#also i have an oc robot story in which the word “robot is a slur

[agentpink-writes]

5 Lesser Known Facts Tag!

Tagged by: @writingonesdreams! Thanks again!

I’ve been meaning to get to this, but I’ve been tagged in so many tag games recently, I can’t keep up! Hopefully this will put a dent in my drafts :,)

Instructions: list at least 5 lesser known facts about your WIP and/or the OC of your choosing!

For this I think I’ll do both my WIP and OCs? I’ll be doing God of the Machine, as per usual

Also, spoilers-ish.

1. One of the main, main characters I was reluctant to mention in my WIP intro is an Android who goes under the alias of Patient Zero. He is the one, as revealed later in the WIP, who orchestrated the Phage virus and is sorta starting this robot rebellion, but his motivations are a bit cloudy until they are revealed much later. I was a little ehhhh about adding him to my intro page, as his existence is kind of a spoiler (as if that means anything atm since I’m nowhere near close to publishing this lol). However, I’ll probably put him down there anyway, since he is pretty important.

2. David used to work for Aesop, the corporation that Sara was partially in charge of, during the war. He was discharged (honorably) for mental health issues (spoilers I guess) but he was given the opportunity to work with Aesop, a new and rising corporation that really founded the base for the Androids of the present. At that time, robots were treated mainly as military equipment, another facet in aiding the military effort in the Tyro War. Basically David was a military scientist who helped make war machines, and was called to help with a specific and new line of robots, a pantheon of Androids nicknamed the Gods Initiative. They are all nicknamed after Greek gods, like Aphrodite and Athena, and each are assigned to a specific team of military scientist (to see which comes up with the better, more superior military robot). David was assigned to Ares who (spoilers again) is actually Patient Zero (loooong story there).

3. The people that this alternate universe America is fighting is actually Canada. This is a very small fact, as I made sure to draw little to no focus to the fact they were fighting Canada. Instead, I wanted to focus more on the use of propaganda (ex. Exaggerating facial features and use of slurs) in order to kind of parody the mindset of those at war. I thought it was better to have it exclusively shown from America’s side, since I felt like it would give more insight into how biased they are. Again, i thought picking Canada would be appropriate since it adds to absurdity of this. The more I write about this makes it seem more and more silly, so let’s just pretend I didn’t write this ok? Ok.

4. Lucy gets infected with the Phage virus at one point. She doesn’t realize it at first, but as the story unfolds it slowly begins to affect her and her actions. Basically, the source of the Phage virus is unraveling the original Androids code, which can affect each Android differently. Not going to delve too much here, as I’ve already given too many spoilers already :,)

5. Ah, the biggest spoiler of them all! I was thinking about not putting it here, but if any of you guys actually care about spoilers for this WIP (I really doubt it but I’m checking anyway), just skip ahead to the tags. Anyway, here it is: Micheal, aka Major, is actually David’s son. He distanced himself from his dad a long, long time ago, and he hasn’t said a word to him over three or so years. He hates him with a fiery passion and pretty much blames him for breaking their fmamily apart, which he isn’t totally wrong about but hey... I’m already giving too many spoilers so I’ll just shut up.

I love how this basically went from lesser known facts to full blown spoilers. I don’t really mind, tbh, as I don’t think I’ll be publishing this anytime soon. So yeah, enjoy? I guess?

Tagging: @gottaenjoythelittlethingzz @fluffythewritingplant @lilmissravingwriter @mistbornvinventure @shadowschild64 @g-marrader21 @dreamin-when-I-wrote-this @emilyelizabethfowl @montevena @disoriented-writer @bumblebeesonpaper @thewizardbee

[aurora-boring-alis]

wip lmao

Got tagged by @dxrkblaze to share some wip writing. Tbh I haven’t been doing much lately so ive only got scraps n shreds that have been chilling on my ipad for the last bit 

I also usually save proper writing for my side blog but eh i can bend the rules once or twice 

Oh ye its oc shit btw sorry

Its roughly 2 AM and I am awake, entangled in sweat soaked fleece in the backseat of my car. My gaze, clouded and blurry from interrupted sleep and absence of my glasses. The seats are lumpy and my back aches. It feels like I left the heat on, despite my car having been off for the last day or so.

I ran here earlier in the night and crashed in the back seat, hoping to catch some alone time and sleep. I haven’t slept well, much to my dismay; my mind was too awake, revving its engine, ready to go and drive me into a ditch. I retrace my thoughts, recount the steps of how I had got here, lying in the backseat of my beat up Tercel, trying to sleep, trying to outrun this. I  suppose I could try to sober up from sleep and trek back to the city. But something about the thought of driving alone on a highway at night terrifies me. Perhaps it’s the thought of being completely alone. Maybe it’s the thought of crashing and not having anyone find me.

I sit up, reaching for my glasses, which are in the cup holder. I slide them onto the bridge of my nose, my gaze tracing up the plastic interior and gazing  out the window. I’m parked on the shoulder of a gravel road that can barely fit two cars. To the left is the forest and a few cottages, slowly steeping upwards on a slight hill. To the right is the lake, it’s glassy waters glimmering, the moon shining brightly onto it. Cottages pepper the cleared path before the road and back onto  the forest. There’s a few other parked cars along the road, but they’re like ghosts, emptied of their belongings and people. Near the cars are little tin boats that the cottagers use to get across the lake and onto the small islands in the middle. Light from them  snakes across the lake, showing where they live. Hours ago, I was like them, with Patrick, in happy company, enjoying the sun, fresh air and lake.

But like always, I had to go and doubt myself. Oh yes, I just had to go and question everything I’ve ever felt about me, about Patrick, about our friendship, about our love. “Stupid Lindey…” I chastise myself. I pull my knees up to my chest and hold myself, drawing a thin gasp of air. I shut my eyes, trying my hardest to block him out of my thoughts. But the more I do, the more the spurs and spats of memory come crawling back to me.

I hear my phone vibrate, and I tense. I look down, the phone screen lit up, burning my eyes. It’s nearly silent, save for the buzz. It ceases a second later. I look down, the words Pat, missed call (4) appearing on the lock screen. A frown creeps across my lips as I unlock my phone and begin to play back his messages.

“Lin, it’s me. Why did you just run off? Did I do something wrong? Please tell me.” His voice is gruff and tired. A shiver goes down my back. “We’re friends right? I don’t want to loose you. And you mean a lot to me.“ 

The voicemail system flips forwards to the next message. ”Lin. It’s me again. I don’t know where you get off just running away like that. Why won’t you tell me what I did wrong?“

The next. ”You know what, I’ve had it. Call me back or don’t. I don’t care anymore Lindey. You can go-“ I hit the hang up button before I can hear anymore. He’s right though. I have jostled him around. I’ve played with his heart, and led him on. I toss the phone onto the floor of the car and lay back onto the plastic interior.

I mean, I haven’t always felt this way. I love Patrick and I can see myself going into something deeper with him, but, now when I look at him, there’s something missing, not connecting even. He’s whole and complete, and me, I feel like the wires in my brain are jumbled into a large knot, the ends loose and thrown across the edges of my mind.

I’ve been somewhat of a checkerboard in my past – not really caring whether I wake up beside a girl or a guy. When we started, Patrick told me that he was bi, it didn’t bother me. However, he looked expectantly towards me, and I said I was straighter than an arrow with sarcasm lurking behind my words. This memory sends me back into questioning. I never thought much about it – I liked girls and guys and that was that. I never saw anything more than a possible friendship with them. But my parents always said that I would make a great mother, and that kids love me, yet I can’t think of myself like that. Not now, at least. And that’s fine, I suppose. 

My phone vibrates again. I look down at it and sigh out of my nose. I pick up the phone and hit answer. ”Lindey?“

I shut my eyes. “Pat.”

We sit in silence for a moment. I hear him breathe and cuss. Words spew from his mouth. Patrick’s hit his word vomit, and things just keep coming and coming from his mouth. He doesn’t stop. It’s a jumble of why would you’s, I don’t understand Lins, and we should just go back to being friends.

“I can feel it. You’re uncomfortable.” He says quietly. His voice is like a whisper in the air. I shut my eyes, pulling the sleeves of my sweater to meet my palms. “You were uncomfortable and still you pushed yourself to do it and rather than facing me and telling me what was wrong, you just… you ran off.”

I stay silent, rolling onto my side and letting the frames of my glasses cut into my face. I attempt to drown him out, but my thoughts are no better. In fact, they’re worse, dragging back old memories and slurs and questions from classmates, friends and family. It’s normal to want sex, right?

Everyone wants it, at least at one point. But then, if you have too much, you’re labelled as a slut, and if you have too little, you’re a prude. If you let anyone touch you like that you’re suddenly easy; and if you let no one, you suddenly have rumours that you have a chastity belt on. If you lust after people, you’re a skank. If you don’t want anyone, you’re boring. And yet, there’s this sinking, awful feeling in my stomach, settling there now. The same one that came over me when Mom told me that she can’t wait  for me to have children or when Patrick said any guy would be lucky to have me.

“I don’t understand you Lindey.” He whispers into the phone. His voice is fuzzy and sounds as if he’s fading away, being pulled far from my reach. 

“I don’t understand me either,” I say at last.

He stays quiet for another moment, this time much longer. “Why did you ask me out then?” His voice gets a little bit louder.

“I don’t know why, Pat.” I say, raising mine in response.

“Lindey,”

I don’t say a word.

“Do you think we should take a break? From each other, from this?” He asks. “Are we getting too heavy? I know we’ve been together for a while and said that nothing serious would come from this but-”

“I don’t know Patrick.” I say again. And suddenly, I’m the one with the word vomit, spewing out my life’s story. My world. My views. How I’ve felt forever; before adulthood, before adolescence. Before Patrick. 

I tell him how I never cared about the valentines I got in grade school, and how I stayed home for all the dances. I tell him of staying awake to watch television and finish a book instead of texting anyone. How when a friend said a boy looked hot, I would look and see nothing. About going to parties in high school and how I got stuck in the closet with another girl who kissed me for the first time. The times when my friends would The time where I went to prom by myself and ended up leaving with someone. About the indifference to losing my virginity and being called a slut for it. How I when on a sex spree to try and see if I could feel something, anything like what my friends constantly spoke of. And then, then is when I tell him, in my quietest voice possible about how in first year college, I slept with my roommate twice and then moved on to the boy down the hall of my residence. And how that boy eventually asked me out and how I ended up here with him; halfway been two cities, sleeping in the back of my car.

He doesn’t say a word. I hear the porch door creak loudly and his footsteps against the floorboards. At last, he speaks. “Lindey.” He says. “Do you think you may be ace?”

I blink several times, staring at the dashboard of my car. I draw a breath and shake my head. Patrick knows me so well, too well, perhaps. Reading my thoughts and in tune with my actions even if I’m not around him.

“What is that?” I ask.

“It’s asexuality. It’s where you don’t like anyone, in a sexual way.” He says.“It’s nothing wrong, it’s just how some people feel about romance and love.”

“But it doesn’t make sense. I love you.” I say, my voice growing slightly frantic. “If I’m that, how could I love you? That doesn’t wor-”

“I mean, it totally works. And it’s subjective to everyone.” He says quickly, grasping at works to make me feel better. “Like Jas. You remember Jasper Alucard, right? The guy who I was talking to back at the post office in town?”

I nod, thinking he can see me. “Yeah, I think I remember him.” I say unconvincingly. I do remember glancing back and seeing Patrick talking to some guy outside the post office when we were there earlier. I only remember long, raven hair and nothing more. I only saw his back.

“Well, he’s ace too, and he’s got a partner right now. It just depends on who you are. Like you can want to be in a relationship and still be ace!” He says, his voice soft but upbeat. “And maybe you’re that. Maybe you’re ace.”

I try to get his metaphor, but it’s lost on me. I don’t know Jas, and I didn’t see him. He’s nothing more to me than a half-assed effort on Patrick’s part to make me seem normal. But instead of his intention, I feel more alienated than ever. “So what? I’m a robot? I’m broken?” I ask, my voice cracks.

“Lindey,”

“Because right now it’s feeling like it, Pat. I… I feel broken.” I cry into my phone. I hiccup tears and shake as Patrick struggles to comfort me over the line. 

“Lindey. Lindey!” He yells. I swallow my tears and sniffle as he speaks. “Don’t say that. Don’t you dare.” His voice is stern now. I hear him pace across the porch, the creaking of the boards under his feet. “You’re not broken for not wanting sex. You’re not a prude or some robot. You’re you. And you’re the girl I love.”

I fall silent again, my hands balling into fists as . “Lindey.” He says. “I love you. No matter who or what you are.”

I stay silent. My eyes well up. I know what’s coming. His voice has gone down in tone, becoming lower. He’s quiet. I can hear the waves lapping against the shore over the line. I hold my head in one hand, shutting my eyes tight. ”We should stop and figure things out. I think it’d be best if we-“

"We need to take a break.” I let a hiccup sneak into the conversation and then cover my mouth, sucking back a breath between my fingers. I part them slightly, allowing the words to creep through.. “I need a break. I need to figure myself out. That’s what you were going to say, and I agree.”

“You do? You’re not just saying that?” His voice grows quieter for a moment.

“Pat, I’m not. I’m certain.” I lie in a louder voice, attempting to hide that I’m crying. I swipe at my eyes. I attempt to hold myself together, keep myself from sobbing into the phone, begging for him or anyone to make myself make sense once again. I hate to lie to myself, to Patrick, but I can’t tell him that I want to keep going after I think – know – that  I’m ace. I feel like I’m living a lie, telling myself that I’m okay going to bed with him even though I don’t see that in him. “It’d be best for us, right? Get our lives together before going forwards?”

“You’re right.” He says. His voice is eerily calm, barely above a whisper. I hear a loon call on the other end, and the real thing in my other ear. I fill the silence: “I’ll get my stuff out of the apartment.”    

“Isn’t that a little extreme?” Patrick asks with concern.

“I mean, it’s apart of a break, right? I cut myself off from you, you cut yourself from me?” I say. Being ace and in a relationship feels so alien, so abnormal, unjust. I need to break away from him, I need to be alone.

“Right.” He says. “But where will you stay?”

“I’ll stay here until school comes back . Then I’ll go back to the city.” I say. “I’m sure I can find somewhere to stay.”    

“As long as you’ll be all right.” He says. I hide a sniffle and another sob under the guise of a cough. “Lindey… I love you.” He says.

I stay quiet. “And if we get our shit together, maybe we’ll try again?” He says. “At the end of the summer?”

I nod into the phone. “Yep. Okay.” I say. His voice becomes distant. The words slip out of my mouth “I love you too, Pat.”    

A moment passes and I feel dread pinch my nerves. Patrick takes a breath and then he breathes the words, “take care of yourself” and hangs up on me.