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chiseler · 4 years ago

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Dastardly Deeds

If you happened to find yourself wandering around New York in the late Sixties, especially if you were up near the Columbia University campus, chances are good you might have encountered the graffito “George Metesky Was Here” spray painted on walls and sidewalks and store fronts. Even if you had seen it, though, chances are equally good it made no impression. Most people who saw the cliched slogan likely thought little of it, assuming it had been left by some poor, desperate soul named George Metesky in a pathetic bid for attention.” But those people would’ve been wrong on two counts.

First, although Metesky was still alive at the time, the graffitos had been left by a radical activist named Sam Melville, not Metesky himself. And second, as pathetic and desperate as Metesky may have been, he had more important things to do than spray paint his own name on walls all over Manhattan.

Sam Melville, who detonated eight pipe bombs in government and corporate office buildings around Manhattan in 1969, is today remembered as one of the radical Left’s first bomb makers of the late Sixties, presaging the likes of the Weathermen and the Armed Resistance Unit. He was eventually arrested, convicted, and shipped off to Attica, where he died in the 1971 uprising. Even though Metesky had no apparent interest in politics, radical Left or otherwise, he was still Melville’s hero and role model. After you learn a bit about Metesky’s story, you have to wonder why, exactly, Melville latched onto him instead of, say, an early 20th century explosives maestro like anarchist Mario Boda, but there you go.

Metesky was born in Connecticut in 1903. In his teens, he enlisted in the Marines and was shipped off to the U.S. consulate in Shanghai, where he served as an electrician. When his stint was up, he returned to the States and moved in with his two sisters in Waterbury, Connecticut. He also took a job as a mechanic with Consolidated Edison.

By 1930, Metesky had been assigned to ConEd’s Hellgate generating plant. While he was wiping down a generator one day in September of 1931, a nearby boiler exploded. Not only was Metesky blown to the ground, but he inhaled a plume of scalding, noxious gas which seared his lungs. He lay on the plant’s cement floor for hours, he said, receiving no medical assistance whatsoever. As he would later claim, breathing those industrial fumes resulted in a case of pneumonia which then developed into tuberculosis, leaving him bedridden and unable to work.

After Metesky collected six months worth of sick pay, ConEd terminated his employment. His worker’s compensation claim was denied because he’d missed the filing deadline. Three subsequent appeals of the decision were also denied, in part thanks to testimony delivered by three former co-workers, who, perhaps with some encouragement from ConEd brass, insisted Metesky’s injuries weren’t as bad as he claimed. Metesky, who was only 33 when his final appeal was denied, suddenly found himself sickly, unemployable, and very, very angry.

Five years later, it’s safe to say that everyone at ConEd had completely forgotten about George Metesky. George Metesky, however, had not forgotten about them. On the morning of November 16th, 1940, he placed a small pipe bomb inside a wooden toolbox, strolled into a ConEd substation on West 64th St. in Manhattan, and left it on a windowsill.

It was a primitive device, just a short length of brass pipe packed with gunpowder with a sugar and battery detonator. Such bombs rarely detonate as planned, which may be a moot point, as Metesky’s was discovered before anything happened. That may have been at least partially intentional, as wrapped around the bomb was a slip of paper. In a block-lettered handwriting (which would become familiar to investigators in later years) he’d written:

“CON EDISON CROOKS – THIS IS FOR YOU.”

The would-be bomb was shrugged off by the ConEd crooks, and ignored by everyone else. The same was true nearly a year later, in September of 1941, when another bomb with a similar design was found on the sidewalk several blocks away from the Irving Place building that housed ConEd’s headquarters. There was no note, the bomb did not explode, and few gave it a thought.

Despite two duds which made no mark whatsoever on the public consciousness (let alone ConEd), Metesky apparently had a grossly inflated sense of the impact he was having. That would explain the note received by a (very confused) NYPD shortly after the U.S. entered WWII in December of 1941. Metesky, an ex-Marine, wrote in that same block lettering:

“I WILL MAKE NO MORE BOMB UNITS FOR THE DURATION OF THE WAR – MY PATRIOTIC FEELINGS HAVE MADE ME DECIDE THIS – LATER I WILL BRING THE CON EDISON TO JUSTICE – THEY WILL PAY FOR THEIR DASTARDLY DEEDS... F.P.”

The “FP” signature was a mysterious new addition, but what’s not to love about someone who, apparently in all seriousness, uses the term “dastardly deeds”? The NYPD promptly filed the letter away in their “Crank Letters from Would-Be Cartoon Villains” drawer.

Metesky meant what he said about laying low in deference to the war effort, however, waiting an entire decade before planting his next bomb, satisfying himself in the interim by sending angry notes in ALL CAPS to ConEd and the cops. When he did finally get around to planting bombs again in 1951, two things had changed. First, his designs had grown slightly more sophisticated, meaning this next generation of pipe bombs actually exploded most of the time. And second, although at heart ConEd was still his target, the actual placement of the bombs had become decidedly more random. Also, whether it was intentional or the result of an increasingly unstable Metesky merely losing track, throughout the 1950s he bombed several buildings multiple times.

In March of 1951, the first of Metesky’s pipe bombs to actually detonate was dropped in a trash can outside the Grand Central Oyster Bar on the first level of Grand Central Station. No one was injured. About three weeks later he blew up a phone booth in the New York Public Library, followed by another phone booth in Grand Central.

Between 1951 and 1956, he blew up several phone booths, bathrooms, storage lockers and trash cans. He left bombs in the subway, the RCA building, Macy’s, and several movie theaters. He hit the New York Public Library twice, Grand Central five times, Radio City three times, the Port Authority twice, and Penn Station five times. He also finally got one inside ConEd headquarters, and tried mailing another to his nemesis, though it turned out to be a dud.

In most cases he would place a warning call to the targeted building in question, letting them know there was a bomb on the premises so the building could be evacuated. Considering the minimal damage his bombs generally caused, it’s also conceivable he made the warning calls to let people in the targeted buildings know the loud “bang” they thought they heard in the bathroom was in fact a terrorist attack.

Sadly for Metesky, despite all his hard work the NYPD dismissed his reign of terror as merely the work of juvenile delinquent pranksters. The press didn’t treat him any better, if they took any notice at all. These were, after all, very small pipe bombs.

Perhaps out of frustration, in October of 1951 he mailed a letter to the New York Herald Tribune which read:

“BOMBS WILL CONTINUE UNTIL THE CONSOLIDATED EDISON COMPANY IS BROUGHT TO JUSTICE FOR THEIR DASTARDLY ACTS AGAINST ME. I HAVE EXHAUSTED ALL OTHER MEANS. I INTEND WITH BOMBS TO CAUSE OTHERS TO CRY OUT FOR JUSTICE FOR ME.”

You do have to feel sorry for Medesky. After being fucked over by ConEd, and after learning all the usual channels of redress were stacked against him, he was forced to take drastic measures. But try as he might, even then he was ignored. He was nobody. All he wanted was a little attention, for someone to listen to his gripe. He clearly wasn’t out to hurt people—he just wanted a little justice. You can sense his growing aggravation in a follow-up letter to the Herald Tribune, which arrived in late December:

“HAVE YOU NOTICED THE BOMBS IN YOUR CITY – IF YOU ARE WORRIED, I AM SORRY – AND ALSO IF ANYONE IS INJURED. BUT IT CANNOT BE HELPED – FOR JUSTICE WILL BE SERVED. I AM NOT WELL, AND FOR THIS I WILL MAKE THE CON EDISON SORRY – YES, THEY WILL REGRET THEIR DASTARDLY DEEDS – I WILL BRING THEM BEFORE THE BAR OF JUSTICE – PUBLIC OPINION WILL CONDEMN THEM – FOR BEWARE, I WILL PLACE MORE UNITS UNDER THEATER SEATS IN THE NEAR FUTURE. F.P.”

Finally, the NYPD and others began putting the pieces together. Yes, as a matter of fact, there had been more bombings than usual in the city these past months, hadn’t there? And if these letters were any proof, the man responsible was completely bonkers. Sounds like he has some kind of beef with ConEd, but hey, who doesn’t?

Still, it says something that in November of 1954, a bomb Metesky had sewn into the cushion of a seat in Radio City Music Hall exploded as a sold out house of over 6,000 people watched a screening of White Christmas. Three people sitting near the seat in question were mildly injured and taken to the first aid station, 50 other people in the immediate vicinity were asked to move to different seats, and the rest were allowed to continue enjoying the film and the state show that followed. Only after the audience filed out an hour and a half later did cops move in to start collecting evidence. Bombs had been going off all over Manhattan for three years, but they were still being treated like backfiring cars or manhole fires.

It was only in 1956, after an elderly bathroom attendant at Penn Station and an audience member at the Paramount theater in Brooklyn were seriously injured that Metesky’s bombing campaign finally received the kind of banner headlines he’d been after. After years of trying, he’d finally been recognized in the tabloids as “The Mad Bomber.”

Suddenly under pressure from newspapers and the public, NYPD captain John Cronin publicly announced, perhaps tongue-in cheek, that he was launching “the largest manhunt the city’s police department had ever undertaken” to capture the Mad Bomber. He even created the NYPD’s first Bomb Investigation unit.

Although none of the hundreds of officers working the case were able to come up with a single solid clue, the campaign did have one immediate effect. Suddenly people all over the city began turning in neighbors and co-workers they felt had been behaving strangely. And the number of delusional types anxious to take credit for the bombing spree jumped precipitously. The cops found they were spending far more time and manpower fending off the cranks and crackpots than they were actually trying to find the bomber.

Essentially on a whim given nothing else was happening, Cronin contacted the assistant commissioner of the New York State Commission for Mental Hygiene, James A. Brussel, and asked if he had any ideas. Brussel, a psychiatrist and criminologist, agreed to take a look at the evidence to see what he could glean. Apart from the obvious—that the bomber was a paranoid with a serious gripe against ConEd—he also produced what is considered among the first )non-fictional) examples of criminal profiling.

Brussel came up with a 13-point list of attributes investigators should be looking for in a suspect, which in retrospect turned out to be surprisingly accurate. The bomber, he said, would likely be a male in his forties. He’d be of medium build, a good and meticulous worker, probably of Slavic origin. He was likely a loner with no wife, not much interest in women, living in Connecticut with an older sister. He was on the arrogant side, and probably didn’t respond well to criticism. And oh, when he was arrested he would likely be wearing a buttoned double-breasted suit.

(It’s unclear how he came up with that last one.)

At Brussels suggestion, the NYPD distributed the profile to all the local papers, asking them to give it a big push. The thinking was, if there was anything in the profile Brussel got horribly wrong, the Mad Bomber, being an arrogant paranoid, would feel compelled to step forward to insist on a correction. So on Christmas Day, 1956, the profile was plastered across the front pages of every paper in town.

The next day, the New York Journal-American (in cooperation with the cops) took it a step further, running a front-page plea directly to the Mad Bomber, asking that he turn himself in, promising not only that he’d get a fair trial, but that the paper would publish his side of the story.

The ploy worked about as well as could’ve been hoped. The very next day, December 27th, Metesky’s response arrived at the Journal-American’s offices:

“My days on earth are numbered – most of my adult life has been spent in bed – my one consolation is – that I can strike back – even from my grave – for the dastardly acts against me.”

He also included a detailed list of all the places he’d planted bombs thus far (some of which hadn’t been found yet), and stated he had no intention of giving himself up. The note, as usual, was signed “FP.”

Now that they had him on the hook, the cops and the Journal-American decided to play him a little. They ran his letter along with another plea that he explain a bit more clearly how his beef with ConEd arose.

Unable to resist now that he finally had an audience, Metesky immediately wrote back, explaining he’d been left permanently disabled because of a workplace injury while employed by ConEd, and that they’d refused his worker’s compensation claim.

“When a motorist injures a dog – he must report it – not so with an injured workman – he rates less than a dog – I tried to get my story to the press – I tried hundreds of others – I typed tens of thousands of words (about 800,000) – nobody cared – [...] – I determined to make these dastardly acts known – I have had plenty of time to think – I decided on bombs.”

A quarter century after the fact, having finally found an audience eager to hear his story, Medesky couldn’t stop himself, and penned yet another letter. He wrote at length about the circumstances surrounding his injury and his fight for worker’s comp, including the exact date the accident took place. The letter contained pretty much every bit of information any detective worth a damn would need, save for Metesky’s full name and a map to his house.

Well, despite ConEd’s best efforts to block access to their employment files, a clerk named Alice Kelly took it upon herself to do a little digging through the worker’s comp cases, eventually stumbling upon Metesky’s file, which had been clearly labeled “permanently disabled.” The real tip-off, though, were the letters from Metesky included in the file, many of which used the term “dastardly deeds.”

Around midnight on January 21st, 1957, a group of NYPD and Waterbury officers showed up on Metesky’s front step. He seemed to have been expecting them. He let them in, answered their questions, gave them a writing sample, showed them his workshop and all his bomb making tools, and explained that “FP” stood for “Fair Play.” When the officers sent him upstairs to get dressed for the drive to the station where he’d be booked, Metesky—and you saw this coming—returned a few minutes later in a buttoned-down double-breasted suit.

Over the course of seventeen years, Metesky planted 33 bombs around New York, 22 of which detonated. A handful of people were injured, but no one was killed. Given his motivation, you have to believe he was looking foerrward to a trial in which he’d be able to air his grievances with ConEd in a public forum that would undoubtedly receive a mountain of press coverage. And looking back now, you have to believe both the press and a jury would be sympathetic to the poor schlub’s plight. No doubt ConEd realized this too.

Before the proceedings got underway in the spring of 1957, though, a judge declared Metesky legally insane and unfit to stand trial. So there went his public forum. On April 18th, 1957, Medesky was remanded to the Matteawan Hospital for the Criminally Insane. Given the state of his health, it was expected he wouldn’t last six months.

In December, 1973, having been determined to no longer be a threat to anyone, the still very much alive 70-year-old Metesky was released. He returned home to Waterbury, where he lived a quiet life until his death in 1994 at age 90.

While he was institutionalized, the Journal-American retained a worker’s compensation attorney in an attempt to get Metesky’s claim re-opened. The hope was they might be able to force ConEd to cough up the decades worth of back pay Metesky was owed. The appeal was denied.

by Jim Knipfel

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lyricalive · 5 years ago

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A soul is an electric force, full of potential energy.

——Can we find souls in unlikely places, and set them into motion?

中古技術〜 Electric Spirit Seance

#01 Lullaby of a Deserted Hell

From a bird's-eye view, the figures of two sprightly maidens would appear like dolls amidst the surrounding range of artificial mountains, a stunning silvery wasteland.

The taller of the two small-looking girls, Maribel Hearn (Merry) planted her hands on her hips as she surveyed the junk that encircled them in all directions.

– "I can't believe you managed to convince me to go dumpster-diving. Is this a step up or down from graverobbing?"

– "We didn't rob anything from the graveyard. I definitely want to find something worth taking from here, though."

– "So this is a step down."

– "Nah, it's fine. These are all things that no one wants."

– "Or things that no one wants to be seen. Of course, that means…"

– "It's the perfect place for the Secret Sealing Club!"

The club's current president, Renko Usami, pumped her fist with plenty of good cheer. Merry smiled back, although she had mixed feelings about calling a land of literal garbage home.

– "We can't just have normal dates, can we?"

Fortunately, at least, the garbage was not excessively odorous or grimy. The site was a landfill specifically for electronic waste: frayed wires, boxy television frames, old phone models of all kinds.

The time was just around sunset -- more specifically 7:42 and 33 seconds, according to Renko's discerning eyes. The mild starlight reflected off of broken LCD screens, making them appear ever so slightly less lifeless.

#02 Rigid Paradise

– "What exactly are we looking for... Let me guess. Hoping to find some retro videogames?"

– "I won't lie. That'd be great."

– "But finding both a game and the console to go with it is going to be tough."

– "Did you know, if a company manufactures more games than it can sell, they end up buried underground to get them out of circulation?"

– "How wasteful. At least they were given a proper funeral."

– "The first time this happened was long ago in another country. Thousands of unsold cartridges... Just because they weren't popular at the time, now they'll never be played. I'd love to give them a chance."

– "Hee-hee, so much for a funeral. I suppose we're not in the business of letting the dead rest in peace."

In this unique sort of graveyard, the bodies had been piling up for countless years. Most of the material would never biodegrade, so the mounds kept accumulating, one layer buried under the next. In fact, despite the oceans rising drastically over recent years, this dumping ground remained unusually high above sea level for the sole reason that its foundation was constantly being reinforced by layers of tightly packed waste.

Renko, who had taken the precaution to wear pants and gloves on this excursion, knelt down to examine a mess of circuitry at the bottom of a looser heap. Merry meanwhile nudged the tip of her shoe against the ground, pondering how deep down was the earth.

#03 Poison Body ~ Forsaken Doll

The girl in black and white impatiently murmured the time, for the fourth time that hour, before stretching her back and turning around to check on her partner.

– "Find anything interesting yet, Merry?"

Merry, who had been spacing out for some while, quickly darted her eyes around for an improvised answer. A glint of light led her gaze to a long, flat cell phone teetering unceremoniously atop of a pile.

– "This... Haven't I seen this model in advertisements recently? How did this already become trash?"

– "Oh, you know. Technology becomes out-of-date awfully quickly these days."

– "Mm. I'd like to see it as a sign of progress, but…"

– "Yeah, it's not good at all. We're in an age of quantity over quality."

Manufacturers who design their products to poor standards, so as to improve on them soon after, are akin to the type of trickster youkai that disguises itself in beggars' clothes to take advantage of others' low expectations. In this selfishly self-deprecating society, it had become a disadvantage to show one's best.

– "Everyone knows this, but thinking about it makes me so irritated."

– "Right? Humanity is really holding itself back."

– "On top of that, don't they know that this is how vengeful tsukumogami are born?"

An object that has gone unused for 100 years is believed to develop a consciousness. Some end up harmless -- but if its short life was spent being used as nothing more than throwaway capital, naturally it would make sense for it to become unhappy.

Merry laid one hand gently on the phone, as if in a gesture of sympathy.

– "Hey, be careful not to touch more than you need to. It may look clean, but the chemicals released by e-waste can still be toxic."

– "Ah, right..."

She felt a bit sheepish for needing safety lessons from Renko, of all people. But, having thought too hard about it, it became difficult for Merry to view the objects as just physical material. A great majority of one's life was lived by virtual communication, so this material had great amounts of personal information stored in it. Of course, the information's original source was in people's minds, so it's not as if it would be instantly forgotten once the plug was pulled. But there were certainly more petabytes of raw data in a square meter of this dump than a human brain could hold.

#04 Electric Heritage

– "Come to think of it, though, have you ever actually heard a story about an electronic object becoming a tsukumogami?"

– "Well, no..."

– "I have a theory about that. I don't think e-waste is even capable of that transition."

– "How do you figure?"

– "Consider the crossover of electromagnetic fields and the detection of spirits. Electricity is a simulation of life energy, almost too spot-on. Like forces repel... so true life energy can't coexist with it. Because they're flowing with this imitation power, I don't think electronics get a chance to develop real souls."

– "I see. Then, we can't properly call this a graveyard..."

– "...if these bodies were never truly alive."

– "I can't decide whether that makes me feel relieved, or lonely."

Merry let out an audible sigh against their eerily silent backdrop. Then she braced herself to deliver the next news.

– "But, if that's so... then why can I still feel something spiritual around here?"

Renko's eyes lit up instantly.

– "Do you? I was hoping you'd say that!"

– "It just started... which is odd, since we haven't covered all that much ground since getting here. It's as if a border connecting to somewhere else just opened."

– "That supports the second part of the theory. Like forces repel, but opposite forces attract. They may not have souls themselves, but these empty vessels surely attract souls."

It felt fairly certain, now that both of their minds had helped confirm it: Some spirit, human or non-human, seemed to have decided to take up residence in the wasteland. Merry took a moment to feel proud of herself for her invaluable contribution.

– "By the way, where do robots fit into your theory?"

– "Well... I mean, there's no doubt we're getting closer every day to the A.I. revolution."

– "Oh, my. I knew I should have tipped our e-waiter last time we went to that café."

– "But that's a completely different phenomenon than what births a tsukumogami, right? It has to do with the software, not the hardware."

– "Yes. Though, it would seem to imply that there is a border of 'false' and 'true' life that can be crossed..."

#05 Entrusting This World to Idols ~ Idolatrize World

– "Now all we have to do is narrow it down, and we'll --"

As if on cue, Renko's thoughts were interrupted by a loud crashing sound from behind... music to her thrill-seeking ears. She whirled around to catch the culprit, her eyes fixating on Merry and the dark-colored object that rested a few paces away at her feet. The blonde girl threw her hands up in a display of innocence.

– "I didn't do it. It moved on its own! I just saw it fall out of nowhere."

Renko's attempt at a professional retort failed to conceal her excited, twitching grin.

– "Merry, Merry... This is the most basic of physics. An object can't move on its own! Unless..."

They approached the rectangular object and peered over it. It seemed to be a tablet PC, roughly twenty centimeters in length. It had landed face up, luckily enough to not have not shattered the screen, though there was a significant surface crack down its center.

– "Hm..."

– "We've ruled out tsukumogami. You think it could be... a poltergeist?"

– "I don't know. Rather than an outside force, the energy seems very contained in here."

– "So then... a spirit living inside?"

– "Something like that."

In response, the light of the screen flashed briefly on and back off.

– "Ahh! Electricity, a simulation of life energy..."

– "It also works the other way around!"

This was a very lucky revelation for the two investigators, as it would have been nearly impossible to find a compatible charging cable. In an age where each and every product was developed with its own unique cord design, this feature was marketed to consumers as a collectible game; the infinite variety, a controlled channel for creativity.

The device seemed to call out to them, understanding what they wanted. The power flashed again, on and off and on, in a quirky rhythmical pattern that almost evoked a personality.

– "We've definitely found something worth taking home!"

– "Wait. Isn't it wrong to remove a spirit from the place it's attached to? We can't just adopt a ghost like an abandoned baby."

– "Like you said, it's attached to the item, not the place. We're just fostering it for a bit before it moves on!"

– "All right... Just don't raise it to be wild like you."

– "And you, Merry, make sure you don't spoil it!"

#06 Nostalgic Blood of the East ~ Old World

The pair reached Renko's dorm with the haunted vessel tucked inconspicuously into their satchel, grateful that the spirit hadn't chosen to bind itself to a full desktop monitor or CPU instead. The question moving forward would be how to unlock its secrets.

– "How old do you think it is?"

– "Because it wasn't buried under anything, it seems like we should assume it to be fairly new. But it just feels so out of place."

– "Actually, I meant the spirit."

– "Oh."

Hand in hand with the phenomenon of planned obsolescence, the fashionable aesthetics of electronics changed as often as water under a bridge. Sleek designs were popular, then retro designs, then designs that mimicked the mimicry of two eras past, a vaguely deteriorating cycle. As a result, it was difficult to tell which era this piece of technology belonged to.

– "Remember that I saw a border open? Maybe not just the spirit, but the whole item came from somewhere else..."

They had been scrutinizing the home screen for quite some time, attempting to navigate the ancient interface, and hadn't made much headway. As far as they could tell, the data was heavily corrupted, and most of its history had been erased. They were able to access only the most basic types of apps, like the calculator and the keyboard.

– "Hey, Merry. I think we should use that other thing we picked up."

– "That? I don't even understand how we would use it..."

As evidenced by her smug grin, the more scientifically-minded of the pair had full confidence in the strange idea she was about to suggest.

#07 A Tiny, Tiny Clever Commander

– "I mean, really? A mouse?"

Renko had insisted that they bring home a wired peripheral mouse, which she had spent an extra half hour scavenging for. However, of course, the end of the cable did not match the outlet on the tablet.

Currently, she was back in the scavenging position, digging through the pile of unorganized junk that cluttered her closet (mostly books and occult items). Or rather, it looked unorganized, but she seemed to know exactly where everything was. ...Or rather, Merry concluded, it truly was unorganized, but her eyes were sharp at scanning through even a complete mess. She wondered if this small pile would ever become as large as the one at the dump.

– "A-ha, found it!"

Renko had managed to track down the very particular treasure she was seeking, the final piece of their forgathered puzzle. A small cube with many variously patterned notches rested in her open palm. The material's finishing was uncolored and plain, likely to have been produced independently with a 3D printer rather than as a commercial product.

– "W-Where did you get a thing like that?"

– "I have connections you don't know, Merry."

Merry thought she had heard this line before, and felt a bead of sweat roll down her neck just like the first time. The source was certainly shady. Universal adapters were not at all legal. Treating it like a Rubik's cube, and glancing back and forth for reference, Renko cleverly manipulated the block in her hand in ways that Merry was unable to understand.

Renko's partner, who had long embraced being an accomplice, appreciated her resourcefulness; she only wished to be kept more up to date when the other girl's mental plans ran ten steps ahead. But she supposed that this was how Renko felt in return when it came to supernatural sights that she couldn't see, so perhaps they were even.

– "Just like that? Like magic..."

– "Tell me, Merry. Can you see the border of magic and science?"

With all the pieces aligned, Renko ceremoniously linked the mouse to the tablet through the intermediary box. As a pop-up window indicated the drivers being registered, it was, they determined, a truly magical feat. The light on the screen dimmed a bit, as if the spirit were expressing slight disappointment that it was no longer their only option for a power supply.

– "Still... Better technology has been around for decades. These are so unwieldly. Does anyone use an optical mouse anymore?"

– "No, but no one's done this ritual in a long time either."

#08 No More Going Through Doors

Renko took Merry's hands in her own and conveyed them in a stack atop of the mouse. Holding this pose, Merry squinted at the screen in front of her, which displayed a neatly spaced virtual keyboard with a complete set of lettering. A mild shiver ran through her, either nervousness or excitement.

– "Hang on. This setup looks familiar somehow."

– "That's right. We're having a séance!"

Although Renko was very skilled with computers, hacking was not her expertise. She did, however, have the kind of mind that was able to think around the box, discovering back doors. The opportunity here was simple: If they couldn't reach the secrets, they would consult the only one who knew -- the spirit itself.

– "Huh!?"

– "This mouse is a perfect planchette to use as an interface. Sure, we have voice and touch technology. But you don't want the spirit to possess your actual body in order to touch the screen or activate your voice, do you?"

– "Definitely not. ...Wait, did I ever say I wanted to be the medium at all?"

Merry pulled her hands back from the mouse and saw the screen's light flicker weakly.

– "Oh, er... You're right. We didn't really decide that, did we?"

– "Mm..."

– "I think you'd be better suited, but I'll gladly go first. I've always wanted to try something like this."

Merry's eyes glazed over as she thought about the prospect of communicating with the spirit. They had assumed the sealed entity was harmless enough to bring home, but could there be some risk in directly channeling it?

Then again, what was the other option? To leave their investigation at a dead end?

You don't belong on this side of the unknown.

A faint voice bubbled up inside of Merry, almost like an intrusive thought. This had been happening to her increasingly often lately, though she always forgot about it after the fact. Because, at the same time, they certainly felt like her own feelings...

Maribel Hearn was sparked with a surge of curiosity that made her want to take the lead. These were precisely the club activities she had signed up for. How much more dangerous could it be than anything else, so long as one made sure to follow the protocols and say goodbye at the end?

– "No... I'd like to do it."

Renko blinked in surprise.

– "Really? ...Well, gee, make up your mind. You made me get all excited for myself. Go ahead, but I call next!"

#09 Shoutoku Legend ~ True Administrator

Having cleared the area and turned off all the lights, Merry sat with her back straight against a chair and took a deep breath. No candle was necessary, as the warm glow of the screen cast a ring of illumination around the table. They had thoroughly discussed the questions they desired to ask, though the words felt awkward to speak out loud. Nevertheless, the young medium opened her mouth.

– "What is... your name?"

...

The atmosphere of room was deathly still. Merry let all the muscles in her arm relax, preparing.

...

I...

– "It's working...!"

The spirit was conscious and listening. The planchette began to glide beneath Merry's loose grip, landing on the letter I. When it paused on the letter for several seconds, she clicked the mouse button to confirm before the involuntary movement slowly began again.

...FO RG OT.

– "Ah. So it's going to be up to us to give it a name."

– "Did you own this tablet?"

While Merry was lost in thought about a potential name, Renko chimed in with a question of her own from the opposite side of the table. However, the spirit seemed to hesitate in answering.

Suddenly, the other girl's focus returned. On an instinct, she broke the silence with an unexpected change of the question.

– "Does this tablet own you?"

...

YE S.

– "Huh... The tablet owns the spirit? How did that happen?"

Although Renko's words were more thinking out loud than a direct question, the spirit was responsive. Merry's hand immediately began to move.

...

SN AP.

– "Snap...? That sounds kind of scary."

– "What does that mean?"

The cursor then swerved dramatically past all the letters on the keypad and down to the app menu along the bottom edge of the screen. It hovered over an icon barely recognizable as an antique camera.

– "Ah..."

The app launched, reproducing a dark, blurry image of the table on which the device's lens was turned. Upon clicking the screen, a photograph was taken, and the damaged speaker emitted a distorted snapping sound.

– "Spirit photography!"

The two girls burst out in unison, solving the riddle simultaneously.

– "Right. We've all heard the old belief that getting a photograph taken of you might steal a piece of your soul."

– "It has some basis. If captured in a photograph by accident, a minor spirit's energy might become trapped."

Somewhere in the hidden files, such a photograph must exist, binding some foreign essence to this device. The spirit was likely eager to get free.

Merry minimized the camera app and returned to the keyboard.

– "Who took the picture?"

...

Unlike its own, this name seemed to be one the spirit knew. The pair observed with bated breath as the cursor navigated itself around the maze of letters. Ultimately, it came to a halt, and Merry clicked on the final letter.

– "...Eh? Merry, stop kidding around!"

Merry turned to her partner with a genuine, solemn expression.

– "I'm... not. I swear."

Renko's face went pale. In ink-black font, three familiar syllables stood on display beside a blinking cursor.

#10 Dream World Folklore

To disprove the influence of the ideomotor effect, they had asked the question several more times, using both girls as mediums, until the spirit ultimately stopped responding altogether.

– "Oh, no. We scared it away..."

– "Well, it did spook us first."

– "Renko... You weren't kidding about your connections, were you?"

Renko scratched her head with lingering bewilderment.

– "Is the spirit messing with us? Or could it be..."

Her gaze wandered over to the stream of occult paraphernalia still spilling out of the crack of her closet door, and she experienced a strange sense of longing. The adventurous scientist was heavily accustomed to investigating mysteries from an observational and objective point of view. Finding herself personally a step closer to the subject was a bizarre and almost gut-twisting feeling. She supposed that this was how Merry felt in return when the focus of investigations was on her own powers, so perhaps they were even. Almost.

After a few more sessions of séance, they managed to navigate to an encrypted folder. A full-screen photograph had flashed open... but, before they were able to make out any details, the tablet's power instantly cut off. Following this, it no longer responded to any input.

Their assumption would be that the spirit had been able to cross over, after deleting its digital ties to the physical container and unsealing the information it was attached to.

– "I suppose this is goodbye..."

– "Is the spirit free now?"

– "I think so."

– "That's good for it, at least."

– "Too bad for you. If we kept it, maybe it would have served as your personal shikigami."

– "Isn't that a bit cold-hearted? It was supposed to be our child!"

A shikigami is the perfect phantasmal servant. The owner may input commands, and it carries out orders with extraordinary speed and calculation. Of course, a normal computer already fulfills essentially the same purpose. Outside world humans of the modern era aren't in need of such a spirit under their possession.

Even so, the force of attraction that had drawn them to cross paths with this spirit would be a mystery to chase going forward. The two present members of the Sealing Club had a new story to tell, an urban legend that could be shared only amongst themselves.

Afterwords

Hello, this is someone who absolutely promised themself that they would publish at least one Hifuu fic per calendar year. The idea for this one began with a conversation with my real-life partner (as is usually the case of inspiration) about the excellent aesthetic of using a computer keyboard as a Ouija board. This subject in turn came up because of a "ghost" that haunts her keyboard by making a certain cryptic message appear on the screen at random times because the "." and "0" keys are in an easy position for us to accidentally press. So, this story is dedicated to our precious child, ".0-chan."

Then, while it was already being written, WBaWC came out and confirmed that a technology-themed fic would be totally appropriate, and my favorite song from the soundtrack had the perfect title to be used in it. (Also, its blatant dystopian themes justified playing up the similar themes of the Sealing Club's society even more than usual.) And yet, despite many things lining up, it almost didn't get finished in time. It's been such a busy and stressful year, which I hope gets better next year...

Another source of inspiration was the blog "Yukarisuggestion," whose portrayal I respect a lot. When they drop minor bits of supernatural trivia, it definitely feels like they are coming from the youkai sage herself, very natural to accept. I latched onto these posts in particular, finding the concept fascinating, and I only hope I interpreted it acceptably. ...I was really aiming sharply this time at the Sealing Club's conversational aesthetic of "casual confidence in super obscure things that outside listeners would hear as nonsense," so I'm afraid some parts may have crossed the border of B.S.

Also, I wonder if it's okay that the second half of the song choices are almost entirely bad puns?

ASA (Our ghost child's pen name would be "0.4" / "Rei-ten-shi"!)

Hifuu CD-style stories:

» [Tumblr] [AO3] 自封夢幻〜 Sentimental Reverie

» [Tumblr] [AO3] 陶然夢幻〜 Transcendental Revelry

» [Tumblr] [AO3] 羨望横断〜 Unenviable Crossroads

» [Tumblr] [AO3] 外来土産〜 Adventive Reminiscence

» [Tumblr] [AO3] 中古技術〜 Electric Spirit Seance

» [Tumblr] [AO3] 幻想惑星直列〜 Phantasmal Syzygy

#touhou #maribel hearn #renko usami #renmerry #fanfiction

56 notes · View notes

jincherie · 6 years ago

Text

a well-oiled machine | i

➛pairing: jungkook x reader ➛genre: android au, futuristic au, prostitute au, fluff, angst, smut (next part) ➛words: 14.3k ➛rating: sfw ➛warnings: none in particular in this part-- some slight drunken behaviour and an android in bad shape! hints at previous abuse ➛notes: for @cinnaminsvga !! happy birthday zee!! i wuv u uwu !! <33 enjoy your roboporn u mecha slutte -- I’m sorry its not completely done!! I’ll do my best to pull the rest out my ass asap!!! <3 <3 <3

Your life takes a bit of a turn when you stumble upon an android in pieces, hidden in an alleyway in an area known for its shadows and debauchery. Taking him home to fix him might have been the best decision you’d ever made, but perhaps there was a little more to the android JK01-97 than you’d initially thought.

→posted; 20.08.2018

→ masterlist | part ii

Through the cool blue and lilac glow that fell from the holographic signs lining the streets, the fat droplets beginning to pelt from the sky and the darkness that began to linger alongside the buildings, a form was just barely visible. Jumbled and disorganised, a mess of metal and synthetic material that had seen better days was propped against a dumpster and the brick wall behind it. Hovering vehicles sped past, women in heels and men in dress shoes strode by, all oblivious to the shape hidden just inside the alley. The droplets that had sprinkled now began to pour from the heavens in earnest, and the form began to grow soaked. Water pooled across the chipped and uneven concrete, dripping and mixing with the deep, burnt violet that trickled slowly from metallic shapes that looked vaguely like limbs, the metal torn and busted, and the flesh-like material spread across it ripped and ruined. As the remaining light of day fled the sky and the distant rumble of brontide pierced the damp air, time began to run out for the form. It had been there for days, untouched by anything but nature, and while the LED light in its eyes had managed to remain, now it had begun to flicker. It was a hopeless night, a hopeless storm growing closer, and the glow of the signs’ light reflecting across the puddles was beginning to overpower the form’s own.

He didn’t have much longer at all.

x x x x x x x x x

The Red Light District wasn’t a place you enjoyed visiting, nor one you frequented by choice. Rather, it was a necessary evil; just on the other side of the district lay a waste field, ripe with discarded technology and all the parts in the world a simple tinkerer like you could ever want. Normally, someone such as yourself seeking to pilfer the field for parts and goods would be refused entry, but you had the luck of knowing and befriending the owner. Mr Bang was a retired scientist, an inventor of sorts, who’d specialised in AI and had even mentored some of your friends in their studies before he reached an age where he decided it was time to leave the profession. It was, in a way, quite peculiar that he now owned and managed what was essentially a trash yard for discarded technology. From simple things like microwaves and hoverboards to the rare early-age android, He collected them and stored them. The only place he’d managed to find big enough for all his, well, junk had been the warehouse on the other side of the Red Light District. And so, that was where you had to go— actually, it was where you were trying to go right now, if the storm and resulting traffic decided to let up.

Your car was somewhat a relic of an older time, but still technologically advanced enough that it was allowed on the road with other vehicles. You’d grown up being taught to drive by your parents, and secretly longed to be able to drive your own car, but the laws in this day and age were quite clear. On roads that hovercraft and wheeled vehicles shared, only automatic, self-driving units were allowed. Gone were the days when you controlled the speed of your own car, the turns and brakes. It was nice not having to think about all of those things on the journey to your destination, but at the same time you found it gave you too much time to think. While it took more mental capacity, driving in itself was a mindless sort of activity. You liked that it quietened your thoughts, but supposed you’d just have to deal as always with how loud they were for now.

You let out a sigh as you remained in the same position you’d been in for the past few minutes, bumper to bumper with two other cars. In a day and age when crashes on the road were few and far between, you weren’t sure what the hold-up was this time. You supposed it was probably the road itself— the rain had come out of nowhere and with so much in so little time, you didn’t doubt the winding, dipping roads of this area were prone to flooding. Automatic cars were incredible in their seamless ability to drive with much less hazard, but had a flaw in their programming; some, especially older models, were so wired to uphold their passenger’s safety that they sometimes jumped the gun a little bit. In example, what was probably happening a little further up the road was that a car or hovercraft was halted before a stream or pool of water. Its sensors and computer would register danger, and would lock the wheels or engine so that the danger was not intercepted. This was problematic when the water was only a few centimetres deep and easily driven through. There was a function for events like this, that allowed the passenger to commandeer the vehicle for a few minutes and override any automatic inhibitors, but the process of accessing that setting was… tedious. In all honesty, the time it took to activate manual driving was probably what caused this back-up of traffic in the first place, rather than a road being completely flooded. Your car thrummed suddenly, engine revving softly, and you moved forward one whole car space before you halted again. Then, no doubt, the process began once more.

You were getting tired of sitting here, gazing out the window in a district where there were things you likely didn’t want to see. The rhythmic swiping of the windshield wipers could only distract you for so long before you were seeking other entertainment. The storm had momentarily interfered with the local cell towers so you couldn’t even browse the internet, and you weren’t in the mood for any of your games. You liked the mindless kind, the easy ones with a little story and detail to spice them up, but your thoughts were currently too active for something like that. So, sitting and staring out the window it was.

You were wondering if it was better to forgo a visit to the tech yard this time. At this rate you were going to tear your own hair out before you even got to the other side of the district, and you didn’t want to even entertain the thought of what it would be like beyond the blocks of buildings and maintained roads. You shuddered. Perhaps you’d give it a few minutes, and if the traffic didn’t sort itself out by then you’d head on home. It was getting late as it was anyway. Well, six o’clock in the evening wasn’t technically that late, but you’d been up since early running the store and you were eager for the day to end.

It was hard to see through the pelting rain that melted against the glass and did its very best to obscure your vision, but you still managed to catch it as a woman in a short dress and crimson heels scurried past, bag held over her head in meagre protection from the rain— until her foot lost traction on the flooded path and she slipped. You gasped, wincing at the way her knees made contact with the concrete, and were opening the door of your car with an umbrella in hand before you could give it a second thought, ignoring it as your car letting loose a string of warning noises and a soft artificial tone, ‘Miss y/n, please get back in the car. Climbing out of a moving vehicle is a safety hazard.’

Well, your car wasn’t exactly moving but she had the right idea.

You hurried over to the woman, your form instantly growing soaked in the downpour. You managed not to flinch as a flash of lightning greeted your vision and thunder boomed and rumbled above almost instantly after. Ah, the storm was right above you, it would seem.

“Hey, are you okay?” you asked, speaking louder so she’d be able to hear you over the rain. The woman looked up, surprised that someone had stopped to help. Her eyes were a warm cocoa that matched her auburn locks, gratitude filtering into her irises as you popped open the umbrella above her. “I saw you slip a bit in the puddle.”

The woman winced, adjusting the way she sat so her knees were removed from the rough texture of the pavement; blood seeped from the scrapes marring her tanned skin, diluting in the water pooling along the path. She accepted your hand and wobbled to a stand. You scooped up her bag for her. “A-ah, yeah, I’m fine. I didn’t slip, though. I tripped on that.”

At the last word she gestured loosely, hands then returning and brushing tentatively over the torn skin on her knees. Your gaze followed the movement, surprise filtering through you at the sight of something metallic a few feet away, gleaming in the glow of the holographic sign above you. You squinted through the rain, trying to discern what it was. The urge to investigate tickled under your skin, tugging your sternum, but you forced yourself to remain where you were by the woman.

“Ah,” you murmured, blinking as you returned your attention to the situation at hand. You passed her the umbrella. “Here, you can have this— my car is just over there. Do you need help walking…?”

The woman blushed, shaky hands dusting her soaked dress as though there would be real dust clinging to the fibres in this weather. A little concern budded within you as you caught sight of her skin again and worried that she was beginning to turn a little blue.

“N-no, thank you though,” she held her hands up, and you winced as you caught the scraped skin of her palms. She took the umbrella from you with a sheepish look. “I’ll be ok. Thank you very much for helping.”

“If you’re sure,” you smiled, passing her the bag you’d picked up; she accepted it with a shy grin. “And it’s no problem. Try not to trip again.”

She let loose a giggle and agreed, offering a brief wave before she was off once more, trekking through the rain at a slightly slower pace now that she had an umbrella to stop her getting soaked. You, on the other hand, were now suffering for your generosity. You didn’t mind though— this was the excuse to go straight home that you’d been looking for, and you weren’t one to turn down an opportunity when it was so nicely presented to you.

Although, before you went back to your car…

You checked behind you quickly, and once assured that traffic wasn’t about to move again anytime soon, you dashed forward in the rain to the alley where the item lay that had tripped that poor lady. It grew clearer the closer you got, and it wasn’t long before you were halting in surprise.

A… hand?

Realisation quickly dawned on you as you caught sight of a thick cord attached to the bottom that lead further into the alley. An android— but what was an android doing here with its hand almost completely severed?

In all honesty, there were a number of likely explanations— androids weren’t human, and as such there were many legal… loopholes, with things one could get away with— and your heart hurt at the thought of every one of them. You quickly ducked into the alleyway, now just barely shielded from the rain by the brick wall of the building to your right. The alleyway was illuminated only by the glow of the holographic signs at the edge of the building, a dim blue and violet cast all you had to go off as you crouched and peered at the large lump before you. It took you a moment to take it in.

It appeared to be a male, of unclear make and model. Your heart throbbed in your chest— god, it was in absolute pieces. There wasn’t a single inch of its form that hadn’t been beaten or damaged. The synthetic material covering its outside was ripped and frayed, stained deep plum from the fluid that ran through droids like blood, the metal frame bent and dented and, in some places, even torn. You knew it was just an android, but the thought of anything— anyone going through something like this, no doubt at the hands of their owner, made your heart ache.

Your gaze scanned its form, sadness gathering within you at each new detail you took in— until you halted, surprise catching your breath in your throat. With the amount of damage this android had sustained, you’d thought it would no doubt be, well, dead. But the dim, flickering light you caught glowing behind closed lids ceased those thoughts— he was hanging on, clinging to life against all odds.

The light was weak, just barely there, and you knew that if you left him here he would die. If he had already gone, you might have taken him for parts— it was a better fate than leaving his frame to rust and decay. But now, knowing that he was alive… you had to help him. You tinkered for a living, you fixed things, repaired things— it was a family thing. In your mother’s case, the things she specialised in fixing were androids. And now, knowing that you had the skills, the knowledge, the opportunity to help one— you couldn’t leave it, couldn’t leave him. Your mother wouldn’t have, and you wouldn’t either.

You moved quickly, not wanting the android to have any more exposure than necessary to this atrocious weather. Thunder rumbled above you once more as you shimmied out of your soaked jacket, using it to gather and wrap up the parts of him that were closest to falling off. Some of his limbs might have been hanging dangerously, some panels popped loose, but for the most part everything was still attached in some way— even if it was only by a few wires or cords. You gathered his pieces, jacket wrapped around him to keep them together, and slipped your arms around his form to heave him up with a great huff. He was heavier than you anticipated, much heavier, but you’d be able to make it to your car okay.

You peered over your shoulder, through the rain, and upon confirming your car was still where you left it, you grasped the android tight and hurried over, wary of slipping in the various puddles. In the short time you’d been out of the car, the relentless downpour seemed to have made them grow deeper.

Your car beeped at you, politely requesting you get back inside as you popped the back door open and carefully laid the android’s cold, slack form across the backseat. Once sure he was safely secured, you shut the door and opened your own, diving into the seat and out of the rain, shivering a little. Right, well. That wasn’t how you’d expected this evening to go.

With cold, stiff fingers, you tapped the navigation panel and input your home as a new destination. The car hummed in affirmation, hot air beginning to blast as it read your significantly lowered body temperature. You allowed a smile as the car shifted and scanned the area before the wheels turned and it was performing a u-turn when safe— you were really beginning to appreciate these automatic vehicles a lot more.

x x x x x x x x

Laid across your workbench like this, all of his pieces rearranged to where they should be, you had to acknowledge that the android was handsome.

You’d connected him to a power port to stabilise his system as soon as you’d arrived home, and now you were talking a moment to admire the sight before you. The level of detail and dedication present in his features, in each suture of synthetic skin and weld of metal framing. You were in awe that someone besides yourself, besides your family, had taken such pride and care in their work— it wasn’t common nowadays, when most things were made by machines. Even for an android, it was difficult to emulate the level of attention to detail present in the works of someone who truly loves and enjoys their craft.

The android— model JK01-97, as you’d seen from the inked code on the inside of the wrist that was still attached to his arm— was almost a work of art. The skin, while you knew it was synthetic, felt real to the touch, and the hair shone beneath your work light with all the radiance of authentic, healthy locks found on humans. The line of thick lashes that crossed and clumped lightly, the sculpt of the brows and face— it was the kind of complete beauty that couldn’t be found in factory perfect androids, modelled after the impossibly image of beauty humans always strived for. His lips were uneven in their fullness, cupid’s bow pronounced, and his skin— the parts that weren’t damaged— was a lovely golden and had the occasional cute freckle decorating it.

It hadn’t been long since you’d arrived home with the android, and as a result you hadn’t had the time to really do anything yet. Your gaze swept over his form, the ripped clothing over his legs and his bare feet. Only pants… had his other clothes been so badly damaged they’d just fallen away? And his collar… most androids had collars with tracking chips in them so that their owner could find them in the event they were ever stolen, but this one… his throat was bare, though there was a slight discolouration on the skin that showed where the collar had been. You let out a sigh, the sight confirming what you’d thought all along; it had been his owner that did this to him— took the chip, beat him and then discarded him like nothing more than a cheap toy. You frowned, hand lifting from your side.

“I’m so sorry they did this to you, JK,” you said softly, brushing the soft raven strands from his forehead. The synthetic skin was stained plum where it was busted open, the android equivalent of blood having seeped out of the lesion. The informal name was Violet Blood, since that was essentially what it was, but it was more technically known as AMF— Android Maintenance Fluid. Not the flashiest name, but it did its job.

You watched as the thin ring that usually ran around the outer edge of an android’s irises glowed dim, deep blue beneath his eyelids. That colour indicated that he was currently in a state similar to very, very deep sleep, or really something more like a coma. It was a state their systems initiated when circumstances were unideal and the need to survive overran the need for more or less ‘conscious’ control. It was as though they went into standby, hibernated, until conditions were ideal once more. This meant when the stressors were gone, and the body was in optimal condition for operation again.

So, for this android— JK, as you’d begun calling him from his model number— to wake up, you needed to fix his body up. His frame, his skin, his wiring and circuitry were all you’d noted to be damaged so far, and you hadn’t even gotten to run scans on his programming and system state yet… you certainly had your work cut out for you. Could you really do it? You’d never fixed an android by yourself before...

Your gaze flicked up, to the right corner of your desk where a holographic picture frame sat. At the sight of your mother in movement, glaring playfully at the camera with the corner of her lips betraying her expression and twitching into a smile before she grinned brightly and waved, you returned your gaze to the figure laying prone before you with a renewed sense of determination. You could do it; it might take some time, and some patience, and probably a fair bit of money, but you could do it.

You adjusted the strands that fell over his forehead, brushing off a speck of dust from his cheek.

“I'll do my best to fix you, JK,” you vowed, tone conveying how serious you were. “I promise.”

And do your best, you did.

x x x x x x x x x

First, you decided, was the frame.

The android’s metal framing was, in a word, wrecked. It was dented, wrangled, and had taken more abuse than you’d thought possible. Considering it was so deep inside of his form, covered by layers of wires and cushioning materials, it was somewhat hard to gain the access you needed to fix it as best as you could. You had to carefully strip back synthetic skin and the harder casing beneath, part the wires and cords that acted as makeshift tendons and ligaments. The only experience you had in this area was when you’d accepted a job to repair some animatronics for an old restaurant franchise that extended from a brand of cinemas. It was similar in essence, but in details… there were more differences than you could count.

It was an activity that required a lot of time and a lot of patience, since you didn’t want to damage any part of him more than it already had been. The fact that you put such care into sorting out the frame, fixing kinks and welding the parts that had torn back together, meant that it took much longer than you originally thought. In amongst your daily tasks and jobs that came from running a second-hand goods and repair store, it took you over a week to completely adjust his frame. But once you were done, at no extra cost to the android, you were excited— the frame was more or less like the bones. Now that you had stable grounds to work on, you could get to the other areas.

As you’d gone along, you’d cleaned the android’s form wherever you were working. But now, as you settled before him once more with the bright warmth of a Saturday morning sun cast across your side, you decided he deserved to be cleaned properly before you continued to the next stage.

“God…” you winced as you brought the damp cloth across his forehead, wiping away the plum and lilac stains that marred his skin. His AMF levels had dropped enough that he’d stopped ‘bleeding’, but the sight of it still wasn’t entirely pleasant. “How could someone do this to you…?”

You couldn’t fathom how someone could expend all the money it required to purchase an android, and then treat it so poorly. It baffled you, but also angered you— with how advanced they had become in recent years, you grew more and more uncomfortable with the fact they were treated with such disregard. At this point, models were in production that could emulate a similar version of the care a parent felt for their child— nanny bots, of course. How long before they went too far in their endeavours and their creations were too human to fit into the box society had created for them?

For some reason, you found yourself talking to the android, JK, more often than you talked to yourself. You thought that perhaps it was the fact he looked so real, so human, that the idea of having company even if it was currently somewhat comatose was better than having no company at all, as it usually was. You weren’t always lonely, per se, but some days you certainly felt it more than others. It was just the way things were, you supposed.

“I’ll have to ask Seokjin if he has a manual for you,” you hummed as you went, talking to both yourself and him. The dark blue LED blinked behind his eyelid. You brought the cloth to his skin over and over, removing the unsightly, crusted stains. AMF was oilier than human blood, had a bit of a sheen, but it came easily off his skin. “I think I know what parts you’ll need, there’s a few that need replacing and some are missing, but I think it would be better to check. You seem… like a special model.”

You tilted your head as you stepped back to dip the cloth in the bucket beside you and wring it out; the water was dyed purple from the fluid that had gathered on the rag, colour dripping from your clenched fist. You allowed one hand to hold it, letting it drip dry for a second, and used your other to run your fingers softly over the planes of his face, almost with a sense of reverence.

“The amount of detail and care in your make… It’s really incredible, JK,” you told him, catching sight of a smudge you’d missed and wringing the rest of the soapy water out of the rag. You dabbed the mark away, resuming your task of cleaning the stains from his form as you spoke. “I really hope I can restore you. You seem like a really advanced android— and you’re almost a work of art, you know. I wonder who made you…”

There were a few companies that made androids, but they were all essentially owned by the same people. Each company hired different scientists, different employees, and tailored to different areas. In your whole life, though, you’d never seen an android, living or dead, as advanced or as detailed as JK. The desire to know what he was designed for, and who made him, burned deeply within you.

Seokjin, someone you’d known a long time, was one of the friends that had studied under Mr Bang. You could never quite remember which company he worked for— didn’t even know if he was allowed to tell you, technically. Not that that had ever stopped him running his mouth— but you knew he was excellent at his job and had a real passion for creating the AI, modelling their bodies and bringing them to life. He had a team that worked with him, some also your friends and a few you didn’t know, but he was usually the head of the projects. You would have to ask Seokjin about a manual, so you could look at the right parts, and if you couldn’t get one through him you’d probably have to hit up Mr Bang. You didn’t doubt he had a fair few collected and lying around from his years in the profession and time spent collecting junk.

“Ok, you’re all clean now and as handsome as ever,” you muttered to the android lying prone and asleep across your workspace, feeling very much like you were talking to a child who couldn’t yet respond back. “Now, I need to get your parts… and for that I need a manual. I can’t hook up your wires without all your pieces back inside you.”

This halted your little project for a few days, along with the fact you received a sudden influx of orders for repairs and fixes that came in through your shop. It wasn’t that hard, running a store on your own, but it was times like these where you had things going on in the background that you really felt it the most. It was only a mild inconvenience, but you were nonetheless glad when you finally managed to get your hands on a manual for JK.

It had been surprisingly hard to find one, and Mr Bang had been the one to help you; Seokjin was currently wrapped up in a big project and you hadn’t been able to get a hold of him. You’d both scoured long and hard, and you didn’t understand why it was so hard to find a manual for JK when there was a plethora of manuals available for all other makes and models— that is, you didn’t understand until you actually read JK’s manual. It was somewhat in pieces, sections missing, but enough was there for you to get most of the information you needed; it was the only one you were able to find, so you’d have to make do.

JK01-97, was part of a special line of androids and, essentially, one of a kind. While not the only one in the JK line, he was the only one of his specific make and model. You’d heard a bit about this line from Seokjin, an extension of the J branch, how each model was the only one in the world to look like that and have that specific personality. It explained the level of detail, commitment and care that you saw in him— he wasn’t just one of a hundred or more, he was the only one of his model to ever be made. His creator took pride in him, and knowing that just saddened you even more at the fact that whoever bought him had then treated him with such disregard and trashed him to such a degree. He deserved better.

Once you had the manual, you were able to begin ordering parts. There were chapters of the manual missing, pages and pages, but all the sections on mechanical components were present and that was good enough for you. Unfortunately, one of the missing sections was the one that covered functioning and purpose, so you still didn’t know exactly what JK had been made for. You supposed you’d find out once he was awake, given you managed to actually fix him.

You ordered the parts you needed, and one by one they began to arrive, with the occasional, expected delay. It took around two weeks for all of the parts to arrive; already this project was beginning to take longer than you usually spent, but you could tell in the end it would be worth it. In the meantime you worked on other things, small devices— the occasional holoframe, phones, a busted coffee machine, even. Your days weren’t overloaded but you were kept busy, and your account was kept full. You did your best to monitor the android in between jobs, making sure his condition didn’t worsen somehow. It was unlikely, but you’d rather be on the safe side.

As soon as you had all the parts, the android JK became your number one priority once more. Since you’d fixed his frame first and gotten the manual, you now had a stable guideline for where you were placing what. Androids were incredibly complex creations, you knew this, but JK… he was something else. You began to notice now as you worked that after you’d cleaned his synthetic skin, it began trying to fuse back together on its own. It was fascinating, the way you watched a small cut draw closed seamlessly, fibres reaching for the other side and binding as soon as they made contact. The way it smoothed over, like there’d never been a cut in the first place, reminded you oddly of the way kinetic sand would move and mould itself back together.

Bolts, screws, little pieces of technology that might have been hard to get a hold of if you didn’t have the contacts you did; bit by bit you put JK’s insides back together. He was missing a few important parts, but most of it was just the odd bolt, gear or wire. His computer system seemed to be intact, but you wouldn’t know for sure if anything was damaged until you hooked him up and ran some scans. That would be the last part of the process, though. You had a little while to go before you were at that point.

You were prone to humming as you worked, singing if you found yourself in a good enough mood, and it was no different as you worked on JK. Compared to the wait time for the parts, it didn’t take long at all for you to put them back where they belonged and fix them in place. You were done in just over a week, to your pleasant surprise. You were excited to move onto the next part— fixing his wires and circuitry was probably the part of the whole process that came easiest to you, after all. Most of the devices you tinkered with on the daily had wiring and you’d come to be pretty well versed in the reparation of items that relied heavily on it.

Idly, as you completed your last task to do with the repair of his parts, you thought that were your mother here to see your work, she’d probably be proud. The thought brought a slight mist to your eye, and your gaze was side-tracked to the holoframe on your workbench before you blinked it back and returned your attention back to JK’s abdomen. Right, things to do. You could get sentimental another time.

His body had been sculpted in a way that was very visually appealing, and while you could appreciate it, you had to wonder what purpose it served. Usually androids were only built with features that directly served the purpose for which they had been made. But, you supposed, the creator of this android had really just gone above and beyond in each and every aspect, you wouldn’t be surprised if there hadn’t been any real reason for it. It happened like that, sometimes. Art was prone to taking on a mind of its own when its creator was immersed and in love with their craft.

Wherever there had been dents or lacerations across his body, you’d attended to the wires that had been damaged as a result, starting on the peripheral and moving inwards. This, while it came easier to you, was still a painstakingly slow process; and while juggling this project with your own work and the shop, it ended up taking several weeks to work your way over the entirety of his body. You tried to do a little every day, but some days you were just too tired, too exhausted, to give the amount of attention and focus needed for the job. You always made up for lost time though, the next day more often than not consisting largely of working on JK. Now you were on the final area, a panel hidden in his abdomen that had been dented inwards and was unable to seal back as the rest of his form did, and were going over the clusters of wires and connections. You’d slipped on a pair of spectacles that magnified your vision and helped you focus, and had spent the better part of a week on this section alone.

Each bundle was grouped specifically and with purpose, and you had to be careful that they weren’t separated or lost from their group. The wires might have been colour coordinated, but that was only in regard to the sections they’d been sorted into; this meant there were double-ups on colours and it would be very difficult to sort one from the other should they get confused. Hence, the amount of time you’d spent here, carefully sorting and repairing wires and circuitry as needed. Your effort and patience paid off, however, and eventually you were finishing, popping the dent out of the panel and watching with fascination as you set it in place and the skin fused as you’d seen it do before, his abdomen soon showing no sign that the panel even existed.

You smiled, proud of how much progress you’d made so far as you gazed upon his form before you. You’d spent the a little over two months altogether working on this android, doing your very best to repair him, and very soon you would be done— it was something you could hardly believe. You were excited, anxious to see if the time and toil you’d poured into fixing this robot had paid off. A gaze to the side where the window sat told you perhaps you’d pushed it a little too close this time, the barest hints of the morning sun beginning to peek across the horizon outside. You let out a sheepish chuckle.

“Whoops,” you murmured, fighting a yawn. “Got a bit too carried away, I suppose. I better sleep— the shop isn’t going to run itself tomorrow, after all. Although, before I go to bed…”

You hummed in thought, allowing your hand to rest gently on his shoulder, finger tapping softly against the skin. As expected, he didn’t stir, remaining motionless on the table. The only thing left to do was run scans and do a full sweep of his system to see what had been affected and what would need to be repaired. Androids had a self-repair function for their programs and processing systems, but if the damage was bad enough there was the possibility you’d need to step in and repair what you could so that it could kick in and take over. Most of the damage he’d taken seemed to be external— you hadn’t had to fix the wiring as much as you had the frame, although both had been in a poor condition in their own ways.

With the technology at your disposal, it wouldn’t take long to perform the initial scan, and it would be good to know what you were working with. So, without much resistance on your end, you decided to perform it now, before you went to bed.

“I think I’ll do the scan now,” you voiced your thoughts aloud, for the android’s sake if nothing else. You didn’t think he could hear you, he was essentially comatose after all, but it felt… right, although you weren’t sure why. “We’re so close to being done, JK. I hope I’ve done enough.”

You hummed a half-hearted tune as you lifted his arm, taking his wrist into your grasp and pressing right where the vein would be in a human. There was a soft pop and shick! as a tiny panel, about the size of your thumbnail, revealed itself before your eyes, lifting vertically before it slid back over the skin of his forearm. You’d hooked JK up to a power source as soon as you arrived home with him so many months ago, but to scan his systems you’d need a different sort of connection. Holding his wrist in one hand, you used the other to fish amongst your tools for the cord you needed.

You let out a soft, victorious noise as you found it, quickly taking it into your grasp and pushing the thin needle into the receiving jack in the android’s wrist. You tapped your tablet, the screen lighting immediately, and slid your finger over the scan button. Immediately, there was a sudden hum and warmth washed down the android’s arm; you watched in awe as a faint purple, rosy hue lit beneath his skin in a pattern so pretty it could almost rival the stars. The LED beneath his eyelids flickered beneath deep blue and rosy violet. The screen of your tablet flashed, telling you that it was beginning the holistic system scan.

It didn’t take long at all for it to complete, thankfully (you might have wanted to continue working, but even you couldn’t deny how exhausted you were), and soon you were sitting, looking upon its results with an expression of concentration. Your teeth found your lip as you swiped through the report, taking in the information rapidly. Most of his systems were intact, if a bit damaged, but one in particular had been severely compromised. A shard of sadness wedged itself into your heart— his memory centres had taken a blow, and while you didn’t know what specifically he had lost or exactly how much, you knew from the scan that it was a lot of data. You felt terrible, despite the fact you knew it more than likely wasn’t a result of your fiddling but of the initial abuse he’d suffered.

Even in your tired state, your fingers managed to fly across the screen with ease. You breezed through his other results, before coming back to the ones that were affected. The others would be able to self-repair; the memory centres would be able to as well, but before you even attempted to task his system with that you’d need to do a bit of work. There was significant data loss, most of which you had no idea how to fix or retrieve, but there were some pathways you could reconnect manually on your own. You did your best with this for a while, finally stopping when your eyes blurred and sunlight began to peek through the window, unable to continue even if you wanted to.

You’d done what you could, now the rest of it was up to him. You stood, stretching your tight, tired limbs and letting loose a loud yawn. It was finally time for bed, but before you went…

“I’m going to go now,” you murmured to the android, reaching for your tablet and tapping across the screen— JK’s systems processed the command for a moment before they initiated self-repair as you’d told them. Purple glowed beneath his skin once more, and you let another soft smile slide across your face. “I’ve done what I can… I hope it’s enough. It’s up to you now, bud. I think you can do it— you hung on in that alley for lord knows how long, you can do this.”

You swallowed, feeling oddly emotional as you gazed upon his form. You didn’t have the words to put to the feeling currently making your eyes water and heart squeeze, and didn’t bother attempting to analyse it right now. You’d worked so hard, he’d worked so hard by clinging to life in that alley for so long before you found him— the fact that there was a possibility he still wouldn’t wake up was almost inconceivable to you. You bit your lip, brushing the hair from his forehead tenderly before, after a moment’s deliberation, you bent and pressed a soft kiss to the skin.

“Sleep well, JK,” you said softly, gazing upon the strong planes of his face with a fondness you hadn’t known you possessed for him— he was an android, but you’d spent the better part of two months tending to his every need and wound, repairing him, fixing him, healing him… it was hard not to grow attached in that time. “I look forward to meeting you whenever you wake up.”

With that you stood and allowed your body to stretch once more, before you began to shuffle out. You hit the light on the way out, the dim glow beneath JK’s skin the only thing illuminating the room now save for the trickling sunlight beginning to peek through the window. You cast one more look his way, chest stirring, before you exited your workroom and allowed the door to close behind you. The trip to your bedroom was spent in a tired daze, and you slipped into your comfiest pair of pyjamas before flopping onto your bed and wriggling comfortably beneath the covers.

You were out the second your head hit the pillow.

Your sleep was deep, and wholesome, and when you woke it wasn’t exactly with full coherency. You yawned, registering the deep sunlight streaming from your window, between the blinds you’d forgotten to close, and the warmth you were encased in as a result. It was just shy of toasty, and you were tempted to stay where you were before your stomach gave a loud, undeniable protest and you were slipping from the bed reluctantly. You tried to remember what you had in your cupboard— you’d been so wrapped up in your work these past weeks you’d forgone a few grocery trips and social outings. You were sure to be feeling the results when you made it to the kitchen—

Hold on.

You halted in your hallway, head tilting as you strained your ears. The slightest, softest shuffling could be heard, gentle cluttering of cutlery against a hard surface— there was someone in your kitchen? You were too tired for the alarm to really sink in, but you were definitely more awake as you continued down the hall quietly, peering around the doorway once you reached the room in question. Your mind ceased for a moment as your gaze fell upon the source of the noise and a gasp fell from your lips, but you didn’t have any longer than that to process it.

The figure in your kitchen turned around, apparently having heard your soft intake of breath, and upon catching sight of you standing in the doorway a bright smile lit across their face.

“Creator!” it was a strikingly familiar male, but the contrast between how you were used to seeing him, across your workbench, to how you were seeing him now, upright and rushing towards you, gave you whiplash. You didn’t have time to prepare as the android you’d been repairing for months, who was now apparently awake, came careening across the kitchen space and into you, his arms wrapping around your form tightly and holding you close.

You let out a soft ‘eep!’ as he buried his face in your neck, swaying you in the hug— he was an android, what was he doing? He was hugging you, like— like he was feeling overwhelmed with joy, or— or emotion. That wasn’t… that shouldn’t be possible!

Your body acted out of habit and muscle memory more than anything as your arms came up to embrace him back, thoughts whirring as you tried to comprehend the current situation. “...JK?”

The android pulled back, a sheepish smile tugging his lips as he released you— your heart fluttered at the detail his creator had put into his face now that you got to see it in action. The wrinkle of his eyes as his whole face smiled, cheeks lifting and bunny teeth peeking from behind his lips. God, his eyes shone, LED around his iris glowing soft lilac. That light was the only thing that betrayed the fact this man was not human.

“You’re awake, creator,” the was such glee in his tone, something in your chest clenched. He shouldn’t be so— so emotive! This… you’d never seen anything like this. It was like you were talking and interacting with a real human; it felt surreal. “I was waiting for you.”

“I’m not your creator,” you murmured, eyes wide as they swept over his form. Everything seemed to be running fine, normal, but… was this normal? In this world and society, no. But was this normal for him? Had he always been like this? Were these detailed emulations, or had something in his programming mutated to allow him to feel genuine emotions? Your mind was reeling.

JK’s head tilted, dark doe eyes holding your own as the ring around his iris ran soft blue. “No, you’re not,” he admitted, appearing for the first time to act like you knew androids to act. “But you are the one that fixed me. You made me anew.”

Your mouth parted; you didn’t have a response to that. The android was quick to read your expression and attempt to decipher it.

“But… if you do not wish to be called that,” he began, a tentative note in his voice, “What shall I call you? Owner? Mistress?”

Heat rushed to your face, embarrassment causing you to stumble over your words slightly. “My name is fine— you can call me y/n.”

“y/n,” the android echoed, as though testing how it rolled from his tongue and lips. A bright smile suddenly split his lips and your heart nearly faltered at the sight of it alone. “Thank you, y/n, for fixing me.”

And with that the android took you into his arms once more, and you were left just as confused and baffled as before.

What the hell did you do now?

x x x x x x x x x

In the two days since JK had risen from his comatose state, you’d learnt a lot— both about him, and in general.

You’d wanted to run another scan to see how his systems were doing, but he’d grown sheepish and assured you that he was already running scans and his damaged systems were in the process of self-repairing. You’d asked about his memories, and with a somewhat indecipherable look he informed you that while he had some, he had lost a majority of them. He couldn’t remember where or what he did before you found him, couldn’t remember his owner or creator. He hadn’t had a name before you found him, but you had a feeling that if he did he wouldn’t remember that either.

Everything you’d expected to experience when your project woke up had been promptly thrown out the window the second you’d found him in your kitchen two days ago. It was very apparent from the get-go that JK was unlike any other android you’d ever seen or even heard of. Aside from those first few hours, the android hadn’t displayed any other intense bouts of emotion, but there was a quality about him that led you to believe he was still feeling. Soft smiles that didn’t feel programmed, but that reached his eyes— the way those eyes would light upon seeing you, and the LED would flicker summer orange. There were little details in his speech and movement, and honestly you were still reeling. Had he been made this way? Was he the greatest achievement to-date in technological advancement? Or had he been made like any other android, and his software, his programming, had mutated? The possibilities were endless, and you didn’t know where to begin looking to find the answer.

One thing you noticed, in particular, was that JK was surprisingly clingy. There was hardly a minute that went by without him by your side or doing something for you around your house. He was very helpful, and it was all of his own volition; not once had you told him to clean— quite the opposite, really— but he’d taken it upon himself to do it anyway. You’d asked him about it on the second day of walking into the kitchen to catch him doing your dishes, and he’d offered you a soft smile, the ring around his eyes glowing warm lilac.

“You have been kind to me,” he’d said, like it was the simplest thing in the world. “Kinder than most people. I want to pay you back some way, even though this isn’t much...”

You’d had to leave before he picked up the increase in your heart rate and the flustered flush across your cheeks, a hurried ‘thanks’ thrown his way. He’d happily returned to his task, unbothered by your sudden departure aside from a slight furrow in his brow to indicate confusion.

Your third day with the android you’d saved from the street, and you were beginning to get used to having him around. Once you got past the initial display of emotion that had thrown you so, you noticed a lot more robotic tendencies that he had. He was still a machine, an android, but with each flash of emotion across his face you began to play with the idea that perhaps, realistically, he wasn’t too far from human after all. With so much going on in your head, so many thoughts struggling to make themselves known, you hadn’t really gotten to sit down and spend some time with your new housemate. It saddened you a bit; you wanted to know a bit more about him, wanted to talk to him. Ever since he’d woken your interest had been piqued and you wanted to learn everything there was to know about your android.

It was cool afternoon when you finally succumbed to the urge that had been calling beneath your skin the past few days. After a moment of deliberation, you halted your current activity, dropping the tools from your hands and listening as they made soft clinking noises upon impact with your workbench. JK, who had been standing behind you ramrod straight as he gazed over your shop and the shelves upon shelves of trinkets and devices, jumped at the sudden noise. His head whipped around just in time to see you turning, removing the plastic gloves you sometimes wore to protect your hands from oil. A trace of surprise registered across his features, the ring around his iris running green as he processed your current actions.

“You are finished?” he queried, peering over your shoulder before his brows furrowed, eyes returning to your own. “But the phone is not fixed… it is odd for you to take a break so early into the project. Is something the matter?”

You tried not to show how flustered you were that he knew your habits so well after only three days with him. “It’s not, but I’ll come back to it later. Nothing is wrong.”

You offered a smile, “I just wanted to spend some time with you.”

The android seemed taken aback, mouth falling open. “With me?” he echoed, brows drawn together. “But why?”

“Because I find you interesting,” you answered easily, reclining in your work chair while trying not to let it spin. “And I want to know more about you. You’re not like many androids I’ve seen, JK.”

The android shuffled, and you wondered if he was possibly feeling discomfort of some sort. You’d seen him display some emotions— were they limited? Could he only feel a set amount?

“JK,” he echoed once more, gaze averting before it returned to your face, somewhat bashful. “I remember you calling me that while you worked on me. Why?”

You were surprised at his words, your eyes widening a little. “I didn’t know if you had a name, and I didn’t want to just call you android. It felt rude. I took it from your model number, see?”

You reached for his wrist, turning it so he registered the numbers there. He made a soft sound of understanding. You spoke again, though, curious about something he’d said, “Did you say you could hear me while I worked on you, while you were unconscious?”

The android hummed, nodding. “Yes. It wasn’t a constant stream, but I remember hearing some things…” he paused suddenly, stammering a little. You could have sworn his cheeks tinted pink. “In particular… I really liked your singing.”

Heat washed over your face at once, embarrassment making you want to shrivel and die. Oh, you’d forgotten you’d done that while you worked.

“...Thank you,” you managed to squeeze out amongst your urge to throw yourself from the nearest building. The android smiled, and your head tilted as you voiced your previous thoughts, “Why did you ask about being called JK? Do you not like it? If not, I can stop.”

“No!” the android burst, barely a moment after the words left your mouth. He looked alarmed, eyes wide and LED flaring yellow. “I- I like it... I’ve not… had a name before. Please, do not feel as though you have to stop.”

You couldn’t help the sad smile that tugged your lips, “That’s sweet of you,” you said, watching his LED shift from yellow to sunset pink at the barest hint of praise you offered. “But it’s still a bit awkward for your first ever name… how about we compromise.”

JK tilted his head, curious as to what you were going to propose. You reached for your tablet, turning in your chair slightly; you could have sworn you felt his gaze burning along your waist, but dismissed it as paranoia. Returning to a normal sitting position, you beckoned the android closer and he was eager to comply with your wishes.

Your fingers tapped quickly across the thin, crystal clear display, and soon the page you desired was up before your eyes. You watched as the male’s gaze swept across the screen before darting to you, surprise filtering across his features.

“... Names?” he appeared as though he was trying to fight the smile tugging his lips, but it was a losing battle. His bunny teeth sank into the soft, plush skin of his bottom lip. “You are giving me a real name?”

You nodded, unable to help your own smile as he beamed in response. “Yep, but you can choose your own— choose whichever you like! I think since we started with JK, names starting with J will suit you.”

JK’s cheeks appeared to colour, his eyes eagerly finding their way back to the screen, rings soft lime. It took him only a moment to scan through the list you’d pulled up, hand lifting as he pointed to a section. “I like these.”

You hummed in acknowledgement, looking over the ones he’d chosen. The fact he’d pointed out more than one meant he probably wanted you to have at least some say in his name, and the thought warmed your heart thoroughly. “Oh, I think those would really suit you. I think… Jungkook? Oh, wait, actually I think the other version would suit you better…”

The android was looking at you with wide eyes as you turned to him, analysing his appearance for a moment before smiling. “Yeah, I think Jeongguk suits you better. What do you think?”

“I love it,” he beamed, and it was as though you could feel the warmth, the elation, just from looking at it. “Thank you, mistress.”

You squeaked, cheeks flushing hotly as you bopped his arm gently. “J— I told you to call me y/n!”

The android laughed, stepping back and resuming his previous position peering over your shoulder. The barest hint of mischief gleamed in eyes that flickered between lilac and pink, and it was with flushed cheeks and a flustered disposition that you returned to your current project. He was awfully cheeky for a machine.

Your mother would have loved him.

x x x x x x x x x

Jeongguk was more helpful and eager to please than you knew how to handle.

As he’d done ever since he’d awoken from his place laid across your workbench, he continued helping out however he could. Your laundry, your dishes— hell, sometimes he even manned the shop while you were gone. He was good with his hands, and you might have called him a natural tinkerer were he not an android and engineered to be perfect at human activities. You didn’t want him to feel obligated to do these things— it made you uncomfortable to think he was doing it because it was learnt, or because he thought you’d expected it. He’d assured you many times, though, that he did it because he wanted to; he enjoyed doing things for you.

You felt silly, but with each little favour he did for you and each small smile he shot your way, you grew a little fonder of him. More than once you’d come downstairs to find he’d already gone ahead and made you breakfast and a coffee— more than once you’d sworn to yourself you could have planted a big, fat kiss on his cheek out of sheer gratitude alone. You didn’t know how to articulate let alone process the feeling you got from having someone around like this, having someone look after you. You had friends, but no family you were still in contact with, and the friends you did have had lives of their own. It had been almost a month since you’d even seen Seokjin, despite your more frequent correspondence via instant messaging. Ever since your mother had passed, and you’d been left to your own devices with a shop to run and a small home to occupy, there had been a silently harrowing sense of loneliness that threatened to creep into your heart each time you lay your head onto your pillow and closed your eyes. In the silence and emptiness of your home, it was very easy to lose yourself to that feeling when it came knocking.

But with Jeongguk here with you, things were… surprisingly different. It was the good kind of surprise, the pleasant kind of surprise, and you thought that it was probably part of why you liked him so much. As days passed and time went on, you realised that you really did like him; you’d grown fond of him, attached, and not to the idea of him as a project, but as a person.

“You’re so helpful, Jeongguk,” you smiled, cheek resting on your palm; you made sure to address him by his new name whenever you could, because the resulting ecstatic smile that broke across his face was a sight you never wanted to miss. You were in the kitchen, watching as the android carried your drink to the table as he’d insisted vehemently he do. “Are you sure you weren’t a butler before I found you?”

A bright grin had split his face and your heart had stuttered in your chest— you could have sworn he had blushed. Were it not for the glowing pink ring around his iris, you might have forgotten he was an artificial being altogether. Jeongguk had laughed softly, and simply reminded you to message one of your customers about their order like you’d told him to.

You hurriedly dove into your phone, thumb flicking screens away until you reached the right one— the archive of all your messages. Your fingers were a little too fast for your brain and overstepped, leading you to land in your chat with Seokjin instead of the customer, and in your scramble to escape you ended up jumping to a point in the chat from months back.

‘—I can’t wait for you to see my project! He’s the only one of his kind that will ever exist, and I really think I’ve cracked it this time y/n—’

You blinked, thumb having automatically clicked you out of the chat before you could continue reading. You’d completely forgotten about the conversations you used to have about Seokjin’s big project— you wondered whatever came of it. Seokjin just suddenly stopped talking about it. It was around the same time as a particularly stressful period for your shop, and you regretted that you weren’t there more for him to ask what had happened.

Bringing your thoughts back to the present, you opened the right chatroom this time and messaged the customer as you meant to. You were glad Jeongguk had remembered, because you’d certainly forgotten.

Sadly, Jeongguk’s memory centres still hadn’t recovered and he was only able to remember things from after when you found him, and he woke up. His other systems were performing closer to normal, but his memories… had been the most affected by the damage. He still had no recollection of what he’d been doing before he ended up in the alley, who his owner was or even what he was designed to do. Hearing the same negative response each time you asked him made your heart hurt, but at the same time you were kind of relieved; whatever had happened before you found him clearly hadn’t been good, and you didn’t doubt it wouldn’t be something fun to remember. Perhaps, for now, he was better off in the dark.

Having said that, you did notice some… quirks, in his behaviour, that had begun to make themselves known more as time went on.

The first had become apparent not long after Jeongguk had received his name. In the time after that incident, you’d witnessed the android become even clingier, if possible. He was always by your side before, but now as he walked with you to complete errands and even in your home, his hands would reach to brush against your arm, your waist. He stood very close, always with a contented look like he couldn’t be happier if he tried, your presence alone enough to soothe him.

Even if Jeongguk hadn’t already appeared and acted as human as he did, you would have ended up treating him as a human out of habit nonetheless. Which was why you found yourself nestled into the corner of the couch, Jeongguk occupying the other, preparing to settle down for a long, long movie marathon with the Marvel superhero series. They were old, and you recalled that they were onto their — was it their 47th instalment, these days? The first of the movies had been made decades ago, and many didn’t watch them— they preferred the spiffy, more technologically advanced remakes— but you’d always enjoyed the classic films from a time before yours.

You’d sat down with the intention of introducing Jeongguk to the series, figuring that if he was an android that could feel emotions then he’d likely end up enjoying movies more than the average robot. You started with the chronological order of release date, and went from there; Jeongguk started on the other end of the couch, and then throughout movie after movie he had gradually shuffled close enough that he was curled comfortably into your side. Android’s couldn’t feel the cold the way humans could, but they could shiver, and the hue of their skin could alter. It was something included in their design for a more realistic effect, and despite the fact you knew this, you’d still draped the blanket over the both of you and allowed him to snuggle closer.

Analysis of Jeongguk’s systems, make and model told you that he had advanced, detailed sensors across the expanse of his body— so when you lifted your hand to begin carding your fingers through his silken hair and scratching lightly against his scalp, you knew the soft, pleased sigh he let out was genuine. You could feel yourself melting against him, heart fluttering out of nothing but sheer, light happiness as each time Iron Man came onto the screen, Jeongguk let out a soft noise to cheer. He had a favourite, clearly.

Sometime throughout the next few movies, which you’d had brief breaks between, Jeongguk’s head had migrated from your shoulder to your lap, and you’d continued running your hands through his hair. It felt nice against your skin, so it was a win-win you supposed. The movie you were on, one of the ones where the characters from their individual franchises began to overlap, drew to a close and as the credits began to roll you were unable to hold back a yawn.

Jeongguk’s gaze was on you immediately, LED rings running soft lavender as he gazed at you with dark eyes through his lashes; the look paralysed you for a moment, hand freezing in his hair.

“Are you ready for bed, y/n?” he queried, and your heart nearly stopped in your chest. His voice was low, a much lower register than you were used to, and had just enough huskiness that a flush washed over the back of your neck. You didn’t doubt that he was picking it up as your heart rate accelerated, thoughts racing through the gutter as his deeper voice altered how you’d received his innocent question.

“I— yes,” you gulped, knowing you couldn’t hide the way your body betrayed you from a being that had sensors built into his form. You smiled at him, still fighting tiredness. “Are you going to keep watching, or do you want me to go set up the charging dock, Kookie?”

The android jolted at the nickname you’d tacked on without a second thought, eyes blowing wide and every trace of the sultry expression he’d worn before blasted from his features. Colour flushed to his cheeks, an emulation of a bodily function that resulted from embarrassment, or fluster— which was he feeling, you wondered?

“K-Kookie?” he stuttered, curling unconsciously into your lap as his large doe eyes bore into your own.

“Yeah, Kookie,” you repeated, enjoying the way he seemed to vibrate with excitement in your lap as the word left your mouth. “A nickname… I was tired and too lazy to say your full name, sorry.”

“Nickname?” he echoed, murmuring softly. “Kookie… I like it. Thank you, y/n.”

You’d beamed at him. “No problem, Kookie. Now, are you gonna watch or…?”

The android definitely seemed flustered as he pulled himself from your lap and nestled back into the couch and blanket, shooting you a sheepish smile. “I would like to keep watching, if that is okay, y/n.”

Your smile was soft as it tugged your lips and you stood, ruffling his hair. “Of course it’s okay. Have fun, Kookie.”

The sight of his cheeks coloured pink at your words was almost enough to counter the memory of his voice and the look he’d sent you earlier.

Almost.

After that day, you’d noticed more occasions where the android would turn and as his eyes fell upon you, he would pin you with that very same look and low tone. Whether he knew he was doing it or not, you didn’t know, but it was absolutely lethal. At this point, you feared for your health.

The other thing that had become most apparent, was the way his eyes were drawn to your form. He was an android, you knew there wasn’t really anything to the way his eyes lingered or the LED around his irises flared bright rose upon seeing you, but sometimes… Sometimes you could swear you could feel the heat his gaze left on your skin, you could swear the weight of it had you trembling with an emotion you dared not investigate.

The occasion that this was most prominent, had occurred not entirely too long after the previous. There was a fine boundary that was maintained between the two of you, a line you didn’t often end up toeing. You were the only one in the house that needed to do things like change, and bathe, which meant the likely incidence of awkward encounters that often came as a result of living with someone in such close quarters was much less. Not long after that day on the couch, however, the first of such incidents occurred.

It was morning, and you’d already woken up to a grinning Jeongguk and a particularly delicious smelling breakfast of bacon and French toast. With a full day of manning the shop and tinkering at the counter ahead of you, you were quick to scarf the meal down and dash for the shower.

This… was where the problem lay.

Your house wasn’t entirely critter-proof, and while you weren’t the kind of person to scream about a little bug or a spider, or even a snake, you did still have your limits.

And the large, inky spider that honest to god looked like it spanned half the length of your fogged-up bathroom mirror as you stepped out of the shower, naked and oblivious, was crossing them.

It was only as you reached for your towel, hand grasping the fuzzy material, that you saw it. You didn’t even realise you’d opened your mouth to let out a loud, incredibly alarmed noise that sounded a cross between a scream and an undignified yelp until it reached your own ears and you were stumbling back. You attempted to put as much distance between the two of you as possible, scrabbling to wrap the towel so it guarded your bits from the gargantuan arachnid spawned straight from the ickiest pits of hell. You considered hopping into the bathtub before realising that was stupid and would only end up with you cornering yourself— you couldn’t afford to give the demon such power.

“Oh hell, oH HELL, OH— NO, DON’T, GO AWAY!” your alarmed babbling escalated to a frantic yelp as the spider shifted slightly and you nearly slipped in the water that had spilt from your exit of the shower.

In your consuming fright you’d completely forgotten about your current housemate until there was thudding footsteps down the hall the door to the bathroom burst open. Jeongguk’s gaze was frantic as he searched for you, LED a bright red that flickered to cool green the moment his eyes fell upon your trembling form. It was the second you felt his gaze grace you that he froze suddenly, body halting as he stared with wide eyes. You, caught in the building intensity of his stare, the heat that began to flush over your arms and down your back, didn’t remember until moments later that you were currently standing, dripping wet and clad in nothing but a dodgily wrapped towel before him. You squeaked.

“Spider,” you barely managed to articulate the word, let alone point, but it was enough to tear Jeongguk from whatever trance the sight of you had thrown him into. His gaze followed the direction of your finger and he almost did a double-take at the sight of the massive arachnid.

“Woah,” his expression was one of wonderment despite the lingering blush in his cheeks. His gaze flew back to you for a moment, your current state of undress cast from his mind. “y/n, look how big that spider is!”

“Yes, I’m looking,” you said, pressing yourself back further against the wall— the fine-furred fiend looked like it was eyeing you off and preparing to jump at any second. “I’m looking and I do not like what I’m seeing.”

Jeongguk seemed slightly amused if somewhat perplexed at your words, but it didn’t take him long to connect your fear to the intruder in the room. “Ah… I can remove it, if you’d like?”

You were nodding frantically before he’d even finished talking. “Yes! Please do, please.”

Jeongguk’s lips tugged into the barest hint of a smile, before he was quickly and carefully doing as requested. In a matter of moments he’d securely grasped the spider, its frantically wriggling legs making you squeak in alarm, and he was quickly exiting the room, presumably to deposit the hellish creature outside your house.

“Make sure you don’t leave it near the house!” you called as an afterthought, wondering how exactly it had gotten inside in the first place. You heard a light laugh before his footsteps faded and you were left standing alone, suddenly aware once more of the water dripping down your form and the short towel around your middle. With cheeks that scorched at the memory of his heated gaze, you hurried from the bathroom and into your room to get dressed. Even once you were fully clothed and brushing through your hair, you couldn’t chase away the phantom touch of his gaze across your form. Had you ever felt such a way from a look alone before?

You honestly didn’t think so, and that scared you a little. He’d been in your life only a few months, for most of which he was comatose, and already he’d rendered you to this? Jeongguk, perhaps the sweetest android you’d ever known, was truly dangerous.

And if the way his gaze continued to linger occasionally, and his touch against your form grew more frequent after that day meant anything, you weren’t sure if he knew he was either.

x x x x x x x x

This was perhaps the first time you’d left the house without Jeongguk in tow, and the outing had ended with you here— at the bar, three of your four close friends already gone with arguably the closest and incidentally most plastered left to your care.

Seokjin liked to drink, and he wasn’t all that messy of a drunk, but he was prone to his… off days, if you would. These were the days where instead of making him extra boisterous and extroverted as it usually did, the alcohol happened to exacerbate whatever doom and gloom was running through the back of his mind at the time. This happened to be one of those days.

You were a little tipsy yourself, but nowhere near as far gone as Seokjin currently was. It was with a sense of struggle that you hauled the two of you from the bar, arm around his waist so he didn’t fall and seriously harm himself.

“Come on, Seokjinnie,” you urged softly, amused at the loud, protesting groan the scientist let out in response. “We gotta get you a cab.”

“Don’t wanna,” he babbled, still grasping you tightly and following you haphazardly nonetheless. He allowed his head to roll and rest on your own. “Did I fin-ugh- finish my drink? Ugh, y/n I think I left my drink on the table—”

“You definitely left something on the table, but it wasn’t your drink,” you muttered. “I think it was your dignity.”

Seokjin let out a loud whine that was broken with a soft hiccup— his whole body jolted and his foot caught on a break in the pavement, the resulting trip nearly taking you both down. “I can’t believe you’re being so mean when I’m absolutely plastered like this. I’m vulnerable, a-and you— you’re uh… you’re doing something.”

You turned to see his brows were furrowed, before his face shifted and he burst triumphantly, having found the words he was looking for, “You’re b-bullying me, you b-b-buh-ass. You ass,” He paused. “You know, I have a nice ass.”

You snorted as you pulled your phone out and went about ordering an uber, trying not to burst into laughter at his drunken antics because you knew it would just set him off into a louder, more vehement set of complaints. “You do. Have you thought about modelling? I think it could get you some cash.”

“My face could get me some cash,” Seokjin muttered, seeming like he was seriously considering it for a moment before he shook his head violently; the blond strands of his hair nearly took out your eye in the process. “No! I’m a committed, I’m scientist to my work—”

“Wait,” He halted abruptly before you could even tease him for his slip, his ability to self-regulate kicking back in. “I’m a scientist, I’m committed to my work. Yes, that’s what I was aim— trying— that’s what I was going for.”

Even through the mist settled comfortably over your mind, his words triggered a sense of familiarity in you. Your thoughts went back to the old text message you’d stumbled upon the other day, and in your tipsy state you were unable to engage your filter in time— you blurted the question before you could give it a second thought, “Seokjin, what happened to that big project of yours? You know, the one you were really excited about?”

The blonde had been smiling at his little victory from before, but as your question registered in his mind the expression dropped from his face. In a violent swing of moods, his body seemed to deflate against you, bottom lip quivering. “Ah, my big project…”

He was silent a moment, gazing off into nothing, and you worried; perhaps you’d struck a nerve? Maybe you really shouldn’t have asked—

Seokjin’s body gave a heavy, shuddering breath, tongue darting to wet his lips before he spoke, tone soft and carrying a thread of sadness you didn’t think you’d ever heard from him, “They took it… My big project. I- god, y/n… they took him.”

Your head tilted, confusion blurring your thoughts too much for you to have a response ready. Perhaps thankfully, it was at that moment the uber pulled up— a hovercraft, it would seem to be today— and you busied yourself momentarily with getting your drunken friend in the back of the vehicle. Soon the two of you were safely inside, and the driver left you in peace as he began on the route to Seokjin’s home— well, the car began. He was just there to monitor.

You turned your gaze to the male in question, noticing his eyes had glazed slightly, a distant expression gracing his fine features once more. You were burning with curiosity inside, something nagging you to ask, to find out more. You knew Seokjin worked in the AI and android facilities, but for some reason you’d never heard the end of this tale. Now that you’d remembered, you couldn’t shake it from your thoughts. The sound of your voice seemed to break him from his daze.

“What do you mean, they took him?” you queried softly, hand finding his knee when he swayed in his seat slightly.

To your utter surprise, Seokjin’s eyes began to glisten with unshed tears, large chocolate orbs meeting your own and holding your gaze.

“He was the best thing I’ll ever make, y/n,” he said, hiccupping softly. He let out a faint groan, allowing his eyelids to flutter closed. Your heart twinged as you watched his features twist, a single tear tracing down his cheek while his voice grew thick and caught in his throat. “He... I really… I really did it this time, y/n. He… he was beyond a-anything I’d ever even thought I would be able to create. He was the first project I ever got full reign of.”

There was a pause as he swallowed, dark brows furrowing as he allowed his head to drop back against the headrest; the flickering glow of city buildings and signs as they blurred past cast a myriad of blue, fuchsia and violet over the tired planes of his face. His voice came out fainter this time, but there was a heat behind his words, an anger so intimately intertwined with sadness that you didn’t know how to go about untangling it.

“I worked so hard, and he… he exceeded all of my expectations. He had such potential,” Seokjin’s breath shuddered. “And they took him. He— he deserved so much better, deserves better than a life of servitude, degradation and humiliation… but they still took him from me.”

Any words you could have hoped to muster had long since died in your throat, your own eyes glistening at the pain in his tone. Something niggled at the back of your mind, something threatened to click in your subconscious, and even though you didn’t understand it, you found yourself asking, “What was his name? His model number?”

Seokjin sighed softly, drawing a hand up to scrub over his face; he was reaching the stage of the night where he shifted from silly/saddened drunk to exhaustion. It wouldn’t be long now before sleep welcomed him with open arms.

“I never got to give him a name,” he said, and it was as though the words saddened him even more as they left his mouth. “But his model number…”

The uber began to slow suddenly, and belatedly you realised you’d arrived at Seokjin’s apartment. You thanked the driver, climbing out of the vehicle and pulling a drowsy Seokjin out after you. Your ride was quick to pull from the curb, disappearing into the city lights from whence it came, and you stumbled towards the blonde’s apartment building with him in tow, arm draped over your shoulder.

“I don’t know, I don’t know,” Seokjin was mumbling to himself as you gradually made your way to his floor, nearly sweating from the effort of keeping him upright alone. “His model number… do I know?”

It was with great effort you managed to unlock his door and drag him into the apartment, depositing him on his couch while you went to retrieve a glass of water; you had to weave around metal parts that poked haphazardly from tables and benches as you went. When you returned with glass in hand, Seokjin had taken to discarding his shoes and socks and had loosened the collar of the button-up around his neck.

“I don’t remember…” Seokjin looked ready to cry again, and you hurried to pass him the water— he accepted with a soft ‘thanks’.

“It’s okay if you don’t remember,” you soothed him softly, hand coming to rest on his shoulder.

“No, it’s not,” Seokjin nearly dropped the glass on its descent from his mouth and you took this as your cue to remove the breakable item from his vicinity. “It’s not okay, he- he deserves better. He deserves name, he deserves to be remembered.”

“I’m sure he does,” you murmured as you urged him to his feet and guided him down the hall to his bedroom. Seokjin was silent, blinking drowsily as he slipped into his bed at your gentle urging, nestling subconsciously into the covers.

He could hardly keep his eyes open, but when they finally closed another tear slipped from beneath his lashes to roll down his cheek. His voice was soft. “If… If I had known… where he would go, what kind of life he would be destined for… I would never… never have made him this way… He deserves better…”

You waited a few moments more to see if he would continue, but upon the sound of a soft snore already escaping him, you surmised he was well and truly gone for the night. Shaking your head lightly, you made sure he was tucked in and comfortable before grasping the extra blanket from the end of his bed and making your way to the loungeroom; you were quite tired yourself, and the couch was seeming more and more appealing the longer you were awake.

Even with the muddling effects of the alcohol, your mind was still racing, albeit tiredly, as you settled on the couch and wrapped yourself in the blanket. Seokjin’s words, his tears and the distinct undertone of guilt in his tone as he’d spoken those last words all ran through your head one last time before your heavy eyelids were dropping closed, and you succumbed to sleep. When you woke in the morning, would you remember all that you’d learnt tonight?

→ masterlist | part ii

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natsumiheart · 6 years ago

Text

100 reasons why I (personally) OTP Oumasai:

Warning: this is an extremely long post.

1. In the beginning of the game Shuichi normally didn't talk much during introductions, let alone be the one to start talking without being addressed to, but when Kokichi revealed his ultimate, he actually got curious and jumped in asking about his organization.

2. It is proven that he really was interested in it as he asks about it later in Kokichi's free time events.

3. Kokichi was interested in Shuichi at first because he was a detective and he wanted to see if he can see through his lies, but then got attached to him because "he couldn't figure him out".

4. Kokichi was probably amused by how nice he was to him (by actually approaching him and hanging out with him) compared to the others.

5. In chapter 2 Shuichi woke up to find Kokichi above him, saying that he's glad he's finally awake (makes me wonder if he got worried when Gonta came in with an unconscious Shuichi, and if he stayed by his side the whole time).

6. At multiple points in the game, Shuichi actually comments on how innocent Kokichi looks compared to his words, saying he can't get mad at him because he looks like he means no malice, then says "but that might just be another lie..."

7. During the free time events, Kokichi literally plays 100 rounds of Rock Paper Scissors with Shuichi because he wants to show him that he actually does not want him to die or to hurt him in general.

8. And probably because he genuinely has fun hanging out with him, even if it means playing the same game 100 times and getting the same result on purpose (and Shuichi did not stop either!)

9. The freaking fact that he hurt himself on purpose to lose and let Shuichi "win".

10. THE FREAKIN FACT SHUICHI IMMEDIATELY GOT WORRIED AND WENT TO TEND HIM FRANTICALLY.

11. The fact Kokichi was laughing "like he was having the time of his life" (as Shuichi said) the whole time Shuichi was taking care of him.

12. "I stole your heart so now I'm satisfied!"

13. The persona freakin vibes, the detective Conan freakin vibes. THE PHANTOM THIEF AU.

14. THEIR FREAKING DYNAMIC.

15. The fact that Kokichi's free time events were one big scheme to make Shuichi think about him.

16. When Kaede hung out with Kokichi, she got pissed in the end and the FTE ended with a warning from Kokichi. But with Shuichi, it ended with such a heartwarming note because Shuichi was patient with him and actually cared for him and worried about him.

17. Kokichi called Kaede and Rantaro his beloved once in chapter 1 after they were dead, but called Shuichi his beloved from chapter 2 onwards in front of him.

18. PROBABLY TO MAKE SURE THAT SHUICHI NEVER REALISES THAT HE MEANS IT CAUSE HE WILL THINK EVERYTHING HE SAYS IS A LIE.

19. Shuichi is the only one, and I repeat the only one who thinks twice about Kokichi's lies. And I quote him saying multiple times "he's lying about lying..."

20. Whenever Kokichi has evidence the one he always reaches out to is Shuichi. During trials and investigations.

21. Shuichi is onto him during the trials and acknowledges how much of a help he is. One time he said "maybe I should thank him later" but then backtracked.

22. In chapter 4 Kokichi referred to Shuichi with the phrase "Suki ni natta hito" "the person I fell in love with" while alone. and it's not even a bonus scene or event, the line is 100% canon and the player will come across it no matter what.

23.The👏angst👏starts👏in👏chapter��four👏where👏kokichi👏decides👏to👏cut👏his👏ties👏with👏everyone👏including👏his👏beloved👏

24. But how does he do that? By trash talking the hell out of Shuichi's best friend in front of him, because he knows what pisses Shuichi off. Kokichi is not stupid, if he truly wanted Shuichi to trust him he wouldn't trash talk his friend. A part of him must have wanted Shuichi to be his ally, but it wasn’t possible after he told him to stop hanging around Kaito.

25. His clinginess in chapter 4 was probably him trying to make use of the time he has left with Shuichi before it all crashes down. That’s why he talked to him after the murder has happened. He realized he didn’t want Shuichi questioning his actions.

26. His worried face when he said he would cry if something happened to his Saihara chan.

27. The fact that their relationship wouldn’t be so pure because of the love hotel-

28. Kokichi was constantly worried about Kaito influencing Shuichi negatively and tried to drop him hints multiple times that sometimes believing in each other and working together might get them all killed.

29. The fact Kokichi freaking called Shuichi the Japanese sweet "Shumai" just like Kaito calls Maki "Harumaki" IS REALLY HECKIN ADORABLE AND VALID.

30. It just seems like they are both very interested in each other. Like they are each other's puzzle. They want to know more about each other.

31. And honestly, their relationship is just so very cute.

32. Kokichi's interest in Shuichi, says a lot about him.

33. And let's talk about something... Kokichi has always been treated like shit in the killing game by his friends. No one trusted him, everyone turned on him when Rantaro accused him of wanting to play the killing game because he suggested not doing the death road of despair. And he took all the blame to stop Kaede from basically torturing everyone by forcing them to try again and again. And he always brushed it off whenever they said anything mean to him. So why do you think he had such a strong reaction (for someone like Kokichi) when Shuichi said "you're alone and you always will be"?

34. Kokichi had planned to make Shuichi hate him cause he was planning to impersonate the mastermind, he needed to cut his ties with everyone. So when he did so with Shuichi, and with his best friend and probably the only person he can trust in the killing game getting killed. It became too much for him so he booked it out. Ah the angst.

35. Later in the game, Shuichi calls Kokichi his friend. And want do friends do? Stay by each other's side.

36. And then the salmon team ending comes along and wraps it all by making the ending theme "staying by each other's side"

37. "you want to know more about me right? Then you should stay by my side." "Kokichi's right... I want to know more about him."

38. In the ending of the FTE's Shuichi says "I reach out my hand to Kokichi, but he doesn't take it" but then at the end of the salmon team ending he says "I reach out and grasp the hand reached out to me"

39. "Kokichi can lie about a lot of things, but he can't lie about the warmth of his hand."

40. THE DATES ARE ADORABLE THEIR INTERACTIONS ARE ADORABLE THE FTES ARE ADORABLE THE SALMON TEAM ENDING IS ADORABLE.

41. "Maybe you and I were lovers in a past life!"

42. Pregame👏oumasai👏is👏beautiful👏 (when people don't make it abusive holy shit yall need Jesus)

43. "SAIHARA CHAN!" "SAIHARA CHAN!" "SASUGA SAIHARA CHAN!!!!" 😂

44. Kokichi saw Shuichi as himself in the love hotel, his ideal version of Shuichi is Shuichi himself, NO CHANGES.

45. And the game makes it pretty clear that he saw HIS beloved, by all the connections between stuff he said in the hotel and stuff he said out of the hotel.

46. In chapter 3 if you decide to talk to Kokichi before checking in on Kaito, There is a really interesting conversation between them. Kokichi saying he would rather have Kaede come back to life because it would make Shuichi happy.

47. He also says that he loves Shuichi and is always thinking about him, but then he says its a lie. But the funny thing is, in the love hotel he actually says the exact same thing- and he has no control over the love hotel, everything there is g e n u i n e.

48. Kokichi's love hotel scene had the most voiced lines, I wonder why? 👀

49. Kokichi literally pushed Shuichi onto a bed, in a freaking love hotel.

50. "that means, you can do anything you want to me, and that's the truth"

51. The thing that makes Kokichi's love hotel the most interesting isn't only because he literally was with the person he was in love with, but it's also because it is implied that Kokichi is playing Shuichi's ideal instead.

52. KOKICHI FREAKIN GOT OVERWHELMED OVER HIS OWN FEELINGS BECAUSE HE HAS A HARD TIME TRUSTING PEOPLE AND RAN AWAY FROM HIS OWN FANTASY OMFG.

53. "I caught myself wishing he would stay before I smothered the thought"

54. Kokichi has a hard time trusting people but had Shuichi labeled as "trustworthy?" on the whiteboard in his room.

55. His "will" was literally directed towards Shuichi, even Maki knew because she went to Shuichi and gave it to him saying "I think this is for you".

56. Shuichi was the one to clear Kokichi's name from ultimate despair.

57. He seemed really interested in what was going through Kokichi's head the entire game.

58. The fact that Kokichi helped Shuichi so much, with literally ending the game even after he's dead.

59. They would make an amazing investigation team together....

60. Their interactions in the drv3 comic anthology are really freaking precious.

61. They feel valid but not forced at the same time. Just showing that they get along really well, without any repetition.

62. The fact that the comic anthology confirmed that Shuichi tries to calm Kokichi down whenever he's fake crying even though he knows it's fake...

63. It reminds me of how in the game he stated multiple times "maybe I should make sure he's alright"

64. And that one section that focused on Shuichi and Kokichi, where Shuichi was trying to use a lie detector that Miu made to know when Kokichi is lying.

65. Kokichi let him use it on him for a while until Shuichi asked about the organization to get information XD

66. That just shows again how Shuichi is interested in Kokichi and his organization and wants to figure him out. The same way Kokichi finds him tricky and wants to figure HIM out.

67. They look really good together! The height difference for example! Its legit perfect, not too much and not too low.

68. Kokichi wearing mostly white while Shuichi wears mostly black. and that’s a bit interesting cause normally white is given to represent the pure and helpful characters while black is normally given to represent the dark “evil” characters. but here Kokichi who is trusted by no one and paints himself as the bad guy is wearing white, and Shuichi who everyone blindly believes in and trust is wearing black, makes you think, doesn’t it?

69. The dark blue and purple aesthetic...

70. Their characters are meant to parallel each other with the truth and lies theme, and the game makes that very clear to the player. but sometimes they step in each others territory, where Shuichi has to lie at least once in every trial to progress, and Kokichi hiding a lot of truths in his lies to make everyone confused and not trust him. to me this dynamic between them is very interesting.

71. The fanfictions and fanart are adorable fight me, some people can write their relationship so freakin well? What are you people???? Gods?? Because it sure seems like it.

72. It has the right amount of angst and fluff for a ship, it has everything I've wanted in a ship, I love it.

73. The thief and the detective... Lies and truths... Good shit.

74. Kokichi looks really freaking adorable in Shuichi's hat y'all.

75. Just imagine dice getting in trouble with the police and Shuichi finding a way to bail them out, since they trust the detective.

76. Kokichi, the embodiment of lying, CONSIDERED TO STOP WITH LYING BECAUSE HE WANTED TO GET CLOSER TO SHUICHI. WHY DOES NOBODY TALK ABOUT THIS.

77. "What should I do... If I wanna become closer to Shuichi... I probably shouldn't lie so much..."

78. When Shuichi said he will get to tolerate his lying Kokichi felt guilty at first with his despair sprite being shown.

79. But then got happy when he realized that meant that Shuichi will accept him for who he is. And when he saw that Shuichi understands him and can see through his lies anyway.

80. "Maybe I was born into this world just to meet you, Shuichi."

81. During Kokichi's FTE's they were playing games and spending time together right? Like the time they drank tea XD well during the love hotel Kokichi says "come, play with me, let's do a lot more together" and "I'll think of a better game for next time, so make sure you excite me too". Aka: Kokichi just told us his true feelings.

82. "I'm so glad I met someone who can truly understand me"

83. The fact that Kokichi is like a cat that constantly wants attention and keeps flirting with his beloved, notice me Saihara chan.

84. THEIR JP VOICES GO ALONG REALLY WELL TOGETHER WTF. I’ve also come to appreciate how Kokichi has the deeper voice in jp with Shuichi with the feminine lighter voice. but it’s the opposite in English.

85. It's kinda funny how Shuichi keeps trying to figure him out while Kokichi just keeps flirting with him 😂 probably making him even more confused.

86. To Kokichi who could predict everything, Shuichi's unpredictability fascinated him to the point he fell in love with him.

87. Unlike everyone, Shuichi is patient with Kokichi, but not too patient. He is the exact person Kokichi needs.

88. And it makes total sense why a trickster fell in love with a sweet detective.

89. "and I wanted your eyes to be on me..."

90. Kokichi deserves someone who would love him for being himself and its shown that Shuichi did fall for him in the salmon team.

91. SHUICHI'S BLUSH WHEN KOKICHI TOLD HIM THAT HE KNOWS HIS LIES NEVER BORED HIM.

92. Shuichi👏wants👏to👏know👏more👏about👏Kokichi👏

93. Kokichi👏wants👏to👏be👏Shuichi's👏everything👏

94. this is completely personal but I started off the game being confused about the ship, and became a hardcore supporter by the end of it. Which means its a heckin good ship if you ask me.

95. Pretty sure Shuichi is one of the only reasons for Kokichi to genuinely smile in a killing game.

96. This ship can make me cry from sadness because of the sad videos, or from happiness from fluffy fanfictions and fanart.

97. Kokichi is completely in love and is enamored by Shuichi it hurts. His love for Shuichi is valid, so freaking valid, 100% valid, more valid than my existence.

98. I love the bonus interactions between them hidden throughout the chapters, like the one where Kokichi tells Shuichi that everything he does is for everyone. It seems that he is only honest with Shuichi, but of course hides it as a lie.

99. Kokichi wanted Shuichi to join his organization, and called him interesting multiple times. Which is really important coming from someone like Kokichi who wasn't fond of most of the people in the killing game.

100. Their relationship is very realistic, it is focused on how two characters try their best to understand each other, how even someone like Kokichi can come to trust in someone and want someone to trust in him, how he wants that someone to be able to understand him. Kokichi went from being interested in Shuichi to falling in love with him (literally referring to him as the person he fell in love with, using the same phrase that Maki says to Kaito later on), in a freaking killing game. he forced himself to cut their ties and died thinking the only person he cared about hated him. while Shuichi started off interested but wary of Kokichi, tried reaching out to him but failed due to Kokichi pushing him away, to getting mad from him for making Gonta a murderer and trash talking Kaito when he seemed in a really bad condition (after getting punched by Kokichi too) to hitting cold hard realization to what Kokichi has been trying to do the whole game after his death. and then appreciating his help, using the clues he left behind for him, clearing his name, calling him a friend, and grieving his death with the rest of his friends who died in the killing game. He then uses everything Kokichi gave to him and taught him, ends up understanding Kokichi and his lies, and uses the tactic he taught him where he said “sometimes you win a game by not playing it” to end danganronpa. then you’re left wondering how things could’ve been different if Shuichi didn’t already have so much on his back and tried harder to reach out to Kokichi. you start wondering what could’ve happened if Kokichi didn’t push him away, you start thinking about all these possibilities. and then salmon team comes along and wraps everything up with a ribbon. putting direct throwbacks to what happened in the killing game and the free time events, Kokichi BEING the one to reach out to Shuichi, asking him to stay by his side. Their relationship is like one huge arc that starts the moment they met to their graduation in salmon team, and it leaves you with the fact that after they graduate they will stay together and learn more about each other, just like both of them wanted but couldn’t do in the killing game. if this isn’t a beautiful realistic relationship, I don’t know what is. Honestly, everything about this ship is so very beautiful, and I will support it with my life.

#kokichi ouma #shuichi saihara #saiouma #ousai #ndrv3 spoilers #drv3 spoilers #ndrv3 #danganronpa #drv3 #oumasai #danganronpa v3 #new danganronpa v3 #drv3 pregame #this happened because i was in a bad mood without internet #so i decided to just rant about my otp #now im crying cause feels

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trans-rite · 6 years ago

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The Transgender Rite of Ancestor Elevation: 2018 List of Names

Below the cut, a list of names, organized by country, date of passing, and how they died (people have mixed feelings about the latter, we understand). Some include age and other notes as well, but that’s not consistent across the names. This year we made an effort to seek out information about the lives of our beloved dead, where reported, and quotes from loved ones.

Link to a shareable google document with photos

Christa Leigh Steele-Knudslien, United States

As of mid-October 2018, 22 homicides of trans Americans have been reported. The first known victim was Christa Leigh Steele-Knudslien, 42, of North Adams, Mass. The founder of the Miss Trans America and Miss Trans New England pageants, she was stabbed to death at her home January 5. Her husband, Mark S. Steele-Knudslien, 47, has been charged with her murder. He turned himself in to police the same night, saying he had done "something very bad," and describing details of the crime, but he pleaded not guilty the following week in Northern Berkshire District Court. He is awaiting trial.

Christa, 42, was a flamboyant and beloved transgender activist, founder of the Miss Trans New England beauty pageant and cofounder of the New England Trans United Pride March and Rally. She believed that being trans was something to celebrate. She was forever cajoling friends to try the higher heels, the shorter dress — “Show your legs, hon!” Her joy seemed boundless.

When Halloween came, Christa struck up a friendly decorating contest with Jennifer Serre, who lives across the street. They one-upped each other, Serre said, adding lights and signs and ghouls until Christa’s yard sported a guillotine, a fortune teller, a ghost, a clown, a girl hanging from a tree, a man dressed in black carrying a shovel, and a graveyard.

Viccky Gutierrez, United States

Viccky Gutierrez, 33, was stabbed to death at her home in Los Angeles January 10. Firefighters were called to a fire at the building early that day and discovered her body. Gutierrez, an immigrant from Honduras, was described as "a beautiful soul who was really nice to everyone and would offer any type of support when someone would need it" by friends who set up a crowdfunding page to raise money for funeral expenses. She was active in the L.A. trans community, working with the Los Angeles LGBT Center on Transgender Day of Remembrance events. A few days after her death, Los Angeles police arrested Kevyn Ramirez, 29. Police said he admitted to stabbing Gutierrez and setting the fire. He is charged with murder during the commission of an attempted robbery, plus two counts of arson, while police continue to try to determine his motive and whether the murder was a hate crime.

Viccky was a young trans Latina woman from Honduras, and a member of TransLatin@ Coalition’s Los Angeles organization. She often joined the team for their daily lunches, provided for free to anyone in need. Friends refer to her as “the nicest girl in the world,” whose “smile would give anyone comfort,” and “an inspiration for many of us.”

Zakaria Fry, United States

Zakaria Fry, 28, went missing from her home in Albuquerque, N.M., January 18, along with her housemate, Eugene Carroll Ray, 70. Their bodies were found February 19 in trash bins in a rural part of New Mexico; both had died of blunt force trauma to the head and face, police said. It is not clear exactly when they were killed. Albuquerque police arrested Charles Anthony Spiess, 27, who is also known by the name James Knight, February 27, and the next day he was charged with the murder of both Fry and Ray, along with a charge of tampering with evidence. Police said he may have lived with the victims for a time. “It's a massive case and there's a lot of connections there. But the main thing is we’re asking the public if they ever saw these three together,” Albuquerque Police Department public information officer Simon Drobik told the Albuquerque Journal. Friends of Fry's described her lovingly. “You were such a fun and positive person despite all the challenges you faced in life,” Tara Yvonne wrote on Facebook. “You were a brave, strong and inspirational woman. Your spirit lives on and you are missed by many. May you rest in peace.”

Celine Walker, United States

Celine Walker, 36, was found shot to death in a hotel room in Jacksonville, Fla., February 4. A friend, Naomi Michaels, wrote on Facebook that Walker “lived a low key life where she did whatever needed to be done in order for her to survive” and “was not a pageant girl” or a clubgoer. The Jacksonville Sheriff's Office misgendered and deadnamed her when reporting her death, with officials saying they do not identify people as transgender. Activists have called for a change in the policy, which may have delayed the investigation of the crime. No one has been arrested for her murder yet, and police have revealed no details of their investigation. Some friends suspect her murder was an anti-trans hate crime.

“Celine was not a pageant girl. She didn’t even enjoy going to gay clubs or events. She lived a low key life where she did whatever needed to be done in order for her to survive.”

Tonya Harvey, United States

Tonya Harvey, 35, was fatally shot on a dead-end street in Buffalo, N.Y., February 6. Social media posts by friends described Harvey, who sometimes went by the nickname “Kita,” as “sweet and loving” and “the black Cameron Diaz.” Police and the Erie County District Attorney's office are continuing to investigate her murder, including the possibility that it was a hate crime. Activists pointed out the widespread violence against trans people. “There is a very real epidemic of violence targeting the transgender community, particularly those who live at the intersection of transphobia, racism, and misogyny,” Damian Mordecai, executive director of the Pride Center of Western New York, told The Buffalo News.

Phylicia Mitchell, United States

Phylicia Mitchell, 45, died February 23 after being shot in the chest outside her home in Cleveland. She and partner Shane Mitchell had been together for about 30 years, ever since Phylicia fled her less-than-accepting family in Pittsburgh. They were not legally married, but they had an unofficial ceremony last May in which she took his last name. Phylicia earned a high school equivalency diploma and worked as a hairstylist, and Shane did odd jobs. Shane said their relationship endured and even became stronger through hard times, including periods of homelessness. “I miss her tremendously,” he told Cleveland's Plain Dealer. “That’s my soul mate. We went together everywhere. We did everything together. We always held hands on the bus. Years ago people didn’t respect that, but they do now.” In April, Cleveland police issued a warrant for the arrest of Gary Lamar Sanders, 36, in connection with Mitchell's death. He was placed on Ohio's Most Wanted List and was finally apprehendedby the U.S. Marshals Service in July in West Virginia, where he had been living for more than a month. He is charged with aggravated murder.

She will be remembered for her devotion to hair styling and being a loving and caring partner and friend, despite battling drug addiction for most of her life, her longtime partner said. "Everyone loved her," Mitchell said. "My nieces and nephews opened up to her so much. She was just so funny and kind."

Amia Tyrae Berryman, United States

Amia Tyrae Berryman, 28, was found shot to death at the Shades Motel in Baton Rouge, La., early in the morning of March 26. Police so far have no suspects and are continuing to investigate. Berryman's family declined to speak to local media.

Amia worked in home health care in Baton Rouge. A friend was quoted as saying “She didn’t have much support [from] family...so she made family with her peers in the LGBT community of Baton Rouge.” Another friend said, “Amia Tyrae R.I.P. you were such a sweet person with a big heart...rest well my friend.”

Sasha Wall, United States

Sasha Wall, 29, was found shot to death in her car along a rural road in Chesterfield County, S.C., the morning of April 1. She had been shot several times in the neck and shoulder. Police believe she knew her killer and that her death was likely the result of a domestic dispute. Wall, who lived in a mobile home near Pageland, S.C., was remembered fondly by friends on social media. On Facebook, Donovan Dunlap recalled taking photos of her, saying, “You stayed ready for the camera. I will miss you my beautiful sister. I cannot sleep. I hope they find who did this.”

Carla Patricia Flores-Pavon, United States

Carla Patricia Flores-Pavon was strangled to death in her Dallas apartment May 9. Police found her unconscious about 4 p.m. at her apartment, Dallas TV station KTVT reports. She was pronounced dead at a local hospital. A witness reportedly saw a man fleeing the scene. Dallas police said they do not believe her death was a hate crime. The are some discrepancies in the details about Flores-Pavon. KTVT listed her age as 26, but the Dallas Voice gave it as 18. Also, while police spelled her first name as Carla, her Facebook page spelled it Karla.“You were a good person,” her friend Gia York Herrera wrote on Facebook, also noting that the loss “hurts so much.” (This is a translation; the original post was in Spanish.) York Herrera added, “God give comfort to your family and friends” and “I send you a hug and a kiss as always.” Police arrested a suspect in Flores-Pavon’s murder, Jimmy Eugene Johnson II, 24, near Huntsville, Texas, May 17. Johnson, who was arrested during a traffic stop, had items from Flores-Pavon’s apartment in his car, so police believe his motive was robbery and not anti-transgender bias. He is charged with murder.

Unknown transgender woman, United States

Officers pulled what they said was the body of a black, transgender woman, approximately 5’3” and 130 pounds, from a river in Dallas on May 15th, 2018. The unidentified victim was wearing a black shirt and black scrub pants.

Nino Fortson, United States

Nino Fortson, a 36-year-old transgender man, was shot to death in Atlanta May 13. Fortson was involved in an argument with two men and two women on the street, The Atlanta Jounral-Constitution reports. A witness said he fired a small gun into the air but then walked away. But a few minutes later, the witness heard more gunshots and then saw him lying on the ground, as one of the other people involved in the dispute limped away. Fortson died shortly afterward at Grady Memorial Hospital. Initial media reports misgendered Fortson.

Many in Atlanta’s queer community learned of the death through a Facebook post on the profile of Kamaro Blahnik, father of the House of Blahnik, who referred to Fortson as “my son” and used both she/her and he/him pronouns to refer to Fortson. Blahnik said that Fortson was known for walking the “Butch Realness” category at balls.

Gigi Pierce, United States

Gigi Pierce, 28, was shot to death in Portland, Ore., the night of May 21. She was from Boise, Idaho, and it wasn't clear how long she had been in Portland. Sophia Grace Adler, 33, has been arrested and charged with Pierce's murder; she has pleaded not guilty. Witnesses and police said there had been an altercation between the two prior to the shooting. A friend remembered Pierce as someone “full of life, always trying to help somebody.”

Her friends recall her as vivacious and enthusiastic. But they also say she struggled with drug abuse and homelessness, living a difficult life that came to a sudden end last week.

"I don't know what demons she was trying to run away from, but she spent her entire life running," says her close friend and former boyfriend Jason Johnson, who knew Eugene-Pierce for more than a decade. "And it was a beautiful run filled with glitter and cocktails." "Gigi was a performer through and through," her friend Dallas Jackson Falls said in a statement last week. "Life was her stage, and those fortunate enough to know her were her audience. Granted, you never knew whether you were getting a drama, comedy or even, in some moments, an action-filled tragedy. That was the thing about her, you just never knew what you were going to get." Eugene-Pierce grew up in Boise, Idaho. Her sister, Nicole Emery, says Eugene-Pierce "treated my sister [Meghann] and I like princesses" and "never stood still."

Antash’a-English, United States

Antash’a English, 38, was shot to death in Jacksonville, Fla., June 1. On a city street, she was shot in the abdomen by someone firing from a vehicle. She died at a local hospital. “She was an unapologetic, bold, and loyal person,” friend Taliyah Smith told Firs Coast News, a program of stations WTLV and WJXX. English had won several pageants and performed regularly at local nightclub InCahoots. Police are continuing to investigate her murder.

On her Facebook page, English described herself as “a very independent transgendered woman ... who thrive[s] on being the best person I can be.” In May, just weeks before her death, English had shared a photo of herself with the caption, “I will no longer be a victim of discrimination. # Trans rights.”

Diamond Stephens, United States

Diamond Stephens, 39, was shot to death June 18 while driving home. She was shot in the back of the head, causing her van to crash into a house. She was not identified as transgender until a month later because police and local news outlets misgendered and deadnamed her. Police, who have yet to identify a suspect, say there may have been others in the car with her. Her family is devastated. “We are hurting really bad,” Stephens’s cousin Georgia Brown told Mississippi TV station WTOK. “I don’t really know what words to say other than we need God to help us and give us strength to make it through this situation and pray to God that whoever did this is found.”

Catalina Christina James, United States

Catalina Christina James was the third transgender woman murdered in Jacksonville this year, leading some to suspect a serial killer is at work. James, from Bishopville, S.C., was shot to death outside a Quality Inn and Suites motel June 24. The Jacksonville Sheriff's Office continued its practice of not using trans victims' preferred names. James's mother described her to First Coast News as the life of the party, with a love of travel and dancing.

Keisha Wells, United States

Keisha Wells, 58, was found dead in the parking lot of an apartment complex June 24 in Cleveland, the second trans woman murdered in the city this year. She had suffered a gunshot wound to the abdomen. Her best friend, Sheila Jones, described her to the Plain Dealer as "a tough cookie" but "the nicest person ever." Wells loved dressing up and frequenting nightclubs, Jones added. "(She) always loved the most expensive high heels and stilettos, the hats and (her) expensive sunglasses.”

Wells' aunt, Regina Spicer, said Wells loved to make everyone around her laugh. She said Wells, who family members referred to as "Pokey" and who was referred to by family as both Keisha and her birth name Maurice, also spoiled the dozen or so nieces and nephews. "Pokey was funny," Spicer said. "Pokey liked laughing and telling funny stories about people. But when (she) loved you and cared about you, (she) loved you."

Sasha Garden, United States

Sasha Garden, 27, was found dead at an Orlando apartment complex July 19.

Garden, an advocate for transgender women and outreach coordinator for the HIV and AIDS organization Miracle of Love, was a sex worker saving money to transition and become a hairstylist. Garden was known for an outgoing spirit. "She was a firecracker – very outspoken," said Montrese Williams, who houses transgender women involved in sex work, providing free condoms, water bottles, and HIV testing. "She didn’t hold her tongue for anyone or anybody. Her womanhood was one of those things she stood up for. She didn’t tolerate any disrespect at all."

“There’s a little bit of Sasha in all of us here today,” mourner Richard Sizemore said, according to the Sentinel. “Her adventure in this realm may be over ... but I have faith that on the next plane, she is somewhere where she’s perfect — and everybody knows it.”

Dejanay Stanton, United States

Dejanay Stanton, 24, was shot to death early in the morning of August 30 on the south side of Chicago. She was found in an alley, with a gunshot wound to her head, and pronounced dead at a nearby hospital. Police initially did not know her name and identified her as "Jane Doe," but friends who saw her photo on social media confirmed her identity as Dejanay Stanton.

“She was so sweet. Every time you saw her she had a smile on her face," said LaSaia Wade, executive director of Brave Space Alliance. “She was just trying to live her best life as a young girl.” Police have yet to make an arrest but are continuing to investigate.

The first thing you noticed about Dejanay Stanton is her hair. In one video, it was styled pin-straight and dark brown, though the sunlight teased it out to a golden sheen. As she twirled around on the grass, it cascaded past her hips and swished freely in the wind, almost like it had a life of its own. Other times, it would be crimped or in soft curls, in a bob with blonde tips or, toward the end of her life, dyed scarlet. “Everyone, no matter what their gender or sexuality, knew her,” Jones, 25, said. “She was loved and never did nothing to nobody. So it was a shock.”

Jones said Stanton never had a bad word to say about anyone and was a family-first person. She lived with her mother, step-dad and four siblings, and every day she told her mom she loved her. Whenever someone was short on money, she always paid for that person’s meal or drinks. “There was a sweet spirit about her,” Jones said. “Always inspirational or encouraging. She was always living life.” Stanton also loved to travel, Jones said. One of her favorite destinations was New York City, where she’d go shopping and restock her much-coveted wardrobe. “She was a girl who loved style,” Wade said. “She was trying to live her best life. It was like a breath of fresh air.”

Vontashia Bell, United States

Vontashia Bell, 18, suffered a fatal gunshot wound August 30 in Shreveport, La. She was found on the street early that morning and pronounced dead at a local hospital. Police and media misgendered her, but a Louisiana activist organization identified her correctly. Bell’s death “is a reminder of the current climate and national discourse on trans issues,” said the release from Louisiana Trans Advocates. “Dehumanizing language and actions lower the barriers to this kind of senseless violence.” The group called on city and state officials to condemn anti-trans discrimination and violence and to work against institutional racism. Police have yet to make an arrest but have asked the public for help in identifying a suspect.

Shantee Tucker, United States

Shantee Tucker, 30, was shot to death September 5 on a Philadelphia street by someone firing from inside a pickup truck. Witnesses had seen her arguing with the person in the truck just before she was shot, and police believe she knew her killer. The police also said they don't think the attack was motivated by her gender identity, but her friends and trans activists don't agree. Friends recalled Tucker, who worked in a beauty supply store, as a sincere and down-to-earth person.

Tucker had just celebrated a birthday.

London Moore, United States

London Moore, 20, was found shot to death September 8 in North Port, Fla. Her car was found the next day at a different location. Police said the crime was an isolated incident and that they believe she knew her killer, who remains at large.

On September 1, Moore posted on her Facebook that she was “going to give this whole love thing one more chance.”

“Wish me luck,” she added.

Ms Columbia, United States

Residents of Queens are reacting with shock and grief at the news that Miss Colombia, a colorfully attired Jackson Heights personality who was a fixture at LGBTQ Pride celebrations and other gatherings, was found dead in the waters off Jacob Riis Park in the early morning hours of October 4. Miss Colombia, aka Osvaldo Gomez, preferred male pronouns and was an attorney in his native Medellín, Colombia, arriving in the US in the 1970s fleeing persecution in his homeland, he stated in 2015 in the video documentary series “No Your City.” He was 64. At an evening vigil on October 5 in Jackson Heights, out gay City Councilmember Daniel Dromm of Jackson Height said Miss Colombia “was an iconic figure in the LGBT community and beyond. She was beloved by all who saw her in the streets, at parades, and in the neighborhood wearing her colorful outfits and a bird on her shoulder. Her cheerfulness and ability to bring a smile to the faces of all who met her will be missed by all New Yorkers. I remember marching with Miss Colombia at the first Queens Pride Parade and at other parades across the city, including the India Day Parade and the Chinese New Year Parade, among others. While life did not always treat Miss Colombia with all the respect she was due, New Yorkers will remember Miss Colombia as a hero to everyone. May Miss Colombia rest in peace.”

Nikki Janelle Enriquez, United States

Nikki Janelle Enriquez, 28, of Laredo, Texas, was found dead near Interstate 35 in south Texas September 15. She has been shot in the head. Juan David Ortiz, 35, an intelligence supervisor for the U.S. Border Patrol, is charged with murdering Enriquez and three other women. Police and prosecutors are calling the murders a serial killing spree in which Ortiz singled out sex workers. They have not ruled out the possibility that there are other victims. Enriquez, so far the only known transgender victim, was described by family members as “very outgoing,” “always smiling,” and “loved by the gay community.”

Ciara Minaj Carter Frazier, United States

Ciara Minaj Carter Frazier, 31, was stabbed to death in Chicago the night of October 3. She was found in the backyard of an abandoned house and pronounced dead at the scenc. Police believe her killer was a man she had been arguing with at the house, but they have yet to apprehend him. Her death came just over a month after the fatal shooting of transgender Chicagoan Deejay Stanton. “It feels like we are being targeted,” LaSaia Wade, executive director of Chicago trans organization Brave Space Alliance, told the Chicago Sun-Times. She knew Frazier through the local ball scene. “I’m frustrated and upset with the lack of cases turning around,” she continued. “There is a lack of [concern for] our safety from police.”

Jessie Sumlar, United States

On July 19, 30-year-old Jessie Sumlar was found stabbed to death in Jacksonville, Florida. According to loved ones, Sumlar regularly performed in drag and identified as queer. A friend writes: “I will miss you so much! I looked forward to seeing your beautiful smile! You were such a kind and thoughtful person. Rest with Jesus my beautiful Jessie! Youve impacted more lives with smiles and good purpose than you know. Ill never forget your warm touches on my shoulder and soft voice and how you ALWAYS spoke to everybody when you entered the room.”

Roxsana Hernandez, United States

Roxsana Hernandez died while in the custody of U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement after fleeing violence and discrimination in Honduras.

Hernandez recently petitioned for asylum after traveling as part of a caravan of migrants fleeing violence in Central America.

Roxana Hernández reportedly died from HIV-related complications following an alleged five-day detention in what’s known by immigrant rights groups as the “ice box” – Ice detention facilities notorious for their freezing temperatures.

Four months before joining the caravan, Hernandez said, she was walking home when MS-13 gang members started screaming "We don't want you in this neighborhood, you fucking faggot" at her before gang-raping her. "Four of them raped me and as a result I got HIV," Hernandez told BuzzFeed News. "Trans people in my neighborhood are killed and chopped into pieces, then dumped inside potato bags." Standing in front of a church in Puebla, Mexico, playing with a silver cross around her neck, Hernandez said that gangs had continued to threaten her and told her she had to leave the area where she lived in Honduras. "I didn't want to come to Mexico — I wanted to stay in Honduras but I couldn't," Hernandez said. "They kill trans people in Honduras. I'm scared of that." Hernandez said she was able to put some money together to head to Guatemala. Her plan was to return to the US, from which she had previously been deported three times. She had some family in the US but said they did not accept her because she was trans. From Guatemala she went to Mexico, where she eventually linked up with the caravan of 1,200 to 1,500 migrants heading north.

Mondragón said Hernandez had been sick when she turned herself in to US border authorities but was in good spirits. "She told me she loved me. She had courage, but was nervous at the thought of entering the US again," Mondragón said. "I'll remember her as a timid, respectful person, always giving the other girls advice and sharing her food."

Vanessa Campos, 36, a trans woman working as a prostitute, was shot dead on August 17 in Paris' bois de Boulogne. She was originally from Peru and had been living in Paris for two years. The police initially referred to her as a "male transvestite".

Local media reports said Ms Campos had been attempting to prevent one of her clients from being mugged before she was fatally shot in the chest.

“Vanesa was a very soft person,” says Rincon. “She was good at listening. After the death of her father back in Peru, Vanesa took on the role of breadwinner and she was still sending money home to her family.”

“When I went back to the forest a few weeks ago for the memorial, I saw how Vanesa and her friends had tried to make it safer to work,” Rincon says. She explains that the area is dark and isolated but the women had set up battery-operated lights, brought water bottles and made a makeshift shelter so they’d have privacy with clients and avoid being arrested under French exhibitionism laws frequently used to target sex workers. “Vanesa’s friends have to keep working there, in the place where she was murdered,” Rincon says. “It's now a communal cemetery, with candles and people going there to pray.”

Four unknown women, India

Following a false rumor that transgender women were kidnapping children for sex trafficking in Hyderabad, four transgender women were attacked by a mob on May 26, 2018. One of the women died. Local police issued an "Appeal to Public" saying that the rumors of criminal involvement by transgender women were "fake" and that the public should not "take law into your hands...so that innocents won't become a victim of those rumors anymore.

Naomi Hersi, United Kingdom

Naomi Hersi, 36, was found stabbed to death at Heathrow Palace in London at 10:30 on Sunday 18 March 2018. Jesse McDonald, 24, from Hounslow, has been charged with murder. A 17-year-old girl, who cannot be named for legal reasons, was released on bail after being charged with assisting an offender.

Naomi who lived in Mill Hill, north London, was described on social media as a “tennis lover, music junkie, film and tv addict”. She was of Somali origin who had lived in the United States before returning to the UK. One neighbour said: “She was fun to be around and a real character. She was into music and tennis. She was a nice person.” Another neighbour said: “Naomi was a flamboyant, lovely fun person. I think she had problems in her life but was well liked. We are devastated to lose a friend and neighbour.”

In April, a transgender woman was shot dead in Pakistan, making her the 56th trans person to be killed in the Khyber Pakhtunkhwa region in the last three years. Sheena, who lived in the Shewa area, was allegedly attacked by a group of armed men who beat her up and then shot her dead on Sunday night.

Sheena, Pakistan

Unknown woman, Pakistan

August: Police in Peshawar, Pakistan, have arrested two suspects in the killing and dismemberment of a transgender woman, with one found carrying a shopping bag containing the victim’s body parts. The victim, identified only as Nazo, was shot to death late Thursday, and her body was then “hacked to pieces,” Radio Free Europe reports, citing an interview that Police Superintendent Cantt Waseem Riaz gave to Pakistani media.

Unknown woman, Pakistan

September: A transgender woman in Pakistan has died after being set afire by four men when she resisted sexual assault. The men had taken the woman to an isolated area in the city of Sahiwal, in the eastern part of the nation last Thursday, The Times of India reports. She fought back when they tried to assault her, and then they set her on fire. She suffered burns on 80 percent of her body and died while being transported to a hospital.

Sheila, a transgender woman and sex worker, was shot in the streets of Tepic on March 14, 2018.

Yoselyn, Mexico

Yoselyn, a transgender woman and sex worker, was found beheaded inside the room of a short stay motel in Álamo, Veracruz on April 5, 2018. She was seen with a client who left before the corpse was found.

Gretchen Alina, Mexico

Gretchen Alina, a transgender woman and drag queen show performer was strangled to death in Monterrey on April 10, 2018. She performed as Lorena Hererra.

Yamileth Quintero, Mexico

Yamileth Quintero, a transgender woman and beauty queen was shot in Culiacan after an encounter with a man she had met online, May 24, 2018.

Nataly Briyth Sánchez, Mexico

Nataly Briyth Sánchez, an undocumented sex worker originally from Honduras, was murdered during a sexual encounter on June 19, 2018 in Tapachula. The client stabbed her to death after discovering that she was transgender.[285]

Katty, Mexico

Katty, a transgender woman and sex worker was shot by an unknown man at a nightclub in Yautepec de Zaragoza on June 27, 2018.[286]\

Chanel, Mexico

Chanel, a 45 year-old transexual sex worker, was shot in the streets of Toluca, July 18, 2018.

Alaska Contreras Ponce, Mexico

Alaska Contreras Ponce, 25, a transgender beauty queen and sex worker, was found dead with her neck sliced by barbed wire after gruesome torture in Martinez de la Torre, July 25, 2018.[288]

Juan C.M., Mexico

Juan C. M., a 24 year old transgender woman and local taxi driver, was found dead in Santa Maria Atzompa on August 12, 2018. Apparently, she had a gunshot wound.

Samuel Santolli, Mexico

Samuel Santolli, a transgender woman and sex worker, was stabbed to death by her lover, a Salvadorian gang member in Tapachula, May 26, 2018.[290]

Diego Armando Sanchez Medina, Mexico

Diego Armando Sanchez Medina, 32, a transgender woman and hairdresser, was shot 28 times by armed men in Guadalajara, August 27, 2018.[291]

Arturo, Mexico

April 27th, 2018: Arturo, a trans woman, was found in the entrance to a field Villa de los Belenes neighborhood of the municipality of Zapopan .

#names #troe2018 #violence #violence tw #transmisogyny #TDOR #ancestors

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jayykesley · 6 years ago

Note

a l l of the oc questionssssssssss

babe no

1. Your first OC ever?

Answered!

2. Do you have a personal favourite among your OCs?

Answered

3. Have you ever adopted a character or gotten a character from someone else?

I haven’t, but people should give me their OCs. I promise I’ll be good to them.

4. A character you rarely talk about?

I don’t talk about Zachary Ryte very much? But that’s because I haven’t really nailed him or his story down yet, but I will one day because he intrigues me.

5. If you could make only one of your OCs popular/known, who would it be?

Answered!

6. Two OCs of yours that look alike despite not being related?

Aswered

7. Are your OCs part of any story or stories?

Babe almost all my ocs are part of stories XD

8. Do you RP as any of your OCs? If you do, introduce one of your RP OCs here!

Nah, rp isn’t my thing.

9. Would you ever be willing to give any of your OCs to someone else?

Hmmm, probably not a fellow writer bc writers can be cruel and if anybody’s going to hurt my ocs its Me

10. Introduce an OC with a complicated design?

idk what this means but here’s Clae as he’s a literal android and thats pretty advance and complicated

11. Is there any OC of yours you could describe as a “sunshine”?

ROSWELL he is a sunshine boi and he’s trying his best

12. Name an OC that isn’t yours but who you like a lot

@hobbitsetal‘s oc Rhys because he a Pure Trash Boi and i love him

13. Do you have any troublemaker OCs?

Answered

14. Introduce an OC with a tragic backstory

Hmmmm would you be interested in Derick?? A boy with cripplingly low self esteem and bad coping mechanisms due to his abandonment issues???

15. Do you like to talk about your OCs with other people?

16. Which one of your OCs would be the best at biology (school subject)?

Lorelei bc she is one smart cookie

17. Any OC OTPs?

Wouldn’t you like to know ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

18. Any OC crackships?

I kinda weirdly low-key ship Gatling and Pike?? Like, idk if I’m going to do anything with it but I’m intrigued by the idea of them together

19. Introduce an OC that means a lot to you (and explain why)

20. Do any of your OCs sing? If they sing, care to share more details (headcanon voice, what kind of songs they like etc)?

Carson sings, much to the chagrin of everyone else. He’s fully aware he’s terrible but enjoys it too much to stop. If he were in our world, he’d sing mostly 80′s and 90′s rock and pop.

21. Your most artistic OC

Rosalyn draws her own tattoos then tattoos herself, which i think is pretty creative? Lorelei also designs and makes her own clothes, bc shes sick of everything being too big/tall/etc.

22. Is there any OC of yours people tend to mischaracterize? If yes, how?

I mean, I’ve only shown people one story (and that has yet-to-be-completed) and so far everyone seems to be coming off as I intended, so not yet?

23. Introduce OC that has changed from your first idea concerning what the character would be like?

Rosalyn was originally a more Natasha Romanov/Black Widow-esque character, bc I thought all female fighter types had to be like that. It took me a while to figure out that, since I wanted to do something different, I could. So I made her more brutal, less graceful, more blunt and less “sexy”. Just overall different, because I’m interested in seeing more lady characters who fight in a way that’s more “ugly”.

24. If you could meet one OC of yours, who would it be and why?

Oh wow, I think I’d like to meet Lorelei? I think she’d be really fun to talk to, especially with all her random knowledge.

25. The OC that resembles you the most (same hobby, height, shared like/dislike for something etc?)

Derick certainly (unintentionally) looks the most like me, with the blond curly hair and the blue eyes, plus he’s insecure and anxious most of the time, and doesn’t always know what to do in social situations.

26. Have you ever had to change your OC’s design or something else about them against your will?

Not against my will, necessarily? Like, I’ve made plenty of changes, but that was always becasue I figured something out that I liked more, or that I thought fit better with the story.

27. Any OCs that were inspired by a certain song?

Some characters I’ve figured out their style or personality through listening to songs, like the main baes Carson, Derick, Rosalyn, as well as a few others that haven’t been introduced yet ;)

28. Your most dangerous OC?

Answered!

29. Which one of your OCs would go investigate an abandoned house at night without telling anyone they’re going?

Probs Rosalyn and Andromeda, they both know other people would just try to convince them not to go.

30. Which one of your OCs would most likely have a secret stuffed animal collection?

Robin bc shes 9 so duh, I almost feel like Lorelei would too for some reason? She gets stressed and needs to fall into a pile of fluffy toy animals.

31. Pick one OC of yours and explain what their tumblr blog would be like (what they reblog, layout, anything really)

Lorelei’s would be all cutesy and girly and pastel, and she’d probably reblog “hack” posts and videos, as well as makeup tutorials. Would post updates and how-tos on her latest fashion designs. Her most popular post is a tutorial on how to add pockets to the inside of skirts.

32. Which one of your OCs would be the most suitable horror game protagonist and why?

My first instinct was Rosalyn, until I realized her first instinct would be to square up and try to punch the horror game monster, and she’d probably die immediately. Carson could be helpful in attacking the monster too, but he’s also quite impulsive. Maybe Lorelei or Derick, as they aren’t as inclined to go into places where the monster would obviously be, but they might be intuitive about how to figure their way out.

33. Your shyest OC?

Answered

34. Do you have any twin characters?

Paris and Andromeda Kincaid are fraternal twins, as are Scrax and Titchy

35. Any sibling characters?

Lots

36. Do you have OC pairs where the other part belongs to someone else (siblings, lovers, friends etc)?

Nope, although that does sound fun!

37. Introduce an OC who is not quite human

Clae is super duper Not Human

38. Which one of your OCs would be the best dancer?

Considering Daniel Tate was a ballet dancer prior to his death, probably him

39. Introduce any character you want

Here’s Arthur, he’s Zachary Ryte’s American butler who gets paid extra to do a British accent.

40. Any fond memories linked to your characters? Feel free to share!

Yes! Sharing them with friends, letting people get to know them through their stories, seeing who gets attached to which oc

41. Has anyone drawn fanart of your OCs? If yes, maybe show a picture or two here (remember sources & permissions!)

YES! most recently @sisroks drew Carson (my icon), and @thejwilightzone has drawn Lorelei and @luna-pun has drawn a couple of my ocs

42. Which one of your OCs would be the most interested in Greek gods?

I headcanon that one of Carson’s hyperfixations is Greek mythology

43. Do you have any certain type when you create your OCs? Do you tend to favour some certain traits or looks? It’s time to confess

I think I tend to make characters that fit squarely into one of three categories:

charming and confident (aka prime falling-in-love characters)

soft and quiet (cinnamon rolls)

or fighty characters ((ง'̀-'́)ง)

44. Something you like about your OCs in general

that they’re mine and i can make whatever characters I feel the world needs more of

45. A character you no longer use?

Unfortunately I’ve had to retire the idea of a bunch of rowdy but loveable archery bois who live in a forest with their Mom-figure. Maybe theyll appear in a story of their own, who knows

46. Has anyone ever told you that you treat your OCs badly?

@dangerously-human has expressed concern about my future potential plans for Carson

47. Has anyone ever (friendly) claimed any of your OCs as their child?

many have claimed Roswell as their smol son

48. OC who is a perfect cinnamon roll, too good for this world, too pure

Derick and Roswell are both certified Soft Bois

49. Which one of your OCs would most likely enjoy memes

answered ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

50. Give me the good ol’ OC talk here. Talk about anything you want

I can’t stop grouping my ocs into families together, i just love the Found Family trope too much

Thanks boo

4 notes · View notes

humphreystuart · 3 years ago

Text

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tinypaintedthings · 7 years ago

Text

99 questions for the MUSE and 1 question for the MUN.

Originally posted by pan-imagines

Rules: Don’t reblog! Repost with your own answers, tag whoever you want

Developing a character.

1. What is your full name?

Wilkiam (He doesn’t know this); William Smith - soon to be William Page Hawthorn as soon as the adoption goes through.

2. Where and when were you born?

He was born in London on October 9 about 7 years ago. To hide him away from the dangers of being near his own father, Wil’s uncle Tristan took him as a baby back in time, about 6 years, and placed him in a human orphanage to hide any proof that William was truly the fae child.

3. Who are or were your parents? (Names, professions, personality …)

His birth mom’s name was Jenny Page, his father is Kheelan. His birth mom did not have a profession yet, as she died when she was sixteen. She loved the sciences, though. Kheelan is a Fae Prince of the Autumn Court, and Dream Fae who lives off the imagination of others.

Abigail Hawthorn is also his mom through soon to be adoption. They’re just waiting for the paperwork to go through. He fully considers her mom now.

4. Do you have siblings?

By birth, no. He considers Larc Delacroix his brother fully.

--- Wil answers from here on ---

5. Where do you live now and with whom? Describe the place and the people who live with it.

I live with my mom, and my brother, and his family in their mansion.

6. What do you do?

I go to school ... I like to draw, too.

7. Write a complete description about yourself. You should consider height, weight, race, hair color, eyes and tattoos, scars or any other mark that differentiates you.

Um .. like physically? .. I’m kind of short, skinny. I have dark auburn hair and freckles that are annoying. I guess I’d be considered Caucasian... but my human family’s from London, and I’m half Fae, so not sure that truly applies, considering I’m not even fully human. Who knows. I do have a scar .. that I don’t want to talk about. (Wil has a self inflicted scar on his upper thigh that crudely says, ‘I hate myself’)

8. What social class do you belong to?

Me personally? Lower class. I don’t really have anything. My mom works hard though, but we don’t have much on our own. My brother helps us out a lot. He’s super rich.

9. Do you have allergies, illnesses or other physical weaknesses?

I can kicked around a lot really easily. Does that count? -chuckles- Okay, um.. no, not really as in illnesses. I’m pretty healthy... -voice trails off just a bit as if lost in thought for a minute- I’m allergic, though, to a lot of things. Iron and a lot of metals, I can’t eat foods that are overly processed. My stomach gets really upset. I have to eat really natural foods.

10. Are you right-handed or left-handed?

Right handed.

11. How does your voice sound?

Like a voice? -chuckles- Okay, um.. I don’t know. Mostly American, but I do have a bit of a British lilt that comes out from time to time. I think it’s because I learned to talk while I was in care in London.

12. What phrases or words do you use frequently?

Probably, “Whatever,” and “Dude,” most likely.

13. What do you carry in your pockets?

My cell phone, and my pencil.

14. Do you have tics, hobbies, strange habits or other characteristics that define you?

I like to draw. I’m working on a comic.

15. How would you describe your childhood in general?

Just don’t ask. It wasn’t very good, until I met Larc and Abigail. Just .. don’t. I don’t want to talk about it.

16. What is your earliest memory?

I remember wallpaper, and how I could see little people in the patters moving and dancing, even though they weren’t really there. I remember getting yelled at, and being on meds after that. I don’t know. I block most of it out. It was some home I was in way back. I’m not sure which one it was. I was probably five.

17. What studies do you have?

I’m an eighth grader at Prentiss Academy.

19. Where did you learn your skills?

Drawing skills? I don’t know. It’s just always kind of come naturally to me. I do take an art course in school, now, though.

20. Have you had models to follow in your childhood or adolescence? Describe them.

Not until I met Abigail and Larc. I wish I could be more like Larc. He doesn’t realize it, but he’s pretty amazing.

21. Growing up … What kind of relationship did you have with the members of your family?

None. I moved around a lot from different homes. Nobody ever wanted me.

22. What did you want to be when you grew up when you were a child?

I wanted to be in another dimension or world far away from here.

23. What were your favorite activities as a child?

Drawing, hanging out in the woods, and watching my stars.

24. What personality traits did you have when you were a child?

Silly, playful... but when I was alone. That’s why I liked to go out in the woods by myself. I could play there without anyone watching.

25. Were you a popular kid? Who were your friends and what were they like?

I’ve never been popular. I’m popular with the bullies. -forces a sarcastic smile-

26. When and how was your first kiss?

My first kiss was actually kind of awesome. -grins- i mean, it was more like a testing it out thing, but Larc offered, so yeah we did it. I wanted to do it, again.

27. Are you a virgin? If you are not, when and with whom did you lose your virginity?

Yeah.

28. If you are a supernatural being (eg magician, werewolf, vampire), tell the story of how you have become or have learned your own abilities. If you are a normal human, describe any influence that has led you to do what you do today.

I didn’t know I was half fae until I met Larc,and he started seeing some of the things about me that normally creeped the hell out of people, and made them run away. But he didn’t. Instead, we started researching more together, and did some tests, and he really helped me see that all that shit I’ve been going through all my life, the fears, all of it, where actually normal. I was not ‘wrong’ or needing to be fixed like everyone said. I was fae, doing natural fae things. No one knows how much that means. I’m still looking for my family, though. Not that I don’t have one now, but to find out, you know? I just want to know. I want to know why and what happened.

29. What do you consider the most important event in your life so far?

When Larc and I became brothers.

30. Who has had the greatest influence on you?

Larc and Abigail.

31. What do you consider your greatest achievement?

Nothing .. really.. I don’t know.

32. What is your greatest repentance?

Like what I’m sorry for? Leaving little Jenny behind at my last foster home. I also feel really bad about trashing Larc’s room in the catacombs. I feel really shitty about that.

33. What is the meanest thing you’ve done?

Define your definition of mean.. I’ll admit, I’ve done some things, but I didn’t find them, ‘mean.’ per say. They were things they deserved. I don’t do mean things to people that aren’t mean. I care about people... usually..

34. Do you have any criminal records?

No, but I wasn’t a suspect of a missing person’s investigation once. It almost came up again, but we took care of it.

35. When was the time when you were most afraid?

Seeing my brother, Larc, sick in bed, and when Anjelah freaked out and made me feel unwanted in the manor for having Five in my room bound to a chair. I thought I had hit that point, again, where I lose everything.

36. What is the most embarrassing thing you have ever done?

I don’t know.. but I’ve been made to feel embarrassed by assholes lots of times.

37. If you could change a thing from your past, what would it be, and why?

I don’t know. Just make it all go away?

38. What is your best memory?

That first night at Larc’s house, when I slept over, and we talked all night, just looking at the projected stars on his ceiling, and later when we were just goofing around laughing, and dancing in the rain.

40. Are you basically optimistic or pessimistic?

I’d like to say optimistic, but I know part of me is always waiting for the fall.

41. What is your greatest fear?

Lossing Larc and my family, and not having that rock, or any security, or sense of home, again.

42. What are your views on religion?

I don’t know. Whatever people want is fine with me, I just like hate those people that want to force shit on everyone or judge them. That irritates me.

43. What are your views on politics?

Eh.

44. What are your views on sex?

Eh.. I don’t know. Not really sure what you’re asking, specifically.

45. Could you kill? Under what circumstances would you find killing something acceptable or unacceptable?

... I .. can kill.. I have. I’d kill in a heartbeat to protect my family and those I care about.

46. In your opinion, what is the meanest thing a human can do?

Make another person feel as if they are ‘wrong inside’, not normal, and that they need to be ‘fixed’. That fucks with you and messes you up forever.

47. Do you believe in the existence of “soul mates” or true love?

I don’t know.

48. What do you think makes a successful life?

Being happy.

49. How honest are you about your feelings and thoughts (eg, do you hide your true way of being from others, in what way?)?

I think I try to keep things inside, but I’m pretty easily an open book. It’s hard for me to hide what I’m feeling, but I do block a lot of things out at the same time.

50. Do you discriminate or have prejudices?

Only to assholes.

51. Is there anything you refuse to do under any circumstances? Why do you refuse to do it?

Lie anymore to my brother.

52. Why or who, if there is, would you die (or do other extreme things)?

Larc, Abigial, Danny, and pretty much anyone at the Delacroix manor. They are my friends and family.

53. In general, how do you treat others (Sincerely, rudely, keeping them at a distance, etc.)? How you treat them changes according to how well you know them, and if so, how does it change?

I tend to be a loner, save a small few. I’m more of a slow to warm up type. It’s hard for me to open up and trust to let people in.

54. Who is the most important person in your life and why?

Theee most important person, like as in one? Larc. He’s my brother. He’s more than my brother. I don’t think I’ll be okay if he dies. I’m glad I have the others, though, like my mom, and Five. If something happens, they’re probably what’s going to save me.

55. Who do you respect the most and why?

My family.

56. Who are your friends? Do you have a best friend? Describe those people.

It’s weird, but I don’t really consider Larc a friend anymore, so I’d say my only real friend I have right now, is Danny. (Five). I do really like him a lot. He confuses me, though, some times, but I’m trying to get past that.

57. Do you have a spouse or person of affection? If so, describe that person.

Not in the sense I think you’re asking, but I do really love Larc.

58. Have you ever fallen in love? If so, describe what happened.

I don’t know. I don’t think in the normal sense no.

59. What are you looking for in a potential lover?

I’m thirteen. I have no idea.

60. How close are you to your family?

Very close.

61. Have you started your own family? If so, describe them. If so, you want? Why or why not?

Huh? I’m thirteen..

62. How would you react if you were desperate for help?

Probably crazy? I don’t know. I’d go to Larc, Danny, or Abby depending on what it was.

63. Do you trust someone to protect you? Who Why?

I trust Larc and Abigail to look out for me with their best hearts.

64. If you die or go astray, who would miss you?

I don’t know. Probably Larc, my mom, and maybe Danny? I don’t know. It scares me if I die, though, because then I can’t put Larc in my book, and I need to take care of my book. I need to take care of Danny, too.

65. Who is the person you most despise and why?

A person I can not name in this dimension.

66. Do you tend to argue with people, or avoid conflict?

I’d say I try to avoid conflict, but that would probably be a lie. I tend to get in arguments a lot.

67. Do you tend to take the leadership role in social situations?

Sometimes I do, and sometimes I don’t. It depends on the situation and the person I’m with.

68. Do you like to interact with large groups of people? Why or why not?

No. Large groups make me feel claustrophobic and binding.

69. Do you care what others think of you?

Yes. I wish I didn’t, but I do.

70. What is your favorite hobby (s) or hobby (s)?

Drawing and painting, watching youtube vids, reading creepy pastas, and watching horror with Larc or Danny.

71. What is your most treasured possession?

My sketchbook.

72. What is your favorite color?

gold, red, orange, and yellows

73. What is your favorite food?

cheese - anything with cheese

74. What, if there is, do you like to read?

creepy pastas, Stephen King novels.

75. What is your idea of good entertainment (consider music, movies, art, etc.)?

I have very eclectic tastes in music, but I tend to like horror and stuff with movies, and I love surreal art.

76. Do you smoke, drink, or use drugs? If so, why? Do you want to leave it / s?

I drink occasionally as a social thing with my brother usually.

77. What do you do on your typical Saturday night?

Hang out in Larc’s room, drawing, and chatting .. maybe watching a movie.

78. What makes you laugh?

A lot of things. I don’t know. I’m weird, I tend to laugh a lot, even probably when I shouldn’t. It’s a habit.

79. What, if there is, does it shock or offend you?

Rudeness?

80. What would you do if you had insomnia and should you find something to relax?

I would probably pull out my sketchbook and draw.

81. Do you get the stress?

Yes.

82. Are you spontaneous, or do you always need to plan?

Tend to be spontaneous. Plans are binding.

83. What makes you angry?

People hurting me.

84. Describe the routine of a normal day for you. How do you feel when that routine is interrupted?

I tend to sleep in late, unless there’s school, which I still try to sleep in late for, but mom tends to takes the covers off eventually which is so rude, really. I go to school, hang out a bit in the art room. Sometimes skip class to help out in the art room. The art teacher’s pretty cool, and gives me a pass, saying he needed my assistance. Then I head home through the woods. I usually walk, unless Larc’s free and gives me a ride. I head in and half a snack from Betty, and then mosey upstairs to chill with the Larc-ster.

85. What is your greatest strength as a person?

As a person? I don’t know.. but I’m pretty good at my art. I also am getting pretty tricky with some of my fae abilities.

86. What is your greatest weakness?

Probably my temper, and emotions.

87. If you could change something about yourself, what would it be?

See my last answer.

88. Generally, are you introverted or extroverted?

Introverted.

89. Generally, are you tidy or cluttered?

Cluttered. It fits my mess abstract surrealism art style, okay? Don’t judge.

90. Name three things in which you consider yourself very good, and three in which you consider yourself very bad.

Very good:

Art, some magic, being probably protective. When I care, I really care. Begin silly. Yes, I know this was more than three, just put counting in very bad at section.

Very bad:

Overly emotional, sometimes I act before I think, have a side to me that is kind of twisted.

91. Do you like the way you are?

No.

92. What are your reasons for being an adventurer (or doing anything heroic that an RPG character would do)? Do the real reasons you do differ from what you say in public? (If so, detail both sets of reasons)

Um... I have no idea.

93. What is the goal you most want to accomplish in your life?

I just want to be happy, and have my family and friends safe and happy. I also want to take down the Coven and murder the one responsible for what he did to my brother. I won’t let that go.. EVER.

94. Where do you see yourself in 5 years?

I don’t. If I really think about that, it scares me. I don’t want to think about it.

95. If you could choose it, how would you like to die?

Saving my brother.

96. You know you’re going to die in 24 hours, name three things you would do before your time runs out.

Put Larc in the sketchbook.

Give my sketchbook to Dr. Mum and explain to him that he has to keep it safe, and why, and explain everything that’s in there.

Hug my family and say my goodbyes, and then go out into the orchard one last time to that tree.

97. Why would you most like to be remembered after your death?

I don’t really care or think about that.

98. Which three words best describe your personality?

Playful, emotional, artistic.

99. What three words would the others use to describe you?

Weird, Freak, Difficult.

100. (Question for the mun) If you could, what advice would you give your character? (You can pretend that you are sitting in front of you and use the right tone for him / her to pay attention to your advice)

You are a lot better person than you give yourself credit for. You tend to let the negative things drown you, and stay, when there is so much good in you, and what you can do for people around you. You make so many people happy in ways you don’t realize. Focus on those things. You can become anything you want, and you can do anything you want with your abilities. Help make the world more beautiful.

Tagged by: @pueraeternuspan

Tagging: anyone that wants to, honestly.

#hc #headcanon #william #long post #memes

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