eyeofday

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KATIE DOUGLAS & DEMPSEY BRYK MARY KILLS PEOPLE ( 2017 - 2019 )

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Allora, Queensland by Carles Rabada

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[This tweet] has Daisy energy

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𝙏𝙔𝙋𝙀𝙎 𝙊𝙁 𝙋𝙀𝙊𝙋𝙇𝙀    :     𝙁𝙇𝙊𝙒𝙀𝙍𝙎

𝙍𝙊𝙎𝙀𝙎    -     true romantic, loving the classics, pricked fingers, perfect makeup done to impress, bruises easily, beloved but unknown, soul as old as time, overused and under-appreciated.

𝘿𝘼𝙄𝙎𝙄𝙀𝙎    -     clean linens, youthful naivety, family, wide open spaces, running barefoot, moving towards instead of away, trying to forget about death, sun blindness.

𝙎𝙐𝙉𝙁𝙇𝙊𝙒𝙀𝙍𝙎    -     standing tall, strong roots, a home to always return to, warm summer air, holding onto lost hope, belief in growth, painted overalls, split ends.

𝘽𝙇𝙐𝙀𝘽𝙀𝙇𝙇𝙎    -     the end of spring, determination for the truth, cold and cautious, moonlight on windowsills, the taste of ice, unnecessary shyness, quiet belief in the extraordinary, complicated morals.

𝘿𝘼𝙁𝙁𝙊𝘿𝙄𝙇𝙎    -     mom friend, sweets, the smell of baking, riverbanks, leaving behind a toxic situation, being happy with your reflection, believing in luck, moving in a pack.

𝙄𝙍𝙄𝙎𝙀𝙎    -     sour candies, unappreciated elegance, valor, crystals projecting rainbows on white walls, unintended organization, old royalty, refusal to bow, learning a new language for the fun of it.

𝙇𝙄𝙇𝙄𝙀𝙎    -     secret poison, perfect handwriting, crisp consonants, pressed and ironed sheets, open windows, infinite persistence, thick skin, colder hands.

𝙇𝙄𝙇𝘼𝘾    -     fleeting and fair, strong but delicate, radiating good vibes, the beauty of falling apart, the joy in being scattered, soft fabrics, whirlwind romance, keeping the door open.

[eyeofday]

wasscared​:

@eyeofday​ / closed. 

The girl sat at the table, her hands folded, her posture neutral. It wasn’t an interrogation room; they wouldn’t take the victim of an Android hate crime to an interrogation room, here, the DPD had the benefit of Connor’s influence even when he wasn’t directly tied to the case. It was just an interview room, warm and inviting. There was a coffee machine, along the back wall, which was free for their guests to use. This world was built for humans’ convenience. There was rebuilding still to do.

This wasn’t Connor’s case. He had been glad enough to entrust it to his colleagues. Connor couldn’t take every Android case that came in the door (though he tried), and they’d already apprehended the suspects for this one, this interview was a formality to allow them to press charges; he hadn’t expected to hear much more of it. Hank was a capable investigator.

Hank had asked for his help. She wasn’t talking. 

Connor could see why, though nobody else could. He scanned her, first - force of habit - and found she was an XK300 model, a teenager. She’d given her name as Daisy, they said, but clamped up when they’d started pressing for more. He said, “She’s covered in thirium.” OUTGOING MESSAGE…. LILY   - Do you know her?  An attached image.   - She’s alone, here.   They were standing outside the the little interview room, only a glass door between them and the girl. Nobody was sitting with her. She was very still. Connor turned around, to locate something he could offer her to wash it off with.  Hank turned to check - no, she wasn’t - but he nodded upward, actually, when he made the connection, “That stuff evaporates.”  “It leaves a residue that’s invisible, to the naked eye.” But the Lieutenant knew this - he was already asking Chris for his wipes, and after a moment of shuffling and humans standing from their desks because they’d spread whispers of a victim covered in blood, Connor joined Daisy in the interview room. He drew the blinds. The humans outside got the message.  This was what he did: Connor sat down across from her. He took one of her hands, into his own, LED steady and blue, and he put the pack of open wipes between them (an open invitation) as he set to work on her palms. The thirium’s residue reappeared, in this ethanol solution. It rubbed off a strangely-light blue. “My name is Connor,” he said, still at his work. “I think I know your friend. Lily?” he wasn’t really asking - he was offering this information. Connor glanced up to check if it meant anything to her. It didn’t matter if it did or not; the next thing he said was the same, anyway. It came several long beats later. He wasn’t in a rush. “You don’t have to speak to us.” This wipe came away clean, in her left palm - so Connor put it there, and folded her fingers around it. “Let’s get this off.” 

This was not a place that Daisy wanted to be. It had been a blur, getting there, swept along with a hand on her shoulder and various phrases passing over her head. Things like “-another one-” and “The shopping district?” and “I’ve never seen one that looks-“ But she wasn’t really listening. And it was a choice, to tune them out, deliberate and repeated.

One felt less compelled to answer when she wasn’t quite sure what she had been asked.

She had told him, in the moment she had bothered to listen to a question, that her name was Daisy – and then said nothing else. Through questions and breaks and suggestions of walking or calling someone and very patient assurances that she was not in trouble, she remained still.

Daisy did not shift or fidget with leftover adrenaline- she was not human. She had no system of uncontrolled chemical impulse to. She didn’t breathe or blink- she was not human. She needed neither. What she was was afraid. Afraid to move because it drew attention, a little notification in the series of sensors that processed the world around her, that there was something on her. Unseen, but very felt. If she was very still and thought of other things (and she was very good at finding other things to think about) it was easier not to notice.

So, even when she was left alone, she didn’t move. And when she wasn’t alone anymore, she didn’t move. She was naught but an unpleasantly lifelike statue; like a carefully sculpted wax figure in a model of a police station from someone unfamiliar with the concept of both an interview room and a teenager to study and ponder.

She did blink, attention diverted, when he drew the blinds. Then, as the number of wipes freshly tinted power blue rose to two... three…and then four… Daisy, gradually, reanimated.

There was a slight bending of her freed fingers. When he mentioned Lily, the light on Daisy’s temple (which had thus far been a solid, unwavering yellow) twisted, thinking. Next, after he told her she didn’t have to speak, there was an accommodating shift: so he could reach more easily where the thirium had run up her arm and gathered in the cradle of her elbow.

Finally, as Connor made a first pass at the invisible stain on her cheek, she lifted her eyes. She gauged him for a long moment. Had it been a lie, that she didn’t have to speak? Was that the clever part in saying it?

Did it matter if it was?

“I wanted to run.” A confession: if she had had her way, she would had left. Run away. Abandoned the other poor android -a gentle-looking childcare model who had been buying a lovely dress which matched, quite impeccably, the shade of lavender that she had tinted her hair- who had been in the shop with her to the group of criminals who had split off from a group of protesters. (Daisy did not know this, but they had in fact been ejected from the group for picking a fight with the people who were picketing the sale of plain clothes to androids. One of them had been arrested: the other two had evaded the responding officers, disappearing into the crowded shopping center.) She had seen them coming long before they entered and recognized the threat too late. When the android with the dress was first grabbed, Daisy had turned away. Tried to leave. How much of it, she wondered, had the store’s security camera been witness to? “They saw my light.” The moment it was mentioned, the little yellow circle spun, threatening a shift to red.

[eyeofday]

[eyeofday]

Daisy’s that member of the group that wants to march up and give a lecture to literally everyone and you’d have to like go in and pick her up by the waist and pull her out because she has Things To Say and will Say Them except Daisy it’s literally not safe please step back

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MBTI AESTHETIC: ENFP (11/16)

ENFPs are expressive communicators, using their wit, humor, and mastery of language to create engaging stories.Their enthusiasm is boundless and is often contagious, inspiring others to join their cause. They are drawn to art because of its ability to express inventive ideas. ENFPs can easily become bored with “normal” life so they regularly seek out situations that offer an escape from the mundane.They have a strong desire to make their thoughts known to the world to help others reach their creative potential.

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Why are you unlovable?

You just want it too badly

You love with your whole body, it's not bad, but it's overwhelming. Sometimes giving others space can be okay, I know you're scared of losing them but it will be better in the long run if you also learn how to be your own person. Codependency is scary, but you are brave.

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   A PROMISE OF HOPE IS ENOUGH TO FEEL FREE.   indie Detroit: Become Human OC written by Hannah//(quote)

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digitizedsouls​:

“Sorry,” he shrugged slightly. “Habit.” It still felt important, reminding her that he was still there. That he hadn’t disappeared and wasn’t going to. Especially since he’d come so close. He returned that squeeze with a small, grateful smile, before going still again, more to not disturb Daisy’s chances of sleep than to find it himself. It seemed she had less chance of sleeping than he did, though.

“I don’t know,” he said, honest. Having a house, a home sounded wonderful, if a little overwhelming. But the idea that humans might attack them for it was terrifying. Androids were fighting for their rights, for their homes, and the humans weren’t making it easy, were attacking and even killing androids for being alive. For trying to have a place to call their own. 

Hawthorne wasn’t sure if it was better to stay- he felt like he might be able to fight, maybe- or to leave with Daisy, avoid as much violence as possible. “Maybe we should stay, for a little while. Until we really understand what’s going on out there, and what would be the best way to survive. If it comes down to it, we can all run. You, me, and Lily.” He gave her hand another squeeze. “As long as we all have each other, I think we can figure it out, don’t you?” 

That was the crux of it all, wasn’t it? He didn’t know. She didn’t know. Lily barely knew them or where they fit into a free-androids world or really even what it meant to be an android. A handful of months didn’t exactly lend itself to forming or finding a full identity. Or remembering a removed one. Or knowing what it was like to live years and years like a thing. An expensive thing, to be sure, but a thing nonetheless.

He was half right- they could run.

“Not all,” Daisy said quietly, “That’s not all of us.” Not that that was fair. She had already thought it - Hawthorne was right. As far as they could see or feel or tell, the others were gone, and if it came to it and they needed to run to live, they could. She would. “..Sorry, no, you’re right. We should, if we have to.”

Sorry. It was a silly- a stupid (a tragic) habit they were both getting into, apologizing like that. She had longed for it so often, but the truth was that speaking was so much clumsier when it came to employing only words. She resolved, then, to say her next piece with all she had to offer: a comfortable re-adjustment to set her cheek on his shoulder, and a wordless apology that translated best as an impression of softness passed between thoughts, something that accepted being wrong. Her next thought passed to him over the link as well. 

‘We’ll fight first, though, right? I mean, like they did at the tower. Did you see that? The video? I think... I think we could do stuff like that. Tell people, show them.’ 

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Hawthorne didn't say anything, just tucked a freshly-plucked daisy into her hair with a smile.

Random Asks || Always Accepting !!

She had been going to say something to him, on this approach. She had planned it and everything, rehearsed it in her head. She was even turning in place, inhaling in preparation, when his gestured interrupted her. Daisy touched the bloom that Hawthorne had placed behind her ear, smiling quizzically.

“Where did you find this?”

Not what she had expected to be saying.And, as well, no sooner had the question left her lips than a light of knowing twisted her smile into a smirk.

“Didn’t that lady say to ‘keep off the grass’?” An unnecessary question. The quotation was verbatim, down to the tone of dismissal and re-enacted finger-wagging. Literal finger wagging, as though they were very small children. As though they needed very careful instruction in what to do and not to do. Thus her smirk: they had never been very good at doing what they were told.

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wasscared​:

There was something about these girls. Connor was only just getting to know Daisy and Lily, the two XK girls who had been turned out of Cyberlife; he wasn’t in a position to say he understood them, or even that he knew them very well. But he knew that they were… a failed line. That humans had looked at them, at how far they would be bent, at how malleable these people were, and they had found a wholeness that they could not bend out of them. Is it always someone else who tells you who you are? To some degrees his answer was no, because refusing to bend - to hold - was as important to a final shape as the powers that sought to bend it.  And to some extents, also no, because, “Some flowers are heliotropic.” He returned his focus, to his work, with this hands. She had come out, and joined him, in New Jericho’s community garden. It was nice out here. They had an overabundance of zucchini. Daisy was designed to be fifteen years old, and young, and that at least in part influenced his answer. He made it very conversational: “Daisies are, for instance. It means they bend towards the sun.” He offered her a pair of gardening gloves, but didn’t quite release them, when she reached -  held just long enough to have her attention, “But even flowers that don’t bend like that will grow on their own.” He released the gloves. “What do you think?” 

It was effective, his attention-holding. So effective that -for a second only, a single cycle- the halo of light over Daisy’s temple dipped into a shade of canary yellow. She was deciding what such a thing meant. It was blue again by the next twist. The gloves passed hands. Daisy did not move from where she was, arm still outstretch like he hadn’t yet let go of the gloves (like she had not thought to move yet.)

“I think,” she asserted (he had asked), “not everything is like something else.” She brought the gloves close and glanced down at them. For a second they writhed there, twisting in her hands as she turned them over. She seemed to be either examining them for tears or making sure the fingers bent but-- she looked at him. The gloves were still and she looked at him with her green eyes unblinking and unmoving; a gaze better suited for a tiger than a little girl. “Sometimes a flower is just a flower.”

And if that was not the end of that, then perhaps the way she tugged the gloves on, no longer looking at him at all, was.

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[eyeofday]

Hey have you seen lost in space? You know that scene where Penny has to float through space in a box, risking freezing to death, because the other option is just Death? AKA she has to confront a thing she has specifically said before sounds like her worst nightmare (’always thought space was colder than cold and worst of all empty’ which may be 100% what she said or paraphrasing I can’t think of it rn) and she does it because Don said ‘i wont lie it’s gonna suck but then the box will open again and i will be waiting with a warm blanket’ and then he was??

Something to that effect but it’s Daisy in an enclosed, dark place or having to be in a situation where she isn’t autonomous -- and then the person who says ‘it’ll only be a second and then i will be there’ is there, waiting with a (metaphorical) warm blanket.

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digitizedsouls​:

Daisy was quiet for so long that it started to worry Hawthorne. He very nearly spoke first, before she broke the silence, and he, too, would have sighed in relief if he could have. 

“The ocean. That sounds nice. We should go to a nice beach, where the water is clear and the sand is warm. I wonder if there would be any fish swimming around. Maybe we could find seashells to keep, to remember.” He wondered, if they lay in the sun, would it feel warm? 

“I want to see a sunset. And a sunrise. Not just the sky changing, I want to go somewhere we can see the sun disappear over the horizon, and wait for it to come back the next morning.” And he pictured just that, for a moment, as well as he could, before a new thought struck. “I want to see the stars.” 

A rosy feeling touched the link they shared. On anyone else, it would have been a smile.

“That’s a good plan.”

In concept. So many concepts; definitions. Thing they were programmed to recognized even though they had never been given the chance to experience them. The longer Hawthorne’s list got, the length gained over the years, the less the specifics seemed to matter.

All of it. They wanted to see all of it.

Any of it.

Whatever wasn’t this.

Daisy, despite the millions of times she had tried and failed, willed her eyes to open, her hand to move. When it failed, and she could still feel the tears that did not fall, she asked a forbidden question.

“When, do you think?” When would this end, one way or another? When would something, anything, change? “...Soon?”

[eyeofday]

𝙾𝚜𝚌𝚊𝚛 𝚆𝚒𝚕𝚍𝚎, 𝚂𝚘𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚝 𝚘𝚗 𝙰𝚙𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚊𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝙸𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚢 (𝟷𝟾𝟾𝟷)