, and Torr knows a few people besides who don’t mind him kipping on their floor every now and again, as long as he doesn’t ask too often. The outside isn’t like that. There’s not many places to go. He’s lurking around Kynesgrove tonight – on his way back from a quick venture out to get some things done that pay better than running errands around the markets – and there aren’t many options. The inn, which he can’t afford – the mine, which would be warm but is very guarded – the miner’s encampment or someone’s house, both of which would most likely result in being chased off. Besides, there’s a performative element to meeting people, especially adults, in strange places, and Torr’s not in the mood to play to strangers. So much of his being is caught up in Windhelm’s grimy alleys, tangled in the hair and fingers of its discarded children; he doesn’t know how to be himself away from it all.

But they don’t have to, seeing as there’s the rickety old sawmill on the edge of a stream feeding into the harbour. It’s not bad, as shelter goes; no walls, so the wind rubs its fingers wraithlike down Torr’s cheeks and tangles them in his hair, but at least there’s a roof. It looks newly thatched, too, the floorboards free of rot, the water-wheel still chugging creakily along. There’s no wood to cut here, all the nearby surrounding trees too scraggy to be worth the bother. The only big ones are part of the grove up on the hill. There’s no point in keeping the mill running, but Torr is glad it is; he watches the distant firelight flickering through the scrub, and listens to the splashing of the wheel. It’s proof that people and the things they make do still exist – if not necessarily here.

It really feels dead, out in the cold, with the leafless trees and the wind that doesn’t even whisper. It always does. It’s a bit discomfiting, which is maybe why Torr doesn’t go on out-of-city endeavours as often as perhaps he could; but really, there’s not work out here enough to make it worth it. There’s always problems with bandits on the road, but Torr’s not a good enough fighter for bounty work; there’s collecting plants and things to sell Nurelion, but that’s easy enough to do on a day trip. (And, really, it’s more for Torr’s own enjoyment, besides. They never even venture far south enough to get to the sulphur pools, which is where the more interesting things grow.)

This trip, though, is an outlier. Unusually efficient. Just a quick job for Niranye, scouting a merchant’s cart on the road – almost definitely for something shady, but that’s not Torr’s business, and it was too much money too easy to turn down. And then – just earlier today, foraging out in the wilderness as best as Torr (a distinctly urban animal) knows how – they’d come across a giant’s corpse, stiff and white as the snow it lay in. Torr’s no master alchemist but they know the value of a cadaver when it comes to brewing alloys and admixtures, so they set to with their blunt-edged dagger and now they’ve got a sack full of what may as well be gold. (Long as it doesn’t start to rot before they can get Nurelion to preserve it, anyway.)

Torr’s going to be rolling in it when they get back to Windhelm. They could use that money for nearly anything – pay off a few things they borrowed, new warm things now that winter’s coming back strong, bedrolls, waterskins. Endless options – which, strangely, is more exciting than it is burdensome.

It’s all the sort of decision that would ordinarily feel life-or-death urgent but right now feels – not small. Not insignificant, not at all, but distant. A choice to be made at another time, by another person.

(Torr’s whole being belongs to Windhelm’s back streets. They’re someone else, away from it all.)

That’s the other thing about leaving the city, spending time in the discomfiting slow-paced ghost-world outside. It’s quiet. Torr sits surrounded by the wind in the trees, the lazy murmur of the stream, the creak of the water-wheel, and nothing else.

He’s been called a worrywart (mostly by Griss in a strop) but to tell the truth he doesn’t think that’s true. Torr doesn’t fuss for the sake of fussing, he just doesn’t like to leave things undone; can’t stop until he finds a solution. Out here, alone, in the empty cold, there are no solutions to find – same old problems back home, he knows, but no steps he can take at this time to right them. That’s never true while he’s in the city, so he can never stop thinking about it, every choice and action accompanied by a buzzing background chorus of everything else he really should be doing – that really should have been done by now – that should never have been left undone this long, what was he thinking? Everything is urgent when it’s doable. But here and now, there’s nothing to do.

So Torr sits hunched on the board floor of the ramshackle watermill, huddled among their heaps of bags and blankets, and thinks of nothing at all.

Not strictly true. They think of supper – haven’t eaten since an apple this morning, except for some snowberries they found around noon, and it’s been a long day. They nabbed some turnips from the garden of the Kynesgrove inn on their way to the mill. They’re fresh, if nothing else – also covered in dirt, so Torr rises reluctantly from their pile of stuff to crouch on the banks of the stream and dip the vegetables in to clean them off. It aches like hell, the frozen water turning their joints to ice – they almost drop the turnip they’re washing, so they scrub it as best they can with the frigid pad of their thumb and whip their hands out of the water soon as they’re able. They stick their fingers in their mouth to warm them back up.

Even after all that time spent warming up their hands, arraying all their belongings back around themself to conserve body heat, the turnips are still cold enough to hurt Torr’s teeth when he bites in. He eats them anyway, relishing a little in the unearthly silence and the aching of his lips and palms. They taste delicious.

With nothing else to do after, the gnawing of his stomach sated, he wraps himself in his shawl and stares up the hill at the camp’s fire until it goes out. The stars wink into brighter being. The wind whistles through the whip-thin branches of the trees. The water-wheel creaks.

Torr sleeps, but he feels like he hears it all – a silent observer, an echo, a beginning – until morning.

#I considered doing something with post-questline torr for this #but it would have been so fucking sad #and I didn't want to write something that was so fucking sad! #I'll post about torr after the horrors eventually but Not Today. #this was also initially supposed to be an exercise in writing something short that focused more on a distinctive atmosphere #than a scene or character study as most of my pieces are. #oops. #snowballed into an absolute monster of a ramble. #maybe sometime I'll use these prompts to write Actually Short pieces with more of a focus on the worldbuilding aspect... #would be good practice. everything I've written lately has been a thousand words minimum. #I could write about my minor characters or npcs with it too... yeah I think I'll do that at some stage #but. anyway. I quite like this piece as a sort of study #I fucking love writing characters who are having a nice time. with just a hint. just a whisper. of the problems #I enjoyed putting in the reference to the alchemical giant's toes especially because that is an allusion no-one but me understands #to a line in one of my very bad very early pieces on torr #it's not well written but I loved that bit because it's such a wonderful microcosm of the way torr is even before the murder cult thing #Yes he's the busiest most hardworking caretaking boy in the world taking trips into the wilderness (comparatively) to feed his family #and Yes his first instinct on seeing a corpse is to cut it up and sell it for parts #(he's done this to human bodies too but only in extremely specific circumstances. the risk of legal repercussions is too great otherwise) #I'll make a post rambling sometime about torr's ethical system because I'm so obsessed with them and their unhinged point of view #Anyway #done rambling #my writing #fay writes #oc tag #torr #the elder srolls #tes #skyrim #tesblr

[2kmps]

android x reader one-shot | 35.3k

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

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

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

thank you @ceruleansol for your excellent proofreading! 🧡

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

Researcher Kim knew you were a liar.

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

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

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

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

Not anymore.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There was no need to.

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

Many did.

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

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

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

Not them. Not you.

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

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

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

“Well, then…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You made no comment on that.

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

“Ah! Excellent timing, Elio.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They were all androids.

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

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

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

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

The great rebirth of society.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That was their inevitable fate.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He fixed you with a beguiling smile.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your eyes met.

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

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

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

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

“How has that been working out?”

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

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

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

He didn't give you the time to gape.

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

“No.” You relented. “No. He doesn't.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

■━■━■━■■━■━■━■■━■━■

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You'd remember to write that down later.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The phone buzzed. Melby just replied.

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

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

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

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

You grinned at the sight.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

■━■━■━■■━■━■━■■━■━■

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You said nothing.

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

Him and that stupid duck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Marcos nodded. “Yes, little one.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“About Marcos being scrap…”

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

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

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

■━■━■━■■━■━■━■■━■━■

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Indeed.”

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

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

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

“Elio.”

“Yes?”

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

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

You weren't nervous.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“As you wish.”

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

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

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

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

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

It came in handy for his face.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes. Alright.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

None of this made it into your next report.

■━■━■━■■━■━■━■■━■━■

Melby didn't like Elio.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Right away, “Come at nine!”

And then, “I'll save you a seat.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A hiss of annoyance. “Oh, of course…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

■━■━■━■■━■━■━■■━■━■

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

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

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

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

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

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

You couldn't really focus on that.

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

“Really hot!”

“So hot!”

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

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

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

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

“Oh, have you fucked him?”

“C'mon, don't hide it. How was it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Elio nodded appreciatively.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hm?” You were elsewhere.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not a breath nor a feeble sob.

Don't touch him. Nothing.

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

Eat shit. Bitter silence.

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

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

They all looked exactly the same.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Keep your hands to yourself!” you screamed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

■━■━■━■■━■━■━■■━■━■

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, Elio. Don't.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Elio was a machine.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What are you trying to say?”

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

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

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

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

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

You did get sick again.

■━■━■━■■━■━■━■■━■━■

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He shouldn't have touched Elio.”

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

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

Emotions aside—Melby wasn't wrong.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You know me so well.”

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

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

“I don't know.” You really didn't.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And, fuck you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mm-mn,” you hummed, “that's not it.”

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

Still, it couldn't have been possible.

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

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

“Answer me first,” you said.

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

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

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

■━■━■━■■━■━■━■■━■━■

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

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

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

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

You guessed she never did.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were as good as dead.

You were dead.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Let's go.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Execution,” you finished.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

■━■━■━■■━■━■━■■━■━■

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you mean?” you ventured.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was lying.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“These memories are mine.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You must—”

“I won't! I won't do it!”

“I'm asking you to save me.”

“Get away!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Safe and known. Unchallenged. Unafraid.

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

He shook his head.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You couldn’t make your hand stop.

You couldn't shout at him to get away.

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

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

He smiled resplendently. “I love you.”

“I know.” you said.

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

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

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

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

There was nothing left of Elio now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Where are you?”

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

I'm right here.

■━■━■━■■━■━■━■■━■━■

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

and, i am BEGGING, please reblog this!!

#android x y/n #android x reader #android x you #monster fiction #monster fic #monster x human #monster fucker #monster story #science fiction #scifi #android x human #android romance #robot x you #robot x human #robot x reader #original story #scifi romance #romance #monster romance #tragedy #darkfic #dark fiction #oc x reader #oc x you #writing #2k writes #dark romance #horror #horror writing #horror romance

[where-does-the-heart-lie]

A humble art study of this scene:

Additional design comments 👇

So like. Rebecca’s design is crazy. She has a little too much trust in… everything she’s wearing. I honestly dont mind her being so skimpy, i think it fits her narrative that shes being treated like basically dirt and she has the shittiest armor they could give her without her being straight up naked. But like,,, she can wear at least a little bit of fabric, right? And the armor she has doesnt really protect her most vital organ (heart), which is pretty much the point of armor, but i also understand the sentiment of not wanting any of her totties sliced clean off in battle. She has different priorities than i do and that is very evident, but i still wanted her to have just a liiitttle more coverage.

I thought a top like this would be pretty cute on her. Its got the gold, its covering her heart(kinda), it’ll show off the totties, and as an added bonus it’s only $9.99 on SHIEN’s website so it’s of little cost to the colosseum, and it also follows their theme of exploiting workers so double win for them. I like to think that a top like this was just a piece of scrap chain mail of another set of armor, like an arm pad or something, that she repurposed as her top.

Moving over to the pose:

Im so proud of this pose and i really wouldnt have done it without this website i used 👇

I love making striking poses like this in my art so I’m ecstatic that it came out so well! I didn’t expect to have so much fun making the poses either but it was a swell time!

That’s all, thanks for reading!

#my art #one piece #sabo #one piece fan art #sabo the revolutionary #one piece Rebecca #one piece bartolomeo #dressrosa spoilers #one piece spoilers #Youtube

[harringtonstilinski]

...Ready For It? (Eddie's Version) - Eddie Munson (Smut)

Author: @harringtonstilinski​ Characters: Eddie Munson x Henderson!Reader Word Count: 8,372 Warnings: fluff, shy/innocent/virgin!henderson!reader, multiple uses of the word chuckle Requested: no | yes; i hope it meets your expectations, @fandom-princess-forevermore!! Smut: no | yes; protected p in v, oral (f receiving), virginity loss, A/N: Hi, friends! Just like with my first Steve fic (what seems like forever ago), my first Eddie Munson fic is a smut piece!! Even though Eddie's still in high school when this is based, he and reader are roughly the same age; around their early 20s. Vecna isn't in this because fuck that piece of shit, lol. If you like this chapter, please do not hesitate to reblog and give some feedback, whether it be in the reblogs, comments, or my inbox. As always, read at your own risk and enjoy 😊

eddie munson masterlist

Eddie fucking Munson. The boy you’ve had your eye on since you first noticed him in the library during study hall your freshman year. Now that Dustin, your little brother, is in Hellfire Club with him, your crush on him grew.

You were currently with Dustin and the Hellfire Club at their latest meeting, sitting in the corner of the room with a book in hand, minding your own business as you read the words on the pages, but as Eddie’s voice rang out, you looked up at him through your lashes, watching him speak to the group.

“The hooded cultists chant, hail Lord Vecna. Hail Lord Vecna,” he said. “They turn to you, remove their hoods. You recognize most of them from Makbar. But there is one you do not recognize, his skin shriveled, desiccated. And something else. He is not only missing his left arm, but his left eye!” He covered his left eye with right hand, his left arm behind his back.

The group exclaimed their protests as you looked on, confused. You never sat in on the campaigns, but Dustin had begged you to and said that you could bring your books to read, so you caved. 

You and Eddie locked eyes for a moment, a small smirk on his lips as he watched your cheeks flush the smallest amount before you cast your eyes back down to the pages of your book.

“Vecna’s dead!” Jeff exclaimed.

“He was killed by Kas,” Mike added.

“So it was thought, my friends,” Eddie said. “So it was thought.” Grabbing a playing piece, he stood up a little straighter and said, “But Vecna lives.” He placed the playing piece where he needed to on the board.

You looked up again as his voice captured your attention once more as he said, “You are scared. You’re tired. You are injured. Do you flee Vecna and his cultists, or do you stand your ground and fight?” After a few seconds of silence, he added, “Come on.”

Dustin looked back at you with pleading eyes, but you shrugged your shoulders, looking back at your book when your brother turned back around to face the group, silent for a moment as he thought before he spoke up saying, “I say we fight.”

Deciding to speak up, you quietly said, “To the death,” while keeping your eyes on your book.

“To the death,” Dustin and Mike agreed.

“To the death,” Erica added, the entire group looking back at you as they chanted, “To the death!” 

Eddie, however, just looked at you with that smile of his as you shyly smiled and sunk more in the chair you were occupying, going back to your book. His laughter caused you to sneak a glance at him once more, that shy smile coming back to your features.

He sat back down, his smile bigger than ever as the group continued to chant, your brother yelling it out. A chuckle sounded from you as you went back to your book. 

Dice and gaming pieces hitting the board, protests and happy exclaims sounded as you flipped through the pages, immersed in the story you were reading about two lovers. You hadn’t realized that you were biting your bottom lip from the steamy scene you were reading when you looked at the Dungeon Master over the edge of your book as he laughed at something to do with the game.

“Time out! Time out!” Doug exclaimed before he, Gareth, Mike, Dustin, Erica, and Jeff gathered into a huddle to talk out what to do within the game. You couldn’t help but overhear their conversation.

“Guys, I hate to say, but we have got to flee,” Gareth said.

“I conquer,” Doug said.

“Did we just agree with Y/N to the death?” Erica asked.

“That wasn’t literal,” Gareth replied.

Jeff spoke up next, adding, “Vecna just decimated us. We can’t kill him with two players.”

“You too?” Dustin asked. “He has 15 hit points left. Don’t be pussies.”

“Dustin!” you chastised.

“Pussies?” Gareth said.

“Gareth!” you chastised… again.

He looked at you, saying, “Really?” before turning back to the group, saying, “ ‘Cause we’re not delusional.”

“Delusional?” Erica said. “How about not cowards?”

You jumped as Eddie’s voice rang through your ears as he said, “Hey!” He looked at you as he was sitting on the balls of his feet in the chair, an apologetic look on his face before he turned to the group, saying, “If I may interrupt, gentlemen, Lady Applejack.” He moved to sit down with the group turning to look at him as he said, “Whilst I respect the passion, you’d be wise to take Gareth the Great’s concern to heart. There is no shame in running. Don’t try to be heroes. Not today, ‘kay?” 

He smiled and you felt something deep in your core as you looked at him, your bottom lip back between your teeth. You were thanking the Gods above that he couldn’t see the motion through your book.

Dustin held up a finger, saying, “One sec,” before turning back towards the group. “What do you think, Mike?”

“How many hit points do you and Applejack have left?” the Wheeler boy asked.

“Twelve,” Dustin and Erica replied.

“It’s risky as hell. But you’re the ones on the battlefield. So it’s your call.”

“What do you say, Lady Applejack?” Dustin asked.

“You really gotta ask?” Erica replied.

After a couple of seconds, Dustin said, “Screw it,” and the group turned back to Eddie, your brother saying, “Let’s kill the son of a bitch.”

As they stepped closer to the table, Jeff said, “The chances of success are 20-to-1.”

Holding a finger in the air, Dustin said, “Never tell me the odds,” to which you giggled at, your eyes never having left the words in front of you. “Give me the D20.” Dustin held his hand out, which caused you to look back up from the pages as Eddie smiled again and threw the die at your brother.

Dustin rolled the die and released it onto the board. You watched as Eddie stood to watch the die before saying with two headbangs, “That’s. A,” before shaking his head while saying, “Miss!”

“No!” came from everyone but Dustin, who exclaimed, “Shit! Shit!”

Laughing again, you pressed your forehead into the middle of your book, looking back up at the group as Dustin and Erica switched places. The youngest Sinclair rolled the die in her hands with Gareth and Dustin exclaiming a “please” and “come on” before tossing it onto the board, everyone watching with anticipation.

“Crit hit!” Erica shouted, the six of them jumping happily at their win.

Eddie stood up straight, saying, “What? What?” before clapping his hands once and bending over, a happy look on his face as he looked over towards you as he added, “That’s why we play.”

You didn’t know that was looking at you, you were too immersed in your book again to see or hear anything that was going on. What you also didn’t notice was the fact that you were lowering your book as you continued to read, your lip still in between your teeth as the characters in your book were getting it on.

As they started to pack up, you couldn’t help but picture yourself doing these steamy scenes with Eddie. Yes, you’d develop a little crush on him since you’d been bringing Dustin to Hellfire. He’d also dropped Dustin off at home sometimes, talking with your mom in the living room. He’s even been over for dinner a few times!

Those nights he’d stay to hang out after dinner, you’d be curled up on the couch next to him with a book, a decent amount of space in between the two of you to not make things awkward.

Eddie kept stealing glances at you that night, a crush of his own developing that night. When he kept smiling at himself while looking at you, he couldn’t help but think of having you leaning against him, a book in your hand as you read to him.

He also couldn’t help but think of all of the ways he could pleasure you, like the characters in your books. Once or twice, he’d sneak a glance at your pages, seeing what you were so immersed in. Eddie always knew that when you read those scenes, your lip would go in between your teeth. He always wondered what scenario you pictured or who you pictured while you read.

Eddie was brought from his thoughts when Dustin called your name, saying with a smile that it was time for you to go home. You put your bookmark in your book to keep your place before standing from the chair, your shirt having risen a little bit.

Eddie couldn’t help but look at the small bit of your exposed skin, a tingling sensation happening below his belt. Shaking his head from his thoughts, he took a deep breath and released it, grabbing his D&D book to shut it just as you were looking over at him.

You watched him for a second before saying to Dustin that you’d be at the car in a moment before he nodded and walked off with his friends, happy about the events that occurred during the game.

Walking to Eddie, you placed your hand on the table as his back was turned, picking up one of the pieces of the game. “What is this?” you asked, quietly. 

Even though he knew you were there, he still jumped as he turned to look at you. Placing a hand on his heart and the other on the table, he took in a deep breath as you lightly chuckled.

“Sorry,” you said.

Shaking his head, he said, “No, it’s fine.” He sighed, loudly, which made you chuckle again before he stood up straighter, looking at the piece in your hand. “That, uhm…” he started, bringing his hand to rub at his chin. A nervous tick you noticed he had. “That’s Vecna.”

You looked at the playing piece, an eyebrow cocked. “The… thing they were fighting tonight?”

He chuckled and crossed his arms. “Yeah. The thing they were fighting.” Looking at you, Eddie couldn’t help but smile the tiniest bit at you as you handed him the piece. 

“Uhm,” you started, feeling a small spark run through your hand as Eddie’s fingers grazed yours. “I-I think Dustin was going to see if you all could come and hang out at the house for a little while since it’s Spring Break now.”

“Y/N/N! Eddie!” Dustin called.

“Speak of the little devil,” you and Eddie said in unison. You looked at each other and started laughing. 

Ignoring the two of you, Dustin rolled his eyes and asked, “Hey, Eddie, did you want to come to the house and hang out for a little while? You could work on a new campaign!” You watched as his eyes lit up with that suggestion.

Sighing, Eddie scratched at his cheek, feigning thought as Dustin practically begged him to say yes, a chuckle coming from the other male with a nod. Your little brother almost jumped in excitement at his friend’s answer. 

After he had packed everything up, Eddie walked with you down the hallway, attempting to make small talk. “You’re not gonna, like, hide away in your room all night, are you?”

“Uhm,” you stuttered. “I-I’m not sure. You guys coming over is more for Dustin than anything.”

Eddie stopped walking as soon as the two of you made it outside, gently grabbing your elbow to make you stop and face him. He tucked a piece of loose hair behind your ear before cupping your cheek. Shaking his head, he said, “You don’t have to be shy around us. Especially me.”

You felt your breath hitch a little as he took a step closer to you, your head tilting back to look at him. As you looked into his eyes, you couldn’t help but want to kiss him, and you almost did until Dustin’s voice called for you, your head snapping his direction.

With a sigh, you pulled away from Eddie, looking at him shyly before starting the walk to your car. “I guess I’ll see you at my house?”

Nodding, Eddie replied with a yeah before scratching at the back of his neck. He couldn’t help but feel a little jealous when you saw Steve walking to his own car before you ran up to him, giving him a hug.

“How’s my favorite bookworm?” Steve asked, setting you back on the ground.

“I’m good, a little tired. How was the game?” you asked.

“It was awesome. We won!”

“What?!” you squealed, excitedly. With your hands on his shoulders, you jumped a little, saying, “That’s amazing!”

“Yeah, Lucas made the winning shot,” Steve smiled, holding your waist. 

You looked around for the oldest Sinclair with a big smile on your face. “I need to go congratulate him!” Looking back at Steve, you hugged him again, bidding him a good night before you found Lucas, running to him and giving him a hug.

Lucas welcomed it, his eyes locking with Eddie’s, a knowing look on both of their faces. When the two of you pulled back, you wrapped your arm around his shoulders, walking to your car with him. You always took him from Hellfire, so taking him home from the game shouldn’t feel any different, but he kindly declined, saying that he was going to the after party at Benny’s.

You told him to be safe before making your way to your car, getting into the front seat of the car but not before looking at Eddie with a small smile. Once you were on the road, you could feel three pairs of eyes on you. Jeff and Gareth in the backseat while your brother occupied the front. 

“You and Eddie almost kissed,” Dustin said, a smile on his face.

“What?” you chuckled. “No we didn’t.”

“Well, if that’s not almost kissing,” Gareth said.

“Then the stolen looks all night were just stolen looks then,” Jeff added.

You looked at them in the rearview mirror before looking at your brother, shaking your head. “Whatever, losers.” When you looked in your side mirror, you saw headlights gaining up on you, a small smile coming over your features as they slowed down. You could faintly hear a guitar solo sounding from Eddie’s van. 

A laugh came out from you as he stuck his hand out of his window, making the rock on symbol. The boys laughed along with you as you put your eyes back on the road. As the boys were talking about the night and what they plan on doing while hanging out in either Dustin’s room or the living room, you couldn’t help but let your mind wander.

Not being able to stop yourself from letting your mind go there, you thought about your book and what the characters were doing. All the sex you had read about, the thoughts that ran through your mind about you and Eddie doing those things. 

You’d never have sex before; yes, you were a virgin. You were also shy; not wanting to change in front of anyone in the locker room when you were in school. When you were home alone, you wouldn’t even run across the hall to your bedroom to get dressed after your shower. And you were innocent, but not as innocent as some people might think. Since your books had a lot of sex in them, you knew about certain positions… but that’s all you really knew about. You’ve heard girls talk about giving a blowjob, but didn’t stick around enough to listen to their explanations.

Pulling into your driveway, you were pulled out of your thoughts as the boys cheered at the fact that your mom bought more chips the other day at the store. You made a mental note to pick more up when you went within the next couple of days.

After you had walked into the house, you did exactly what Eddie asked you about at the school. You went to hide in your room. Once you had your favorite record on, you took off the jacket you were wearing to drape over your vanity chair. 

Before you could get sucked back into your own little bookworld, your landline rang, a groan coming from your throat, which was the wrong time for Eddie to walk up to your door, his cock twitching a little at the sound, his mind immediately going into the gutter.

Picking up your phone, you said into the mouthpiece, “I swear to all that is good in this world, Steven-”

“It’s Max.”

“Oh,” you sighed. “Sorry, what’s up?”

“I need to you come by.”

Sitting up, concern started to flow through you as Dustin yelled your name before opening your door as you replied back to Max. “What happened?”

She sighed before she replied, “Mom went on a bender again. She ended up calling from some rando’s house.”

Before she even finished her statement, you were up and putting your shoes and jacket back on. “Don’t say another word. I’m on my way.” After she gave you her thanks, you hung up the phone, and turned around to walk out of your room but stopped once you saw the Hellfire Club looking at you with confused looks, concerned looks… worry.

You chuckled and shook your head. “Don’t worry, it wasn’t Steve.” Hearing a breath of relief, you looked up, locking eyes with Dustin. “Oh, don’t act like you wouldn’t leave the house to come with me if it was him.”

“Then who was it?” Dustin asked.

Looking at each boy before stopping on Eddie’s eyes, you sighed. “It was Max. Her mom went out and didn’t come home. She wants me to go over.” You grabbed your book before walking towards your door, placing your hand on Dustin’s shoulder. “I’ll be back later.” Looking at each boy again, you gave a stern look to each of them as you said, “Don’t. Go. Into. My. Room. Period.”

Eddie chuckled, gaining your attention. “I won’t go in because I’m taking you to Max’s.”

Now it was your turn to give him a confused look. “What are you talking about? You’re staying here to hang out with Dustin and your friends.”

“No, I’m taking you to Max’s house. I live across the way from her. I don’t mind.”

“Eddie,” you softly said, tilting your head towards your shoulder. 

“No, really. I don’t mind. Besides, if you're coming back then I have to come back.”

You sighed, giving in. “Okay. Let’s go then.” 

The boys parted like the Red Sea as you walked out of your room, Dustin shutting the door behind everyone. 

“Oh, Y/N/N,” your mom said. “Where are you going?”

Scratching between Tews’ ears, you answered your mom. “Going to check in on Max. She said her mom went out.” You only told your mom what information you wanted. “Eddie’s gonna take me over there, but I should be back later.”

“Okay, honey. Just be careful.”

“I will, Mom.” With that, you and Eddie walked out of your house after he bid your mom a good night. 

Once the two of you made it to his van, he opened the door for you, holding his hand out of you to take. “M’lady.”

You chuckled, taking his hand in yours before getting into the seat, giving your thanks. Knowing Eddie, you knew he probably didn’t turn his music down before he got out, so you leaned over the middle console, turning the volume dial to the left, knowing it had turned down a little.

When he got in, he put the key into the ignition and turned the key to crank the engine. He was already prepared to apologize, the words on his tongue, but he was cut off when the sound didn’t come through the speakers, his eyes on the radio.

You laughed out loud at his reaction, covering your mouth as you did. “I turned it down when you closed the door.”

“Without it being on?” he asked, incredulously.

Nodding, you smiled. “I do it all the time in my mom’s car after Dustin’s been in it. I think you’re influencing him a little with the loud music.”

While you were explaining all that, Eddie had backed out of your driveway, driving towards Forest Hills, the trailer park he and Max lived in. “I hope it’s a good kind of influence.”

You chuckled, looking down at the cover of your book. “Well, considering I also listen to metal music, I would say it’s a good influence.”

Eddie’s heart and cock swelled at hearing you say that. He knew that you listened to all the popular music on the radio, having heard and seen you jam out to Madonna a few good times. 

The both of you were comfortable in the silence that had surrounded you. Eddie didn’t want to ruin it, but his next words slipped out before he could stop them. “I’m glad you came tonight. I didn’t think you’d stay.”

“I wasn’t planning on it,” you say, honestly. “I was just gonna drop him off and have him catch a ride home from Steve, but he practically begged me to stay, so… there I sat all night. Nose stuck in this book.” You chuckled breathily, slightly holding up your book.

“What’s it about?” Eddie asked.

You looked at him with wide eyes. “My-my book?”

Keeping his eyes on the dark road, he nodded. “Yeah. I wanna know what has captured your attention.”

Taking a deep breath, you sunk a little lower into the seat, the action not going unnoticed by Eddie.

“You don't have to tell me. You can tell me to fuck off, for all I care.”

“I would never do that.” You were quiet for a moment before you quietly added, “I’m not a mean person.”

“Am I?”

You looked at him and sat up straighter. “What, mean?”

“Yeah.”

“No.”

He sighed. “People like to think I’m mean and scary.”

“All because you play D&D?” you asked, an eyebrow cocked.

Stealing a glance your way, Eddie nodded his head, saying, “Yeah.”

That angered you. Eddie was one of the sweetest people you’ve had the pleasure of knowing. So, for people to call him scary and mean was downright… well, mean! You decided to voice your opinion on the matter. “Well… they’re just mean! And can fuck right off!”

Surprise flew Eddie at hearing you cuss. He smiled, and once again, his cock twitched in his pants, a bulge starting to appear, and he was thanking all the higher powers above that you couldn’t see it.

The two of you made small talk as he drove to his trailer, the sound of your laughter something that he was loving to hear from you. He wanted to hear it for the rest of his life. Once he parked in front of his trailer and got out, he walked over to your side, helping you out the same way he helped you in.

You walked over to Max’s house, knocking on the door. As you waited for the redhead to open the door, you looked back over at Eddie’s, seeing that he was standing on the small slab of concrete at his front door. Giving him a small smile, you looked back to Max’s door as it opened, the teenager looking at you with relief in her eyes.

She grabbed your arm and dragged you inside, shutting the door behind you. With her hands on your shoulders, she looked you deep in your eyes asking, “Two things. One; why are you with Eddie ‘the Freak’ Munson? Two; I need relationship advice.”

“Okay, one; he’s not a freak. You’re reading way into what the popular kids are saying. Two; I thought you and Lucas were broken up?”

“We are,” she answered, completely disregarding the fact that you just defended Eddie. “But, a part of me still loves him. Like, I can’t stop thinking about him. I want to be with him, but at the same time I don’t want to be with him. I’m still fucked up from Billy’s death. Like - do you see my dilemma here?”

You chuckled, sitting down on the couch, placing your book on your lap. “Max, listen. If you still love Lucas and want to be with him, but you’re not totally sure if you want to be with him, just continue this little break you’re on. Hang out with him as friends first, and if your feelings are still there, then just talk to him about it. You can’t keep being radio silent on him forever. He’ll eventually move on if you do.”

She sat next to you as you spoke, thinking your words over. “Would you be mad if I said I called him right after you, and asked him to come over?”

“Why the fuck would I be mad?”

“Eddie know you have a mouth on you?” she asked, a playful smile on her lips.

You started to stutter over your words, not sure how she knows about your crush. Sighing, you said, “Fucking hell, Dustin.”

“Can’t keep his mouth closed for shit,” she chuckled.

“I’m gonna kill him.”

Looking over at Max, you couldn’t help but let out a laugh, her own joining yours. A knock interrupted your moment with the girl that was like a little sister to you, as well as El. Standing, you placed a hand on her shoulder, giving her an encouraging smile and gentle squeeze. “Just talk to him.”

She nodded her head as another knock sounded, which caused you to sigh. “Alright, Sinclair. I’m coming.” Opening the door, you were met with a very confused Lucas. “I thought you were at Benny’s?”

He shook his head, pointing towards Max. “She called. Said she wanted to hang out.”

“Awwww,” you happily whined, putting a hand on your chest. “You ditched your asshole friends to hang out with your ex-girlfriend? Lucas Charles Sinclair-”

Holding his hands up, he scrunched his face and said, “Please don’t full name me. It sounds weird, and makes me feel like I’m in trouble.”

Chuckling, you walked by Lucas, squeezing his upper arm. “Talk. And listen.”

He nodded as you walked down the steps that led up to Max’s trailer. Looking straight ahead, you sighed as you looked at Eddie’s trailer, deciding to walk over and knock on his door. You had to take a step down as you heard his footsteps. 

Opening the door, he smiled and held his arms out as if saying welcome. You chuckled and stepped into his trailer, turning to look towards Max’s, seeing her and Lucas watching you. Sticking your tongue out to them, you closed the door and turned to face Eddie.

He was standing in the middle of his living room, an amused smile on his face.

“What?” you asked, holding your book to your chest.

“Really? Sticking your tongue out? At two teenagers?”

“I’ve known them since they were pre-teens, it’s fine.” You waved him off and looked around, smiling a little to yourself. “I know this is probably a stupid ass question, but do you live here alone?”

Eddie chuckled, looking down. “No. I live here with my uncle. He’s working nights again.”

You nodded your head, looking around.

“I know it’s not fancy or anything–”

“It’s nice,” you whispered. You looked at him and he at you. It was like there was a magnet between the two of you, pulling you to each other. Nothing happened yet between the two of you, but you were both panting from anticipation. His hands on your face, yours on his waist.

“I just have two questions,” Eddie whispered. “Have you had your first kiss yet? Has anyone made you feel good?”

“Yes to the first,” you replied, breath hitting Eddie’s face. “No to the second.”

He pulled back a little. “You’re a virgin?”

You nodded, looking at him. “No one ever felt right.”

“And I do?”

“The rightest.”

He chuckled, resting his forehead on yours. “I don’t think that’s a word, babe.”

Closing your eyes, you smiled. “It is. Now, kiss me.”

You didn’t have to tell him twice. As soon as his lips met yours, you were a goner. Arms snaking up his body to wrap around his neck while his slid down your body to wrap his arms around your waist before squatting ever so slightly to place his hands on the backs of your hips, you already knowing to jump.

Wrapping your legs around his middle, he turned and walked the two of you into his bedroom, your lips working in tandem with his steps on his neck. 

Eddie groaned as he placed your back on his mattress, your lips never stopping their assault as he breathed out, “Fuck, baby.”

It was your turn to groan as the telephone rang, Eddie’s forehead meeting your shoulder. “I should just ignore it,” he said.

“Yeah, maybe,” you breathed. You went to kiss him again when the phone rang again. 

He sighed. “I’ll be right back.” Looking at you, he smiled. “Don’t go anywhere.” Lifting himself from you, he walked out of his bedroom, giving you a chance to look around as you sat up on your elbows.

“Y/N/N,” Eddie said, walking back into his room. “It’s for you, too.”

You got up from his bed, confused before you walked over to where his phone was, picking it up from where Eddie had placed it. “Hello?” you sighed as you felt Eddie’s chest on your back, the neckline of your shirt being pulled from where it sat on your skin, Eddie’s lips meeting the juncture of your neck and shoulder.

“Cast protection!” Dustin exclaimed from the other end of the line.

“Wh-what?”

“Jesus, Y/N/N. Cast protection!”

Eddie started sucking where his lips were, a sigh falling from your lips. “Fuck off, Dustin,” you said before hanging up. Bringing your hand to rest on the back of Eddie’s head, you gasped as you felt his teeth sink into your skin. “Eddie!”

“Yes, princess?”

“Do more, please. Wait, what did you just call me?” You turned to face him, an amused smirk on his face. 

“I called you princess.”

“No one has ever called me that before. Where did-” Your words got stuck in your throat as your eyes widened. “You read my books.”

“Only the good parts.” Putting your face in your hands, you groaned, embarrassed. “Oh, my god. I’m mortified.”

He chuckled. “Don’t be.” He rubbed his hands up and down your arms. “Did you know you bite your lip when you read those steamy” - Kiss to the top of your head. “Hot-” Hands on your face to lift your head up. “Erotic-” Kiss to your forehead. “Smutty-” Kiss to your cheek. “Fucking scenes?”

Without another word, you wrapped your arms around his neck again, crashing your lips to his in a heated, passionate kiss. Eddie turned you both around to walk you backwards into his room, where your back met the mattress again after your shirt was stripped from your body.

Before he was able to crawl over you, you wrapped your hands on the hem of his shirt, lifting it to reveal his bare torso and tattoos to you. One of a spider and the other of a skullish looking head with red eyes and tongue, hair looking like it was blowing in the wind. You traced your fingers over the permanent ink. 

“You like ‘em?” Eddie asked, watching your eyes. When you nodded, he cupped your cheek with his left hand, your eyes landing back on his. “I have three more.”

“Really?” you breathed.

He smiled, softly, sitting on his knees in between your legs to guide you to sit up. “Right arm.”

You looked at his right forearm, seeing a demonized marionette doll connected by strings to what looked like a clawed hand. “Looks like a witch’s hand,” you whispered. Flipping his arm over, you smiled a little at seeing the bats you always saw. “Bats.”

Eddie twisted his arm a little to give you a view of his tricep. 

Confused, you asked. “What’s this one?”

“It’s a wyvern,” he said. “It’s a dragon with two legs. Part of D&D.”

Your smile returned as you look at him. “It suits you.” 

“Thanks, princess.” He kissed you, softly this time as he reached behind you to unclasp your bra. Feeling the material go slack against your chest, you pressed your arms to the cups, keeping the material in place. 

Eddie noticed your hesitation, bringing his hand back to cup your cheek. “Hey, look at me.” Once your eyes met his, he shook his head, his hair moving with the motion. “Please don’t hide from me. You have nothing to hide. No reason to be shy.”

“But you’re the fir-” You stopped yourself, your shyness peaking through.

“I’m the first to see your tits?” He was so quiet as he spoke, your head nodding ever so slightly. 

“Comes with being a virgin, I guess.”

“Then we’ll take things slow,” he said, rubbing his thumb along your cheek. 

All you saw in his eyes was honesty and respect when you looked into those chocolate orbs you were quickly falling in love with. “Thank you,” you smiled as you added, “Dungeon Master.”

Eddie laughed, hanging his head for a moment. That gave you the opportunity to let out a quiet breath and release your arms from your breasts, your bra falling into your lap. Once Eddie saw the material, he slowly looked up at you, his eyes on your chest for a moment. 

When he looked at you, he slowly laid you down onto your back, bringing his hand down from your cheek to your breast.

Your breath hitched as you watched him place a kiss on your areola. Closing your eyes to savor the moment, you drew out a gasp with your back arching a little as Eddie’s lips wrapped around your nipple, lightly sucking and licking the hardening bud.

“You like that, baby?” he asked, taking the bud back into his mouth.

“Y-yes,” you stuttered. You could feel your core reacting to his tongue and lips. “Please keep going.”

Eddie snickered, pressing kisses to your breasts as he switched, taking your left bud into his mouth to give the same attention he gave to the right. 

“Fuck, your mouth is amazing,” you sighed.

He released your bud with a soft pop, bringing his face back up to yours, his hair falling on either side of his face to create a curtain or veil around the two of you, blocking out the world around you, even though it’s just the two of you in the trailer. “You haven’t felt what it can do yet,” he smirked.

You giggled as you watched him kiss down the valley of your breasts and stomach, stopping when he reached the top of your jeans, looking up at you as he unbuttoned and unzipped them, sitting up on his knees. This time, you saw his erection straining against his jeans. “Happy to see me, Eddie, or do you have a really big joint in your pocket?”

“Oh, little Eddie is very happy to see you, baby.”

Laughing, you lifted your hips off the mattress so that he could take your jeans and panties off in one fell swoop. Your nerves set in again, and Eddie could tell that you wanted to close your legs, so he quickly but gently put his hands on your knees to keep them from moving.

“Remember what I said, baby? You don’t have a reason to hide or be shy.”

His words put your nerves at ease as you released the breath you didn’t realize you were holding as he spread your knees apart, his eyes downcast to your glistening core. “Shit, baby,” he murmured as you scooted up the bed to give him room to lay down. Once your head hit his pillow, you tilted your head to get a good look at him. “All that for me?” 

Nodding your head, you took a deep breath as he laid on his mattress, arms wrapping under your thighs, his rings digging deliciously into your skin. 

“Fuck me,” he whispered, kissing the inside of your left thigh. When he kissed your right, his eyes locked on yours as he turned his face towards where you wanted him most. “You ready, baby?”

Releasing a shaky breath, you nodded. “Yes.”

Looking down at your pussy, he pressed a light kiss to your clit, a small gasp sounding from you before you released a breathy chuckle. Once, twice, three more times he kissed your clit before lightly licking a stripe up from your entrance back to your clit.

“Oh, my god,” you moaned, hands gripping the sheets. 

“Think you can handle it a little rougher?” he asked before kitten licking your clit again.

“Y-yes, Eddie, fuck,” you breathed. You thought you heard him growl before sucked your clit in his mouth, licking it like it was an ice cream cone on a hot as shit summer day. “Oh, my god!” you moaned, loudly. 

He released your clit, continuing his licks as he circled your entrance with one of his fingers. “Have you ever fingered yourself?” he asked, sucking on your clit again. 

When you looked down at him, you grabbed the sides of his hair, pulling it away from your body, holding it in place at the crown of his head. He looked at you as you took one of your hands away, nodding. “Yes. You can… f-finger me, Eddie.”

Since you had a light hold on his hair to keep it out of his face, he was able to turn his head to the side to kiss the inside of your thigh as he inserted a finger in your dripping cunt. “How many?” he asked.

“Two,” you whined as he pumped his finger in and out of you. “Sometimes three. Just depends.”

“Think I’ll stick with two for now,” he said, rising to rest on his hand that was now flat against the mattress. He pumped his fingers in and out of you at almost too fast pace for you, but at the sight of slight discomfort on your face, he slowed his pace to a more perfect one; not too fast, not too slow… just right. “You like that, baby? That the right pace for you?”

You nodded, running your fingers through his hair that was dangling over his shoulder. “S’good!” Placing a hand on his neck, you brought his face closer to yours, pressing your lips on his after his hand moved from beside your waist to beside your head to better balance himself. You all but squealed when you felt his thumb on your clit, your release coming on fast. “Please don’t stop, You breathed. “I’m so close, Eddie. S’close.”

“You gonna cum all over my fingers, baby? Do it. Cum for me.” Eddie bent down the small distance to your breast, taking your nipple back into his mouth to help your release come a little fast.

“Fuck, don’t stop,” you breathed, putting your hand on his forearm, lightly squeezing. “I’m gonna cum. Don’t stop.” You took a deep breath, releasing it as you exclaimed his name. “E-Eddie!” 

“That’s it, baby,” Eddie cooed, watching as he slowed his hand to a slower pace to help ride out your high. Once he was sure you were calm, he released his fingers from your core, placing them in his mouth to lick himself clean. “Damn, you taste incredible.”

You immediately kissed his mouth, tongues tangling together as you tasted yourself on him. “Fuck, I do.”

“You’re dirty,” he chuckled. “I like it.”

“I’ll cum in your mouth next time,” you smiled.

“There’s gonna be a next time?” 

“Well, I hope so!”

He was quiet for a moment before you squealed as he all but rolled on top of you, careful not to dead weight you. “Damn, I’m a lucky Munson.”

“You’ll be even more lucky if you stuck your cock in me,” you smiled. Placing your hands on the waistband of his pants, you repeated his earlier motions in taking off your jeans and panties. “Jeans and boxers off.” Flashing him your pearly whites had him laughing lightly, getting off the bed to take off his jeans and boxers and to retrieve a condom. 

You moaned as you watch him pump himself a few times before opening the foil packet to grab the latex out to roll it onto his hardened cock. “Fuck, Eddie, that’s hot.”

He settled himself between your legs again, the both of you getting into a somewhat comfortable position. Gathering your wetness that was still leaking out of you, Eddie lined himself up to your entrance before looking up at you. “Before I slide in, I’ve gotta ask; are you absolutely sure about this?”

Without missing a beat, you said, “Yes,” while cupping his cheeks. 

He nodded, looking down once more before his eyes came back to yours. “Ready for it?”

Nodding, you took a deep breath, feeling the sting of Eddie’s cock entering for the very first time. You held your breath as you tapped his shoulders, Eddie stopping all movements.

“Breathe,” he whispered, kissing your cheek. 

“What’s in?” you whispered back.

“Just the head.”

“Fuck, it’s huge.”

Eddie looked at you, feeling bad that you were in pain before he tried pushing himself in a little more, watching as a tear leaked from the corner of your eye and down to your ear. “I’m sorry, baby,” he whispered. Kissing the corner of your eye, he took a deep breath of his own. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you breathed. “Try some more.”

He carefully and slowly pushed into you more, a shaky breath coming from your lips. “I’m s-”

“If you say you’re sorry one more goddamn time, Edward, I will have you pull out and I’ll be known as the half-virgin Henderson.”

He chuckled as you turned your head to look at him. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Kiss me.”

Not missing a beat, Eddie placed his lips on yours as your hands went to his waist and pulled, his cock pushing into you more until he was fully sheathed. 

“Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuck,” he groaned. “You feel incredible. So fucking tight.”

“You did it, Eddie,” you whispered. He looked at you as you smiled. “You took my virginity.”

“You’re happy?”

Nodding, you sniffled lightly, bringing your hands from where they had fallen onto his shoulders back to cup his cheeks. “Because it’s you who took it. I wouldn’t have wanted it to be anyone else.”

“Not even Harrington?”

“Steve?” You giggled. “Steve is just a friend. A really good friend. Since I met you, I’ve wanted you to be the one. And now look! We’re connected.”

With a cock brow, he lifted up a little. “Are you quoting your book?”

Looking around at the ceiling in thought, you thought about the words you’d read just almost an hour ago. “Oh, fuck!” Realization hit you like a bus. “Fuck. Ignore that. Come here.” You brought his lips back to yours, a heated kiss shared between you two. “Please move. I’m good now. Just needed time to adjust.” Your words were pretty much cut off as Eddie pulled his hips back and slowly pushed them forward. 

He did this a few times before you asked him to move a little faster. A light sheen of sweat started to coat your bodies as he moved faster and faster until he was slamming his hips against yours at the perfect pace.

When you announced that your release was coming again, his fingers met your clit, rubbing in circles until you were chanting his name like a prayer. “Eddie! Eddie! Eddie!”

“That’s it, baby, cum for me again. I’m so close.”

Three more thrusts is all it took for the dam to break within you again, your second orgasm of the night hitting, your walls fluttering and tightening around Eddie’s cock, sending his own release into the condom. 

Once you both were calmed down, he gently pulled out, a hiss coming from him while an almost pained groan sounded from you. He kissed all over your core as an apology before saying it, dipping out of the room with a smile on his face as one of his pillows was thrown at his face by you.

When Eddie came into his room, he had a warm cloth in his hand, ready to help clean you up. “This is called–”

“Aftercare,” you said, rolling your eyes. “I may have been a virgin, but I wasn’t stupid. I’m still not!”

He chuckled before reaching down to grab his Hellfire shirt to hand to you, as well helping slide your panties back up your legs to sit comfortably on your waist. Once he had his boxers on, he laid in the bed beside you, bringing you to cuddle against his side.

It was silent between the two of you as you both laid there, thinking about the events that just transpired. With a smile on your face, you tilted your head back on his shoulder, bringing your arm to rest on his chest to play with his guitar pick necklace. 

“Thank you,” you whispered.

“For what?” he asked, fingers lightly running up and down your arm.

“Giving me the best night of my life.”

He looked down at you, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “You’re welcome, m’lady.”

For some reason, that pet name had you jolting upright in his bed, the word, “Shit,” escaping your mouth. Jumping from the bed, you grabbed your bra and put it on before finding your jeans and putting those on. Without a word, you tossed Eddie his clothes and a random shirt you found on the floor. “Get dressed.”

“Why?”

Stopping your movements, you looked at him as he put his jeans back on. “You have to take me back home. Remember? I told Dustin and my mom I’d be back!”

That seemed to get his ass into gear because within the next few seconds, he had written a note to his Uncle Wayne and was out the door and driving down the road to your house in a comfortable silence.

What made you smile was the fact that Eddie’s hand never left your thigh, his thumb rubbing back and forth, even with your fingers laced with his. It put a smile on your face that you never wanted to leave.

Once he parked in your driveway, you didn’t move. When he tried to remove his hand from your thigh, you tightened your grip on his hand. He looked at you, the smallest of worry laced in his eyes.

“We should talk,” you said, a small smile on your face. “About us. Like, what we are.”

Eddie leaned closer to you, his head tilted a little in your direction. “Well, how about I call you my girlfriend, you call me your boyfriend, and we’ll call it even?”

Giggling, you looked dead in his eyes, your smile never faltering as you replied, “I like the sound of that.”

Walking into your house, the Club met you in the living room, a smile on their faces, cheers all around as they noticed your fingers laced together.

“It’s about time,” Gareth exclaimed.

“Congrats, man!” Jeff said, clapping Eddie’s back.

You looked at Dustin, who had a look on his face that you couldn’t decipher. Sitting next to him, you placed your arm around his shoulders. “What’s up, kid?”

He looked at you, eyebrows up in worry. “You and Eddie? Really?”

“Yeah?”

Looking down at his lap, he whispered, “I always thought it’d be you and Steve.”

Chuckling, you wrapped your arms around him, giving him an awkward hug. “I love you, Dustin. Steve and I are just friends. Always have been. We talked about it, sure, but I didn’t like his King Steve attitude, so we just remained friends. He’s my best friend now because of how he took you in.”

Dustin looked at you. “What about Eddie? You were so shy around him.”

“I’m shy around everyone,” you retorted. “But Eddie’s different. You know how when you saw Suzie for the first time, how your heart almost exploded?” At his nod, you continued, not realizing that Jeff, Gareth and Doug had sat on the floor in front of you, listening to your story as Eddie leaned against the wall by the door, watching your interaction. “That’s how I felt when I first saw Eddie. Seeing him those nights that I stayed during those nights you wanted me to, I kept having that… heart exploding feeling. I had tonight during Hellfire.”

“So, since the two of you went to Max’s and then had sex after, what does that make you two now?” your brother asked.

Mortified, you widened your eyes. “How do you know about that?”

“Y/N/N, I’m not stupid.”

Narrowing your eyes, you asked, “You’ve read my books?”

“I think everyone in this room has,” he chuckled. “You’re not subtle when you’re reading those scenes.”

“Anyway!” you exclaimed as everyone laughed, your own chuckle sounding from you. “Eddie and I… we’re… together.”

Cheers were heard all around, Jeff and Gareth all but tackling you to the couch, Eddie’s voice sounding over the noise as he said, “Alright, get off my girl!” He pulled to your feet, wrapping an arm around your lower back, his free hand resting on your hip as you wrapped an arm around his neck, your free hand resting on his shoulder. “You ready for this wild ride with this bunch?”

Nodding, you brought the hand that was resting on his shoulder to wrap behind his neck at the same moment he wrapped his arm around your waist, hands resting just above your ass. “The wildest.”

Eddie dipped his head with a smile, meeting your lips in a sweet, passionate kiss… before Dustin’s groan broke it up, leaving the two of you laughing.

“Quit making out with my sister!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N 2:  hi, friends! let me know what you thought about my first eddie munson fic! again, please do not hesitate to reblog and give some feedback, whether it be in the reblogs, comments, or my inbox.

Additional Notes: 

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Forever / Everything Taglist: @stiles-o-dylan24 @stixnstripesworld @fandom-princess-forevermore @quanticobae @mischiefandi @kellyashcroft @lauren-novak​

If you’re tagged and didn’t want to be, please let me know.

Italics wouldn’t let me tag!

~~~

*Please don’t post my writing anywhere else without my consent. The author of this work will always and forever be @harringtonstilinski​.

All characters, story lines, and plot aside from y/n and her storyline & plot, are all of the work of The Duffer Brothers.

*These works contain material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited.

No part of these works may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher.

Posted on January 9, 2024

#eddie munson x henderson!reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut

[riinkun-art-stuff]

Howdy ho! I'm very excited to finally be able to share this illustration I worked on as part of this year's @bumblebybigbang for @tahnex's lovely and super fun fic (with no pain attached whatsoever), "Of Dragons and Panthers," which you can read here! As soon as I read the original notes on it this scene captured me so much I had to do something dramatic for it. It's been such a pleasure watching the whole collab come together, tysm for having me!

First time joining an event like this, and I'd love to again if the opportunity comes around hehe. Still a few postings to go on this one, the pieces before us this year have knocked it out of the park and I'm super excited to see the rest once they come around!

Made a few process cuts just for fun, which I left under the cut!

I did do a few sketches roughly before I started out, especially based on other parts of the chapter, but this particular composition was so fixed in my mind that I ended up just sticking with it. In retrospect, I would've loved to go back and do some more thorough exploration for it. Here are a few of the sketches I managed to fish back up:

I also was thinking of trying a few other doodles/another big piece, but ended up not really having the time between other obligations :')

And the sketch I finally settled on:

Inking was SUCH a fun process on this piece in particular. I'm a huge fan of how dragon!Yang's mane turned out, especially, and all the detailing on the head and around Blake's fur and such. Feel like I'm really satisfied w the particular way the line weight variations came out, and it's where the piece shines the most imo.

Panther!Blake, too. Oh gosh. I feel like it took me a lot of reworking to get her structure to a point where she felt very leopard-like, rather than any other type of big cat- especially around the head.

Colours were such a challenging part. There was a big feeling I had for that glow coming off dragon!Yang in the middle of the heavy rain- I love seeing that sort of effect in real life so that's something I'm really hoping to work to capture better as I practice. Trying to get dragon!Yang's slight iridescence in there and to balance out the lighting on panther!Blake's fur each took a long time, too- I'm only a pinch sad that a good chunk of it is covered by other lighting effects XD

Blake's rosettes were SO fun. Augguhugg.

In terms of backgrounds. HOO boy I was going through a strange patch in life while working on the background and final polish for this piece, which is why (at least I feel like) it looks kinda rushed. I have been practicing natural landscapes and doing some observational studies but still struggling to get those rock shapes quite right, which I think is a big make or break point of something like this. I did really enjoy toying around with inking on the foliage and foreground layers of the ground, though! And in the end, lighting and effects ended up masking a lot of the big weak spots :D

I think natural effects like smoke/steam, and rain, are big things that I got to practice more of in this piece, but also really would like to get better at in future. Esp since I feel like it's been a great opportunity to mess around with different colours and brushes that I use way less, which I'm always grateful for w painting. I think just layering the rain on its own ended up being about 10 odd layers?

I think the only other thing I would have loved to improve is to just help the piece feel more Bumbleby™ in the final look. I think I like the cool colours of the lighting for this particular outcome, but I also would have probably tried to have made things much clearer (ahem at the very least switch to yellow/purple) in the long run in terms of representation and resemblance. Ik that at least for me it is fairly easy to associate the two characters with dragons and panthers since I'm more familiar w the fandom lingo around these two, but esp for outsiders I feel like it's probably not great at conveying who they are, and why they are potentially in this situation.

I'd also love to try and find a shading style that still has a painterly quality but compliments the inking a bit better, rather than overpowering it.

I think that, on the whole, I am pretty satisfied with the piece and had a great time working with Tahnex on the whole collab! And I've also has a fun time reading his work and notes in return, and thank you so much for being so so patient with me even as my updates were slow n rocky at points :'D

That's about all I got, have a great day y'all! Still a few big bang postings to go, so very excited for those once they come around!

#riinkun art stuff #my art #digital art #bumbleby big bang #bbb2023 #rwby #YIPPEEEE #very very happy to finally be able to show this off aaaaahugghh!!!! #it's been v cool working on this collab- tysm for having me again! :'D

[pompompurin1028]

His Smiles

Summary: You observe Dazai's smiles

Feat: Dazai, Reader

Genre: Character study(-ish) Drabble

Warnings: None

A/N: It's been a long time since I've written something, here's just something I wrote up really quickly while trying not to judge my own writing too hard but here's Dazai because I miss him :(

My Masterlist

More often than not, you spot Dazai with a smile on his lips.

A close-mouth smile was his favourite one, you supposed, after having watched him from your desk at the Armed Detective Agency for days on end. In a way, you would describe it as cute, especially that one time you saw him pressing a piece of paper to his lips with a grin on his face, with a little glint in his eyes. 

Or perhaps, they were merely his most common smile that he put on his lips. Because though you call them a smile, you could never quite tell how he was really feeling underneath the expression. 

As you continued your observation of the enigma that is Dazai, you noticed his smiles seems almost mechanical, unnatural in a way that was ineffable to you, or perhaps even calculated. Though every day you found a similar expression on his face: his eyes were closed and his lips lifted slightly upwards into a grin after a round of teasing his other coworkers such as Kunikida or Atsushi, it seemed that he had something hidden beneath his smiles. Because you could swear… there was, sometimes, an unnerving consistency to his expressions. 

And once, when his eyes pierced yours across the room, you could almost swear, just by the tension in the air, that he knew about your observations. Though the sharpness in his eyes melted into a usual grin, and his behaviours returned to that of a dramatic clown, the image of his piercing gaze remained fresh on your mind. 

Perhaps due to such, after that day, your later observations of his smiles only grew to unnerve you. Especially as the Agency had been involved in more missions than it ever had in recent years, and you saw first hand the grins he gave to his enemies.

His expressions were more calculated as before, you found. And you could feel the added sharpness you sensed before in his gaze, in his grins, and just with that, you thought, it was like he was cutting his enemies with a knife before the fight even started. For some time, while looking at him in these conditions, you had it set in your mind that this was the true nature of Dazai Osamu.

And yet… 

Though rarely do these days come across, but there were times when his smile revealed to you a vastly different nature of this man you thought you knew. 

Because there was one time you caught him alone, looking at the fallen petals of the cherry blossoms in the spring that showered down on him from a gust of wind. His bandaged arm upstretched towards the sky, as if wanting to catch one of the petals in his hand. Among the bright coloured flowers and leaves, and the bright blue sky above, lacking his typical dramatic demanour and smile, to you, he appeared almost grey among all the colours surrounding him despite being embraced by his sand-coloured coat. Though not a single petal landed in his outstretched hand, a smile revealed itself on his face. 

His gaze was dull, no longer piercing with the harshness you once naively thought he could never achieve, nor glistening with momentary mirth. In contrast, you could vaguely see a few creases under his eyes, which you thought made his expression much more gentle, much more… human. His lips are turned upwards into a closed-mouth smile, one that you have seen many times from him. But this smile does not seem forced, nor does it feel unnatural like some of his smiles you have observed. Despite the melancholy you could feel in his eyes, he smiled at the bittersweet scene before him, for some reason, the smile felt kind.

Having viewed this scene that you knew you should not have witnessed, you felt your chest flood with warmth. This was the smile you had been seeking, the smile that allowed you to witness Dazai Osamu.

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@requiem626k @shadyteacup @alittlesimp @greenshirtimagines  @jadegreenimmortality ​ @sakikoshi  @KENMASBBYGRL @DAZAISUSEDBANDAGES  @jessbeinme15 @MIKASA-STAN-ACCOUNT @missrown ​ @ginswife @tender-rosiey @sonder-paradise ​ @darlinqserenity ​ @whorefordazai @shamelesspastawobblerland @rirk-ke ​ @dazaiaiko @planetxiao @sebtomm @izukus-gf @lavidadelavie @swrdemon @ARIXSUX @beautiful-is-boring @seisitive @sigmafied @STORIES-FROM-SAINT-PETERSBURG @thekaylahub @xo-cuteplosion-xo @SIMPLYASIMPSBLOG @kisara-16reblogs ​ @straydogsbungou @titamaow @kaus-quietis @thatdazaikin @yelanwifey @kunikida-simp

#dazai x reader #dazai osamu x reader #dazai x you #dazai x y/n #dazai osamu x y/n #dazai osamu x you #bsd dazai x reader #bsd dazai x you #bsd dazai x y/n #x reader #bungou stray dogs #bsd #bsd dazai #bungou stray dogs x reader #bsd x reader #bsd fanfiction #bungou stray dogs fanfiction #kat writes📝 #✒️ . he that reigns and lives within my thoughts

[vaguely-concerned]

Stray Gods Character Design Thoughts

In order we're going Pan, Apollo, Persephone, Eros, Aphrodite and a little bit of Venus! Disclaimer that I have no professional experience in character design at all, so these are only my vibes-based ramblings and observations purely for fun and because my brain simply won't shut up about this game haha. Also I will freely admit Pan probably gets the most attention in this because of who I am as a person and where my heart truly lies at the end of the day lol

PAN

Ok, first of all I have so many questions and they all delight me. This guy is the god of the wild places ("Where else would I be, but among the trees and the wild things?"), he lives in a magical garden on top of an office building... and he’s walking around everywhere in an expensive three piece tailored suit (when Freddie accuses him of being a sleaze in a cheap suit he protests mildly that his suit is anything but cheap haha). The cut of it is really carefully thought out and planned, but the bold colours under the grey coat and (studied I am sure) careless details like the tie also make it fun and playful. Which is pleasingly coherent with the general theme of his character in the writing too and I adore it.  

This is not the point, I know, but I’m wondering how he makes that work just like. Practically now. Has Athena fixed up Olympus with in-house laundry service? And other sentences I did not expect to type out today lol. Ah well he’s wily I’m sure he has his ways. 

I can't heap enough praise on it, this design is SUCH an interesting and elegant marriage of the immediately recognizable satyr features and thus animal symbolism with all its added pagan weight in a post-Christianity setting, and the sort of ‘man of wealth and taste’ imagery of the devil at the crossroads they clearly want to evoke, especially in his first scene. And partially through his mannerism there’s also an added element of like… eccentric but surprisingly competent college professor — just look at the way he carries himself whenever he isn’t putting on the charm or when he’s being guarded and self-contained. That little hands resting on his back pose exudes ‘nerd’ so deeply to me haha. (Incredibly fuckable nerd, to be sure, but still!)

you don't fool me buddy I know what you are. I know all the trouble you went to to get a book.

His body language shifts very quickly between wild playful expressiveness and a sort of nonchalant urbane detachment that borders on coldness sometimes, and it fascinates me. Especially since that more refined unavailable side seems to be something he’s deliberately cultivated, to some extent. When Grace calls him out on how boring it sounds to just let yourself go numb and distant to survive, he doesn’t deny that at all, only saying that at least it’s been quite effective. 

Putting the rest under a cut to save people's dashes! I may, as they say, have gotten a tiny bit carried away.

Physically he’s not very imposing — he’s only a little taller than Grace, and the shortest of all of the love interests, which I find somehow very charming and also plays into him being more of a guile-based character. “Seeing as I am neither big nor truly bad, it behooves me to be wary of those who are both” indeed!

I’m fairly sure he’s the character wearing the most layers. Even his hands are mostly covered by gloves. He partially covers up his eyes with the tinted glasses — interesting, as one of the features that most give his real nature away with their sidewise pupils, and the lenses are tinted purple as the complimentary colour to yellow, so it downplays just how bright they are. All together it’s very much a ‘well, he’s certainly got to be in there somewhere’ sort of vibe at times. (Since he also seems to care about his clothes quite a bit — he complains about scuffing his pants during the climb in the Medusa mission if you go the lockpick route — I have drawn the conclusion that getting him out of all of that must take quite a bit of time, no matter how much practice he’s probably put in over the years of meeting 'delicious people' lol) 

It’s a design that manages to give, at the same time: animal-featured ancient god, deal with the devil, teacher, overtones of con man if you’re inclined to be Freddie-levels of uncharitable lol, eccentric rich weird uncle… there’s a lot going on here and somehow it all works haha. He isn’t wearing any jewelry at all unless you count the glasses, which now that I’m looking at the rest of the character designs in this game is actually fairly rare among them!

His eyes really are incredibly bright when uh naked as it were, though. I like the implication that he is aware of this and actually goes out of his way to downplay it, even when he’d normally be wearing glamour anywhere it would strictly matter for it to show. Between that, the meaningful zoom in on him at the Underworld when Apollo says that all the Idols can be themselves there even if they don’t look human, Pan claiming he’s been distrusted and side-eyed by the others basically since the beginning and seeming kind of frustrated and hurt about it, in his deflecting way, and the implication of a hierarchy among the Idols at least under Athena’s leadership in this stained glass painting (notably all the visibly non-human Idols/hangers on are at the bottom, and Hecate, Asterion and especially Medusa are the characters most affected and confined by the oppressive status quo Athena upholds)...

this one! sing it with me now EVERYBODY LEAVES THIS PLACE ALIVEEE ok we can move on

you know, some possible Subtext and Implications going on here, I’d say. (It is only potential subtext and implication, though, so, you know, take my extrapolations here with a grain of salt!) He certainly doesn’t do himself many favors with the persona he’s built up in regards to being trusted and included either, but his status as a little bit of an outsider does seem to precede that so I feel like it’s more of a response than the main cause. Along the same lines he gets much more testy about the Green route of ‘I Can Teach You’ than he does about you just not choosing him in the Red one, he takes that pretty gracefully. So it is the being deliberately kept on the outside and openly distrusted and dismissed that gets to him. (To be clear I don't think openly distrusting a strange guy showing up in your living room like that is at all unreasonable either haha I just think the nuances of his response are enlightening as to where he's really coming from)

this one isn't even to illustrate anything it's just because I love him so much and think he's pretty I'll be real with you all

Anyway I just keep thinking about how incredibly tender it would be if sometimes, when they’re in private, Grace takes his glasses off to see his eyes better and he lets her. That shakes something deep in my soul apparently. That fucks me up but like in a good way.

APOLLO

- Apollo’s style of dress leaves his navel helpfully exposed for the copious amounts of depressed gazing he habitually subjects it to. (I say this not entirely without affection.) 

a crumpled tissue of a man

In keeping with his incredibly emo mode, there’s very little colour involved and he doesn’t take much care to present anything with care (look at the state of that shirt and tell me if Apollo has picked up an iron in the last forty years), BUT interestingly he’s not entirely open and unadorned, he does wear that network of jewelry across his chest and neck. Which I think is to show that the old Apollo is not entirely gone (“There he is, god of the sun”), even if he has been a sack stuffed with sad for a long time now. I wonder how many of these things are leftover preferences from being only Lucas — presumably the tattoos at least are from before he fished Apollo up from the sea? If I’m reading the vibes right on that, the blue of the tattoos and the gold of the sun… thingy he wears with the jewelry are the main splashes of colour in his design aside from his hair, and they’re both ‘leftovers’ from both his previous lives, surfer bro and solar deity recently fallen on hard times. Physically he would be tall and imposing, parodically built, except that he carries himself with all the confidence and panache of a damp depressed dishrag. 

Also I can’t believe this guy is walking around everywhere in sandals. Apollo makes sad flip-flop sounds wherever he goes, including when he steps up during ‘The Trial’. That’s so amazingly pathetic (affectionate). 

We can see from the photo with him and Calliope that he wasn’t always quite this much of a mess. Once, he did his shirt up a whole maybe four buttons and wore something that wasn’t beige!

Intellectually I acknowledge that it's a design meant to provide fanservice, even though I personally could not consider this guy in a sexual or romantic light if you gave me a thousand years to build up to it. (I've said it before but if he's anything to me, he is the incredibly fail father figure continually letting me down in tiny ways I never had.) Godspeed to the Apollo-enjoyers out there, though, Summerfall gave him those abs and that poor little meow meow energy just for you and it's your right to enjoy that

- Pan and Apollo also bring out some really interesting contrasts both as characters and designs when you hold them up against each other:  

Once you scratch the surface a tiny bit Pan clearly has just as much self-loathing as Apollo (“If Athena had taken me up on my offer, the Idols would have been better off” uh. Okay buddy we’re gonna have to process that one together later what do you say), but where Apollo is completely helplessly open in his misery at all times, you need to unbutton Pan at least three layers until you get a honest or straightforward emotion out of him and I think that’s amazingly carried through into their visual designs. It's Good Visual Storytelling Brent   

PERSEPHONE

- I’m fairly sure the colour of Persephone’s suit is supposed to evoke pomegranate seeds. See and judge for yourself I suppose: 

She also has details on her coat that depict foliage and growing plants, but colour-wise they and the rest of the detailing is in the blue-green that symbolizes the Underworld and so death. Her jewelry is gold, which — and I’m about to do some reaching here, I’ll be big enough to own — could play in with Hades being the god of riches as well as of the dead/the underworld. Probably it’s because it works well with the colour scheme, but I’m going to pretend that it’s because even if she didn’t get the throne she did get that motherfucker’s hoard when she killed him <3 Love that for her. Her jewelry is more rose gold than Apollo’s yellow gold, too. Watch me go for even more of a reach: between the necklace and the watch, those round discs of gold remind me of the coins put on the eyes of the dead but like you know repurposed since she doesn't need them to pay the Ferryman. I never promised I'd be reasonable in this did I.  

The short hair works real well for the butch vibe and looks amazing no notes, but I think it’s also a deliberate way to differentiate herself from her younger self — when speaking of Demeter’s death, she says that moment was also the final death of that young her, ‘that girl with the long hair who loved her gardens’. Clearly the Idols do a lot of reinventing themselves over the ages in more and less conscious ways.

She has a tattoo of what looks to be foliage and a skull across her left chest and arm. I really like that idea of her having the testament to both sides of her — goddess of spring, queen of the underworld — directly on her skin, under two layers of clothes that each represent those aspects. The one on her arm looks like stalks of grain tied together to resemble the bones of the hand/forearm, maybe? which is metal as fuck, needless to say. 

She is TALL and scary and the staging always plays that up, Grace tends to look up at her like O.O. I love how sharp she is too. 

Also she is incredibly hot but you don’t need me to tell you that you all have eyes I assume. 

EROS, APHRODITE and VENUS:

- I love literally everything about Eros’ design except his hair. Not even the concept of the haircut and colours or anything, just the way it’s rendered. It looks like one strange flat cap I can’t quite make understandable in three dimensional space as hair in my head lol. Other than that it’s a banging design though, the delicate see-through material over the leather BDSM harness is genius. Choosing this form of sensuality and attractiveness for him to embody -- one that is so deeply queercoded -- also works super well. The warmth and vulnerability of his body language on top of it is *chef's kiss*. just. please define his hair a bit more and it's perfect haha.

- I'm not sure I have that much to say about Aphrodite’s design except that of course she is beauty she is grace etc., it takes a lot of thought to make such a simple design shine and by god did they do it she’s so stunning. Also interesting how her dark blues and greens with cool/silvery details contrast with Venus’ warm reds and pinks and… brass? Idk I don’t really understand jewelry haha. All warmth and soft romanticism, anyway, it looks nice. (Side note but I love Venus’ rose tattoo.) Eros and Venus have much more matching colour schemes and they both bring those islands of warmth standing around Aphrodite in her shimmering ocean coolness. (Which of course is something she has to deliberately put on before going into public these days, and is unselfconsciously glamorous in the way of an old timey Hollywood starlet, as the blue route of 'The Ritual' lampshades)

:') *whisper* everybody...

Venus is wearing pearls, which is pleasing considering her connection to Aphrodite (and the backgrounds of the 'Lost in a Moment' variant of 'The Ritual')! and both of her and Aphrodite's outfits go for a shoulderless look to great effect.

ETA: When the camera is close on Aphrodite you can actually see that she has dark circles under her eyes, only partially covered by the makeup :'( I didn't notice that before I played through 'The Ritual' on a bigger screen today

All in all I just want to acknowledge what a fantastic job the character designers at Summerfall Studios have done! There are some really fresh new takes on these mythological figures here, and it makes so much sense within the world the game presents without resorting to well-worn and tired iconography, I really do admire it greatly.

#stray gods #stray gods pan #stray gods apollo #stray gods persephone #stray gods eros #stray gods aphrodite #sorry about the varying quality of the screenshots I have done my best lmao #if there's anywhere you can get the sprites in high resolution I couldn't find it so uh well be gentle lol #it's SO hard to track down scenes where you see them all in full figure and decent clarity #stray gods meta #meta #i don't even know if this is coherent anymore but it IS out of my head which is what I needed it to be haha I am free!! for now

[tossawary]

I started watching a few extremely long reviews of garbage books (and some reviews of better books, but that's not what I'm focusing on here) because 1) I need stuff playing in the background while I work and there's a LOT of time to fill, and 2) I don't have to pay it my full attention (can't give it). I'm not going to be tested on this later. I don't even have to look at the screen.

While I understand "everyone stop talking about garbage books, you're just giving them free advertising, you're being PROVOKED into giving this terrible book free advertising", it is still... fun... to listen to someone pull apart the pieces of a badly written story just to dunk on them. And if the reviewer actually knows what they're talking about in regards to writing and better stories, then you can actually learn a lot. I think that when learning, it helps to study good art and how it works, but it can also help to look at "bad art" and study why it doesn't work. I think that the strings of what a creator is trying to accomplish are often more visible here.

I also picked up some specific tips to keep in mind when providing descriptions! Example: It generally pays to design your world (characters, locations) with more specifics to draw people in. What KIND of sword? What KIND of tree? Also, when people write descriptions, they leave often leave out the sense of smell, which is not always necessary to include, but can be a helpful tool when setting a scene. Like, I already knew this stuff, but it's good to keep specific thoughts / critiques freshly in mind if there's something specific that I want to work on in my own writing.

I'm also super nosy sometimes and I want to know what people are talking about without having to read it for myself. And I know some people find it depressing that writing THIS bad gets published at all and becomes super popular, and I feel that sometimes, but I also find it kind of heartening while reflecting on my own writing and knowing I'm definitely better than that. And I actually like being reminded that I'm not alone in my frustration at various creative industries, and being reminded how much of success comes down to connections and good luck.

Most of all, sometimes I just really need some random book nerd to take me gently by the hand and say, "You're not crazy. It's not just you. This New York Times bestseller, that went viral on TikTok, by a multi-millionaire author, is complete dogshit."

(I haven't read anything super bad recently, actually, but years ago, I read a single Danielle Steel book (from a library, can't remember the title) because I saw her name around a lot and I was vaguely curious if she was honestly any good. That book made me feel nuts with how bad it was. Airport bookshops lied to me about her skill as an author. :( )

#I was watching KrimsonRogue and as far as I know he hasn't read Steel; I hope he doesn't; he seems like he's been through enough #tossawary watching #tossawary reading

[hotxcheeto]

Can you do a ellie where reader is Joel's daughter and ellie wasn't there when joel died but reader was and ellie has to watch reader become like joel before he meet ellie

━ 𝐈𝐍 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒

𝙥𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜(𝙨) - Ellie Williams x Fem!Reader, Reader is Joel's daughter

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 - Cursing, angst, crying, alludes to death, crying, no fluff except maybe a tiny bit if you squint, alludes to depression, mentions of a ton of negative emotions, sad

𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙤𝙛𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙 ? - Yeah/Nope

𝙖𝙪𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙧'𝙨 𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙚 - Two fics in two days?!?!?!?! Hope you enjoy!! I love how I can write smut then the most depressing thing known to man. thank you for requesting, ily!!!!!!!

Ellie had seen the familiar dark in your eyes. Because your eyes weren't your own, they were his. They'd always been his.

The rest of you may have resembled your mother, but those irises were your father's. And she loved them. Ellie did. Sometimes, as you laid beside her, she would just stare into your eyes while you watched whatever movie she throw on.

All your emotion welled up into two beautiful things.

Some couldn't see it, same with your father's. But Ellie could. Ellie could read you both like a book and she'd call it her special talent.

She liked Joel, he was good to her, more of a father than she'd ever know. Someone that was proud of her, someone that cared about her.

But Ellie loved you. Loved every inch and every piece. Every limb and every scar. Even the ones you hated, or the ones you'd show.

She loved them, because she loved you.

And you always loved her the same.

So as you began to open up, to let her read you, to let yourself learn to love her. Your eyes became your own, with your very own twinkle and sparkle that Ellie could admire for hours and hours and never look away.

That would well up with happy cries, and sob to sad movies.

Shrink in the bright sunlight, and grow large with fear in the darkness.

They were yours, and they were beautiful.

But as she sat in thought, watching you stare out the window with wet hair and shaking as you remembered the incidents just a few days prior, she wondered if you'd ever be the same.

Because the darkness was back, swirling around your pupils and flooding the whites of your eyes with tears that would never fall. Tears you wouldn't let touch your cheeks.

She knew those eyes weren't yours anymore, they were his once again. They always had been, hidden behind your happiness and devotion to becoming who you dreamed of.

"Y/n?"

You turned your head, jumpy she noticed, meeting her gaze with an expression that she couldn't study. Something unintelligible, something scared.

"What?"

"Come here."

You hesitated, for a mere moment, you hesitated to come to her. But you did, sliding off the chair you propped against the window beside Ellie's bed.

Silently taking the few steps towards the couch where she sat back, wondering what was going through your head.

You made a noise, as if you were going to speak, but not a word passed. Taking a seat beside her. She felt you lean back against the cushioned couch, bringing your knees up.

"She looked at me y'know, like she didn't want to do it." You started softly. The sounds of your sharp, shaky breaths making her glance over. "Like she regretted being there, but she still-" You stopped, choking a sob back while looking up at her ceiling.

"I want to kill her." Ellie knew it was coming. She knew the anger was hiding behind your eyes, behind the sadness. "I want her dead, I want her to feel his fear, I want-" You began to cry.

You never cried, not with such heartbreak. Sure you'd tear up during a scene on the TV or over a song, but you would laugh as Ellie made fun of you. You would smile when Ellie spoiled the happy ending to calm you down, you would giggle when she'd kiss you like the characters on screen.

"I want her gone, and I want them to pay. They watched, he spit on my dad, he didn't deserve- he-"

It wasn't long before her arms wrapped around your body, taking you into her chest. Letting you cry until there were no tears left. Until you were quiet, and exhausted.

Until she had to carry you to bed, with tear marks down your face and muscles gone sore. But that wasn't the end. No, you had a habit of holding a grudge, you still you remind Ellie of when she dropped your favorite knife in the mall. Or when your dad promised on a movie and fell asleep mid-afternoon.

You never forgot, but you did forgive. Maybe not this time, but you had in the past, you had back then. You did. Did.

But now, right now, in this moment, your eyes showed something different. Unforgiving and cruel, silent and sad but nothing could go up against the emptiness that was sat inside.

They reminded her of your father's eyes.

When he'd look at her, there was something that had died, a light that was burned out and snuffed years before you and her had come along and you knew. You knew of Sarah though Ellie did not, but somehow you both could see the darkness. With and without a knowing.

And it's familiarity had returned, staring into the bonfire in front of you. Even the bright orange flames couldn't recreate the light that you had lost. You were gone, and all that was left was a vicious shell.

"Y/n?"

You didn't glance up at her this time, barely making a sound in acknowledgement before forcing yourself to speak.

"What?"

It was harsh, and it sounded just like Joel, the same voice that made her confidence falter and her body tense at first. The same one that introduced you both.

"You should eat." You looked down and shrugged at the grass. "I'm fine. Just been a long day." "That's why you-" "Ellie."

She stopped, frustrated and exhausted, rubbing her face before taking in a sharp breath.

"Will you listen-" "Ellie, I'm fine. I'm not your responsibility. I can take care of myself."

Somehow, you guys hadn't broken it off, but you wouldn't touch her or look her in the eyes for long. Your nightmares were so violent sometimes you'd just lay beside her, but you couldn't feel her, you couldn't your you'd panic. You'd think of them, stepped over you.

"You don't have to." Your jaw clenched, throwing down the stick in your hand and watching it wither away in the heat of the fire. "I said I'm fine."

But it was the look in your eyes that scared her the most.

"I'm sorry." She whispered.

"I know." You replied, just as soft, but not as nice.

Behind your eyes, was anger, pure anger. Not at her, not at Abby or her friends you promised to kill. You were mad at the world, and mad at yourself.

Just as he was. Just as he had been for so long.

#ellie x reader #ellie the last of us #ellie #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams imagine #ellie williams x you #ellie williams #ellie williams x y/n #ellie williams x female reader #tlou 2 #tlou #tlou x reader #the last of us part 2 #the last of us part two #the last of us #the last of us x reader

[sybaritick]

cal sybaritick's

bloodweave fic recs 🧙🏼🧛🏻

I'm pretty sure that over the past few weeks I've read nearly every single Astarion/Gale fanfic on Ao3, and I have great taste, so I am uniquely qualified to recommend them to you. Here is a non-exhaustive list of my favorites!

Overhear More in Changing by ZiGraves

E / 9.6k words / body swap, blood drinking, handjobs / complete

Astarion has the misfortune to wake up inhabiting a body not his own. It’s alive, breathing, warm. Hairy. Oh gods, no. It’s Gale’s.

not only is the power-issues-tinged porn here extremely hot to me, but this is also the best and most interesting depiction of body swapping that i have ever read, with so much great detail on how it would actually feel to experience

Left to your devices by Experimental

E / 4.2k words / teasing, dubious consent, developing relationship / complete

While camped at the Grymforge, Astarion does a murder, and thinks a gift will magically make it all better. Trouble is, he may be right.

a snapshot-style fic of a clever interaction between the two of them, and I enjoyed how it handles the comparison between Astarion's vampirism and Gale's condition that so many have noted

A Cave Edge, A Black Bowl by an orphaned account

E / 2.2k / extremely dubious consent, sensory deprivation, humiliation/degradation / complete

Gale has this bad habit of shutting himself off after a particularly long day and Astarion hates it. All high and mighty he will saunter off towards his tent and engulf it in Darkness, draping it in Zone of Silence. It infuriates Astarion to no end, and so he sets out to let the wizard reap his due reward. Getting into his tent would be effortless. (The first thing he hears are soft, almost whining pants, followed by a high pitched moan.)

this just pushes all of my buttons SO well. gale as a consummate submissive using magic to be his own dom, so to speak... and his insulting astarion for interrupting this little display, "you're wretched," hating it so and yet still clearly getting off to it... delicious!

That Wounded Animal by wxntr

M / 6.4k / character study, manipulation, angst with a happy ending / technically incomplete, but can easily be read as finished

His foolishness is what made him deserve it. That’s the reason Astarion latched onto when the familiar sickness rose in his throat as he spun his pretty web. When guilt or shame creeped in at Gale’s wide, adoring eyes and smile, Astarion reminded himself that if he wasn't the one to take advantage, someone worse would. He was doing Gale a favor, even. The weak would be taken advantage of, and Astarion refused to be the weak. A progression of scenes following Astarion's manipulation of Gale, and the complicated feelings that accompany it.

a rec like this means a lot coming from me because normally I struggle with sad and soft pieces in fics, but this is extremely well done. I'll just quote what I said in my comment on the fic: "the way you write this so that Gale's very weakness is what makes Astarion weak to him! the fact that Gale has the capacity to believe in Astarion's potential goodness despite everything, hell, to believe in anyone's potential goodness, that Gale continues with earnestness regardless-- that is what breaks Astarion's resolve. The fact that anyone can possibly live like that (like Gale does, wearing his heart on his sleeve)-- it's agonizing to someone like Astarion who has seen it proven time and time again that a relationship can only ever be transactional, that there must be the user and the used. That of course Astarion has seen sincerity and naivety before and has brushed it aside easily, but it's the time spent with Gale, the slowly getting to know him, so much longer than he would have for the victims he was forced to bring back to Cazador-- that's what gradually gets to him. And so gradual too, the way you write it."

Unraveling [series] by chogiwonderful_you

E / 17.3k words / undernegotiated kink, cnc, mental health issues & neurodivergence, discussions of past sexual assault, very unhealthy relationships / technically incomplete, but can easily be read as finished

The book reads you as much as you read it. Gale really should have remembered that.

this recommendation comes with the caveat that, as it was written during early access, the author's interpretations of the characters don't truly line up with how I see them now. However, there was no doubt in my mind I was still going to recommend it just for what it is-- the fandom aspect be damned. Everything, down to Gale's guilt about his behavior to him being like "in some sense the mental aspect of this is more erotic to me than the sex to the point where i almost feel separate from my physical body" is so Very Real in a way I feel fanfiction often isn't. Also, the depiction of what I would describe as Gale's hypomania, and later panic attack, is extremely well done.

En Prise by positivejam

E / 20.5k words / manipulation, D/s, petplay (vibes), humiliation/degradation / incomplete

It’s not often Astarion sees his own hunger reflected in another’s eyes. So yearning for a look in the mirror, he can't help but stare. Gale is downright ravenous. He can smell it on him: like some combination of lust, adrenaline, and desperation. Exactly for what, he isn’t sure. But desperate men make for good companions and better bedfellows, so he sinks down next to the wizard with a smile. “Like recognizes like, little mage. You are starving, and I am feeling uncharacteristically charitable. Perhaps we can help each other out.”

if you know this pairing, you know this fic, but I could not possibly leave it out. It is very well written! It is super hot! It's dripping with nasty D/s vibes! Read it!

first date by revoleotion

M / 1.7k words / sincerity, discussions of past sexual assault, angst with a happy ending / complete

It's not Gale's first time. Part of him wishes it were. It's not Astarion's first time. Perhaps that can be a good thing. Astarion and Gale share a drink together. A drink, and a little more.

like I mentioned above, I am usually not the audience for this genre/style of fic, but this author handles the way they discuss their trauma very well-- that they are still a little guarded and awkward, not perfect communicators, not perfect partners.

#cal txt #bg3 #fandom #bg3 fanfiction #bloodweave

[rpedia]

How to deal with lack of motivation to reply?

Ah, the old blank screen stare. So, for the most part I consider this issue to be several intersecting problems at the same time. Usually a lack of motivation indicates a.) a lack of fun/enjoyment, b.) low/no expectation of reward, or c.) fear or apprehension. Let's explore that under the cut.

When you are roleplaying and you're not enjoying yourself explicitly, if the journey to a finished post is not fun itself, we're kind of fucking ourselves over. Creation of these words, excitement at turning a phrase or approaching an idea you really want to explore is basically the whole gist of it. It is a hobby, and loving what you write and laughing at your own jokes is important! You are your own first audience, and if you're not impressed or pleased with what you're writing, it becomes an endless Sisyphean task where you unhappily struggle to write something, anything, to just get through it.

In this case it may be a lack of inspiration. With no structure, or core, we can really easily lose sight of what kind of play we're looking for. What are your goals? Are you here for plot, or character? For smut, or a quick playful bit of banter? Do you want to fight, or are you reaching for some overarching thing? Hell, do you know where THIS scene is headed, or does it feel like an endless trudge? These ideals disappearing or falling to the wayside for someone else can really fuck the vibe!

How are you supposed to know what to write, if you don't have any plans for the character, or don't know where they might potentially go? Like it doesn't have to be hard and fast, but understanding your characters own personal goals, fears, joys, and secrets (entirely different to you, the player) can help with motivation in writing them. I like to explore these by playing games with myself, and daydreaming about scenarios and possibilities that aren't "canon" to my character, but just let me know more about them if a similar situation were to come up. Having a library chock-full of potential what-ifs can help a ton in figuring out how to approach any actions or direction a partner may push you towards. Be excited to explore your character, and to show them off to others! This journey is soooo important to love for itself!

Like with any piece of art, not enjoying the process is a quick short-cut to burn-out and misery. So, if this is happening you might want to adjust some things if you're sitting there upset and bored instead of enjoying what should be a fun pastime you can lose yourself in! So instead of beating yourself up about posting, figure out why it's a chore. Are you taking care of yourself? Have you met the S.H.R.E.K. criteria for the day? Is this post not something in your wheelhouse, or do you feel like you could be doing something else and getting more fun out of it?

Before I get ahead of myself, let me address the truly horrific acronym I just threw at you. S.H.R.E.K. criteria? Who would inflict this on you? Well... me, because it's so memetic and stupid I remember it way better than most acronyms, so buckle up buttercup. It stands for:

Socialization: Have you talked to someone or had meaningful interactions with others for the day? Depending on your needs, you may need hugs, touching others, chatting with loved ones, or cuddling. Some people literally need to be touched, held, hugged, and talked with the thrive, and others can do just fine with a little less. Listen to the monkey studies: Don't be a wire mother to yourself, let yourself have cloth mother sometimes. Hydration: Have you been drinking enough liquids to be hydrated and keep your piss from being too yellow? No liquids means your body starts sucking at everything from getting oxygen to the brain, to making food into energy. Make sure you balance hydration with salt and food intake, but never underestimate what a good cold cup of something can do. And yes, any liquid works. Coffee is dehydrating, so is soda, but their hydrating effect is way bigger than how often they make you piddle so it balances out. Still, water is best but don't beat yourself up about it. Rest: Have you slept enough in the last 24 hours? I know you think 4-6 is okay, but it's really not, it will actually cause you to behave like an alcoholic and lead to later insomnia, mental issue worsening, and health problems like heart issues. Nip that in the bud, sleep full 8-10 hour nights. Or nap if you're just sleepy! Eat: Have you shoved nutritious food in your gob or are you dying from scurvy, beri-beri, and malnutrition simultaneously while depriving the lil dudes who help you write a good lunch? Don't starve your lil neuron folks, they need a good meal too. Even if it's just ingredients for a meal, anything is better than nothing and you deserve food. Kinetics: Have you moved around? Stretched? Walked or played? Sometimes if you're starting out from zero, you might try just standing up and sitting down a couple times to help get bloodflow going! Getting active at whatever level you're at is good for the brain.

Anyways after that interlude, back to basics. At the lowest tier we want to be having fun. If we're not, it might be us, or it might be a boring lackluster partner. That's where a lack of reward comes in. If the partner is, bless them and their hard work, just not giving you the thrills to pay the dopamine bills? That just might mean you guys aren't a good match! This is not the end of the world, it just means you might need to stop playing with them.

Step back, consider if roleplaying with their style and output is worth your time and effort, and do BOTH of you a favor if they aren't. Set them free to play with other players who love their writing and can't get enough of it, and stop grating your teeth across cement trying to come up with something to keep things you don't even like going. This is the communication part, remember how I used to harp on that? Well old Uragani still thinks it's super important. So discuss that 'hey, we might not be a great fit for writing together' and come up with solutions. Maybe finding new partners, and just staying friends, or just waving goodbye to each other and hitting the road.

Here we find ourselves looking at challenger #3, the good old fear and apprehension. This comes up more than I'd like to admit. Are you worried about what's happening next? Or how you might portray something? Have you worked yourself up too much, and now you feel like you can never meet your own expectations? Are you scared of letting down a partner, and not giving them your best? Do you feel like your post might go over an unwritten line, and leave people upset with you?

Congrats! I hate that shit too! I do not know why brains do this to us! I would like to sue!

Anxiety is a hell of a beast, so is Impostor Syndrome, and fear of letting people down, and all the other fun goodies in that bag. They can be worked on at home, in small doses. You gotta learn to sit back, and be able to talk to yourself. Why are you feeling this way, and finding the name for your emotional state, accepting it, and letting it pass through can help. In major situations, you might need to find yourself a good old Common Sense Dispenser, better known as a therapist. They have the tools you need, and yes, roleplay can be a play you find out what you need. It's not dumb, it's useful.

Working through this can be as simple as discussing your fears with your partner and making sure everything is kosher. It might need you to look at a worst case scenario and then planning an exit strategy for that, even if it never happens. Sometimes, you just gotta heft yourself up, and push through the fear. There's a million ways to get through it, and I'm not the person who can tell you which will work for you. But I can tell you, it gets better the longer you work with it. Confidence comes from experience, the more you work at it, the more it feels like second nature.

But that brings with it the last beast, the hidden #4. Burn-out. Sometimes, when we delve too deeply into something we love, we ignore the signs of burn-out. Losing interest in things we once deeply enjoyed. Feeling exhausted at the thought of starting a post, or writing anything. Feeling like we've lost touch with what we used to be good at. Burn out can be a miserable thing, because it stand between us and our goals, our happiness, and it keeps them behind the thickest glass, so we can see them, but getting them feels impossible. The harder we push, the thicker the glass becomes.

In cases of burn out, like the kind I've experienced, sometimes you need to take a step back and just do something else. Go on hiatus. Maybe it's hooked to a character, and you simply have to play with some other muse. Maybe it's with another player, and finding a new fandom without them in it can help. Maybe it's with writing at large, and you need to go find some other outlet to explore while this one heals. You cannot do the same thing forever, you will lose touch with what makes it special. Believe me.

But after healing, which can take years if you keep pushing it like some idiot who wrote RPedia long after you should stop, it'll be fun again. You'll want to come back, and do the thing you were good at, and loved again. The spark will return, and things just... settle and feel better. I promise. Just let yourself have that time to recover without pushing yourself somewhere you aren't meant to go right now.

Naturally there's other stuff too. ADHD/Autism/other issues could be throwing the executive dysfunction ball into your lap and suddenly doing the thing you've done a thousand times is impossible. Stars aren't in alignment. Maybe you're stressed out because of an external force and need a break. Maybe the thread you're in has been going on too long in the same scene, and you need to cut and start a "fresh episode" before everything stays stale forever. Maybe you just aren't in the mood! There's a million reasons, but all of them come down to figuring out what the problem is, and engaging with ways to break that problem down into bits. Find your fun. Look for partners who make you feel like writing with them is worth it. Work with your fears, and express yourself about them and let them past through you. Find external help if needed, and take care of your body while you're at it.

And hey, remember, I am not the end all be all of advice. It could totally be something outside of these circumstances, but I'd like to think that in my experience these are the major factors that I keep coming across. If any of this has been a help, I can only be happy to have said it. Thank you so much for reading!

#ask rpedia #anonymous #roleplaying #rph #rpedia #passion #writing #roleplaying advice #personal help #hey uhm #im back #oop #We'll see how long before I burn out again #hi guys though! #I'll post once every Friday until I lose steam

[24-guy]

3070 words later. I present to you...

What was the deal with the grill brush?

An amateur essay on “Just for Once” from Nerdy Prudes Must Die by J

When listening to the soundtrack for Nerdy Prudes Must Die (NPMD), I realized that the song that was hitting me most was, unexpectedly, Just for Once. This was odd to me because one could argue that, of all the songs in the musical, Just for Once isn’t that emotional of a song. Especially since it was sung by a side character like Ruth. But since this instance, every time I listened to it, I was struck with the desire to sit and properly delve into the lyrics and try to understand what exactly it was about it that made it so emotional to me. My aim in writing this is to understand how this song develops Ruth’s character further than her initial portrayal.

To do this, we need to take what we already know about Ruth and put it into context. Before this song happens, we have seen Ruth, as a character, in five of the nine songs, with Just for Once being the tenth song in the musical. This feels important to note as this is a significant amount of time to get to know Ruth and her character as well as her motivations and story through the musical.

Ruth is one of the two characters that open the musical. The first is a fellow nerd, Richie, who sings that he is dead. The stage is set in red lighting. When Ruth joins as a second voice to follow up his line, the context stays the same. We know from the first song of the musical that Ruth is going to die. As the performance continues, we go into a bigger piece with the students of Hatchetfield High School singing about how much school sucks. This doesn’t tell us much about her character, so let’s move on.

Literal monster is a song where the nerds of Hatchetfield High sing about their bully, Max Jägerman. Ruth’s part in this is telling us that she is a nerd and that she gets bullied. She has both solo and group lines that tell the audience and the listener that they aren’t enthusiastic about the bullying stopping. However, one of the lines in the part after the first chorus gives us our first hint into Ruth’s main character trait, she is extremely sexual.

The musical continues after this to see our main trio of nerds at a library. Peter, Richie and Ruth are working together on a thermodynamics paper. Here, we get another line that cements Ruth’s main trait being that she is extremely lonely, and that comes across in often uncomfortable moments. This scene we also get told that Ruth craves contact enough that she will talk telemarketers into hanging up the phone, and that she sees Peter getting a call from one as “lucky”. As the scene continues, we see that Ruth doesn’t seem to understand personal space and is nosey as she asks Peter about what Stephanie Lauter – a popular girl from school – is talking to him about. There is some minor things to note from this scene too, like how she references Star Wars and how she initially agrees that Peter shouldn’t get his hopes up about Stephanie because they’re too different in the social hierarchy in school.

Our next proper character moment happens when Ruth, Richie and Stephanie go to the boy’s bathroom to find Peter after he didn’t show up to study at a restaurant with Stephanie. Here, she remarks how the boys are lucky because they can all watch each other go to the toilet thanks to the urinals not having walls between them.

Our last major scene with Ruth and new traits to note, is during the set-up and consequence of a prank that the nerds, Stephanie and a girl called Grace play on their bully, Max. During the set-up we see that Ruth’s history of bullying leads her to lash out at Stephanie for calling them nerds, going into too much detail about her allergy to deodorant. It helps to solidify Ruth as someone who tends to make people uncomfortable with her lack of a vocal filter. In a later moment during the same setting, Ruth is talking to a telemarketer and gets hung up on. When Ruth talks about her nervousness about pulling off the prank, Stephanie comforts her. This leads to Ruth saying that Stephanie is nice, and that she might be in love with her. This helps us understand that Ruth probably doesn’t understand a lot of what she’s feeling, considering that earlier on she seemed almost negatively inclined towards Stephanie. In a moment between Richie and Peter, we get further confirmation that Ruth is “thirsty” all the time, and that it would be easy to sleep with her and then leave her because of it. When the prank goes wrong, with Max fighting against the perceived ghost and skeleton, we see that Ruth – in the skeleton costume – seems flattered and happy with the praise from Max.

So, to recap. In the lead up to Just for Once, we can understand that Ruth is an anxious character. She doesn’t think too highly of herself or her fellow nerds and will only really push for them to try to get ahead if someone else seems to be reaching out with them to support them. We know that she is touch starved enough that someone being kind and touching her shoulder is enough to make her think that she is in love with someone and that, because of this, she will take any human contact that she can – even if its salespeople on the phone.

With this foundation, we can now talk about how Just for Once expands our view of Ruth as a character.

In the opening before the song, we find that Ruth thinks she can perform on stage better than one of her classmates. This leads into our “musical in a musical” song that is a staple of StarKid shows. This song is supposed to be sung within the context of the musical “The Barbecue Monologues” that exists within the Hatchetfield universe, but I think it can do well at telling us a lot about Ruth’s character as she did decide to sing this song over any of the others that possibly exist within the rest of the production.

The first hint that the song means more to Ruth than immediately apparent is during the end of the second verse, where Ruth sings “And life is fine, if only it were mine.” While it may be because the character that she’s singing for is discontent with life, we have also seen that Ruth doesn’t really fit in outside of the nerd friend group she’s found herself in. We can speculate that she also feels like life isn’t hers to hold. She may feel like she would enjoy life, if only it was something that she could enjoy, seeing as for so long before this point in her story, she was being bullied.

Before this, she sings about how the character has “installed a new bay window” and that they were shopping “for shutters to obstruct the view”. I think that this implies that Ruth understands that having improvements to her life is something that she should want (after Max’s death, the bullying stops entirely), and that she can see the appeal of, but she still wants something to conceal the view of the outside, or even stop the outside from seeing who she is on the inside.

The chorus is the main tell that this song goes deeper than surface level to me. Ruth sings that “just for once I’d be the centre of attention, just for once, remember what a life could be, just for once I feel the light inside the burning of a candle, living just for once…” I’m going to take apart this chorus piece by piece to explain what I think each part means.

The opening line states, “just for once I’d be the centre of attention,” and this lines up with what we know already about Ruth’s character. She has demonstrated already that she craves attention and affection. We have seen her reaction to being praised for her performance as the skeleton in the prank to Max. Ruth wants to be loved, and to have her performance praised. She wants to be the lead of a play.

The next is “just for once, remember what a life could be” this feels like it’s reiterating my point where Ruth wants to remember what her life could mean if there was never any bullying that happened as it has warped her view of what life is. She now has a downplayed life where there’s no point in standing up to people because what’s the point if they all have more worth in your school than you do?

The second to last part is “just for once I’d feel the light inside the burning of a candle” and I think that this means that she wants to feel the light of the spotlight on her, that she wants to be in the spotlight. The way candles are always described is as calm, dancing flames. She wants to be like the flames on candles, to be seen as a delicate but bright focal point of the entire picture.

The final line of the chorus is “living just for once” and it is repeated halfway after the initial singing of it. This, again, just gives the impression that Ruth doesn’t think she was ever really living. She wants to live a good, happy life. But she can’t.

There is a line in the third verse that states “and I was not unhappy about the attention I ensnared, judge me”. This is referring to the character she’s singing for losing their hair after chemotherapy. It can also be read as Ruth not being unhappy about the attention she possibly got after the news of Richie’s death got around. After all, they were both nerds, and in a superficial school like Hatchetfield High even if they weren’t friends, she’d probably get some attention thanks to the apologies gained. This isn’t to say that she was happy, or even neutral, about Richie’s death. This is me pointing out that she would have gotten some of that attention she craved from the loss of her friend.

The following lines don’t stand out to me as anything personal as they start to feel more like the story that she’s singing about is getting across comes in. But the chorus changes again, so I’ll cover those lines too.

The first of these lines is “just for once my life could be just what I wanted”. Here it feels, again, like Ruth wants her life to be something specific, that she could just be better, and be more confident, popular, whatever.

The following is “just for once I’d feel the spark that I once knew”. This introduces another piece of information when it comes to Ruth’s character; she used to know what it felt like to be like this, to perform. She has felt that spark of being on stage, like she is while singing this, and she wants to feel that spark again.

The next is a similar line to one in the first, with a single word changed. “Just for once I’d feel the fight inside the burning of a candle”. This doesn’t change a lot about the implications of the line, but it does give the feeling that she feels like she could be ready to fight for wanting this. She wants this bad enough that, just for once, she’s ready to fight for it.

“Something more than I can handle” is the last line before we have a “just for once” and I feel like this calls again to her wanting to be in that spotlight. She wants to be in the spotlight, even if she knows that she can’t handle the pressure it puts her under for doing so. This marks a turning point in the song where the tone shifts, paralleling what Ruth may be going through with realizing she might not be ready to handle the pressure that being on stage could cause.

The first line of this section is “Should I flip the burgers now? Should I double check its well done on the outside not within?” This is filled with confusion about what she is doing. Ruth’s character has been placed to supervise something they don’t know what they’re looking for when it comes to checking it’s fine to flip the burgers. I believe this parallels Ruth’s hesitance and uncertainty when it comes to navigating a space like theatre, or high school, where she does know what to look for in theory. But in practice she falters, consumed by insecurity and self-doubt, potentially ruining her reputation/ ”burgers” if she does one thing wrong.

Breaking up the lines in this portion of the song are painful sounding “oh”s that sound like pleading to whoever is listening.

“Should I let the coals burn out? Should I let the years cook my body down in front of him?” Is the following line. And, again, this feels like a parallel between the character’s doubt about themselves and their health struggles with getting cancer at a reasonably early age, and Ruth’s doubts about her popularity and lack of connection, feeling like her life is over even though she’s only eighteen years old and her life is barely properly begun. She feels undesirable now, how is she going to feel when she’s older?

This next part of the song, while just repeating the line “Just for once”, has a portion of the music playing that is a leitmotif that has shown up in a lot of the songs before this point. Most noticeably, it takes centre stage first during the song “Cooler Than I Think I Am”. It plays over the top of a part of the chorus where Peter – the lead singer – sings the line “I’m not a loser”. This is brought up again during the titular song “Nerdy Prudes Must Die”, where Max is about to kill Richie, and Richie sings the line as a last-ditch effort to prove he’s no longer a loser, Max shouldn’t kill him. This musical idea is used as a point where the nerds are breaking out of their set place in Hatchetfield High’s social hierarchy. Richie uses it as a beg to be spared. The music behind Ruth’s vocals use it to foreshadow her demise at the end of this song thanks to the use of it in Richie’s number. It sets hope up and dread in the audience when they remember that Ruth was alongside Richie in the opening number singing about how they were dead.

The final part of the song doesn’t seem like it’s a part of the song from the in-universe musical at all. Ruth sings about how a family is borrowing her tap shoes. It’s melancholy in tone, and she continues, singing how it’s “no bother, I never ever use them”. And in a heart-wrenching moment, she says “I used to dance”, before repeating “I used to dance” like she’s about to cry.

I think that moment of the song is the most plain about Ruth’s feelings. I think she did used to dance, and that she did lend her tap shoes to someone because her anxiety stops her from performing anymore. This is a sad moment that lingers slightly before we return to spoken dialogue for the end.

“I found your grill brush, Maurie. It was right here, all along.” Right. The grill brush. This is one of the main reasons I wanted to write this in depth look at Just for Once, because I feel like the grill brush holds more meaning than it first appears. When it is first mentioned, the character of Maurie is looking for the grill brush and Ruth’s character gives a sarcastic comment about how they used it to brush their hair that morning. We know this is even more of a joke thanks to the later lines describing the chemotherapy. However, this ending says that the brush was there the whole time.

I think that the grill brush is symbolizing Ruth and her ability to perform. Given the initial response, it would make sense for the parallel to be how Ruth wants to perform but can’t because, well, she’s herself. She’s nerdy little Ruth who makes sexual remarks and Star Wars references and has anxiety so bad she quit dancing even in her free time. But, after this performance she does while the rest of the cast for The Barbeque Monologues are taking a break, she has more than enough ability to act on stage if the pressure isn’t there. She can do it. So why does she sound so sad when she says, “It was right here, all along…”? Because she knows that even if she can perform, she can’t do it with an audience thanks to her anxiety and self-doubt.

So where does this leave us with Ruth’s character after watching this performance? We now know that Ruth, despite initial appearances, is an aspiring actor with the ability to act but her anxiety is holding her back. She’s performed willingly on stage, but when she knows there is no audience to watch her perform. Even though she wants attention and to have the comfort of people seeing her, she still wants to have the ability of shutting everything out, letting herself be a secret because that’s what she’s used to.

Just for Once feels so sad because it’s an “I want” song that ends with the lead dying. The audience listens to her story, her wants and desires, and knows that she is going to die before the end of the musical because that is what we were told with the opening number. Just for Once is a song that Ruth sings to herself because she can let herself be selfish, and she can let herself want to be the centre of attention when she’s stood on stage alone with nobody to judge her.

Maybe if she survived, she would be able to gain the courage to handle the pressure she feels when she’s stood up on that stage.

#npmd #nerdy prudes must die #ruth fleming #just for once #npmd ruth #listen i used to love creating analasis like this in some old fandoms #and to have it be for just for once for this one? #it seems oddly fitting for me #also this is just for fun and all my opinion #i dont know if anyone else has done this so im sorry if it is repeating some stuff #i dont really do much other than ship art here

[afreakingdork]

Weak Spot - Chapter 49

RotTMNT Donatello x Reader

What would you do if you walked in on Donnie like how @inky-spikes drew him for this week's chapter art?

Warnings: Aged-up Turtles, Romance, Meet Cute, Villain Donatello, Cussing, Crushes, Xenophobia, Fear, Intimidation, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Hurt/Comfort, Love, AFAB Reader, Vaginal Sex, Sex Rough, Sex, Penis In Vagina Sex, Creampie, Teasing, Scent Kink, Sexual Tension, Breeding Kink, Multiple Orgasms, Cunnilingus, Fellatio, Marathon Sex, Somnophilia, Bondage, Feral Behavior, Feral Donatello, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Public Sex, Dom Donnie, Human/Turtle Relationships, Turtle Noises, Roleplay, Sexual Roleplay

Synopsis:  A love story of villainous proportions! Though it hadn’t come easily, as these things rarely do, you found yourself in a whirlwind romance with a handsome and mysterious mutant. His idiosyncrasies had been easy to ignore as attraction grew into something more. However, will love endure when the unknowns about him end up being far darker than you ever considered?

Excuse me while I get incredibly mushy; you may known my rise origins, disastisfied with content, setting out to write my own love story, but did you know that I had never properly interacted with a fandom before? Why would I? I'm the type of person to only want to do what i want. This doesn't mean I'm not open to possibiltise, I love a good time saver and the truth, but most often, I just stay my funky little coruse. Then I received a piece of fanart.

I've always told myself, if you get fanart then you've made it. Well, I didn't know how much I had made it when I started talking to @unknownfanartist

It is not hyperbole when I say that I can credit everything about where I am now to my Contessa. Sure, I have my writing, but she gave me my community. Her friendship and the many others I hold dear now, she was the one who gave me every single one of those oppurtunties.

How does someone pay that back?

I've written her fics, is that enough?

It never feels like it.

I wouldn't be surrounded by anywhere near as much love if it wasn't for her. I wouldn't have found the people who bring me joy if it wasn't for her. My rise obsession probably wouldn't even be where it is today without her.

How do you pay that back?

I can't.

I can only use my words to show and say how incredibly thankful I am that you came out of the woodwork to draw little old me a scene from my silly little turtle fic. Contessa, I not only dedicate this chapter to you, but I have written it as an homage. I've jammed it with as many refrences to your work as possible while also slipping in some of your usual mannerisms.

Merry Christmas and thank you always.

P.S. @morning-sun-brah that includes you too because you opened the Pragma Elysium gates. I remember fondly waiting on pins and poodles to await your little updates. I have an ode to you here as well!

Fem!Reader References/Warnings Below Cut

Also available on Ao3

First 💜 Previous

LAST WARNING FOR THE 🍋 UNDER THE CUT. MINORS DNI!

Fem!Reader References/Warnings: bra removal, clit rubbing, breast teasing

You were shamelessly staring at your boyfriend.

In his usual spot on the couch, he was hunched forward in a way that made you worry about even his softened shell. With your phone on one knee, he had his tech gauntlet folded up to his face where code was spinning around his wrist. On your device's screen, a battle was flicking and flashing with all sorts of attacks. Attached by some unseen cord, data from the game was being sent right to Donnie’s gauntlet where he was studying it.

You adored him.  

It didn’t matter that he didn’t care about video games or understood anything you were talking about; he was a trooper. When you’d mistakenly gotten into this mobile game for its characters, he’d listened without judgment as you yammered on about the designs. Every time you thrust your phone into his face to show him something, he indulged your delight. When you left him for hours on end as you combed through the story line, he simply busied himself with other things while only occasionally disturbing you to remind you to hydrate or something similar.

Not quite as obsessed as Coral, who’d already spent an obscene amount of money on the game. You kept playing relegated to once a night for sanity's sake. Your plan had worked for about a week until it became increasingly necessary for you to put forth actual effort into the battles if you wanted to keep progressing. One too many rules and all sorts of caveats, you’d gotten by on sheer luck until it ran out. With Coral barely able to keep her mouth shut about what was to come, you’d been forced to buckle down and study.

Scheduling the evening to figure it out, Donnie was buried in a project designing something on his own and hadn’t minded in the slightest. Armed with the wiki, you began the tedious study of combat logistics. Cramming for what felt like hours, you adjusted your team in all the recommended ways and restarted said battle only for it to yield the same result. Having back-ups prepared, you switched around your character’s positions and began anew only for the timer to run out even sooner. Unable to accept what was happening, you reverted to the original team. In a mystified stupor, you watched a greater failure and somehow worse result. Spurned, you spent the next 30 minutes in an ever deepening spiral as your losses piled on one after the other. 

It didn't make sense. 

You did everything right. 

You followed all the suggestions.

By the time you scrambled over to Donnie, you were sure the look on your face was a horrified one.

It thankfully hadn’t worried him, but he’d abandoned his work to help you immediately.  

All found him sitting, examining the game’s code, and mumbling something about DPS and buffs.

You wanted to kiss him nearly as much as you needed to win.

The latter winning out by the tiniest margin, you watched on with building affection until he turned toward you.

“While the damage ratio may appear the same, the actual amount dealt by your opponent is being randomly generated within a certain range.”

“So the RNG gods are frowning upon me?” You sulked.

He hummed with some altruistic form of sympathy.

The current match ended with another loss. “I guess I’ll just run it over and over until I get the right number.”

“Or…” Donnie flicked his data wheel and then hit restart on the fight.

You sat up and watched as the same attack patterns went by, but this time you were dominating.

Donnie tapped the screen to dispel a few debuffs and you won.

“Yes!” You leapt and he caught you while lifting your phone out of the way. “Thank you! Thank you!”

He allowed you to ply him with kisses. “I can adjust the code accordingly.”

“Cheating?” You asked with your lips still to his cheek.

“You won’t be caught. A few imperceptible lines.”

“Done!” You removed yourself to give him space.

He chuckled and brought back up his screens to apply whatever he had in mind.

Back to watching him, you couldn’t help but muse over how his deviousness had been watered down. This once wretched villain now hacked mobile games for his love and your heart overflowed. He had done undeniable bad, but in only a year he came to lavish in his choice. Living finally came to him easily and you were overjoyed to be a participant of that journey. 

“Hey, Don.”

“Hm?” He had a small smile on his lips as he ran a new battle and studied the metrics it produced.

“Can I be the villain?”

“Of course.” He spun his code. “What do you covet, my dearest? We’ll put on a great heist.”

“I want to steal from you.”

He still didn’t look as the battle was won once again. “Something other than my heart?”

You had to put your face in your hands.

He was in a good mood which proved fatal for your heart.

Peering between your fingers found his smile spread wide. “You goofball, that’s not what I meant.”

“Done. Do tell me if you have any other issues.” He offered you your phone. “How then?”

“Thanks.” You hugged your device to your chest. “You like it when I pull one over on you.”

He slowed, clearly going through his memories.

“What better way…” Giving your game a parting goodbye, you left it on the cushions in favor of crawling towards him. “… then at your own profession?”

He sank into the couch to receive you. “In no demeaning way, in a no hold’s barred scenario, I’m not sure you’d be able to.”

“No?” Lifting onto your knees, you straddled him.

You saw his fingers twitch from where his arms laid out across the back of the couch.

You cradled his jaw and inched forward until your lips almost brushed his. “All the times I deceived you?”

“Underestimation.” He murmured, resisting to close the gap.

“Afraid?” You tilted your head and ghosted your mouth against his.

“I won’t fall for goading.” One of his arms slipped from its perch, but didn’t come around you.

“Test it then. What do you have to lose?” You gave him a protogenic kiss.

“Nothing I suppose…” He chased you for another chaste press.

You nosed along his jaw. “I’ll try to steal from you.”

“Everything mine is yours.” He sighed contented.

You pulled back to stare at him dully. “Roleplay.”

“You make a captivating honeypot.” He caught your hips and yanked them down for a grind.

You chewed your lip as your eyes rolled back. “N-not that.”

“Explain.” His grip loosened, but you felt his fingers at the ready.

“A game of keep away. See how much you still have in you.”

“You don’t believe I’ve gone soft.” He studied you.

“No, but I’m your weak spot right? How will you fare against me?”

His expression opened up for genuine surprise. “Fascinating…”

“See what I mean now?”

“Yes.” He urged you off his lap and you reluctantly tucked in beside him. “I won’t be going all out.”

“Worried about my safety?” You asked.

“Those aren’t terms. That’s a fact.” He adjusted his pants.

You flicked your gaze down to check what he'd fixed and he tapped a digit to your nose.

You swatted at him and he chuckled. “Clear mind. If someone were to steal from me, I’d employ all means necessary to get it back.”

You nodded remembering he’d mentioned something about that when revealing his backstory.

“I could torture you, but in ways you already know.”

“Not edging!” You whined, throwing your head back.

“The prize is sex then. Not a means to be utilized.” He offered his hand.

You took it with a squeeze. “Okay… Is this just an ‘if I win’ sort of bargain?”

He looked up to the ceiling in thought. “Let’s both win.”

“Even if I’m not successful?” You leaned your head against the couch and stroked his thumb. “Don’t patronize me.”

“Never.” He returned and seared an intensity into your eyes. “You’ll have gone up against me and survived. That’s clout enough.”

“I’ll be able to go to the Hidden City and brag at some bar?”

“You would most certainly be taken to meet someone’s boss if so.”

The honesty with which he’d said that9 brought your head up. “Oh…”

“What a way to meet Big Mama.” He rolled his eyes.

“Not doing that.” You gave an awkward laugh.

“A dry spell to enhance the achievement?”

“No sex until… when?” You worried over the last time such a restriction was implemented.  

He pressed your hand open to pair up his fingers to yours. “Two waves. One week to steal from me, we rejoice as soon as you do. Then another if you can keep it from me, broken if I find it.”

Giving a Vulcan salute to match him, you opened and closed the ‘V.’ “I win, you win.”

“Even, no harm. We stave off the pain of last time.”

Trying to foresee pitfalls, you slid off his pads to thread your fingers. “It sounds good… Is there something specific I should take?”

“Your choice.” He dipped in for a quick peck. “It’s all yours regardless.”

“Menace.” You whispered against him.

His smile said he agreed.

“Wanna start after a little…?” You pulled on his hand.

“Very much so. Yes!” He shifted the tide to pull you to him.

-

Donnie was in the shower.

It had only been a few hours since the heist begun and, having spent most of it in bed, he’d left you to rest while he washed up. Waiting to hear the telltale sound of the shower hitting a body, you snatched the closest thing to you and stowed away into the kitchen. Slamming the tap there on, you ducked down below the counter.

“Shelly?”

A single curious buzz came from your tech gauntlet.

“Mess with Donnie’s implants!”

A confirming buzz responded.

“Okay… Uh…” Turning over Donnie’s much larger gauntlet, you were sure you had previously seen it in some kind of smaller form. “Darling Protocol… shrink?”

The metal sat useless in your hands.

“Darling Protocol small!”

You shook the long band.

“Shorten! Reduce! Condense! Little! Mini!”

Staring, you resisted the urge to chuck it out a window.

Your wrist buzzed with interest.

“No, I have to do this. I feel bad enough I already asked for your help, but the stupid protocol is voice activated.”

More buzzing occurred and you could tell it was S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. wanting to know what was going on.

“It’s a… game we’re playing. I’m the villain and I’m trying to steal Donnie’s tech gauntlet, but it’s too big!”

Your band was silent and you ignored it in favor of the frustrating one.

“I don’t understand… How does this thing get all compact?”

Upon the last syllable, Donnie’s gauntlet shrank to the size of a watch.

“Synonym stickler.” You grouched before raising up.

“Darling protocol…” You tried to think of the way he’d say it. “Disengage tracker.”

Nothing happened, but you almost figured it wouldn’t.

“Oh, Darling Protocol sleep mode!”

With its holographic display, it looked like nothing more than a glorified bracelet. You couldn’t remember having ever seen Donnie charge the thing. It seemed indestructible and waterproof, but he had removed it on several occasions as you did yours. Since the apartment was fully under his command, he only really needed the device when he left.

“Can he track you now…?” You wondered, turning the object over.

Buzz. Buzz.

“You’re not supposed to help-! Wait, I got it?”

Buzz.

“You’re not doing it, right? Swear to me. I need to be the one.”

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

“Yes or no!”

It was impressive how much sass S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. could inject into a single vibration.

“… Yes you’re doing it or…?”

Donnie’s computer lit up.

Walking over to it, you saw  S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N.’s little icon waiting there with annoyed impatience and a taping foot. “Hey, you updated your avatar to look like your new body!”

‘Thanks for noticing. You like?’ The little avatar did a twirl.

“I do, it’s very cute.”

He gave a gentlemanly bow.

“Did you help me?”

‘Now you ask a yes or no question?’ His lids lowered with put on irritation. 

“Shelly, please. I’m in a hurry.”

‘And I wasn’t busy? It’s 9:37pm on a Thursday.’

“Oh…” You lowered your gaze and pulled the gauntlet close. “That’s true. I’m sorry.”

His avatar appeared at the bottom of the screen with a wagging finger. ‘It’s a joke. I can be in up to 14 locations at once, no probbles!’

“Only 14?”

He snickered. ‘You’re right. It’s been a while since I last calculated. Should I test it? Dare me!’

“Some other time, I’m really sorry for assuming you’d be at my beck and call…”

‘You didn’t assume wrong, but accepted and, to clarify, I did not tamper. You got the correct bypass.’ He threw his hand up and a little log with a time stamped list of commands last executed appeared.

“Awesome, thank you!”

‘Have fun and fill me in later!’

“Will do!”

He saluted before he disappeared along with the light of the machine.

Looking down over the tidy desk, you scanned the surface. You had seen enough movies to know that hiding something in plain sight was one of the best ways to pull off a grift. It needed to be somewhere that didn’t attract attention and was easily overlooked. Finding nothing where a cylinder of metal could disappear here, you kept your feet moving as you rounded the apartment. Shower still going steady, you felt the urgency as you imagined he was nearly done washing himself off. From the paintings that adorned the walls to the coat rack near the door, nothing appeared right. Ready to return to the kitchen and unearth some rarely used pot, a glimmer of something caught your eye.

Slowing, you stared and had to study the space until you caught the source. Standing at his post stood the astronaut that had been forced back into your possession when you moved in. The metallic film on his visor threw an errant beam, but up close your body shadowed the piece. He hadn’t been altered much since his stay and, in fact, had mostly been forgotten about. A mainstay in the space now, you flipped his little visor up and down a few times to hide his haunting face.

Thinking it over for a moment, you gave a smile before digging your claws into the hinge. With little effort, the plastic snapped off and you set the toy back on the shelf just so. Making several adjustments so he was exactly as he was, you then moved to drop the miniaturized tech gauntlet over his face. It took twice the amount of fiddling, but you eventually got it to sit and turned in a way that looked similar to his true brim. Stepping back, you tried to recreate the light flicker effect, but it wasn’t the same. The metal had a different sheen than the plastic, but you smiled. Deeming it a cute first try, you imagined Donnie would probably find it in the next hour.

With evidence to dispose of, you wandered back to the kitchen long enough to throw the visor away. You imagined you’d at least keep Donnie on his toes with this little stunt and wondered if you should steal something else as a double bluff. Sleep tugged against the thought so you returned to bed with a giddy feeling. The dopamine rush reminded you of your game and you gave into the delusion that it might inspire you. Jumping in, you found dominating the battles to be infinitely more fun. Almost forgetting all about the roleplay, the story in your game finally progressed and you ate up the new dialog until Donnie emerged.

“Your turn.” He spoke casually as he rounded the bed to his side.

“Mhm, in’a minute.” You tapped viciously on your screen to get rid of some little dust bunny enemies zapping HP.

Not seeing as much as hearing, Donnie approached his side table and stopped. “Really?”

“Yeah, almost done.” Clearing the field, there was a burst of text that signaled some victory. “Ah, this is so great. Thanks again!”

“Y/N.”

“Yeah?” You let your phone fall flat on your chest and turned to look at him.

“My gauntlet.”

“Your-” You blinked wide before the recognition struck you. “-what?”

He threw his weight on one hip to stare down at you, bored.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” You salvaged a little dismissive persona. “I’m going to shower.”

“Technicality.”

You sat up and threw your legs over the side of the bed.

“This feels…”

He held his pause a little too long so you turned to look over your shoulder.

He was waiting there with a blasé expression. “…uninspired.”

You shrugged. 

“Wallet, keys, phone. Infantile.”

 “Oh no.” You dulled your voice for faux worry. “You must have misplaced it.”

Donnie sighed before bringing a hand up. “S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. I assume?”

“No.” You gave a sharp retort.

“He leaves a trail.” He raised one of his brows and you watched the whole apartment take on a faint purple light.

Standing and looking over your violet tinted skin, you turned a hand over to hear Donnie make a noise of confusion. “Find your trail?” You exaggerated your own brow at your boyfriend.

“He could have used the door.” Donnie grumbled, walking into the next room.

Knowing that’d be right next to where you’d stashed the gauntlet, you smiled at how you'd gotten the timeline right. Giving right up, you went to take your shower. You sometimes worried about the other tenants, but you loved how your apartment never ran out of hot water. Soaking up all ill gotten glory, you emerged a steamed bun and ambled out in a fluffy towel to find Donnie sitting on the bed with a laptop you’d never seen.

“What are we hacking tonight?” You mused and meant to sit down next to him. With your muscles liquefied, you let yourself fall over and bumped your wet head up against his bare thigh.

He made an irritated noise and jumped. “What did you have him do?”

“Who?” You rolled your head to look at him.

“S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N.!”

It was a blow to your relaxed form. “I didn’t get Shelly’s help. In fact, I called him up just to tell him that.”

“Then how did you-?” He cut himself off with closed eyes and pinched the bridge of his snout. “Darling Protocol.”

“Took awhile to get the right words. At least you didn’t program the codes in.”

“I’m changing that.” He started furiously typing.

“No, come on!” You playfully whined and grabbed at him.

He leaned away from your touch. “I’ll bind the print outs. I estimate a 24 volume set.”

“What did I even graduate for!?” You bemoaned and wiggled off the bed to get into your pajamas. “Now here's your torture.”

“I’ll print it so small you'll need a magnifying glass.”

“The horror.” Pulling your towel off, you rubbed furiously at your hair. “What are you doing?”

“Locating it.”

“Fun. I assume there’s trackers in everything, but me. Is there one in the couch?”

The only indication Donnie heard you was a little smile quirking the corner of his lips.

Leaving him to his task, you finished getting ready for bed and, as you were about to tuck yourself in, you found him sat in the exact the same way. “You gonna sleep?”

He stopped by extending his fingers and holding them over the keyboard. “True.”

“What?”

He closed his laptop and turned to you with a heated stare. “For the time being, you’ve earned your first prize.”

You giggled as he came in with kneading fingers to your waist and a kiss to your cheek. “You’re wonderful, but can I bank it?”

He kissed a few more times until you would relent with your lips. “Suit yourself.”

“Do I get to keep it after you find it?”

He perked up and released you. “It’s close.”

You rolled your eyes into laying down. “Sure it is, Don. Answer please.”

“It’s… not?” He stared you down.

“Donnie.” Your pillow was beckoning you.

“This was not discussed.”

“Banking?”

“Multiple thefts.”

“I figured it balanced.” You snuggled down into the sheet. “Each one you find is a win for you too.”

He made a satisfied sound as he thought it over.

“Goodnight kiss if you’re going to stay up and obsess?”

Holding on for a few more seconds, he collapsed down beside you with enough force that it bounced your head from your pillow.

“Hey!”

“I suppose it’s no rush. I have the entire time you’re at work.”

“Mhm.” Your lids felt heavy.

He kissed your forehead and moved the laptop in his grasp. “I have to put this up.”

“Where’d you get that, anyway?”

“Mm, don’t worry about it.” He almost nuzzled your hairline, but found it damp so he hopped  out of bed to put the laptop away.

-

Waking first found you oddly calm. Consciousness came comfortably and recognition over what had occurred the previous night drifted to you. Capturing it with open eyes, you watched your partner’s sleeping form before dragging yourself out of bed. You’d make him breakfast for a change and, in only a slightly hunched stupor, you shuffled over to the kitchen. It was there, with the hidden object just across the room, that you had to keep reminding yourself over and over not to look. Checking would make it obvious. You needed to own this. You’d stolen from him, successfully so far, and that was the whole point of being bad.

You had said you wanted to be a villain.

Was that relegated to one nefarious act?

Pulling out a frying pan to make scrambled eggs, you pondered this query.

Villains were supposed to be evil, but Donnie had never struck you as truly bad. Doing a mental timer as the metal heated up, you folded yourself against the counter to stare at the egg carton. Wondering about the colloquial bad egg, it wasn’t something you could always tell by looking. One that was truly rotten would smell, but that didn’t mean all the bad ones stank. Instead, there were tests, things like floating it in water or getting it all the way to your lips. Nothing in the world was so black and white.

Flicking your gaze to the clock, it was about time so you spread a bit of butter to prevent sticking. Adding the eggs in, one crack at a time, you stirred them to make the scramble. A bit of toast sounding like a nice addition, you switched course. Lowering the heat and you left the eggs for a new appliance. Getting a toaster, you slotted the bread in and looked back over the bar. Clear across the apartment through sheer curtains, your egg was still tucked into his carton. Mostly a cozy lump, putting him in water revealed little other than it calmed him like a balm.

Life was the test of proclivities.

Everyone came in all kinds.

The world shades of moral grey and you fit into that same bland color palette.

Slowing at the thought where you hadn’t moved, you gave an amused puff of air.

How did you fit into all that?

You had been called good and bad over the years with a varying sense of hyperbole. For the average person, you imagined this wasn’t the sort of thing people applied to themselves. They read it in stories where the characters were exaggerated and it was usually clear who the antagonist was. The balancing scales weighing your heart to a feather was mythos. 

Turning around with the toast giving an almost done, you scoured the cabinet as quietly as you could. Slipping a bowl free with only a minor clink of ceramic, you set it down and riffled for your cereal. The type of food Donnie often chided you as not actually being suited for breakfast, you poured a bowl and unplugged the toaster just as it seemed it would pop. Switching between tasks, you plated up the eggs meant for two on one plate with the toast and then splashed a healthy amount of milk into the cereal bowl. Situated, you then sauntered back to bed and over to your partner's side.

He was facing outward which helped as you parted the curtains with your plate. Holding it up towards his snout, you watched the tiniest wrinkle as the scent of breakfast invaded his dreams. Within moments he was blinking awake and humming with slurred affection over you having made breakfast.

“I’ll leave yours here.” You told him warmly.

He hummed having been given the space to wake and you left the cereal behind to go eat your eggs in the living room.

You had just about gotten through your usual portion when you heard a snort of disdain. Trying not to laugh around the tines of the fork, you traded it for a point of toast.

“Y/N.”

“Mhm?”

Silence chased you and you put on your best pious pose as you waited for him to approach. It took a moment, but he appeared, standing nude and with the bowl clasped in one hand. Flowing a gentle current of irritation, he waited for some type of explanation.

“It’ll get soggy.” You offered.

“It’s already soggy.” He bit back.

“Shame. You were too slow I guess.” 

“You didn’t even leave me a spoon.”

“No?” You scooped another forkful of eggs into your mouth.

“Your ploys continue to be childish.” He turned to the kitchen and disposed of his breakfast.

“Crazy these kid games are landing, huh?” You chomped down on toast.

There was another minor bout of silence before he turned the tap on.

-

You were assaulted by your boyfriend as soon as you got home from work. Squeaking at the sudden intrusion, you almost thought it was a hug before his hands roved right into your clothes. Trying to fend him off as you were still half in the hallway, you were no match for his speed and strength.

“Donnie, what are you doing?!” Your voice warbled as he yanked your shirt straight up your body. “Stop, stop!!”

“Where is it?!” He growled, tugging your shirt down to bring you to his squat eye level.

“Where-ah!” Sliding into your pants he squeezed your ass cheeks. “Q-quit!!!”

Several angry clicks sounded in your ear until he lurched backwards, ready to pounce again in a moment’s notice. “My gauntlet! You took it with you! On your person!”

“I didn’t!” The reply popped out of you before you could grab it.

“It’s not here!” His eyes continued to scan you.

“It’s not-?!” You might have felt confusion if your blood pressure hadn't plummeted at the sight of  downy stuffing on the ground.

Stepping forward and pushing your angrily clacking partner out of the way, you found the apartment turned upside down. From the couch, where he’d ripped it to shreds, to the kitchen, where all the cabinets were open and leaking, you knew the bedroom had to be in a similar state.

A short, rattling breath emerged from your lips as you did a slow rotation. Not hooking on it, but passing by, you saw the little astronaut standing a proud protector on his lone shelf where he hadn’t been disturbed.

The spaceman had failed at one job and succeeded in another.

Some protector. 

“Donnie, what the fuck!?” You shoved him.

“Where is it!?” He was immobile.

“That’s the point!” You shoved him again and he relented a single step for your sake.

“Yes, but it doesn’t make sense! You had no planning! You had no time! Without S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N.’s help how could you have-!?”

You slammed your palms into his plastron over and over.

He made a few irritated snorts until he let you push him back several steps.

“You are being such a jerk!”

A light bulb went off for him. “You did plan.” He walked away and you were left to stew with your coat hanging off one shoulder. “You proposed the scenario. You must have been plotting. For how long?” He walked up to his computer where all sorts of models were running.

“It was spur of the moment!”

Without a keyboard, lines of information were being written at an alarming rate.

“Donatello!”

“Depending on the length of time you had, any number of scenarios could have been implemented. If I take into account-”

Slamming the door behind you, you stormed back down the hallway and toward the elevator. “Shelly! Ugh, I know this is last minute and we just talked about it, but…”

Buzz!

“Wanna go get dinner?”

The single vibration nearly rocked off your tech gauntlet off your wrist.

-

“So being villain was fun for ten whole seconds.” You rolled the liquid in your glass where you were plopped down on S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N.’s couch and had just finished catching him up.

Similarly aerating his wine, he held his goblet up as if he were making a toast. “Dump him!”

You snorted and had to scramble not to spill.

S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. repeated himself with a cheer that did cause wine to slosh out. Only for him, a mechanical arm appeared out of his back and wiped the liquid straight out of the air before it could fall.

“Woah…” The sound came out of you as your glass neared your lips.

“I’m sorry, but I’m having a blast right now.”

“I can see that.” You chuckled.

“Pizza at a real dirty restaurant, whine session with wine, like this is the thing! I’m doing it!”

“The human thing?” You asked after a sip.

“Yes!” His eyes turned into stars.

“I mean, you’re crushing it.” You turned and looked around what was a quintessential bachelor pad. Though the layout was identical to Donnie’s preference, the rooms themselves looked like movie sets. With a proper clutter budget, clothes were strewn about just so, little knick knacks made the space feel homey and there were even dirty dishes in the sink. “Did you have someone over?”

“Huh? No. Why?”

You gestured around with a sweep of your glass.

“Oh, pfft. That’s all me. I like to mess around and I like the way the space is. Feels like me, ya know?”

You softened. “Yeah.”

“I stole the dishes.” He pointed.

“Why?” You shook your head at how ridiculous he was.

“I don’t wanna clean the kitchen.”

“So, don’t use it!”

“I didn’t!” He chirped.

“You just wanted the sink full.”

“It looked lonely.” He tipped his head, commiserating.

“You know I thought this place was going to be nothing but a charging port.”

“Ew.”

“Right?”

“That is what dad gave me, but I ordered a bunch of stuff as soon as he left.”

“He’s ridiculous.”

“Dump him!”

“No!” You kicked at S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. and he let it connect for a metal thunk. “Ah!”

“Oops.” He leaned forward to study your leg. “You good?”

“No, yeah, sorry. I just forgot cause usually…”

“People dodge.” He snickered. “Not people.” He reminded you and then poured himself over the back of the couch. “See those clothes there.”

You looked where he was pointing. “Sure.”

“None of those fit. Those are just for decoration, but I have been trying new ones since I can now!”

“Fashion show?”

His eyes sparkled and he tossed his glass behind him where it smashed into the wall.

“Shelly!”

“My house, my rules!!!” He screamed as he launched himself, fists in the air, over the couch and into his bedroom.

Modeling several looks from something grungy where he’d smeared black oil under his eyes to something preppy enough for a country club, he was twisting in a simple t-shirt and jeans when he dropped right out of his purchasing process explanation for something else. “So, where’d you hide it?”

“You know.” You were draped over the couch.

“Yeah, but pretend I don’t.”

“That’s a secret.” You grinned.

S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. gasped. “In my own dojo!”

“I know!” You lifted a scandalized hand to your mouth.

“It’s wild though.”

“That he didn’t look there? Yeah.”

“Huh? No, but he kinda did.”

“What do you mean?” You lifted up.

A screen appeared in your face showing Donnie right next to the door in your apartment. Borderline feral and nearly crawling around on all fours, you watched him storm by the astronaut with his head on a constant swivel before he disappeared out of the camera's frame.

You let out a single satisfied laugh. “Dummy.”

“You can barely tell on the feed.”

“It looks good in person too. The only thing is it goes all the way around. If he had moved it, he’d have seen it wasn’t right.” You twirled a finger in demonstration.

“Why’s Major Creeponaut duct taped? Did you try to shove it inside?”  

You chuckled. “Nah, that was from our first kiss.”

“So gross!” S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. screamed at the ceiling. “Tell me everything.”

“Do you want to know or not?” You laughed.

“Not at all. Tell me.” He took a few hopping steps over before he plopped down, legs crossed, in front of you.

“When a mommy and daddy love each other very much…” You began.

“Stop, stop!” S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. threw his arms out in waving embarrassment.

“They have the urge to-!”

“No, seriously stop!”

You blinked, waiting.

“You’re getting a message.”

You stared at him for a moment before you turned. “My phone’s on silent from work…”

“So?”

“How do you know?” Looking around, you searched for your bag and found your device.

“How do I explain…?” He rocked to one side. “I can hear the other electronics near me? Kinda like how you hear voices.”

“You’re not tapping in…?” You stared at an increasing number of messages from Donnie.

“I might be like dad, but I’m not dad.”

“It wasn’t comparing you to Donnie...” You thumbed over the preview which was an apology. “You literally stole dirty dishes.”

S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. let the comment sink in before he started laughing. “Oh, true that!”

-

Returning home, your boyfriend once again met you at the door. This time without the attack, he sullenly apologized and you gave him a proper hug. Kissing him back to a baseline mood, he scooped you up, carried you through an immaculate apartment, and to a freshly made bed. He set you down only to curl up in your lap where you rubbed his carapace as he opened up.

“I can’t… leave without my gauntlet.”

“Don’t you have another?” You spread your nails out for an even scratch.

He gave a heady hum and rooted closer to you. “Sentimental.”

“That one’s special?”

He nodded into your thigh. “There’s three more like yours, but only one of mine.”

“Tell me about it.”

Slouching, he sighed. “Not a first, but one of my more important inventions. A universal remote of sorts, it was my backup for my goggles.”

“The ones that short circuited?” You kept one hand to his carapace and used the other to brush the scarring on the side of his head.

He nodded. “I’ve never replaced it. I’ve been upgrading the original.”

Your hand stopped. “That’s… how old is it?”

“Older than S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N.”

“I didn’t… know.”

“I didn’t mention.”

“I’m sorry…”

He shook his head. “No, me.”

You patted him. “That’s not withholding, it wouldn’t come up. Do you know how old my phone is?”

“Yes, I know the model.”

“But did I get it the year it came out?” You tilted your head to glimpse his face.

His eyes moved as he thought that over. “Did you?”

“No, two years after. I was so mad; they released the next gen like a week after I got it.”

He didn’t make a sound, but squeezed you.

“Want it back? I’ll take something else.”

He thought for a long moment and you went back to giving him scritches.

He made a little hum before he spoke. “Is it safe?”

“Very.”

“I’ll make do.”

“You sure? It’s really not a big deal.”

He shook his head and reluctantly rose up. “You were successful. I want to honor that.”

“This wasn’t supposed to make either of us uncomfortable though.” Your hand dragged up to his shoulder.

“I’ll survive.” He kissed your hand with confirmation. “Besides, I’ve moved on to the next stage.”

“You’re not looking for it anymore?”

“Oh, I am, but I’ll need information.”

“Shelly’s records are closed and you didn’t find anything at the scene of the crime.” 

His head tipped back and forth as if weighing the options. “Typically I’d move onto kidnapping, extortion, torture, blackmail…”

You stared at him with a growing gaze. “I’m in for quite the week.”

“You think me relentless now?” He almost purred as he leaned into you.

You hummed in return, not taking the bait of his lips.

“Tomorrow.” He confirmed before pouncing on you to shove his carapace back under your digits.

-

Your morning began with retribution for yesterday’s breakfast. You were served what looked like a normal meal, but the orange juice had been all pulp, the eggs were covertly stuffed with shells, and the bottom half of your toast was burnt to a crisp. Laughing at the forethought, you got yourself cereal and he did an amused peacocking as he readied for his day.

Being the first to the bathroom, you hid his toothbrush in the shower.

He found it soon enough, but you heard him knock a few things over in the process.

Getting dressed found he had left all your clothes pristine, but had swapped all the drawers where they usually sat.

Laughing over how he must have prepared that one the previous day, you scurried to the door with a premonition. 

“Wait.” He trailed after, getting his head through a sweater.

You held a guard on your shoulders. “What?”

He made a timeout symbol and you relaxed. Pulling you close, his hands dug into your lower back as he languidly kissed you. Melting into him, you felt his hands move against you before a jingle sounded and he ran. 

“There was a time out!” You chased after him and your keys.

“I timed it back in.” He ducked around the bed. “Return my gauntlet!”

“Never!” You pivoted and charged the kitchen.

“Damnit!” You heard him leap. 

“No! I was here first!” Banging your body against a cabinet, you covered the drawer containing the spare with your body.

You screeched with laughter as he hooked an arm around your waist to lift you out of the way. “You should learn to use your opponent’s power against them.” 

“Or!” You got hold of the keys before letting your body go slack. It shifted his hold and gave you a momentary break. Just long enough to drop down to the ground and break free, you crawled the few steps out from where his long legs impeded him from making another grab. “Bye! See you after work!” You cheered and exited the apartment to him giving an annoyed huff.

-

The next few days found an escalation in what you referred to as the school yard bully ploy. Keeping it playful, it amounted to a prank war the likes of nothing you’d ever experienced. The back and forth sabotage was quickly subverted by your boyfriend's intelligence. Not able to hack your systems, he’d happily entered your bosses where he’d rearranged the entire calendar for the day. The ensuing mess reached throughout the company and IT was none the wiser to whatever was happening. It meant meetings with clients were missed and memos seemingly disappeared. You survived until lunch, nothing outright destructive, but it felt like pure chaos when you called Kaleb.

Your next plan of sneaking hot sauce into his food wasn't going to cut it.

With Kaleb's engineering background, your chill friend had whipped up what he referred to as a pie throwing robot in what seemed like too little time. It meant a detour after putting out office fires and meeting him at a pastry hop. There you ordered for the lot of you as a payment for your friend’s help. He’d attached spindly metal to your bakery box and sent you on your way with another request of pictures.

Promising it, you headed home with the box in tow and entered the apartment in a feigned huff. “I can’t believe you.”

Donnie spun around, smirking in his computer chair like a cartoon villain.

“I got you something still because I’m so nice!” You spoke loud and haughty.

“Pass.” His gaze narrowed on the box and though his lips turned it down, his eyes tracked you with interest.

“Suit yourself. I would never hurt a defenseless pastry.” Setting the container on the counter, you held down the little switch in the back that temporarily stopped the mechanism. You then opened the box wide so Donnie could see and picked out a croissant before closing it back up. “I’ll have your banana caramel roll for breakfast tomorrow then.”

He perked up.

Walking around and munching on your croissant, you looked at him. “Was I ruining dinner or you?”

“Take out.” His eyes were glued to where you’d just been.

“Nice, I’m ordering that place that always messes up your order.” You juggled your treat with your phone.

He made a noise of little interest as he crept over to the box.

You chewed your lip and tried to cover it with the pastry. “You gonna want the same thing?”

“Your choice.”

“Gizzards it is.”

He shot a sour look at you and you chuckled in a scroll.

Looking at it from all angles, he checked to find you trying to pointedly ignoring him.

A testing sniff to the air said he picked up on the promised treat inside and the quiet that followed indicated  your care in having Kaleb using layers of gloves had helped to cover your friend’s scent.

Cracking the lid for the softest scrape of cardboard against itself, he peered inside.

You switched over to your camera and prepared to record a video.

Finding the inside laden with treats, he opened the lid further just as you brought your phone up to track him.

In a flicking snap of metal, cream flung out and splattered across Donnie’s chest and chin.

Little snickers leaked out of you as you stepped up to record him fully. “Good, right?”

His lips were set and he opened the box further to examine the mechanism.

“Kaleb made it. He’s a prank king.”

“My regards.” Donnie grumbled, passing your phone a glance and grabbed his cake.

-

“I’m switching tactics.” Donnie announced the next night.

“What’s next?” You asked, hanging up your jacket. Thankful for the reprieve not because you’d been scorned, but simply because you were running out of ideas. 

You moved over to him.

He received you by holding out his hand.

You took it and he pulled you straight into a waltz.

Spinning with a flip of your stomach, you settled as he led you around and around.

“I’ll try my hand at seduction.”

“Is that new? I’m pretty sure I’ve fended you off before.”

“Sexual advances.” He clarified, his face neutral as he focused on the dance steps.

“Versus… what?”

“Romance.” Coming to a close, he lethally dipped you.

Your heart leapt into your throat.

“I don’t know how you’re supposed to outdo yourself.” You mumbled as he was slow to right you.

“I won’t be.”

“You’re building this up.”

He flicked a gaze at you and walked you over to the computer.

The usual plain purple background was displayed on the cluster of monitors. You looked them over before checking with him.

In a flick of his finger, you watched a large document appear. With little charts and tables, there was a bulk of words that he enhanced. Starting you at the top of the page, it read like a scientific paper, but the content was about touch limitations. Slowing after the third line, you turned to him with recognition. “This is from…”

Donnie didn’t respond and used a finger to slide to a specific paragraph. “’I find myself at a loss…’”

He was reading it aloud from memory as he stared directly at you.

“’I crave Y/N’s very being. Even as I know myself to despise contact, I find an impenetrable ache. This malady should be isolated and quarantined. This is not something to be studied. This is an ailment. A manifestation of a higher power sent to devastate my person. I consider this a visceral attack. I fear I will not recover. I’m already too far gone and therefore all data previous should be discarded. No longer the impartial party I can usually hold my standard to, I also cannot share this research with anyone. It would be revealing my heart, one that I thought had long stopped beating. It yearns now, cracking free layers of debris built up for its own protection. I will not survive this onslaught.’”

“This isn’t what you told me…”

“No..”

“You wrote this… back then…?” You were still reading over exactly what he had just spoken.

“Yes.”

“But the experiment…?” Hitting the end of the paragraph, the next picked back up with tedious data.

“I made it sound like I was doing it for your benefit.”

You nodded, your heart a steady thrum.

“I lied. This is the first recorded instance of my affection for you.”

“You make it sound like you’re dying.”

“I was.”

He hadn’t gotten any closer, but you turned to gawk at him as if he’d made some big move.

“…Care like that. It rips you apart. Rearranges your sense of self. The reason it is labeled ‘crush,’ but for me it was more.”

“Donnie…” Your insides swirled a confused mass. Though he'd since admitted his early interest, he never let on to the depths

“Do you know how long this document is?”

You looked for a little page counter, but not only could you not find one, you weren’t sure how accurate it’d be with the many tables. “No?”

“Over ten thousand words.”

You paled.

That day at the Thai restaurant, he’d spent an entire meal conveying it.                   

That must have been the shorthand version folded even further down.

“How long did this study last?”

“A week…? Or something like that. You said I was novel and sort of gave up.”

“I said many things. To you. To myself.”

“What are you saying now?”

“That I was a lost cause the moment you tried to steal my lunch.” He appeared in your face.

Your skin felt alit. Not with fire or chill, but something new. Surges of blood refreshed your body in a cleanse just for him. Prepared on a cellular level, you stepped closer with an innate shyness that you couldn't place.

You were reformed, but the you of the past emerged.

His fingers ghosted your cheek like you were too precious to touch.

It made your jaw wind as if tortured by yearning.

“I won’t say it.” Another waft of his hand urged your head to tip back without contact. “Not under these circumstances, but this is the closest yet that I’ve come to a confession-”

You kissed him.

A crushing force, he smiled into the exchange before wrapping around you.

You broke between presses for a needy ask. “My win… I need to cash it in… Now… Right now… Please?”

He nodded against your lips and steered you towards the bed.

Fumbling together you shoved at each other’s clothes until you turned to lead. “I top.”

“For the record, this isn’t-” He interrupted himself as your top hit the ground and he kissed down the new real estate of your shoulders. “-what I intended.”

“Yeah, no gauntlet for you. Upset?” You asked as the backs of his legs hit the bed.

“How could I be?” He smiled as he fell back with full confidence.

A trust fall into the mattress, he caressed your form as you crawled up to him. Kissing him senseless into the sheets, he handed himself over to your desire. An odd mismatch where only you held the mad fervor, you kicked off the rest of your clothes. Straddling him nude, you stared down at his wobbling form and he returned the gaze with abject adoration. Melting under it and wondering if this is how he felt back then, you stole his lips for the thousandth time and tried to put care into undoing his wraps.

He caught your wrists for a momentary reprieve and kissed your knuckles to calm you. Only stoking the fires, a whine escaped your throat and he reassured you with a squeeze to your arms that he was there; he wasn't going anywhere. Burying the need into him, you kissed and nipped down to your mating mark before you bit into it. His head rolled at the move and you felt the faintest insistence of his hips below yours. Not having the leverage to grind him, you instead focused on clenching your teeth with a minor gnaw until his skin broke.

You earned your favorite honed chirp.

Stomach doing backflips, you needed yourself stuffed to prevent more. Only shimmying his pants down enough to reveal his erection, you rose up adjusting his shaft at your entrance before enveloping him in one swift drop.  He exhaled sharply and you tossed your head back for a mewling noise as some basal itch was scratched. Rolling your hips into riding him, his jaw fell slack as he watched you. With his hands loosely holding the thick of your hips, he stared up as if cradling some precious treasure.

If his gaze were any indication, you were long sought and nearly unattainable. Feeling jittery, each rock sent tingles up your spinal cord. Lapping at your brain stem, misfires indicated waves of emotions, each drowning the next. From confidence to devotion, he poured them into you, not through your connection, but his gaze alone. His cock a superfluous peg there to keep you tethered and it was his face that was stirring on your ministrations.

His lips parted.

He spoke a short phrase in another language.

“No…!” You cried, grinding down hard onto him.

“It’s not proper.” He elucidated, grabbing your hands for a reassuring squeeze.

“You can’t just say it in another language like that!”

His eyes shimmered as he spoke it again in an entirely different way.

“Donnie!”

He had another and another.

You renewed your efforts, trying to stop him with your hips alone.

It only spurned more languages off his lips as he spoke his adorations in all the ways, but the one you understood.

“So unfair!” Your pitch rose several octaves as you grew close.

“I know.” He slipped out of a foreign tongue before dipping right into another.

“Then why!?”

“I won't say it like this. Not for some gambit!” He tugged down on your hips and you felt his knot expand.

“Shit, we’re g-gonna-!”

“Together!”

You could only scream his name as you both came. Body arching back to accommodate as much of him as possible, you heard a thousand words fly off his lips. Some a rehash of things you’d heard, he proclaimed a universal language of love.

Not coming down, but instead tapering off, he was slow to rise up and hold you. Moving deliriously with him, you found a limp press of a kiss before burying yourself into his neck.

Loosely running his hands over you with a revelatory awe, he nuzzled against your skin to mumble, “You are my greatest mistake.”

-

Fluttering lashes brushed the stiff plastron you were dozing against. Cozy and satisfied, your cheek slid against the smooth surface to glimpse your partner. His eyes open, he stared up at the ceiling with an expression similar to how you felt. “You up?”

In a blink of registration, he struggled to look down at you. “Hey.”

“Thinking?” You asked anew.

He hummed an agreement and pet your back.

“Bout what?” Settling against his pectoral scutes, you let your eyes close.

“When I mess up, it’s no longer a failure.”

You made a curious sound as that didn’t make much sense to your sleep coddled mind.

“Before.” His hand stopped and spread flat. “A misstep would cause ruin. I couldn’t afford them. With any, with you.”

“We messed up a lot early on.”

“And look where that almost got me.”

“Us and almost, but not.”

“True, I'm not brooding.” He did one long languid stroke down your torso. “A consideration, late stage revelation.”

“You’re surprised?” 

You felt him nod. “This whole exercise has been one mistake after another, but none damaging.”

“Yeah, as far as mistakes go…” You drew a curve with a finger to his plastron.

He squeezed your ass cheeks and you whimpered against him.

“Sensitive…” You huffed and scooted up to bury your face more comfortably against his neck.

He kissed the top of your head. “Referring to you or me?”

“Sensitive?” You chuckled.

“At fault.” He clarified, threatening to grope you again.

You tried to squirm away from him, but there was nowhere to go.

He relented by moving his hand back to the small of your back.

“Both.”

“Shame. I was going to applaud how vile you were.”

You blew an unintentional raspberry and sat up to stare at him, incredulous. “Sure, I’m so evil.”

“It’s true.” He arched a knowing brow. “You’ve ruined me.”

“I’ve taken one thing from you and pied you in the face with help, how is that ruin?”

“You’ve taken a great blight and nearly erased the stain.”

“You did that.”

“You spurned me on.”

“You mentioned this before.”

“I believe it.”

“You’ve been wrong.”

“I’ll admit it when I realize.”

You pecked his cheek. “Can’t wait.”

-

“Intimidation is next.” Donnie told you first thing in the morning.

You were breathing in the steam of a hot drink. “Huh?”

“My gauntlet.”

“Oh yeah. I was ready to just let time run out. Only a couple days left.”

“I want to win.”

“You’ve already won.”

“I have.”

Smiling into your mug, you let both warmths fill you before you went to get ready. The usual routine, you kept waiting for him to appear as a tower of terror, but he didn’t approach. Seemingly only getting ready himself, you got a goodbye peck on your way out. Carrying the press to your cheek through your commute. You worked with little worry and made it through the trip home without complaint. With anything waiting for you behind the door, you prepared yourself with a deep breath as you opened it.

Donnie stood across the room in a readied pose.

You took your time taking your jacket off and setting your bag aside before addressing him fully.

Unperturbed by the wait, you spied the style of outfit on him that you hadn’t seen in over a year. Cool pieces that were street wear reminiscent of his villain costume, sleek black utility pants were cuffed off with sharp combat boots. The understated bottoms accentuated his show stopping top where a wrap jacket was buckled off on one side and its enormous hood bowed around his shoulders, ready to conceal him at a moment’s notice.

You sensed anticipation in the air.

“Arm of the couch.”

Looking where he directed, there were clothes there. A splash of black with some gold accenting, you slid a hand over the cotton and what felt some stiffness mixed in. “Not really scary.”

“Stand off.”

“You have to give me a little bit more.”

“Change. You’ll see.” He walked off into the bedroom.

Staring after him and feeling a bit like you walked into a cut scene unprepared, you stripped. For clothes that definitely weren’t yours, they were tailored to your exact measurement and felt the epitome of comfort. Black pants hugged your body just right, but had a flexibility that you could move freely in. Doing a testing stomp in your own shiny new pair of steel toed boots, you looked over your arms. With one bare and the other emerging from a ballooned sleeve that was attached with a ring to your middle finger, you were wearing what you could only think of as a corseted hoodie. The top had the usual loose nature with a hood, but it was cinched around your waist and was obviously missing one of its sleeves. It gave you free roving motion to your dominant hand and perfectly coordinated with reaching to your hip where a pouch was strapped to that leg. Patting the pocket found something with a grip inside.

The only piece left that you hadn’t put on was a golden yellow bandana. Similar to his, it was missing the eye holes, so you carried it along as you walked over to the partition between rooms. “Don, what do I do with the-?”

You heard a warp of metal and watched as his bo extended to full height.

“Mask, if you prefer anonymity.”

“Like a cowboy.” You mimed holding up the fabric over your mouth.

He gave a nod and readied his stance.

“You haven’t really trained me to fight…” You felt jumpy and ready to dig into that holster.

“What have I taught you?” He charged forward, clearly holding back.

Using the golden mask, you blocked his bo as he telegraphed his swing.

“Not bad. Deflect would have been better.”

Twisting the fabric and tossing one end over the other, you looped it around his staff and yanked it to the side.

It brought his face up to yours.

“Mano e mano! I get it now.” You grinned.

“Tell me where my gauntlet is.” His voice husked.

“Never!” You lowered your center of gravity and twisted your arms around the mask to spin the staff.

He let it get sent further away.

Stumbling a few feet away from him and further into the bedroom, you panicked as he turned for another strike. A flick of his gaze hit your hip and you dug for whatever weapon was there. Finding two objects inside, you unceremoniously got one into each hand and then threw your arms out in a readied way that you had seen Leo do. The flick extended something and you had to glance down to see you were holding two extendable batons. “Are these legal!?”

He dropped his act for a moment to give you a bitterly sardonic stare.

Puffing up in annoyance, you charged him and he blocked with ease.

Though you had no idea what you were doing, you could feel his expertise. Through each swing, he was also leading you in what to do next. Teaching on the fly, he emboldened you to push harder. It culminated in a dancing duel around the apartment where you exchanged blow after blow. Neither of you once getting physically struck, you knew he could disable you in a heartbeat. Instead, it was about the battle and the heat to it. Charged from exhilaration and exertion, you pushed him back until he flipped over the couch.

He landed on the toes of his good foot on the coffee table and balanced his staff perpendicular to his body on his other raised knee to appraise you with an overflowing expression.

Further boosted by his pride, you squared for a stronger stance and lifted your batons. “Give up?”

“Yield and tell me where it is.” He responded coolly.

“Eh.” You gave a little shrug. “Don’t wanna.”

“Suit yourself.” With only the slightest dip, he launched, almost brushing the ceiling and you had to squander a few steps back. Losing your footing, he landed a force around you with his bo. The staff pressed across your front and, in a twirl that blurred your vision, he shoved upward. It manipulated the batons clean out of your hands and pinned your wrists above your head in one fluid movement. “Mercy?” He teased hot breath along your jawline.

Able to feel the staff with your fingers, you feigned your most pitiful expression which he ate up. Something you’d known from groping it before, it took only a quick slide for you to find the telescoping mechanism. His staff collapsed above you and you kneed into his stomach. Holding back since there was no air to press out and its firm surface would only damage you, you instead used it as a pressure point to throw your weight into him. Having lost his hand hold, it was just enough to throw him off and you both fell back onto the floor.

He scrambled for leverage and you fought to grab his hands. A silly squabble to an outsider, you caught a wrist of one hand and a single digit of his other to force them to his throat since you couldn’t manage over his head.

Leaning over him and panting, you smiled. “How about you beg?”

His grin grew wicked and you couldn’t steel yourself in time as his knees kicked up and his thighs slammed into your ass. It popped you forward until you were almost straddling his face and broke your grip. Swift, his arms swept downward to lock onto your thighs, but you dug your knees into the sides of his shell. Throwing all your weight to one side, he only caught one hip before you crushed said arm to the ground as you rolled. Momentum put him momentarily on top before it continued and you were the victor once again.

Kicking a foot out, you caught a sprawled limb under your boot and crossed his body to exert the rest of your force on his other arm. “Well!?”

He gave a breathy laugh. “Well done, where’d you learn that?”

“I didn’t. Full luck.” You giggled at him.

“I want you.” He purred.

A little shudder wiggled your hips. “Don’t cheat like that…!”

“I’ll make it worth your while.”

“A trick.” You pursed your lips.

“Tempting, but not that.” He whispered softly as himself and then projected his voice to show he was back in character. “Why fight when we could work together?”

“I betrayed you, stole from you, what’s to say you won’t do the same to me?” You put on your best glower. “I’ve got nothing to lose.”

“You also can’t end me like this.”

Shifting your boot where it was digging into his arm, you looked over to find he was right. He could probably break this entrapment now, but under the guise of the battle all you could do was continue to pin him. “Give me your staff as collateral.”

“It’s behind you.”

Staring him down for a long moment, you jumped away and scrambled to get it.

He was slow to sit up and show you his hands.

You extended his staff and kicked your lost batons away where they slid somewhere into the bedroom.

“To an exceedingly beneficial partnership.” He grinned.

“I’ll listen and nothing more.” You waited for the turn coat and got to your feet.

His hands stayed where you could see them. “A change of scenery?”

You adjusted your posture for a question.

The far finger on one of his hands came to his thumb. 

You held his staff ready to whack him.

He turned his hand over and snapped.

The lights went out.

Backing up where it was suddenly pitch black, you heard several pieces of furniture move until the lights came back on to a far lesser degree. It took a few adjusting blinks, but you found the sofa and coffee table had been pushed flush to the wall with the door. In its place sat a lovely round table, set ready for a romantic dinner. Around the room were now candles, all lit for a flickering honey amber glow.

“Wha-?” The bo loosened in your grip.

“I take my partnerships quite seriously.” Donnie stood ready in the kitchen.

“You…” At a loss, you walked over to the table. “You… uh… could have… poisoned it?”

“How does that benefit me?” He gestured for you to sit. “It would not reveal the information I seek.”

You collapsed the staff and sat down in the chair across from him. “From fighting to wine and dining?”

“I play to my advantage.”

“No scruples.” You looked over your place setting and the cutely folded napkin in the center of your plate.

“Some may say.” He turned and you noticed a large strange contraption on the counter. It just barely fit under the upper cabinets and had the look of a mini fridge. Grabbing a metal handle, it had an unlatching mechanism and it clicked to open. A puff of steamy air poured out and he reached in to remove two plates. A gourmet looking meal, he walked them over and exuded power.

You felt like you had already lost as you pulled your napkin into your lap.

He set your plate down without clinking the china and passed you a coy look.

You returned it with an unsure one and he simply smiled as he placed his own plate down. Smoothly taking his seat and flicking his napkin for placement over his legs, he scooped up a knife and fork to address you. “I see talent in you.”

“Should I be flattered?” Your mouth watered as the smell wafted up.

 “Up to you. I would be.”

“Such an ego.” You cut into a steak medallion and marveled how your knife slid through it like butter.

“When one can back it up?” He took his first bite and watched you while he chewed.

“What do I get out of it?” You smeared into a sauce and when you put it in your lips you had to break character to swoon.

He did the same to savor your reaction.

Clearing your throat, a little embarrassed, you tried the sides next. “Well?”

“Besides my tutelage?”

“Yes.” Turning your head from the bite, a happy little moan leaked from you.

You heard a little rhythmic thump and he was forced to readjust his posture.

Your heart somersaulted.

You could see a faint dusting to his cheeks. “You’d have my everything to command. My empire shared.”

“All for some gauntlet?”

“All for being the first to deceive me.”

There was something about his face.

That phrase was both in character and not.

The weight of truth shifting the scales, you had to openly gape.

That couldn’t be possible, could it?

No, he had scars to prove otherwise.

“Donnie-”

“Flukes.”

He read your mind and felt yourself sharply inhale.

“Not praying on naivety, jumping on a moment of weakness, or making a move while I was already down.”

You had to rest your fork and knife on the edge of your plate.

“You named your intent and executed. I am at your mercy. You are the first and only.”

Vision shifting, you returned to your plate and took a few bites in rapid succession to stave off your closing throat.

Across from you, you could feel his smile as he continued to dine the same.

You made it about halfway through before you went for a drink to find there wasn’t one.

He scrambled up and into the kitchen where he quickly returned with two full glasses.

Your smile felt like it took up your whole face.

You loved him.

Taking in the space along with a sip, you returned to him with the intention of giving your answer.

“I must have you.” He interjected before you could.

“You’ll over do it.”

“Impossible.” He dabbed his mouth before rounding the table.

He knelt in front of you and your entire body constricted.

He’d already said he wouldn’t confess his love under this guise so you hoped that extended to a proposal.

“What are you doing?” You held onto the pieces of your voice.

“There will always be more.” He held out his hand and you slipped yours into it. “My affections for you have no limit. They will continue to grow as long as you give them even the slightest attention. I’m bewitched and at your mercy.”

“which you didn’t call it earlier.” You almost felt bad interrupting his speech.

His grin said he didn’t mind. “Show my devotion under duress? When I can present of my own volition?” He brought your hand forward for a chaste kiss.

You melted. “You’re showing me your whole heart. Don’t you want to leave something to the imagination?”

“No. I only want you.”

“You’ve missed something.”

He dropped his sweet nothings to stare with genuine surprise. “What?”

“You already have me.”

He surged forward and caught you in a kiss. Draping your arms over his shoulders, you stoked the flames for a more tender press and he melted against you. Stealing as many as some unknown appropriateness allowed, he eventually retreated reluctantly. Parting with an extra peck to your knuckles, he held your hand as he crossed the table to return to his seat.

“I’ll need that to finish this amazing meal.”

“Sweet sorrow.” He mused, letting go.

You sent your lingering blush to your plate and took a few more bites.

“I may have jumped the gun.” He had a normal candor to his voice and you assumed the role play was over.

“Yeah?”

“I meant to do that with dessert.” He seemed a little irritated and bit his fork a little too hard.

“What else did you make?”

“Soufflé.”

“Shut up.”

“One vanilla, one chocolate.”

“Did they both turn out?”

“Hadn’t fallen last I checked.”

“I’ve never had a fresh one!”

“I hope to do it justice.”

Grinning, you hurried to finish your meal and he cleaned his plate. He then cleared the dishes for you and refreshed you with a glass of water which you sipped as he went to get the next course. “What is that thing?”

“This?” He set the plates down and gestured to the box. “A warmer to maintain the food.”

“The plates weren’t hot.”

“Smart technology.”

“Are the soufflés in there?”

“Yes, I have concerns about the scent transfer.” He readied for the hot air as he opened the door. “Hm.”

“How is it?”

“Haven’t fallen, but the smell…”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

He whisked two large ramekins out and your eyes shot wide in excitement at the fluffy overflowing desserts.

Getting up on sheer instinct, you walked over to him and he set them down on the counter for you to inspect. “If I poke it will it collapse?”

“Best to do with a spoon.”

“Fine, fine.” You feigned throwing your hands up and headed back to the table. “Oh, yeah!”

He hummed a questioning response as he approached.

“You won, let me get your gauntlet.” You passed the table heading toward the door.

“The dessert…” He sounded sullen as you left him.

“What about it?” You grabbed the gauntlet off the astronaut and turned.

His limbs sank and you watched the soufflés tip in his grasp.

“Ah, Donnie!”

They hit the floor before you could reach him.

“What happened? Why?!”

“Do that again.”

“What?” You surveyed the damage, steering clear of stepping in the fallen dish.

“Again.”

Unaccustomed to that bitter heat, you shrank a little into yourself.

He didn’t relent so you returned to the astronaut and hovered.

“Place it.”

You set it down as it was, nerves shaking your fingers.

He stared hard at you until you had to break eye contact.

“Pick it up.”

You did so and were slow to walk it over with your eyes glued to the ground.

“This whole time…” He sounded a step away from rage.

Feeling worse than the dessert looked, you held out the gauntlet.

You felt the weight of it leave your hand.

It brought anxious words to your lips. “I-I never thought I was outsmarting you. I just thought… you hide things in plain sight. It’s a trope or something. I wasn’t trying to humiliate you. I didn’t think it was clever. I’m sor-”

Something brushed your arm.

Having not seen it, you looked up to find him standing beside you. He wasn't facing you and was instead staring down at the table with an unreadable expression. Feeling hopeless, you watched as he reached out and caught the table cloth. Wincing in preparation, he gathered up each edge slowly and methodically. Everything on the table tipped and fell including your water which splashed before he tied the whole thing up into a giant bundle.

“Donnie, please-!”

Grabbing the knot, he tossed the entire sack into the kitchen where the dishes shattered inside.

“Donatello!”

He addressed you and you froze under the scalding heat pouring off of him.

Knees feeling weak, he held out his hand and on pure instinct you slotted yours into it. With the faintest pull, he led you the step to the table where you got the sense he wanted you to sit. Turning within his grasp to do so, you hopped up at nearly the same time he dropped to his knees. His name on your lips again, you almost spoke it when his fingers slid behind your ankle as if you were a porcelain doll. Something infinitely precious, he brought your left foot up and set your boot on his thigh. He then began the exceedingly careful action of unlacing your boots and you could only watch him with growing interest.

With one final tug, he pulled the lace free and only then worked to remove your boot. A slow rock to release it from your foot, he was just as careful in setting the shoe aside. Hooking the top of your sock with an attentive digit, he rolled the fabric down until your foot was free.

Your nerves flared as he cradled your arch.

You hadn’t had a chance to shower after the whole work day or from the following workout. “D-Don, wait!”

Ignoring you, his face lowered and he pressed a soft kiss to the top of your foot.

Sparks shot off at the delicate nature and he lifted only a few centimeters before placing another.

Your thighs pressed together and he continued his trek up until your pant leg stopped him. He then left you only to repeat the same process with your other foot. By the time he reached your hem a second time, you were love struck. Painting your utter being, you sent the adoration down to him where you saw it returned as he closed in. Coming up like you willed him to, he stopped short and a complaint died on your lips.

Fingers barely brushing your hips, he found your waistband and traced it toward the center. Not fully touching as if you’d shatter with the slightest pressure, he got the button undone and the sound of the zipper going down unraveled your mind. Hips trying to meet his hands, he left your fly down and moved to tuck his digits into your hem. Your arch helped and he used the space to shimmy the fabric down.

Slow and deliberate, he took your underwear down with the pair as he peeled the bottoms from you. Twitching with each inadvertent graze, it was the absence of lust that was your undoing. Pants pooling around your ankles, he removed the fabric one leg at a time before he neatly folded the clothes. Setting them aside as if they were precious garments, he gazed up at your legs as if he had never seen you uncovered before.

A creature unlike any other, his hands hovered, afraid to sully your perfection. Squirming to try to meet him, he avoided you with a near clinical nature until he ditched his research to feel you anew. Starting right where he’d left off on your right foot, he explored with his lips and snout as he tasted every inch of your flesh. Rounding the entirety of your calf before he would move upward, you were panting his name by the time he hit your knees. Nuzzling at the sound was the only indication he was aware of you. He worked your round thigh and avoided the area between your legs.

Shuddering as he mouthed up to the joint of your hip, he descended again and you almost wished you were a mermaid. Something with a singular lower body, you wanted him to continue forward instead of having to reset. A beached siren, you would sing him a sweet melody if only he would abandon his ship and offer himself up to you.

Moving through the same steps, this time when he reached your other hip socket, his hand extended in a testing brush of your cotton top. Tracing the gold boning in your corset, he skipped over your chest for drawstrings. Toying with the aglet, he removed himself from you and appeared to hover in your face. Sensing him like one would a hummingbird and fearing he’d disappear, you reached out.

He caught your hand and you waited with a weak whine in case he’d push it away, he instead pulled it close. Curling your digits to cup his cheek, he leaned his weight there while staring love into your eyes. Lips parting for a shaky breath, he gave a little nod before he turned to nose and kiss your palm. Needing more, but unable to extrapolate, you watched him put your hand back where you had been gripping the table’s edge for dear life.

He shifted focus with closed eyes as he reached behind you to undo the corset’s ties. The fabric soon loosened and he followed the hem around to the side. Lifting your arms, ready for him, he pulled up with the same rolling move to bunch the fabric as much as it would allow. Boning prevented much, but he got to your armpits before he adjusted his grip to flip the top off of you.

Feeling a sweep of relief that air-cooled skin granted, he was slow at receding as if it brought your being into focus. Wanting to scream that you were already his possession, his arms disappeared around your back again and you readied yourself for your bra to be removed. A silent pop, the fabric let go of its hold on you and he traced up feathered touches over your shoulder straps. Sliding them off one at a time, by the time the band unseated from below your breasts, you were gnawing on your now raw lip.

Thumbing over your chin to stop you, a mewl leaked out and his eyes watered at the sound. Wanting to soothe him or do anything other than hang on, you couldn’t wrench your fingers free as he knelt once again. Following up his predetermined path, he planted rows of kisses across your stomach. Yielding an immediate crop, you were on your back of your own volition and he only continued to sow.

Reverent to a fault, he filled the expanse of your torso without shifting to erogenous duty. Your breasts were simply more skin for him to trace. Etching your soul to paper for use in great academic discovery, he diverted course as he hit your collar and shifted to your left shoulder. Arm detaching from you for his own use, he curled his fingers under your wrist to lift further as he worked his way down. Feeling it in your very veins, you mourned what you did not know you needed. Something beyond you and of a higher existence, you could only tell for certain that it wasn’t sexual.

Infinitely more, the signals crossed in a way you couldn’t repair. Not made for his actions, you could only tell that what was between your legs felt inappropriate. Your leaking desire made a mockery of his work and you despised that it wasn’t within your power to stop. Wanting to be a pious vessel for him, your being quaked as he seared off each of your fingertips with a kiss.

Knowing that meant one more round, your head lolled as he returned to your chest. Making a V, he trended the other direction across your right shoulder and, in a swerve, your head bumped his. It knocked him out of his stupor where he briskly rubbed his cheek to yours. An animal-like contact, you returned with as much as you could before he deemed the interaction satisfactory and continued his work.

A puppet without strings, he sought your joints as he kissed across your other arm. Once carved and now painted, you moved for him. A master of none, he was reveled in you though he’d been the one to drain you of yourself. He animated through his lips and you only wanted for him to use you more. Feeling useless without him, he capped off the ends of your digits and appeared again, that roving elusive bird.

You thought you might fall over and he must have noticed because he grabbed your shoulders. Mentally thanking him, your head tipped forward and you felt him push. Odd as he had been more interested in operating around you, you resisted the move until you realized how you were being piloted. It was a turn and you felt doused in the fact that he hadn’t been able to reach your back.

“I can’t…” Your whine hit your ears.

You couldn’t move.

You’d plummet over the edge.

You’d leave this world.

You needed his anchor.

“You can.” He spoke warm beside your head.

Feeling a deep throb within your body, you couldn’t remember the last time he had spoken.

His voice now a foreign one, you shook your head and he let it fall to his shoulder.

“You can.” He repeated with a nuzzle.

A strung out noise pulled from you, you heeded his direction and he got you turned around. Edging you to curl forward and expose your spine to him, you imagined he would flay off chunks of your meat like a fish. Carving skills learned from years of training, he’d yield perfect filets and sear them off with only salt for flavor.

His lips hitting the base of your neck, you unintentionally cried out for the blade. None came and instead he kissed the worries away with each baked press. A toasted stone, it helped ground you and, as he filled out the expanse of you, some of your sanity returned. Tickling toward the center of your spine and downward, it caused muscle groups you’d long forgotten to contract. A writhing mess by the time he inched around your hips, he had to hold you down because you kept trying to rise off the table.

When he left you for a momentary reprieve, it felt like a breath. The first after near suffocation, it was a deep respite of illumination. Drinking in enlightenment, the rustling of fabric signified the change of being. Reality was being swapped and you were an autonomous being. As much of a fact that was, you also couldn't help your tether to Donnie. Newly born, his forging was of his responsibility. 

With a show of hands, he returned, standing, and picked up at your hairline. Moving up to your crown, you rolled your neck back to give him access as he worked his fingers into where his lips could not. Soon staring at the ceiling with some sort of sight, something moist barely tapped the top edge of one of your butt cheeks and your eyes widened as you placed it as his cock.

 He was not so innocent.

You were the same.

Keenly alive, you broke free from the last of your bindings and left him. He watched on, a painting of a mortal who’d tasted ambrosia and you the god doomed to fall. Your back turned to him, you got on legs that you knew would hold you. It was your body to command and the you who only moments ago thought otherwise felt like some curse you'd broken free from. 

An immortal unfairly imprisoned, his existence shifted as you stood nude and powerful. He was no master and had instead come to possess you momentarily. He was an ear to coax and despite your allure, he'd been the one to free you of his own violation. Shifting your weight from hip to hip, your head lifted high as you finally turned to him.

Whatever expression you wore destroyed what was left of him.

Caught having touched what no mortal should, a pathetic chirp exited his body and you approached.

Falling like a tower, he was forced to kneel as you towered over him.

Save for his eyes glued to yours, his being screamed of his lowly station.

A smile picking up your lips, he chirped again, even more pitiful, as you finished your approach. Where he looked up at the object of his worship, you shifted your weight to your right foot. Lifting the left that he started all this with, you touched the tip of your big toe to his pectoral scutes. Spurned by your being, he crumpled backward as you exerted pressure.

Placing the full force of your foot to ensure he’d stay down, he squeaked his compliance and you removed the appendage to regard the whole of him. Laying on his carapace, he spread with full submission and his cock swayed to flag you down. Regarding the organ with the affection that one might give an old childhood toy, you traced the line of his plastron to his face. Gaze piteous for his transgressions, you walked the side of him before moving to place a foot on either side of his head.

It gave him an unencumbered view of your sex and you watched him regard what was above him like a rare bloom. One only fated to have its petals spread once a century, you adjusted your stance a final time before dropping down. Knowing this to be his only chance, he caught your thighs as you sat on his face.

Tipping the bowl back to drink your everything in, your knees hit the floor and you cried out as his tongue pressed into you. Scorching heat of your defiling fall, you were sent further forward. You imagined he gave up breathing in exchange for this moment and you were forced to slap a hand to the floor to keep from doing an outright somersault. Eating you out like his very life depended on it, your other hand buried into his mask, pulling on the fabric and you shoved down the top of his head to make sure he served your ethereal being as he should. 

Nails bit your thighs as his snout nudged your clit. His tongue still buried, the appendage felt endless as he siphoned all he could. Your life force tied directly to his, your orgasm felt like it was coaxed by fate. Something needing to culminate to prove that both of you still existed in your current forms, the winding felt like a woven cloth. Made by the fates, the spool rotating for the world’s loom, you shouted.

His only signal, you ground down into him, snuffed out the last of his breath. Cumming only for your pleasure, you allowed your body to spasm and your voice carried the necessary tune. The design of which was orchestrated by him and you felt him still as he drank in the sound along with the last of your juices. Feeling weak and cut off from the god’s might, you slumped, arms no longer made to bear a load of mortality.

You were rising from your fall and it made no sense until you felt him readjust his hold. Dizzy and drunk off your own supply of chemicals, you slacked above him. Moving further, you were deposited onto the flat of his stomach and when his plastron pressed to your sex, you gave an overtaxed jolt. He chirped sweet nothings and aided in your come down until you were again clay for him to mold.

Formless, he searched for your shape, afraid to touch in case the wrong form be built. Reverted to your essential dogma, you needed to help your mate. Your hands rose on this instinct and you watched them as they moved to grab your own breasts. Rolling the fat sacks in your hands, they took what had to be the right shape so you left them. Trending downward, you squeezed bits of yourself, pinching skin and molding what had yet to find its place. Leading down your body and to the little pool you created over his stomach, a touch down into your sex cemented the last of you.

Ready to be fired, he was brimstone and his kiln sat at attention behind you. Lifting on clay limbs, they held your form up long enough to deliver it to the fires. There you dropped and felt yourself split in two as his cock plunged into your body. A snarl ripped from your partner and you felt weak as his Hephaestusian powers awoke. The volcano itself, he sought to overwhelm you. It was all too much and the words you formed made little sense. The foreign tongue couldn't reach you and you were trapped in the lava flow. 

He hadn’t moved. 

You had only been tossed in for your first fire in an attempt to set, bone dry.

Now paled and ready for the final cook, your hands appeared in your vision. Curious spread digits, they reached out until they found the ridge of his pectoral scutes. As soon you made contact, his own flew up to catch your wrists as if you'd mistakenly committed some great taboo. Afraid of what that might be, his face contorted as your body moved with his. His distress troubled you and you meant to soothe him. Reminding you of your connection, you clenched his cock and the twine paining him snapped.

A vibration revved so intense you saw the minor quiver of your fingers. Lifting one hand up to observe the phenomena, it disappeared up close and you frowned. Looking down to see the other hand still shaking, your brows scrunched as you tried to make sense of where the source was. Far stronger than your tech gauntlet, it seemed to stem from where you touched Donnie. Having seen him just injured, you felt like a bother for putting that jittery sensation onto him.

You'd have to let go to save him.

He still had your wrists cuffed so when you tried to retreat, he wouldn’t let you.

“Let go…” You protested.

He shook his head.

“What?” Your lips felt lame.

He pulled hard on your hands.

It tugged your digits up until your fingertips curled over the edge of his plastron. Skimming the skin above, you felt his chest oscillating at a higher frequency.

The vibration was coming from him.

Now searching for the exact source, you encircled his neck to find it there along with a guttural purr echoing from his throat. “I don’t understand…?”

“Churr.” He could barely get the word out as the sound swallowed up his voice.

“Churr.” You repeated the incantation and he gave a smile as the power turned up.

Hands now another connection point, this churr shook your very bone structure. The circuit completed, you again clamped down on his cock. He squeaked through the churr and you felt yourself descend. Not letting you traverse the depths alone, he encircled you as you finally began to ride him. A drag of your hips churned the water into a whirlpool that threatened to swallow you whole. Your partner, a devolution of chirps and churrs, disturbed the fluidity and kept you afloat until he forced you upright.

Folding overtop you, his knees kicked up as your backrest and you were buried into his chest. Feeling whole, your limbs wrapped around him as you rocked together. A pump to keep the water filling your vessel from sinking the ship, the back and forth exchange staved off the storm. Calypso christening your union, you felt like crying and the thought manifested tiny water droplets. Confused as your face wasn’t wet, you searched for the new leak and found it on Donnie's cheeks.

Brushing furiously to shoo the invaders away, you saw love as the source of the well. Forever bound, the overflow sought your ducts until you  dripped with little commiserations. Closer than ever, he brought your foreheads together for further commingling. His churrs echoed in your ears and quieted all useless noise. It slowed time until neither of you rocked and resorted to the smallest grind.

Depths plugged satisfactorily, the micromovements were only meant to maintain the connection. Growing weaker by the second because you had all you needed, you kissed and it felt like something new. Whether it was the roleplay or his new ability, your lip lock enhanced and he waxed poetic; there was no upper limit to his love. Soaring on the thought, it was amongst a thousand shallow thrusts that you came.

Having had no warning of your orgasm, when it struck, you drowned in the many tears. Something silent beyond guppy gasps, your wrenching signaled his own. Mind lost to the white noise of his churr, your wringing forced him to join you. His breath, his vibrations, and his cum brought true silence as your existence had been fully excavated. With Donnie’s locked knees as the only thing keeping either of you upright, you slacked against one another. Toasty, you allowed yourself to sleep, just like that.

- 

Waking was brought about by a jostle to your body. Wanting to doze for many more hours, you frustratingly found the room much darker than you’d left it. Many of the candles had burnt out while a few hung on, flickering with their last breath. Your head rolled to find a clock. You could almost see the one in the kitchen and, though it was upside down, you thought it read sometime after midnight based on the shape of the digits.

It meant you’d been like this for hours and it was Donnie who struggled to rise. Breaking the calcified seal of your hips brought an ache that cemented the time frame and you both groaned loudly to free yourselves. Uncoordinated and a mess, you fell away from one another. Weak and not wanting to lie on the floor a second more, you were the first to get on your hands and knees where his spent leaked down your legs.

Feeling like a filthy animal, you dropped your ass down and let his cum drip to the floor as you forced your bearings. They didn't come readily and you had to tap reserves. Summing all you could, you noticed a ramekin laying on its side. Reaching for it, its cool touch helped with your bearings and you turned it to find some kind of gooey mixture inside. There were spoons once, a far thought reminded you, but their absence meant you had to forage. With half open lids, you caught a nearby chair to get yourself upright.

Toting your prize along with your stumbling and trembling form, you made it to the kitchen and found blessed rest against a counter. Another chill that you despised for its wakefulness, you gathered enough strength to register you were close to the silverware drawer. Wondering about the mystery mixture, you took an embarrassing amount of time to draw a single spoon from the rest. Not to be deterred by one struggle, you rushed as soon as you had a utensil and plunged it into the dish. Getting a solid scoop of white fluff, you brought it to your lips for a burst of sweetness.

“Can… I have… one?” A raspy voice sounded beside you.

Looking with surprise, you found Donnie the source and wondered what had happened to have ruined his throat in such a way.

Unable to place it, you delved out another scoop and held it up to him.

He had to hold himself with one hand to the counter, but he leaned toward enough to take the bite and relished it without releasing the spoon from his teeth.

“That’s my soufflé.” Your own voice wasn't near as destroyed, but sounded thin upon listening. 

Frowning around your utensil, he allowed you to pull it out only to ask something. “You… don’t… want… some of… this…one?” He shook another ramekin.

“Chocolate.” You remembered as pieces started to assemble.

He nodded and scooped a spoon for himself out from the drawer that had been left open. Trying his gathered treat first as you had, he made a bitter face. “Cold…”

“So’s this one.” You noted, leaning into him to await your bite.

He took a while getting a good amount onto his spoon before offering it to you.

Like him, you held it with your teeth before the flavor made you release. “It’s good.”

He got out a repulsed grunt before he was struck with what looked like a migraine.

“You okay?”

“That’s… your first…” He grouched.

A laugh shined brightly through the dark before you realized it was coming from you.

He returned it with a smoker’s enthusiasm and you got your strength up by feeding one soufflés. It got you both ambling, unwashed, toward bed. In the morning you knew you would hate the decision, but until then, the mattress felt incredible. Amongst soft sheets that only wanted to soothe achy bodies, you snuggled in and found Donnie hadn’t been as close behind you as you thought. Searching for him reluctantly, you watched him trail up with something in his hands. Not huge, but an odd shape, he set it down with enough force that you couldn't help but get a good look at it.

He took his miniaturized tech gauntlet and placed it, like a visor, on the astronaut's helmet.

The toy was undoubtedly cursed, but the little guy had shown a higher aptitude for this sort of guard duty. Ruminating on his line of work, you let sleep take you as your partner collapsed by your side.

NEXT

You know my many merry holidays and thanks go out equally to my darling betas @tmntxthings and @thepinkpanther83

#weakspotfic #rottmnt #rottmnt donnie x reader #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rise of the tmnt #rottmnt x reader #donatello hamato #donnie x reader #rise donnie #rise donnie x reader #rottmnt donnie #rottmnt donatello #me #fanfiction #my fanfiction

[syraxesrevenge]

i don't usually get involved with team stuff but mini rant (im low-key losing my fucking mind)

I don't understand people who are Team Green, and not because of their opinions on the characters. I find Team Green as some of the most complex, interesting characters in the whole lot of asoiaf.

1: First of all, the treatment of the strong boys. They act like Jace and Luke are absolute monsters; which, I don't necessarily agree with, but without bias I do agree they are not pure and cherubic angels. Lucerys is impulsive and childish, making jokes about actual trauma and maiming a ten year old who was influenced by his older brother. Jacaerys has extreme anger issues which lead to him acting arrogantly and stubbornly to the respite of his elders.

This does not mean they are *demons*, though, and do not deserve to be treated as such. I've seen people say that they were horrible for not showing a horrified reaction to Vaemond's death, that they should've felt remorse; what choice was for them to make? Lucerys was openly against the thing, wishing his own birthright upon the person who tried to usurp him; Jacaerys heard only the words "whore" and "bastards", which set him off. I do not blame him for this in the slightest; those words have been used his entire life to demonize him, villainize him and his mother.

Other people say Rhaenyra was terrible for making her sons believe they were real Targaryens, not admitting they were bastards and trying to persuade them from the throne. This take is just - abhorrent, imo. Jacaerys was taught by his grandsire, his mother, his father that he was going to inherit the throne just like his mother would before him. Lucerys and him obviously knew they were bastards - it is hard to ignore when everyone looks at you in the street, points you out, suggests you are not what you say. Jacaerys also spent his entire life, especially in the Dance, trying to prove himself a worthy heir. His traits of being well-studied and righteous were given to Aemond, because there would be no debate on who to choose if not.

"Team Green writers should've written the show! They're making the Blacks too sympathetic!"

The blacks are supposed to be the sympathetic ones. They are the tragedy of the war; the close-knit family that, in their pursuit to stay together, were torn apart and murdered by themselves. Joffrey died alone. Lucerys died alone. Jacaerys died alone. Daemon died alone. Rhaenyra was the only one who died with her son. They were the epitome of a caring, loving family - and what did that get them? Their reluctance to be ruthless resulted in the cold murder of a child. Lucerys was 13 in the book - 14/15 in the show. His death should be as hard hitting and as sympathetic as Jaehaerys, but somehow, it is not. To make a joke about Vhagar ripping Arrax to pieces is funny, to make a joke about Blood and Cheese is horrible. The double standard is just *baffling* to me.

Another thing - most of TG loves Jon Snow. They think that Daenerys was mad, that she deserved to die, that she was evil. By this precedent, if you can accept a legitimized bastard on the throne in the form of Jon, why is it *so hard* to picture Jacaerys on the throne?

"They have no personality!"

They had absolutely no screentime. The writers gave a scene to a fucking *foot fetish*, and they could not give us a scene of Lucerys, Jacaerys, or Joffrey. Especially when Lucerys was going to die in that season - he had a total of 23 minutes of screentime, and near 6 minutes of lines. That is not even half of an episode worth - especially for him to just be sitting in the background. And the times when he is talking? He is made to be the most unsympathetic character, ever. Laughing at Aemond, attacking Aemond - he is used mainly as a plot device, and it's sad, because I truly believe he deserved better than that, bc Elliot Grihault is a great actor :D

might make a part 2 if this idiot in a discord RP keeps insisting tg is righteous and perfect and amazing and MY fav characters suck ass

#house of the dragon #hotd #asoiaf #pro team black #team black #anti rhaenyra antis #anti aegon ii targaryen #opinion #rant

[melonteee]

May I recommend some One Piece fics? One of them has me clawing the walls and wanting to write ten billion fics about all the OP women _:(´ཀ`」 ∠): and the other fundamentally changed me as a human being.

The former is a Robin centred fic and the latter is a Sanji centred fic. If you have read these before, sorry if I’m just parroting what you’ve already read! Also please feel no pressure to read these, I just wanted to share with a fellow OP enjoyer :DDD

Sanji Fic: Custom of the Sea - 17K: https://archiveofourown.org/works/39516201?view_adult=true

So this one really, REALLY explores Sanji’s duties as a chef and how far he’d be willing to go to ensure that his crew won’t starve (if you know what the title of the fic means then you’re halfway there) and there are heavy warnings at the start of the fic that I won’t repeat but I will state that the fic is tagged with “angst with a happy ending” so a heaping helping of optimism is needed whilst reading!

(I did not read the tags thoroughly though I still enjoyed the fic, but please don’t be as silly as me)

I love when a One Piece fic explores the connections between the Straw Hats (some more than others, cough ZORO cough) and I especially love the flashbacks we get with Chef Zeff— I will never be able to stop thinking about them and clutching at my chest like I’m trying to ease an unseen weight (the burden, oh the burden of loving a fictional blond man).

I love how Sanji is written, how we get to see him reduced to his base components, how as he thins with each day we see what becomes transparent beneath all the layers; who he truly is when stripped down to the bone.

^ tryhard

There is also a scene that is so reverent; so intimate; so raw that it feels like a violation to intrude upon such a private moment and a discourtesy that it isn’t being analysed and examined by every literature study or professor alive. Wow it fucks me up that this fic only has 8K hits. The author also writes some good ZoSan fics if that’s also something you’d like :))

Robin Fic: What is and What could never be - 58K (unfinished as far as I’m aware): https://archiveofourown.org/works/42768912/chapters/107441889

Robin. Has. A child.

[incoherent wailing about motherhood, unconditional love, the fear of loving someone and letting them love you back, love you thought you lost but has endured all along]

I haven’t even finished it yet nor am I even anywhere close in the timeline in which the fic takes place but I already know it’s one of my favourite fics I’ve read, and has made me realised that I have overlooked the OP women in the most egregious manner possible.

I absolutely adore your OP character analysis videos, and having your big brain analysis sitting in the back of my mind while reading this fic has made me appreciate and enjoy this fic tenfold.

Nico Robin I love you in a way that heals me and hurts me.

I am also a tremendous sucker for Frobin (the author wrote smut for this fic which 😳) but I also adore her relationships with Chopper, Nami and Luffy which absolutely enamoured me and has scorched my brain, leaving a permanent mark. Also extremely cruel and wicked that this fic only has 8K hits.

Anyway I wrote all of this at 1am, so if I sound mad it’s because I am. Thanks for creating hilarious and extremely insightful analysis videos, I’ve been watching your channel since the MHA character design video (I still burst out laughing thinking about Todoroki’s design sometimes) and I always look forward to new vids :D

Thank you for these but I can’t promise I’ll read them haha, I don’t tend to read too many fics but I appreciate the thought. I know you didn’t do it here but I also ask to please not send me smut fics or anything since I’m not an nsfw account and also a stranger to you guys 😅

And thank you so much for enjoying my content! ❤️

#ask #melonask

[davidpincher]

i posted last week about how i went to watch oppenheimer as part of barbenheimer & then ended up writing a 900 word essay about it. three people asked to see the essay so here it is:

a three hour anxiety attack

i watched oppenheimer; had dinner, watched barbie and then showered. i cant stop thinking about this movie. the thing about christopher nolan movies is that there’s always a part of them that makes me remember why i love movies, a part of me that is reminded of their power in the way that they make me feel things. most succinctly, yes, this movie is a three hour anxiety attack because i spent the entirety of the movie anxious, knowing little about this film other than that an atomic bomb is going to be made and dropped on hiroshima and nagasaki.

while i was much too dumb to understand the timeline of events, christopher nolan still makes such a foreign experience feel personal and familiar. relatable even, even though the times have changed. people have always been people, flawed and trusting and selfish. there’s the case of the spy, a jewish man, much like oppenheimer, that oppenheimer initially trusts out of community in hard times. you can understand oppenheimer’s devotion to the war, as someone so personally affected by it. there’s something personal, in the orchestration of the betrayal by robert downey jr (i cannot remember his characters name, truly, he was not that memorable), and how oppenheimer goes from respected to blacklisted. people are petty and cruel. i don’t think i’ve ever seen a movie with a sex scene that i found added to the plot of characters, but there is something so powerful in jean’s death being the only one explicitly shown on screen: humans are selfish and will be our own demise because we, more often than not, cannot find the empathy to care for people who we don’t know. it’s the trolley problem - the death of a lover or the death of hundreds of thousands, or even, the very end of the world.

there’s one line of dialogue that hasn’t left my mind since i finished watching this movie, almost ten hours ago now. it’s the moment in which they’re discussing what cities to bomb, and one character goes ‘not kyoto. there’s too much culture. plus my wife and i honeymooned there’ or something of the sort. it’s the kind of moment that shocked me, how the lives of hundreds of thousands of civilians were held in the hands of a guy making decisions based on his honeymoon. it’s the most memorable example of the question ‘who had the right to power’, regarding people’s lives, that consumes this movie. who has the right to create and use a weapon of mass destruction? another that i think of, is the scene with truman. i think that christopher nolan has portrayed a president more accurately than any other piece of media in the past: the president is not just some boss man, he is a guy appointed to look over entire fields he could not possibly understand the weight of, not even if he tried. truman’s depiction in this movie - as does everyone’s, honestly - feels so real because every single person has flaws. everyone here is so deeply flawed and insufferable, even oppenheimer, who likely is only slightly better because he’s aware of it all.

in high school, i was forced to spend two entire years studying world war two and the cold war from every perspective - japan, germany, italy, the united states, the soviet union, china, france and england. so of course, the questions of the ethics and necessity of the dropping of the atomic bomb came up, and there are so many discussions to be had within that. and yet, there wasn’t enough in this film. maybe this is a good thing, given that would require the opinions and analysis of the work of many historians that would likely derail the vision of nolan’s film, it would’ve meant a lot to the little nerd in me specifically.

oppenheimer opposes the hydrogen bomb because if the united states has one; the soviet union, their enemies at the time, would be forced to make one too. on a side note, another moment in this film that made my gut wrench was when this claim is denied on the belief that russia does not have the resources, or knowledge to compete with the united states. and god what a fucking blessing and curse is hindsight, as underestimating russia and the soviet union during a war is just as relevant today. this makes an interesting biopic to me because everyone knows about the atomic bomb. everyone knows about chernobyl and nuclear power. in fact, in the very basic level science classes i took, the world nuclear power became synonymous with chernobyl. bad things happen, and we know it, and this movie helps to warn us a bit about it.

enough on the history nerd stuff i truly did forget how much of my life i spent studying history, even if i only stopped just over a year ago. the sound design of this movie was fucking insane. every piece of audio, the line delivery, everything, made me feel so much (besides rdj - i get what people say about people having faces that know what iphones are) the shots were fucking masterful and despite being a three hour film, there was not a single moment (beyond the sex scenes mayhaps) that i felt dragged on for longer than they needed to. once again, just to end this off, god i fucking loved the sound of this movie, the build up, the anxiety, everything. while i most certainly have not seen enough christopher nolan to say definitively that this is his best work, i can most certainly see why people would say it is so.

#barbie #barbenheimer #oppenheimer #christopher nolan #film #oppenheimer essay